Sung Ji-yeol hummed a carefree tune as he made his way to the place where he had arranged to meet Hyun Tae-oh.
For all his pride—snapping, “If you want to tell on me, then do it”—in the end it was Tae-oh who reached out first, asking to meet. That alone left Ji-yeol in high spirits.
Sure, the message had come through Anti Club member Jeong Seong-gon, which was a little irritating, but it didn’t matter. Getting started was half the battle. If he could just increase these meetings, one by one, slowly building familiarity, things would fall into place.
For someone like Hyun Tae-oh—practically obsessive about cleanliness, unwilling to hold even short conversations—it was nothing short of miraculous to get one-on-one time with him.
Ji-yeol didn’t expect to take Kang Chi-yu’s place as his long-time childhood friend, but he at least wanted the title of being the second person allowed at Tae-oh’s side.
And if he could ride on Tae-oh’s fame, he could become more popular than ever. With that, pests like Min Yu-hyun would be nothing more than a footnote.
All those years of resentment, watching Yu-hyun strut into every Emergency Assembly, sunglasses on, posturing like a commander when all he did was bark orders—they’d finally be repaid in full.
Tae-oh had a fandom so vast, so powerful, that it made Yu-hyun’s look pitiful. If Ji-yeol became someone Tae-oh opened his heart to, surely those fans would welcome him, too.
The ultimate prize, of course, would be making Tae-oh fall for him so completely that he wanted to Pair. But with the unshakable bond between Tae-oh and Chi-yu, who had grown from childhood friends into lovers, there seemed little chance of that.
If he wanted Tae-oh’s heart, it would take time and effort—years, maybe.
Still, no matter how he looked at it, he was far more impressive than Tae-oh’s current lover. As long as he forged a connection, everything after that would flow smoothly.
That was why, with just one word—“Let’s meet”—Sung Ji-yeol’s head filled with endless expectations.
But the truth was, the only reason Tae-oh agreed to meet was because of Chi-yu.
Chi-yu, worried that his own jealous behavior might expose their Marking to the higher-ups, had asked Tae-oh to meet with Ji-yeol.
Tae-oh had never once believed that seeing Ji-yeol would stir any affection.
It was simply that Chi-yu hated the thought of him meeting another Guide alone.
And through that, Chi-yu realized just how deep his possessiveness ran.
Though Tae-oh insisted it was fine, Chi-yu knew he had to fix it.
For someone with such a narrow circle of human connections, Tae-oh didn’t need Chi-yu’s possessiveness poisoning his life.
Fortunately, Tae-oh was the kind of man who tried to grant anything Chi-yu asked of him. So when Chi-yu said, “Just meet with Ji-yeol,” he didn’t dig in his heels.
Twice Tae-oh had said, “It’s unnecessary. I can handle things without him.” But when Kang Chi-yu sincerely asked him to go, Tae-oh finally gave in.
It was annoying and troublesome, but better this than having the higher-ups find out about the Marking that tied him to Chi-yu.
***
“You’re here.”
Sung Ji-yeol, who had arrived early, greeted him with a bright smile as soon as he saw him.
Tae-oh ignored the greeting, sat down, placed an order, and handed over his card.
“Just in case you were late, I ordered for myself already,” Ji-yeol said, glancing at the coffee in front of him once the server left.
“Ask your questions.”
Tae-oh’s voice was like ice.
Ji-yeol, as always, wondered how Hyun Tae-oh had ever managed to function in society.
“You managed to slip away during filming. You could’ve come with a camera, you know.”
As though talking to himself, he added with a grin, “Maybe I should try out for PairBorn too.”
But with not even the slightest reaction from Tae-oh, the joke died in the air. Ji-yeol was left awkwardly twirling his straw in his coffee.
“Let’s cut the pointless chatter. Ask what you came to ask and end this.”
“Well, you see, ending things quickly wasn’t why I asked to meet you.”
Ji-yeol smiled sunnily.
Tae-oh wanted to get up and leave, but he remembered Chi-yu’s words: “Since you’re meeting him anyway, hold your temper as much as you can.” So he stayed seated.
Ji-yeol, of course, mistook his restraint as evidence that he held the upper hand.
That delusion fed into his arrogance, and he expanded his demand: instead of three meetings as originally planned, he wanted ten.
“Meet me ten times. Each time has to last at least two hours. And during that time, you have to answer my questions. Whatever they are.”
As Tae-oh weighed whether it was worth even listening to this bullshit, Ji-yeol pressed his supposed advantage.
“If you agree, I’ll never say a word about Esper Hyun Tae-oh Marking Guide Kang Chi-yu—or about what I saw that day. If you don’t trust me, we can even draft a contract.”
Tae-oh’s expression instantly twisted like he’d bitten into something foul. Just then, the server returned with his card and drink. Tae-oh pocketed the card, took a long sip, then slammed the cup down hard enough to rattle the table.
“And why the fuck are you so desperate to meet me that badly?”
***
While Hyun Tae-oh was meeting with Sung Ji-yeol, Chi-yu sat in the living room with the other cast members, filming to make up for airtime.
It was the Production Director’s idea.
Since Tae-oh and Chi-yu couldn’t switch out their third partners, it meant less material. To compensate, the director asked them to share personal stories. Everyone except Tae-oh agreed.
Naturally, Tae-oh refused—not only because he had gone to meet Ji-yeol, but because even without that, he would have said no. He hated speaking in front of people or cameras.
So the shoot went on without him, and no one mentioned his name.
The cast lounged comfortably on the sofas, sipping coffee while answering the director’s questions.
The first question went to Min Yu-hyun.
“Do you have a particularly memorable episode from your work as a Guide?”
“Memorable, huh…”
Yu-hyun set his coffee down, thinking aloud. After a pause, he looked at the camera as though something had come to him.
“When I first worked with Hyun Tae-oh after joining the Central Bureau.”
The moment Tae-oh’s name was spoken, every cast member and staff—including Kang Chi-yu—turned to him at once.
They all knew: a story involving Hyun Tae-oh meant higher ratings.
And Yu-hyun knew television far too well.
“I had just joined the Central Bureau’s first division and was on my best behavior. Back then, Esper Hyun Tae-oh’s reputation was even greater than it is now.”
He added, deliberately glancing at Chi-yu.
“It was right after the Red Gate incident, when he was hailed as a national hero. Because he refused all media—no interviews, no appearances—the frenzy only grew.”
The director nodded.
Indeed, after Tae-oh safely resolved the Red Gate, every network and news outlet scrambled to score an interview. But he rejected them all. In the end, stations had to settle for interviews with his division head or fellow Espers, though even those weren’t easy.
Reporters who tried to approach Kang Chi-yu, his only childhood friend, all ended up saying the same thing: Hyun Tae-oh’s walls were terrifyingly high.
He had hidden himself so thoroughly, shielding even Chi-yu from exposure.
Now, people understood—it was Tae-oh’s way of protecting Chi-yu from outsiders. But back then, most assumed he was mentally unstable.
“Anyway, I was about to meet this infamous SS-rank Esper in person, and I was excited. Honestly, I thought the Bureau was pairing its most popular rookies. I’d been recruited among Guides, and at the time I was filming a star documentary.”
“Ah, yes. All About Min Yu-hyun. That show was a huge hit.”
“Haha, right. So I figured the Bureau was putting its hotshots together, and I went to meet Esper Hyun Tae-oh. I really wanted things to go smoothly.”
But at that point, Yu-hyun’s brow furrowed, his mouth twisting like he was recalling something distasteful.
“And yet, in my entire life, I’ve never met anyone as damn rude as Esper Hyun Tae-oh.”
The room burst into laughter.
Chi-yu laughed too, knowing exactly the kind of rudeness he meant.
“Not shaking my hand, refusing to return my greeting—fine, I could live with that. He’d had the label of ‘human germophobe’ since childhood, after all. But then, when we were supposed to work together, he just teleported off alone. Do you know why? Because he didn’t want to touch me.”
A ripple of laughter went around the room.
“I mean, come on. If you don’t want to touch me, you can hold onto an object and teleport together. Ah—TMI maybe, but he still does it now. If I’m partnered with him, he makes sure there’s a pen or something between us before he’ll teleport me.”
Chi-yu remembered when he had misunderstood exactly that.
He had once seen Tae-oh and Yu-hyun teleport and assumed they were holding hands, which had tormented him.
Later, Tae-oh had cleared up the misunderstanding, but some unease had lingered. Hearing it straight from Yu-hyun now left him completely at ease.
“Anyway. It was my first assignment, and Esper Hyun Tae-oh vanished alone. I had no teleport accessory prepared, I didn’t know what to do. So I went up to the Bureau Chief’s office, explained what happened, told him Tae-oh abandoned a two-person assignment. And do you know what the Chief said, calm as could be?”
All eyes turned to Yu-hyun again.
Imitating the Bureau Chief’s tone, he said:
“Just think of it as a day off whenever you get partnered with that bastard.”
The room exploded with laughter.
Even Chi-yu couldn’t hold back, laughing hard. Yu-hyun shrugged, as if to say, “See what I mean?”
“And that’s why the very first day I worked with Esper Hyun Tae-oh is still the most memorable. Even now, unless it’s a top-secret mission, being partnered with him basically means a day off.”
