Chi-yu already felt his body giving out.
“I can’t go on anymore today.”
He whispered softly, just loud enough for Tae-oh to hear. There wasn’t a soul on the street, so there was no real need to lower his voice. But with Tae-oh’s arm draped over his shoulder as they walked side by side, it felt like even a murmur would carry straight to him.
Tae-oh’s hand on his shoulder tightened slightly.
“I’m still sore.”
“Sore?”
Surprise flickered in Tae-oh’s eyes, as though he hadn’t expected that. Chi-yu nodded once and repeated, “I’m hurting.”
Tae-oh’s face hardened.
“Let me check.”
“…What?”
He looked like he really meant it, so Chi-yu hurriedly shook his head.
“No, it’s not something you need to see—”
But before he could finish, his vision went black, then flared white again. With a faint wave of nausea, a familiar space unfolded before him.
Hyun Tae-oh’s home.
Earlier, Tae-oh had said he wanted to “eat something else before dinner,” and it wasn’t until ten minutes before midnight—long past dinnertime—that he finally let Chi-yu go.
Chi-yu was left so drained he couldn’t even lift a finger, while Tae-oh carried him, washed him, ordered food, spoon-fed him, and pestered him playfully between it all.
Hyun Tae-oh truly didn’t know when to stop.
***
By dawn.
While Chi-yu still slept deeply, Tae-oh sat in the living room, his face grim, holding Chi-yu’s phone. Driven by a single thought—to catch the bastards who kept sending threats—he pushed light-attribute energy into the device.
The task demanded ruthless focus and delicate precision, and soon a headache pounded at his skull. But Tae-oh couldn’t stand the thought of Chi-yu’s mood being soured all day by something so pathetic. He had to get it done before morning.
The hardest part was channeling power without tripping the communication network—tedious, concentration-heavy work. But compared to what Kang Chi-yu meant to him, it was nothing.
From now on, every threatening message meant for Chi-yu would be diverted to Tae-oh’s phone.
He’d deal with it himself. His precious friend and lover needed only to believe the harassment had ended and live in peace.
Finally, after working through the night, the vibration from his phone told him the rerouting had succeeded.
He pressed his thumb and forefinger against his aching eyes, then set Chi-yu’s phone back on the nightstand. Pulling out his own still-buzzing phone, he answered.
“What?”
His voice was low and edged, one brow arched. He kept it quiet, careful not to wake Chi-yu.
The caller was Yoon Do-jae.
– You asleep?
“I’m not. What?”
– Caught two of them.
Golden eyes flared sharply.
“Where?”
– Central Bureau duty office. I overheard them talking…
“Hold them.”
– You’re coming now? What about Guide Kang Chi-yu?
“Call Beom Do-il. Just keep them there.”
Tae-oh ended the call at once and dialed Do-il.
Do-il, notorious for sleeping in, didn’t answer the first two times. Tae-oh changed clothes at lightning speed, phone wedged to his ear, until finally, on the third call, Do-il picked up with a groggy groan.
– Ugh… what?
“Get to my place right now.”
– …
“Beom Do-il. Snap out of it and teleport here, now.”
– You’ve got to be—
“Hurry.”
– You fucking @#%^&&
Do-il cursed thickly into the receiver, but not ten seconds later, he appeared before Tae-oh.
Checkered pajamas, hair like a bird’s nest.
“Yoon Do-jae caught two of them. I’m going to the Bureau—watch Chi-yu.”
Do-il, ready to unleash another round of swearing, froze, muttered “ah,” and nodded instead. He opened his mouth to ask when and how they’d been caught, but before he could, Tae-oh strapped on his watch and teleported away.
“Damn.”
Scratching his head, Do-il shuffled into the living room and collapsed onto the sofa.
Just then, his phone rang again.
Hyun Tae-oh.
“What?”
– Don’t go in the bedroom. Don’t even open the door. Unless you want your hands chopped off.
Click.
The line went dead. Do-il stared blankly at the phone, then shot upright.
“You son of a—”
The fury boiling up inside him made him want to scream, but with Chi-yu sleeping peacefully in the bedroom, he couldn’t. His hand just shook around the phone.
Grinding down his temper, Do-il let out a long sigh and fell back onto the sofa.
He released his ability, spreading it across the entryway, windows, and around the building to check for intruders. Finding none, he pulled it back and settled into the sofa as comfortably as he could.
A yawn escaped him. His eyes drifted shut.
***
Inside an abandoned annex behind the Central Bureau, heavy thuds echoed.
The two Espers who had sent threatening messages to Chi-yu were being beaten senseless by Hyun Tae-oh.
At first, they’d relied on their numbers—two against one—and charged him head-on. But not a single strike had landed.
Especially not with Yoon Do-jae’s help.
Tae-oh had blocked everything on his own, then struck back. The sheer difference in strength crushed them into submission.
Even the abilities of two S-rank Espers meant nothing against an SS-rank like Hyun Tae-oh.
And worse, he wasn’t even using his ability—just fists and kicks. The humiliation burned like fire.
Adding to it, Yoon Do-jae stood silently at the doorway, watching without stopping him.
This was Yoon Do-jae—the Bureau’s FM, the model Esper. The last person anyone would expect to condone such a thing. And yet, here he was, standing guard so no one would interfere, making no move to stop Tae-oh.
That was how deeply Kang Chi-yu’s harassment had infuriated him.
The S-rank Espers, battered and bloodied, weren’t just in pain. They were choking on the shame of being pummeled like this, unable to tell a soul without destroying themselves.
“Go ahead. Report to the PN that Hyun Tae-oh beat you.”
Tae-oh spoke between breaths, just slightly winded from the thrashing.
He washed the blood from his hands with a flick of water-attribute power and added,
“Unless, of course, you’d like the world to know about your pathetic little intimidation games.”
“N-no, we won’t.”
“We won’t report it.”
The two ended up kneeling before him.
“Good. That’s your choice. Now—tell me why.”
Why send threatening messages to Kang Chi-yu? Why torment a single Guide in such a cheap, cowardly way?
After exchanging uneasy glances, they finally confessed.
At the center of it all was one Guide from the Esper Association.
S-rank Guide Sung Ji-yeol.
Not as famous as Min Yu-hyun, but still a well-known, popular Guide.
Their story went like this:
For years, there had been groups devoted to harassing Espers and Guides who appeared on popular shows like PairBorn or You and My Flirt—especially the ones they didn’t like.
There were several such groups, but the most active and far-reaching was run by Sung Ji-yeol himself.
As a Guide who couldn’t get cast on PairBorn, Ji-yeol couldn’t stand Kang Chi-yu, a mere B-rank Guide—who had not only appeared but starred in Hyun Tae-oh’s special episode and as the first guest of the rebooted second season.
Shrewdly, Ji-yeol manipulated Min Yu-hyun’s rabid fans, painting Chi-yu as someone interfering with Yu-hyun. Once provoked, they attacked Chi-yu without further prompting.
Ji-yeol had once tried to exploit Yu-hyun’s haters, only to be torn apart by Yu-hyun’s fans. This time, he wove that bitter experience into a more polished plan.
The two S-rank Espers caught tonight were among those fans.
They admitted they’d lost their heads after Ji-yeol told them Chi-yu—Tae-oh’s childhood friend—had stolen Min Yu-hyun’s rightful place.
Ji-yeol convinced them that if they wanted to see Tae-oh and Yu-hyun together on PairBorn, Chi-yu had to be eliminated. So they sent threatening messages, even showed up at his house to intimidate him.
The numbers they’d used came straight from Ji-yeol.
And the Anti club wasn’t limited to Chi-yu.
Countless Guides and Espers had been tormented this way. Some quit the Bureau or the Association, unable to bear it. Others joined Ji-yeol’s side just to survive.
The sheer organization of it made Yoon Do-jae’s face harden.
“Jesus. Who the fuck turns petty bullying into an organized syndicate?”
Tae-oh only let out a dry, incredulous laugh.
Not even disdain, just disbelief. That Espers and Guides, of all people, would stoop to something even ordinary civilians wouldn’t bother with—it was laughable.
“So what, you feel proud of yourselves?”
“……”
“……”
“I asked how it felt, doing this pathetic shit as members of the Bureau’s First Division.”
“…We’re sorry.”
“…We were wrong.”
“Fine, I’ll admit your queen bee’s got a talent for bossing drones around. But in the end, that queen bee’s still pathetic trash. Try using your brains—they’re not just there for decoration, are they?”
“…Sorry.”
“…We were wrong.”
Both Espers, their faces swollen and bruised, bowed low, stammering apologies.
Part of why the words came so easily was because Hyun Tae-oh—who almost never spoke to anyone—was addressing them at all.
They’d been in the Bureau for years, yet had never exchanged words with him until now.
“Either way, you idiots dared to mess with my lover. That’ll be the biggest mistake of your lives. Don’t think this ends here.”
“Yes, we’re sorry.”
“Yes, we were wrong.”
“Yoon Do-jae. The queen bee’s yours.”
Tae-oh turned to him.
“Me?”
Do-jae blinked.
Tae-oh nodded.
“Yeah. My lover doesn’t like me talking to other Guides.”
At that, both Espers and Yoon Do-jae twisted their faces at the same time.
