The thick layer of makeup felt suffocating on his face. Lee Han-seo wanted nothing more than to frown and scratch it all off, but instead, he kept his expression composed and flashed a dazzling smile at the camera.
Shooting public service ads every quarter to boost the image of government agencies had become routine by now. But this time felt different.
For one thing, it hadn’t even been a full month since the last shoot. And none of the usual staff—people he was used to working with—were anywhere to be seen.
“Great! Can you two stand a little closer? Let’s try a hand on the shoulder?”
The director, eyes glued to the monitor under the scorching sun, rattled off instructions nonstop. Apparently, this was his first time directing a public ad. No surprise there—he was a big-name film director with awards from top international festivals. Way too high-profile for something like this.
“Team Leader Park, can you make your gaze a little more heartfelt? Lower your eyes a bit. No, not like that!”
What used to be a simple shoot—just following the storyboard, filming a few smiling shots—had completely transformed into a full-scale production under this guy’s control.
He kept pounding his chest in frustration, as if he couldn’t believe how hard it was to follow basic directions. But Lee Han-seo was just as frustrated. He wanted to yell, “Who the hell are you to glare at my baby like that?” and flip the whole set. But… he held it in. Barely. The voices of the middlemen who had practically begged him that morning—Just one more time, please, we’re asking you—still rang in his ears.
And he got it. This wasn’t just another shoot. The request had come straight from the Prime Minister’s Office.
By now, it went without saying—Lee Han-seo and Park Woo-jun were famous. Like, crazy famous. With dungeons breaking open every other day and news of death tolls and rampaging Espers flattening entire city blocks, the fastest way to soothe public anxiety was to glorify the heroes who cleared that U-Class dungeon. The temporary joint team had become the face of hope.
“The world’s going to shit, but don’t worry. You saw what the U-Class Joint Team can do, right? If things get really bad, they’ll handle it. Humanity will survive. A peaceful tomorrow is guaranteed.”
That kind of propaganda was being churned out nonstop, endlessly recycled and rebranded.
And at the very front of it were Lee Han-seo and his Bonded Pair Esper.
He’d thought that incident a few months ago—the one that got plastered all over every video site—was the peak of it. But nope, that was just the beginning. Sure, the tone of the channels posting about him had shifted—from gossip rags to full-on national pride content—but Han-seo was being mentioned literally everywhere. Online, offline, you name it.
“Korea’s Guide Training System Shocks the World!”
“Captain Korea—Real-Life Hero Leading the Team?”
“Not All S-Class Guides Are Created Equal”
“Even Americans Cried Watching a Korean Guide’s Heroism!”
Quality didn’t matter. Just throw Han-seo or Woo-jun’s name in the title, and the views skyrocketed.
Their looks definitely helped, too. Both were tall, good-looking—eye candy for the masses. Old public service videos they’d starred in were suddenly going viral again. With an international audience tuning in, views that used to top out at a million now hit nine, ten million in a blink. The comments weren’t even in Korean anymore.
So, maybe it was a case of the government trying to ride the wave while it lasted. Even though the next quarterly shoot was months away, they’d suddenly ordered another campaign—complete with behind-the-scenes footage for the public.
A famous director. Background music by an award-winning young pianist and vocalist. Even voiceover work by a top Hallyu star. Just looking at the lineup made it clear—the government was going all-in to boost Korea’s image and tourism appeal on a global scale. You couldn’t cram in more patriotic hype if you tried.
Fighting the secondhand embarrassment and the suffocating pressure threatening to swallow him whole, Lee Han-seo silently did as he was told. He knew he’d been pretty guarded toward the media lately. But even the best song wears thin after the first verse. If he acted uncooperative now—on a project where the government was clearly spending a fortune—it was only a matter of time before people started saying, What’s up with Han-seo? Think being a hotshot Guide makes him special? Isn’t that just power-tripping?
It felt so unfair. He could’ve inherited a building, lived easy off rent, and spent his life lounging around. But instead, he was born with this Guiding ability he never asked for, forced to care about everything.
“Han-seo, you okay? You look beat. Want me to grab a drink? Lemonade? Coffee?”
It was a short break. Since they were filming outdoors, there wasn’t even a proper waiting area. He went straight back to the car, cranked the A/C, and collapsed into the seat. Park Woo-jun’s voice, full of concern, came immediately.
“……”
Lying with his head in Woo-jun’s lap, Han-seo stared up at him. Woo-jun, looking flustered, lowered his gaze and let out a shy chuckle. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
Even from a terrible angle—one that would make a normal person look hideous—Woo-jun still looked effortlessly handsome. That soft, sweet face made all of Han-seo’s frustration about being born a Guide melt away.
Seriously, what if someone else had been guiding him? No way. I was born to do this. Being a Guide is awesome. Totally worth it. That little mantra echoed quietly in his mind.
“You must be tired, baby. They dragged you out here right after the dungeon, didn’t even let you rest…”
“Mm, I’m fine. I think getting my ass kicked back there reset something in me. A-Ranks feel like nothing now.”
“Whaaat? Really?”
“Yeah. I’m fucking amazing.”
“Then you’re the most amazing person in the world, my Han-seo.”
He looked so pretty when he smiled like that and held his gaze. Unable to resist, Lee Han-seo glanced at the tinted car window, then curled his finger at Park Woo-jun in a playful beckon. Good thing they’d brought the car with the extra-wide back seat.
Woo-jun lit up like a puppy and immediately showered Han-seo’s face with kisses. It only took a few fluttering pecks before those kisses deepened.
“Mmm… wait, what is this?”
“Huh? What do you mean?”
“Your lips… taste weird…”
“Ah. Sorry.”
It was probably the fake blood. The visionary film director—who insisted this ad needed an emotional arc—had added a gory little wound to the corner of Woo-jun’s mouth. That grossly sweet artificial blood clung faintly to Han-seo’s tongue. He gently pushed Woo-jun’s chest back and carefully wiped around his lips. Kisses were fine. But anything more could wait until they scraped off that nasty makeup.
“Ugh… how much longer? This is taking forever. Didn’t these things used to wrap in, like, three or four hours tops?”
“Yeah. I should probably cancel the restaurant reservation.”
Long work hours and short breaks were a universal truth—whether you were an Esper or just a regular person. What felt like a quick moment of flirting had eaten up over thirty minutes. Woo-jun had to keep rubbing Han-seo’s back to soothe his growing irritation. Thankfully, it seemed to work. By the time they were back around people, Han-seo was smiling again like he hadn’t just been seconds away from snapping.
“Ah, Mr. Lee Han-seo! You managed to get some rest?”
“Of course. Thank you for your consideration, Director.”
“You’re the star today. Of course we’ve got to treat you right. Now let’s all work together and make something amazing. I’m counting on you.”
The middle-aged director spoke casually, patting Han-seo’s arm like they were old friends. Han-seo really wanted to respond in kind—maybe with a dry little jab of his own—but instead, he just squeezed Woo-jun’s hand once under the table and let it go, swallowing the urge to snap.
The shoot picked back up. The crew moved quickly, adjusting props and touching up Han-seo and Woo-jun’s outfits. This next scene needed artificial rain, so prep was taking longer.
It was a melodramatic shot—Woo-jun collapsed in the middle of a heavy downpour, Han-seo rushing in to save him with his Guiding. Three minutes of screen time, and yet they were trying to squeeze in a full narrative arc. Han-seo didn’t get it, but whatever. He wasn’t about to argue with a film director. The two of them stood quietly off to the side, waiting for the scene to be set.
Originally, both of them were supposed to lie in the rain. But Woo-jun had flat-out refused, insisting Han-seo stay dry. In the end, the scene was changed so only Woo-jun would be soaked.
“Positions, please! We’re rolling right away!”
At the crew’s signal, Han-seo moved just outside the camera’s frame, holding a sleek black umbrella. Woo-jun lay sprawled on the muddy ground, completely drenched. But when their eyes met, he still managed to beam up at him with that soft, dorky smile.
The director gave the cue. Han-seo stepped forward into the rain—
“…Han-seo.”
Someone called his name from behind.
He turned instinctively. The sound director ripped off his headset, swearing under his breath. A shout rang across the set: “Who the hell was that?!”
“Wh-Who…?”
Golden hair shimmered under the sun, soft and neatly styled.
It was the first time he’d seen that face without all the blood, but it wasn’t unfamiliar. Not enough to mistake it.
“I missed you.”
“Huh…? You… missed me?”
Julian Moore.
Smiling like nothing had changed, he walked toward Han-seo without hesitation. Han-seo just stood there, blinking in stunned silence.
“We finally meet.”
Um… wait a second. What is happening right now?
Are we… a thing…?
