The situation was so tangled and delicate that he didn’t even know what to do. He didn’t understand, yet at the same time, it felt like he somehow did.
“I just… want to do Guiding with you right now. And if I can, then it doesn’t matter why.”
With those words, Hyun Tae-oh leaned down and pressed his lips against Kang Chi-yu’s.
Chi-yu froze at first, then slowly reached out and wrapped his arms around Tae-oh’s neck, clinging to him.
Having done it once before made the second time easier. The confusion and awkwardness that had smothered the pleasure melted away, and with just two kisses, Chi-yu found himself relaxed enough to move naturally with Tae-oh.
At this point, nothing else mattered.
During the two weeks they’d been apart, Tae-oh’s heart had shifted. That change had pushed him into doing things he’d never done before—and instead of finding it strange or off-putting, Chi-yu felt the opposite. Maybe it wasn’t so bad to simply surrender and let Tae-oh do as he pleased.
He couldn’t know if Tae-oh would ever truly be his. If he turned this chance down now, he might never again touch him.
Maybe the right thing was to stop thinking and just enjoy this moment—especially if Tae-oh ended up belonging to someone else.
That fear was enough to silence any cowardly excuses like this is scary or friends shouldn’t do this.
Still, both of them knew that the weight of being lifelong childhood friends wasn’t something easily broken. Instead of redefining it as something else, maybe it was better to call it what it was: Stage 3 Guiding.
“Three…”
Summoning his courage, Chi-yu began to speak.
But before the words could leave his mouth, his phone blared with the shrill alarm of an emergency summon, shattering his resolve in an instant.
Chi-yu flinched, staring in surprise at the flashing device. Tae-oh turned his head toward it as well.
The screen pulsed red.
“Another Red alert…?” Chi-yu asked, trying to steady his breathing.
“Fuck.”
Tae-oh rose, muttering the curse with clear irritation at being interrupted.
Checking the summon location, he turned back to Chi-yu.
“It’s the P-Zone. Looks like a mutant.”
“Then we’d better hurry. I’ll call the supervisors—we still need the micro-cameras set up.”
Chi-yu stood quickly. As he instinctively wiped his damp lips, Tae-oh called to him.
Chi-yu, already heading toward the door, stopped and looked back.
“But… you promised, didn’t you?”
“…What? Promised?”
Chi-yu blinked at the sudden words.
Tae-oh’s eyes, still flickering gold from incomplete Guiding, locked onto his.
“Stage 3 Guiding.”
Stage 3 Guiding.
Stage three…
The phrase echoed endlessly in Chi-yu’s head.
Sure, he’d let the number slip out, intending to frame what they had as Stage 3 Guiding. But the emergency call had cut him off before he could finish.
And yet Tae-oh had seized on that single word—three—and twisted it into a promise. That wasn’t normal.
Yeah. That bastard’s not in his right mind right now.
Chi-yu shook his head slowly, watching Tae-oh from inside the barrier. Tae-oh had thrown up the transparent shield around him before charging at the mutant beast.
Maybe it was because of the scratch he’d taken in J-02. The instant they arrived at the site, Tae-oh had dropped Chi-yu in a safer spot, layering three shields around him in succession.
Meticulous to a fault.
Considering it wasn’t an ordinary beast but a mutant, Tae-oh’s overprotectiveness was understandable. But these days, a Guide who stood back without providing combat support could be written up for dereliction of duty. Chi-yu was stuck in an awkward position.
In the past, when there had been far fewer Guides than Espers—and before Guides had learned energy-based skills like Sleep or Immobilization—it had been excusable. But not anymore.
It was only lucky that his Pair was Tae-oh, someone capable of clearing a Gate alone.
Still, Chi-yu worried that someone watching the recording might accuse him of slacking. Pressing against the invisible barrier, he began speaking, half excuse and half explanation.
“Uh, well… as you’ll see in the recording…”
He leaned toward the micro-camera on his lapel so his voice would be picked up clearly.
“I, um, got scratched in the J-Zone. It’s not serious, but…”
Even as he spoke, he kept his eyes on Tae-oh battling the mutant—a swollen, spine-bristling monster that looked like a giant blowfish.
“You’ll see that in the footage too. Anyway, I think that’s why Tae-oh locked me in here like this…”
Talking to an unseen audience felt absurd, and he rubbed his forehead in frustration. But excuses now meant fewer headaches later, so he tried to choose his words carefully.
“As you can see, me being out there would only get in the way.”
Pathetic as it sounded.
Meanwhile, Tae-oh, maybe energized by the idea of a third-stage Guiding, fought with frightening speed.
There were more mutants than expected, and their regeneration made them a nuisance. But as an SS-rank Esper, Tae-oh attacked calmly, methodically.
Chi-yu thought their numbers weren’t enough to worry about.
He was wrong.
Every time Tae-oh struck one down, the mutants regenerated and charged again.
Even so, Tae-oh never faltered, cutting them down in steady rhythm. But because they were stronger than ordinary beasts, healing instantly and multiplying, it was like pouring water into a bottomless jar.
Dozens of strikes, never hitting the same place twice—and still no sign of a weak point.
Did those round, blowfish-like things even have hearts?
Slicing eyes, necks, splitting torsos—it didn’t matter. They always came back.
Severed parts reattached. Burning them didn’t help, because the severed pieces became new monsters themselves.
Their numbers grew, and Tae-oh was wearing down.
Panicked, Chi-yu pulled out his phone and requested backup.
Tae-oh would be furious he’d done it without asking, but faced with the mutants’ endless breeding, there was no other choice.
The real blame lay with the Bureau for assigning an entire zone to Tae-oh alone after a mutant outbreak. They probably hadn’t realized its ability was regeneration—and maybe they wanted A Pair is Born to highlight Tae-oh’s strength on camera.
Realizing his own limits, Tae-oh finally stripped off his black gloves.
They were special gloves designed to confine his electricity to his palms, preventing him from losing control. Removing them meant expanding his attack range.
It also meant the risk of going berserk with even a little overexertion.
Before he could find the mutants’ weakness, he might lose control himself.
Anticipating that, he pulled two Berserk Suppressants from his pocket and swallowed them.
His golden eyes dulled into a softer yellow, like forsythia blossoms.
Preparing for the worst, he unleashed a wide-range Paralysis skill, planning to throw Chi-yu into safety before things spiraled.
As the mutants froze, Tae-oh teleported, barrier and all, carrying Chi-yu into a safe zone.
“Hey! We’re supposed to fight together…!!”
Startled by Tae-oh’s sudden move, Chi-yu pounded on the barrier, shouting. But Tae-oh spun and snapped back:
“Don’t be ridiculous. I’m not letting you get hurt.”
And in the next heartbeat, he teleported straight into the paralyzed swarm.
Even from a distance where Tae-oh could never hear him, Chi-yu screamed his name at the top of his lungs.
***
The moment the words regenerating mutant beast came through, the Bureau issued a Code 2 and dispatched a large force of S-rank Espers and Guides.
Only after their arrival was Kang Chi-yu’s barrier finally lifted. He bowed quickly to the Esper who dispelled it, then immediately broke into a run toward Hyun Tae-oh.
But he didn’t make it far. Esper Yoon Do-jae caught him firmly by the arm.
“Where are you going?”
“Ah, my Pair is over there…”
Startled, Chi-yu pointed toward Tae-oh, still locked in combat with the mutant beasts. Yoon Do-jae glanced at Tae-oh, then back down at Chi-yu.
“It’s too dangerous. Stay with the support Guides.”
“…Ah.”
At that moment, another Guide approached—Min Yu-hyun, his trademark sunglasses perched on his face as always. He looked at Chi-yu and asked,
“Guides provide rear support. Guide Kang Chi-yu, what’s your specialty?”
For some reason, Min Yu-hyun always wore those black sunglasses in combat, to the point that most of his merchandise featured him with them on. His fans often complained that the shades were an injustice, hiding half of such a striking face.
“Ah… Sleep.”
Yu-hyun gave a small nod, then pressed on.
“What stage?”
“Uh… stage three. About thirty seconds.”
“Good. Then once the first- and second-stage Guides exhaust their skills, you’ll step in immediately. That’ll be your support role.”
“Yes, understood.”
And then—
With a thunderous roar, dozens of mutant beasts froze solid all at once.
