“…….”
Park Woo-jun stared blankly at the back of his subordinate as they hurried away, absently clicking the end of the pen in his hand. After a few flicks, the pen snapped with a sharp crack.
Without sparing it a glance, he brushed the broken pen aside and pulled a new one from the drawer overflowing with spares, only to repeat the same pointless routine. Scattered across the floor were more than a dozen pens, all victims of the same fate.
His mind was a foggy mess. Just a few days ago, when they’d been practically glued together in the Guiding Room, it had felt like things were finally settling down. But in the end, they were right back where they started. Up until now, Lee Han-seo had always pretended not to notice and quietly gone along with Park Woo-jun’s wishes. But this time… it was different. Han-seo was clearly determined.
No Recovery Ampoules. No dropping by during work hours—he said it disrupted his schedule. Park Woo-jun could still picture his face, flushed with anger as he laid out his rules. All Woo-jun could do was sigh.
It felt like his hands and feet were tied. In the past, he’d always done things the same way—acted first, smiled like he didn’t know any better, and swept the mess under the rug. But this time, Han-seo’s reaction wasn’t something he could ignore. To be honest, it was a miracle Han-seo had put up with him for this long.
On the surface, it looked like Han-seo was just complaining about the Ampoules or timing, but Park Woo-jun knew better. Those were just excuses. What Han-seo really wanted had always been just one thing—something Woo-jun could never give him.
“If you’re so eager to die in a dungeon—”
“Han-seo.”
“Then take me with you.”
“……”
“If you’re gonna die, it’s better we die together. Isn’t that right?”
“Don’t talk like that.”
“Why not? The way you’re going, you’ve only got a few years left. Tell me I’m wrong.”
If it were something they could’ve settled with a simple argument, they wouldn’t have been dancing in circles for five years. Han-seo demanded answers. Woo-jun stayed silent.
The ten-year survival rate for B-rank or higher Guides entering top-tier dungeons barely reached 50%. And even among those who made it out alive, finding someone who wasn’t permanently injured was almost unheard of.
Han-seo would be furious if he ever heard it, but… Woo-jun honestly believed that if he really had to die, it was better to die alone.
Even if his Guiding efficiency had dropped significantly for other Espers since the Imprint, as long as the symbolic value of an S-rank Guide remained intact, the government would always protect Han-seo. Shield him. Support him. Even carry out the duties that Park Woo-jun couldn’t fulfill himself.
That was why, for the past few days, Park Woo-jun had been holed up in his office for the first time in ages. He’d already delegated most of his administrative authority to another staff member, so even turning on his computer was a formality—there wasn’t anything for him to do.
These days, he showed up at the main building with Han-seo in the morning, sat at his desk all day like a misplaced prop, and left with him in the evening. That was it. That was his routine. Making everyone around him awkward in the process.
Ugh… Han-seo doesn’t get me at all…
With a deep sigh, Woo-jun slammed his forehead against the desk and restlessly stomped his feet like a child. Not that it helped. He was out of ideas.
It had been so long since his last mission that upper management was starting to test the waters—trying to figure out if he planned to return to active duty.
Whether he went solo, grinding down his body without a Guide, or took one with him to stabilize his S-rank condition—it didn’t matter to them. Either way, they had nothing to lose. The only one at risk… was him.
Back when Kim Joon-young was still Director of Esper Affairs, he’d quietly shielded Woo-jun from the pressure, understanding the situation without needing to be told. But those days were long gone.
No matter how much he stalled, it was only a matter of time before he got pulled into a mission. Maybe even by the end of the week. He wanted to patch things up with Han-seo before then, but how the hell was he supposed to do that…?
Woo-jun sighed again, his head sinking lower as his frustration piled up.
That was when it happened. The computer, which had been left on with nothing to do, chimed with a notification.
“Hmm…?”
[Message from Facilities Management: Maintenance and inspection of the 3rd-floor Fitness Room have been completed—]
It was just another routine message—something he normally would’ve clicked away without a second thought. His hand hovered over the mouse, but then he mumbled under his breath, “Third floor… Fitness Room…,” and sucked in a shallow breath.
High-rank Espers trained in a separate facility altogether. The Fitness Room in the main building was for administrative staff and Guides only—he’d never had a reason to step foot in there.
But the third floor? That was a different story. Wasn’t that where the Guide Management Department was? Han-seo was probably up there right now, hard at work Guiding some Esper.
In reality, Han-seo had his legs propped up on the desk, glued to his phone, deep in a mobile game. But Park Woo-jun had no way of knowing that.
Woo-jun shot to his feet. He stretched one arm out into the air, clenching and unclenching his oversized fist—big enough to match the size of an average adult’s face—gauging his physical condition. He figured he was about halfway healed… That should be enough to pass as a regular civilian, right? (Wrong.)
“Perfect. Exercise helps with recovery anyway. Yeah, yeah… and going to the Fitness Room doesn’t count as barging into the Guiding Room, so technically I’m not breaking Han-seo’s rules…”
His eyes sparkled with mischief as he muttered nonsense to himself. The so-called “civilian”—a living weapon who easily surpassed a typical B-rank Esper—was earnestly convincing himself, Yep, I’m hurt, so I’m basically a civilian. Totally fine. Just your average guy, without a shred of self-awareness.
***
BANG BANG BANG!
“Guide Lee Han-seo!”
Jesus—what the hell?! If he was going to bust in like that, what was the point of knocking? The door flew open before the knocking even stopped, and Han-seo shot up from his seat, startled out of his skin. His fingers, still warm from hours of nonstop gaming on his phone, twitched like they’d been burned.
“Wait, what’s going on…?”
He trailed off, quickly flipping his phone over to hide the game still running on the screen. Sure, he didn’t have any Guiding sessions scheduled, but even he had to admit he was slacking way too hard for work hours. If someone caught even the tiniest slip, they’d twist it into an excuse to drag Park Woo-jun into a mission—and that made even him feel uneasy.
“This isn’t the time to be sitting around doing nothing! Do you have any idea what’s going on right now?! What are you planning to do about this mess?!”
What the hell is this guy even saying, barging in and yelling like that? The snarky retort was already on the tip of his tongue, but Han-seo managed to bite it back with a deep gulp. Wow… Look at you, Han-seo. Holding back for once. Impressive. He gave himself a little mental applause.
“Okay, but could you at least tell me what this is about so I can—”
“See?! Look at this! You’ve gotten so comfortable here you can’t even manage your own Esper properly! Just wasting time while everything goes to hell! If you’d done your job and kept him in line, none of this would’ve happened! These Espers really don’t know their place…”
The guy launched into a full-blown rant, voice rising with each word, veins popping on his forehead. Manage? Keep in line? Espers not knowing their place? Han-seo still had no idea what happened, but with language like that, his patience was wearing thin fast.
And if there was one thing Lee Han-seo didn’t tolerate, it was someone talking shit about his Esper.
“Are you even listening, Guide Lee Han-seo?! Huh?!”
Han-seo casually raised his pinky and dug at his ear, slow and exaggerated, just to make a point. Then he tilted his head to the side and replied coolly.
“Yeah, unlike you, I’m still young. My hearing’s perfect.”
“Wha—what did you just say?!”
“You don’t have to yell. I can hear you just fine.”
His sharp monolid eyes flicked downward, giving the man a lazy, disinterested look that made the poor guy fumble for words. Once things turned against them, people like this always fell apart fast—and Han-seo, someone practically born to be in the spotlight, knew exactly how to push those buttons.
The guy’s face turned red and then pale, lips moving silently like he’d completely lost the ability to speak.
Han-seo exaggerated the motion as he blew on his pinky, then gave the man a slow once-over, sizing him up. Even if the guy was just an admin, Han-seo had most of the upper ranks memorized. At best, this guy was probably an assistant manager.
Normally, Han-seo didn’t pull rank or throw his weight around. No matter how shameless he acted, using titles to bully others wasn’t his style. But this time was different. He dragged my Esper into this first.
“So? What exactly did my so-called ‘poorly managed’ Esper do?”
“He, uh…”
“Come on, the kid’s a shy wreck. What kind of trouble could he possibly cause? And now you come storming in here, yelling before you even explain anything, trying to shove a Recovery Ampoule consent form in my face because your superior’s breathing down your neck?”
“……”
Nailed it. The guy’s face twisted in embarrassment, shoulders drooping.
“Start from the top. I hope whatever happened is serious enough to justify screaming at an S-rank Guide in the middle of the day.”
What do they think I am, some pushover? Han-seo was actually starting to get pissed. Did they really still think the old tactics would work on him? The kind where they’d guilt-trip some clueless kid with, Think of your parents, just to force compliance with experiments? Pathetic. Compared to this clown show, even Kim Joon-young’s attempts to sweet-talk Park Woo-jun into submission had been charming.
“Because if it’s not, you’d better be ready to deal with the consequences.”
