To anyone watching, they looked exactly like a couple bickering, but the two of them insisted—stubbornly and without fail—that they were nothing more than friends.
It was ridiculous, almost laughable, yet that very dynamic was already coming across so naturally on camera that it was certain to become a hit. At first, the Main Camera Director had worried that pairing an anonymous B-rank Guide from the Central Bureau against an SS-rank Esper like Hyun Tae-oh would feel too unbalanced. But after seeing Kang Chi-yu in action, he realized how foolish that concern had been.
Chi-yu had a magnetic quality about him. He might be labeled a B-rank, but he carried a presence that stood out like an A-rank or higher. And during the recording where he’d stepped in for Tae-oh after his face was injured, the footage radiated a strange mix of shock, exhilaration, and even a faint thrill of excitement.
The Main Camera Director had filmed countless Espers and Guides over the years, but never had a two-shot burned itself into his mind so sharply. Once the episode aired, Chi-yu was bound to make waves, and their insistence on being “just friends” would only fuel endless debate among viewers.
To the director, it didn’t even feel like PairBorn anymore. It felt like he was filming a saccharine, heart-fluttering reality show about two people right on the cusp of falling in love. Not that either of them seemed remotely aware.
“Let’s settle it with rock-paper-scissors.”
“You can’t decide something like that with rock-paper-scissors.”
“Why not?”
“Because you’d cheat with your ability and win. Besides, Imprinting isn’t something you take lightly.”
“Then let’s say whoever loses just has to listen to the winner.”
“Then you’ll definitely lose!”
“…I won’t use my ability.”
“Don’t lie.”
“Is it really that hard for you to trust people?”
“Like I haven’t been tricked before? You pulled this last time too—”
“When? Where? What are you even talking about?”
This—this was exactly it. The tender, pink-hued atmosphere hidden beneath their bickering. The Main Camera Director couldn’t help but smile, convinced the two of them were destined to end up together.
And then, an idea sparked.
He quickly grabbed his phone, stepped outside, and called the Production Director. He suggested that once Tae-oh and Chi-yu’s feature wrapped up, they should immediately be locked in as regular cast.
“Their chemistry is one thing, but the way they tease and cling to each other isn’t normal. If we air the special and secure them right after, it’ll blow up bigger than anything we’ve seen.”
The Main Camera Director, a longtime friend of the Production Director, trusted his own instincts. And those instincts told him Hyun Tae-oh and Kang Chi-yu were far more than just “friends.”
—What do you mean?
“You said PairBorn is getting revamped, right?”
—Yeah, and it’s a nightmare. It started as a pilot, but the higher-ups want it turned into a permanent corner within the flagship show. Everyone’s grumbling about it.
The network’s logic was obvious: since the pilot had been popular, folding it into their most successful program would guarantee longevity. But for the rookie PDs who had poured themselves into the project, it felt like their creation was being hijacked. Tensions were high.
And now, choosing the first fixed cast for the revamped show had become another headache. Worse yet, since Hyun Tae-oh had appeared in the 100th-episode special, people were demanding that future regulars be of his caliber.
“So put in Esper Hyun Tae-oh with Guide Kang Chi-yu, then pair them with Guide Min Yu-hyun and another top Esper. Perfect lineup, right?”
—Easier said than done. Do you really think Hyun Tae-oh would agree? He barely accepted shooting a solo slice-of-life feature. You think he’d actually move in with others, cook and fight on screen? Not a chance.
“If Guide Kang Chi-yu agrees, then Esper Hyun Tae-oh will follow without question.”
—What? …You’re sure about that?
“Trust me. Right now, Esper Hyun Tae-oh is practically obsessed with Guide Kang Chi-yu.”
The director’s grin widened.
At dinner, after showering, even in the middle of Guiding sessions that pushed the edge of Stage 3, Tae-oh never stopped pestering Chi-yu to do an Imprint. To him, it was the only way to ensure they’d be bound together for life. Given how little interest Tae-oh had ever shown in romance, it was no wonder he couldn’t think of any other solution.
But to Chi-yu, being harassed day and night about Imprinting—and then hearing it again at the Training Hall during filming—was enough to make him think, What kind of lunatic is this?
He’d known for over twenty years that Tae-oh was crazy, but this was a new kind of crazy, one that left him speechless.
“Just shut up for a second.”
“Then let’s Imprint already.”
“You do it.”
“Not unless you do it first.”
It was unbelievable.
“What’s this about? You two Imprinting?”
Beom Do-il had arrived at the Training Hall just in time to overhear. Like many others, he’d heard that Hyun Tae-oh and Kang Chi-yu were filming PairBorn there, and he’d shown up fully dressed, from head to toe.
The Training Hall, usually quiet, was overflowing with people. But Do-il stood out even among the crowd—because of his ridiculous appearance.
His hair, slicked back with too much pomade, gleamed under the lights. And instead of casual workout gear, he strutted in wearing a perfectly pressed uniform, badges and all. Both Tae-oh and Chi-yu frowned the moment they saw him.
“What the hell are you wearing?”
Chi-yu eyed him up and down.
Do-il darted a glance toward the cameras and gave a flimsy excuse.
“Ah, haha. I came straight here from an emergency assembly. Didn’t get a chance to change.”
But his spotless, freshly ironed uniform gave him away instantly.
Chi-yu sighed. He didn’t bother arguing, though he understood well enough—countless people wanted a spot on PairBorn. Since only S-rank Espers and above could appear officially, it made sense that an A-rank like Do-il would jump at even the smallest chance to be seen. Even a few seconds of background airtime could spark attention, and attention might just lead to a coveted full appearance.
“But what was that just now? Imprinting?”
Do-il moved closer to Chi-yu. Tae-oh immediately yanked Chi-yu to his side and growled.
“Stay back. You wanna die?”
Do-il shook his glossy head, clicking his tongue.
“Ha. There he goes again, throwing a fit.”
“What did you say? You looking to die?”
It didn’t matter who it was—Do-il, Lee Jun-hyung, anyone. If someone tried to approach Chi-yu, Tae-oh always pulled him away.
It was a habit, one that had started back at the Esper Academy.
And truthfully, Tae-oh had mellowed over the years. Back then, he hadn’t allowed anyone to get close to him or to Chi-yu.
Once, a classmate had asked why he kept others from approaching Chi-yu as well. Tae-oh’s answer had been blunt: “Because Chi-yu shares a room with me.”
That was all it was—his obsessive cleanliness extended to Chi-yu too. If no one could touch him, then naturally, no one could touch the person closest to him either.
There had been a time when Chi-yu’s heart had fluttered at the thought that maybe this obsession was love. Now, looking back, the memory only curved his lips into a bitter smile.
“So what’s the deal? Are you two Imprinting or not?”
Do-il pressed again.
“What Imprint? Where’s Lee Jun-hyung?”
Rather than dignify him with an answer, Chi-yu redirected the conversation. At the mention of Jun-hyung, Do-il’s cheeks turned red and he looked around nervously.
“Right… I thought he’d be here, but I don’t see him.”
Though the rumor had drawn a crowd, Jun-hyung was nowhere to be found. Maybe he hadn’t heard yet, or maybe he was still out on assignment with Yoon Do-jae.
In truth, the Training Hall was rarely this crowded. With people loitering, pretending to work out while sneaking glances at the cameras, it was no wonder Jun-hyung—who hated noisy places—wasn’t around.
By Central Bureau rules, Ability Users were supposed to train here twice a week. In practice, almost no one followed it—except maybe Yoon Do-jae, the Bureau’s biggest stickler for rules.
The Training Hall had been built at enormous expense for “employee welfare,” but neither Espers nor Guides really needed it. At least it wasn’t a total waste; PairBorn filming had given it a use.
“You should start working out now. Gotta make some footage, right?”
Chi-yu tapped Tae-oh’s back, trying to calm him down as he glared at Do-il like he wanted him dead.
Do-il, who had known Tae-oh since Academy days, wisely kept his distance. No one knew better than him exactly how far you could go before Tae-oh snapped. He’d learned the hard way, having fought with him more than anyone else.
“Since your arm’s injured, stick to exercises that don’t use it.”
Chi-yu looked around and suggested.
“Then hold my legs while I do sit-ups.”
“What? There’s a sit-up bench. Why should I—”
“Wouldn’t it look better if he held my legs instead of me doing it alone?”
Before Chi-yu could refuse, Tae-oh turned straight to the Main Camera Director.
The director nodded eagerly, flashing a thumbs-up. Tae-oh smirked triumphantly at Chi-yu.
“See? The director agrees.”
“….”
“If we’ve got to film anyway, let’s make it count.”
He grabbed Chi-yu’s wrist and pulled him onto the mat.
Do-il, left standing awkwardly, stared in disbelief. Normally, Tae-oh threw a fit if anyone came near him, yet here he was willingly making space for Kang Chi-yu.
But more than that—it was the way he looked at him, the way he moved. His expression and gestures were those of a man with a lover. Never before had Do-il seen Hyun Tae-oh treat anyone like that, and the realization sent a strange chill crawling down his spine.
He remembered how Tae-oh had gone frantic trying to find Chi-yu after he moved and changed his number. Had something happened between them?
As Do-il stared blankly, Chi-yu sat holding Tae-oh’s legs, their faces nearly brushing every time Tae-oh came up in a sit-up. Chi-yu flinched each time, flustered and restless.
Watching this, Do-il’s face twisted, and finally he blurted out:
“What the hell is this—some kind of cheesy old drama parody?!”
