Unlike Lee Han-seo, who remained under South Korean jurisdiction, Julian Moore had completely severed his ties. The fact that high-ranking Alliance officials had approached Lee Han-seo in secret the previous night made that perfectly clear.
Judging by their manner, it was obvious they’d paid a steep price to acquire Julian. And yet, they seemed well aware that the one holding the reins wasn’t them—it was Lee Han-seo. From the moment they met, they cut straight to the chase, asking what he wanted in return for guiding Julian.
“There’s a clause in South Korea’s Esper law. Overseas assignments count for 1.5 times the actual service time. I’m sure you’re all familiar with it?”
It was a policy the Alliance had strong-armed member nations into adopting, aimed at incentivizing contributions from countries with relatively stable Dungeon conditions. There was no way they didn’t know. No need for further explanation—just a waste of time. Lee Han-seo, with no intention of bargaining, laid down his terms boldly.
“I only want one thing. I’ll guide Julian Moore. In return, I want my and my Pair’s experience credit raised by thirty percent.”
“……!!”
They probably thought he’d ask for a few million won—something they could negotiate down or absorb. But the moment he finished speaking, the executives exchanged frantic glances, visibly caught off guard.
“Simple enough, isn’t it? Count the time at 1.8x instead. That’s all. I’ll take full responsibility and continue guiding Julian Moore until you find a suitable Pair for him.”
Clearly, these weren’t fools who got their positions through luck. Unlike the clueless Director who simply nodded along, they immediately grasped Han-seo’s angle. One of them even pulled out Park Woo-jun’s personnel file—brought for reference—and started scribbling in the margins, likely calculating his remaining service time.
“That’s a bit much. It’s not a benefit exclusive to you, Guide Lee, so there’s no clear legal precedent. And we can’t even say for sure whether the Korean Center would agree to this—”
“Wow. You’re seriously misunderstanding something. Did that sound like a request to you?”
“Guide Lee Han-seo!”
“Legal precedent, South Korea’s approval… All that red tape? That’s your problem to solve, not mine. I don’t care.”
“……”
“Honestly, I’ve got nothing to lose here. If Julian Moore loses control and dies in a Dungeon? Sure, that’d suck. We’re acquaintances, after all. Maybe I’d even be sad. For like… thirty seconds.”
With a soft smile, Lee Han-seo leaned back into the plush sofa, letting it cradle him. The Alliance must’ve already paid a price too high to easily stomach. If their shiny new asset got scrapped before they even saw a return, of course they’d be panicking.
“So just give me a yes or no. That’s all I care about. Understood?”
It wasn’t even two hours after that ultimatum that he received a message—their surrender in everything but name. And from that moment, it was negotiation hell. What degree of physical contact would be permitted? What minimum Guiding threshold needed to be maintained? If Julian Moore were to die, how far would Lee Han-seo’s liability extend? And on, and on…
“Julian. Sit still, will you? You’re making it hard to concentrate.”
Lee Han-seo’s voice was sharper than usual, frayed by exhaustion after a night spent arguing the fine print. But Julian, drowning in the warmth of the Guiding—something so long absent he could barely remember it—just trembled and pressed closer, wrapping himself even tighter around Han-seo’s back.
He was sure he’d been the one doing the hugging, but now he was completely enveloped. Han-seo grimaced as Julian’s arms dug painfully into his shoulders and back. That discomfort brought him back to reality—it wasn’t Park Woo-jun he was guiding.
For a moment, he missed Woo-jun so much it hurt. The familiar scent, the warmth, the way he’d always treated Han-seo like something fragile and precious, like cotton candy resting in his palm—careful not to crush it or blow it away.
Han-seo tried, gently at first, to coax Julian into letting go. But when he kept clinging without even pretending to listen, Han-seo abruptly cut off the Guiding.
“H-Han-seo…?”
He hadn’t cared a bit that Han-seo was in pain—only interested in sucking up more Guiding. But now, for the first time, a flicker of awareness entered Julian’s eyes. Han-seo met his wavering gaze and calmly pried off the arms wrapped tightly around him.
He’d just been holding on like his life depended on it, and now, with the Guiding gone, a light shrug was all it took to make him drop like dust. Pathetic.
“Your numbers are up. Expanding the contact area definitely helped—it’s a lot faster than just holding hands. You should be stable enough to function now, yeah?”
“W-Why are you doing this? No, it’s not enough. I still need more. Please, just a little more. I’m begging you.”
The monitor beside the bed showed Julian’s Guiding level hovering around 45%. If Han-seo absorbed and converted all the leftover traces of others’ Guiding in Julian’s body, he could easily push it over 50%. But instead, he took a step back—drawing a firm boundary.
“If you want Guiding from me, fix your goddamn hands first. That hurt.”
Julian dropped to his knees in front of Han-seo without hesitation, nodding over and over like a scolded child. But Han-seo didn’t bend down again. He simply reached out and cupped Julian’s now-steadier face in one hand.
Then, in a single push, he forced the remaining Guiding into him. Julian, already running on fumes, passed out almost instantly from the overload. Han-seo stared down at his face in silence.
This hadn’t been his plan. But somewhere along the way, in the chaos of it all, while trying not to lose himself, he’d been swept this far.
Whether meeting Julian here was pure chance or something more… he still couldn’t tell.
“Ugh… I don’t even know anymore.”
Lee Han-seo flinched and pulled back instinctively, shaking his head as he tried to wipe away the half-dried blood. The whole arrangement was built on the assumption that Julian’s future Guide would never appear—and that Julian wouldn’t die before then. Either way, like it or not, he and Julian were now stuck on the same boat for the next twenty years, at least until Park Woo-jun’s early retirement. And with that looming reality, Han-seo had no idea how he was supposed to deal with Julian. No idea at all.
Calling over the attending supervisor who was still lingering nearby, Han-seo left word to replenish Julian’s Guiding with other Guides for now. He’d come back in the evening to check again. With that, he stepped out of the isolation room.
“……”
“You’re out earlier than I expected. You did well in there.”
“…Woo-jun.”
Standing right outside the door was Park Woo-jun. It should still have been training hours—how had he gotten here so fast? Han-seo wanted to ask, but instead, he could only manage to say his name. Not a single other word would come out.
“Let’s go, Han-seo. You didn’t sleep at all last night. You must be exhausted. Are you hungry?”
His eyes were bloodshot, clearly from crying, but Woo-jun still pretended like everything was fine as he quietly held out his hand. And that… made it impossible for Han-seo to say anything at all.
From the very beginning, Park Woo-jun had been willing to remain chained to the Center forever if it meant he could have Han-seo to himself. The one desperate to break free, the one who wanted out—who longed to shake off every obligation and walk away—had always been Han-seo. That selfish desire had been his alone.
“What’s wrong, Han-seo?”
“……”
“Hmm?”
When Woo-jun knelt down to meet his gaze with that gentle smile, Han-seo felt a sudden, sharp rush of guilt rising in his throat. His breathing turned ragged. His jaw trembled. He couldn’t even form words. But somehow, even without a single explanation, Woo-jun seemed to understand exactly what was going through his head. He pulled Han-seo into his arms and whispered softly, “It’s okay. Don’t apologize.”
Only then did Han-seo finally break. Gasping through shallow breaths, the words slipped out in fragments.
“I’m sorry… I’m so sorry…”
He’d been forcing himself to hold it together, suppressing every emotion with a tight lid of control. But now it all overflowed—finally, finally spilling out.
He knew what he was doing to Woo-jun was wrong. And yet, he couldn’t let go. Couldn’t give up. All he wanted was that one day—that one future—where they could stand together under an open sky, free of every duty, every responsibility. A future where the only thing holding them together was love. Just that desperate longing for one another.
Even if it was far away. Even if it was uncertain. Even if it was just a dream.
If he could just reach it… even a second sooner.
“I’m sorry… I’m sorry…”
“What are you apologizing for, Han-seo? I’m really okay, I promise. Yeah? I mean it—I’m fine.”
Woo-jun gently kissed the corners of Han-seo’s eyes, again and again, comforting him with a soft voice. The large hand patting his back was just as warm, just as tender.
So of course—clinging to Woo-jun’s chest, sobbing so hard he couldn’t even lift his head—Han-seo had no way of knowing.
No way of seeing the pair of eyes watching from afar—burning with rage, seething with a fury that looked ready to tear them both apart.
