“Once he wakes up, it might be a good idea for the two of you to take a short trip back to Korea. Counseling tends to be easier in your native language. If possible, I’d recommend going together. The Bonded Pair Guide should be the one who understands the Esper’s mental health better than anyone.”
Simon’s tone remained cautious. While every Pair was different, it was rare to encounter a Guide who seemed this unfamiliar with an Esper’s panic response. It wasn’t that Lee Han-seo lacked sensitivity—it was more a reflection of cultural differences between each country’s Center.
In Korea, and much of East Asia, the psychological stress and fatigue of Espers still weren’t taken all that seriously. Most endured in silence until they broke down entirely—only then would they knock on the counselor’s door and beg for help. In contrast, the West had long made human rights for Espers a priority, implementing extensive support systems. There, both Espers and Guides visited counseling centers as casually as seeing a doctor for a cold.
Combat Espers, in particular, were even required to get quarterly checkups. Maybe that’s why, in Korea, it wasn’t uncommon for seasoned Espers to suddenly disappear inside dungeons or go on a rampage even when their Guiding support didn’t seem lacking. Like wounds that had festered until they burst all at once. The authorities were only now beginning to address the issue seriously, setting up the infrastructure for more proactive mental health care. But realistically, it would still take time.
In any case, while it was rare to see someone as severely unstable as Park Woo-jun, it wasn’t entirely unheard of.
“…I’ll think about it.”
“Yeah. It’s your call. But if I may speak as your Team Leader—Han-seo, you really need to pay more attention to Woo-jun. Have you seen how he’s been in training lately? It’s like he’s a ticking time bomb.”
“Huh? Woo-jun? That can’t be right…”
“Talk to him. Be honest. Julian noticed, and so did the other Espers. Come on—no Esper in their right mind would be okay with what’s been going on.”
“He said he was fine… I really thought he meant it.”
“Wow. You really don’t know your own Esper.”
It hurt his pride, but he couldn’t argue. When it came to Esper Park Woo-jun—not just person Park Woo-jun—Simon, who hadn’t even worked with him that long, clearly understood him better than Lee Han-seo. And that realization struck hard.
The truth was, Lee Han-seo barely knew anything about Park Woo-jun.
Woo-jun, on the other hand, knew everything. That Han-seo preferred soft cotton pajamas over scratchy linen. That he liked spicy, bold food rather than bland dishes. That he cried in his mother’s arms for hours the day he lost his first baby tooth. If there was anyone who knew Han-seo better than he did himself, it was without a doubt Park Woo-jun.
“……”
Han-seo bit his lip and looked down. His shoulders felt crushingly heavy, as if someone had laid the weight of the world on them.
Simon looked like he wanted to say more, but in the end, he simply offered a polite farewell and stepped out. The local medical staff, who had just confirmed once again that Woo-jun’s condition was stable, followed him out of the room.
Woo-jun woke up about ten minutes later. As soon as he saw Han-seo sitting at his bedside, his eyes widened in fear and he asked, “…Did you see?”
The sentence was missing everything—no subject, no object—but the meaning was clear. The flicker of terror in his wide eyes was the fear that Han-seo might be disappointed in him. Normally, Han-seo would’ve snapped without a second thought—but this was Park Woo-jun. Even someone as prideful as Han-seo knew when to hold his tongue.
Swallowing down the lump in his throat, he grinned like usual, playfully mischievous.
“See what? All I saw was my handsome boyfriend’s face. Come on, let’s head back to HQ. I want a hot shower and the longest nap of my life. No alarms, no interruptions. Just sleep.”
Even to say okay, Woo-jun hesitated, watching Han-seo carefully for a long moment before finally whispering a soft, mm. Even then, his eyes kept darting around, still searching Han-seo’s face for any sign of disappointment.
Woo-jun always looked after Han-seo, and Han-seo had grown used to basking in that care. It was such a natural rhythm between them that Han-seo had failed to notice just how far Woo-jun’s emotional state had been slipping. Like a frog slowly boiling in warm water, too comfortable to sense the danger. And now that the pot had boiled over, even that was no excuse.
Before boarding the plane, Woo-jun had taken another round of sleeping pills and anti-anxiety meds. He dozed like a sick chick the entire way back to their accommodations. Lately, he’d said he felt weirdly foggy, weirdly sleepy. Now Han-seo realized—it was the meds. He used to be fine without them unless he was using the Amplifier. When had things gotten this bad?
Watching Woo-jun drift off under the influence of the drugs, Han-seo was overwhelmed with guilt.
Woo-jun had never formed a proper attachment to any caregiver. He’d been left isolated through his most sensitive teenage years. The moment he became an adult, he’d awakened as an Esper and been thrown straight into brutal combat zones. Looking back, it would’ve been more surprising if his fragile psyche hadn’t cracked.
But Han-seo had been smug. A few counseling sessions, a prescription—and he thought that was it. The Amplifier side effects were gone, so there was nothing more to worry about. He’d believed that without a second thought.
He hated himself for it.
Han-seo loved Park Woo-jun. And Woo-jun loved him back. That was supposed to be enough for a happy life together. If Woo-jun said he was fine, Han-seo believed him. If he smiled, Han-seo thought everything was okay. He genuinely believed it.
But really, people can only view others through the lens of their own experiences. And Han-seo’s life had been too straight, too bright, too cleanly structured to ever see what lay in Woo-jun’s shadows.
The problem he’d dismissed as solved had never gone anywhere. In fact, it had only gotten worse.
“Noona, do you have a minute to talk?”
– “Oh, sure. What’s up? I heard your task force just got back. Shouldn’t you be resting?”
“Ah… it’s nothing urgent. Back when we were in Korea—remember that clinic that handled Woo-jun’s counseling? I was hoping to get the doctor’s contact info. You know who I mean, right?”
– “Hang on, I’ll check with them and send it over.”
“Thanks. I’ll wait.”
Regret alone wouldn’t fix anything. Time was flying by, and he couldn’t afford to just sit on his hands. Whatever the situation, Han-seo had no intention of letting Park Woo-jun face it alone. From now on, he’d run, and keep running. If Woo-jun wanted to run away, he could. But if Han-seo could stay right there with him—through every moment, even in retreat—that would be enough.
***
“Thank you. So should we lock in the schedule like this?”
– “Yes, that should work. Do you know when Mr. Woo-jun might be available to start…?”
“How about tomorrow evening, Korea time? That lines up with the start of the workday here.”
The image on the large monitor came through crystal clear. Onscreen was the Korean doctor who’d previously overseen Park Woo-jun’s counseling. When Han-seo reached out through Lee Hye-soo, the doctor had welcomed the unexpected contact—he’d been worried about Woo-jun anyway.
This was Lee Han-seo’s greatest strength—and also his worst flaw: once he made up his mind, he charged forward like a bulldozer. While Woo-jun was still resting in bed, Han-seo had already secured remote counseling and treatment permissions from HQ and their national agency, finalized the schedule, and downloaded every bit of data he could find about Espers and psychological stress from the database. Not once did it occur to him that Woo-jun might say no. Of course, if he did refuse, Han-seo was prepared to drag him by the collar if that’s what it took to get him help.
– “Just in case, it might be smart to arrange a primary care doctor on your end too. I can handle the remote sessions, but for prescriptions or any emergencies, it’s safer to have someone there…”
“Oh, absolutely. Already taken care of. No need to worry.”
He nodded with such determination it looked like he might start snorting steam. He’d decided—no more sinking into gloom. If he was going to yank a stubborn root out of a deep, muddy hole, then the one doing the digging had to be twice as strong, twice as relentless.
