“Phew… That’s better.”
Whether he noticed the passersby gawking at him like some sideshow or not, Lee Han-seo let out one last sigh and dropped his weight back onto the bench. Even if he had noticed, it probably wouldn’t have made much difference. After yelling his lungs out, the tight knot in his chest had finally started to loosen.
He’d never been proud of his hot temper—flying off the handle before thinking things through—but when he looked at Park Woo-jun, who let his frustration rot inside until it became a disease, he wondered if maybe his own way wasn’t so bad. If he could, he’d gladly hand over a piece of his temper. For Park Woo-jun, he’d give away anything.
His gaze fell to the soda can he’d just tossed, now rolling on the ground. Feeling a bit sheepish, he glanced around, snatched it up, and chucked it into the trash. Then he checked the time. It felt like ages had passed, but it hadn’t even been a full hour since he stormed out of the dorm.
“God… this is killing me. Why is time crawling?! Why?!”
Ruffling his hair with both hands, he bounced his legs in frustration. Even the mobile game he used to cling to had lost its charm long ago. With thirty minutes still left before he could head back, time moved like molasses, dragging on as if it had no idea how desperate he was.
“I’ll be back by two. What time did I say?”
“Two o’clock…”
“It’s not like I’m leaving for good, okay? Got it?”
“Mm-hmm…”
The image of Woo-jun, eyes downcast and lips sealed tight, flashed through his mind—too gloomy to ask him to stay, even though he clearly wanted to. Ever since Woo-jun had been pulled from training, Han-seo had been excused from everything except basic fitness drills as well. It meant they could stick together again, twenty-four seven, just like before. But even so, Han-seo had started scheduling time to pull away, stepping out on his own once or twice a day. It was a part of the cognitive behavioral therapy his doctor had recommended.
— “Mr. Han-seo, I don’t know how this might sound… but it would be good for both of you to start practicing being apart, little by little.”
Park Woo-jun’s first meaningful connection with another human being had been with Lee Han-seo. And even after all these years, Han-seo was still the only person in his world. In that claustrophobic little bubble, Woo-jun had chosen to shut himself away with the only person he loved, cutting himself off from the rest of society. Setting aside the fact that Guiding was essential for an Esper’s survival, Woo-jun had come to rely on Han-seo too deeply—physically, mentally, emotionally.
In the most extreme case, if Park Woo-jun were to die, Han-seo would grieve. He’d cry, maybe never love again. But in the end, he’d keep living—supported by trusted colleagues and the love of his family. But for Woo-jun, it would be different. The moment it became real that Han-seo no longer existed, he wouldn’t hesitate. He’d take his own life without a second thought.
Saying “I can’t live a single day without you” might sound poetic in some tragic movie or novel, but in real life, it was no way to live. Only those who could stand alone, fully independent, could truly love another with all their heart.
Han-seo wanted a long, happy life. With a healthy Park Woo-jun who could live without him if he had to. Someone who could walk beside him under the sun, step by step. Even if shadows fell sometimes. Even if they stumbled and rolled across the ground now and then. As long as they never stopped moving forward.
He and the doctor had said it again and again: Just because he wasn’t in front of Woo-jun at that moment didn’t mean he was gone. The fear and tension that came crashing in like waves weren’t real—they were the product of irrational thoughts rooted in trauma. That pattern of thinking needed to be broken. If Han-seo regretted one thing, it was not paying more attention every time he dropped Woo-jun off at the training center and walked away. If he had, maybe he would’ve noticed the storm cloud gathering over Woo-jun’s head a little sooner.
“What are you doing out here?”
“Tch. Should’ve known it was you.”
At the familiar voice, Han-seo looked up with a sigh and rested his chin in his palm. His exhaustion was plain as day. “You’re really not happy to see me? Harsh,” came the wounded-sounding reply. Julian. His sunlit blond hair shimmered like golden sand under the midsummer sun, but it didn’t even make a dent in Han-seo’s mood.
“Don’t start. Just go. Don’t you have training or something?”
“I’m low on Guiding. Came to get topped up.”
For someone supposedly low on Guiding, Julian looked infuriatingly fresh. Han-seo narrowed his eyes and grabbed his wrist. After a quick tap on the wristwatch-shaped Esper device, the reading blinked up—66 percent. As expected, well above any level that might cause concern.
“So you’re just bored, huh? Looking for someone to pick a fight with?”
He all but tossed Julian’s wrist away and shot him a glare, voice sharpening like glass. Between the stress of caring for Woo-jun and Julian’s habit of provoking him whenever he got the chance, Han-seo’s already short fuse was burning down to the nub.
Lately, Han-seo had all but stopped Guiding other Espers—unless they were on the verge of a rampage. Even with Julian, he kept it quick and secretive, like a last-minute assignment he didn’t want anyone to see, especially Woo-jun. If Woo-jun was around, he wouldn’t even share the same space with Julian. Once just an afterthought, Julian had been pushed so far to the sidelines he was practically off the field—and clearly, it was starting to get to him.
“Han-seo, could you not be so obviously biased? I’ve been putting up with a lot, you know.”
“Hah. What kind of bullshit is that supposed to be…”
The relationship between Julian and Lee Han-seo was nothing more than a professional arrangement—Guiding services in exchange for tangible benefits. Han-seo got work credits for being Julian’s official Guide and even scored the support of William Brown. No matter how you crunched the numbers, Han-seo was giving far more than he was getting. The Alliance had only expected their overpriced human weapon to survive dungeon missions and endure training. But here he was, functioning like a normal person, carrying on a decent everyday life. Honestly, Han-seo had done too good a job Guiding him. That’s probably why Julian had the gall to show up here and start spouting nonsense.
“Yeah, sure. You became his Guide first. Whatever. That’s my fault for not being born in the same damn country. But still. You’re my Guide now, too. Mine. You get that, don’t you?”
Han-seo just listened in silence as Julian kept talking, spouting one ridiculous line after another. It was like watching someone try to stretch their legs in a spot where they couldn’t even lie down. Was it impressive? Pathetic? He couldn’t decide. Wanting Guiding—he could understand that much. It was like someone starving their whole life suddenly being handed a steaming bowl of meat stew. Of course you’d want more. But what you do is say thank you and drink the broth. You don’t grab the chef by the collar and start whining about not getting seconds—especially when the dish already belongs to someone else.
Han-seo had known for a while now that Julian’s obsessive hunger for Guiding had twisted into something else—something murky and romantic. But he never gave it any weight. After all, just because someone’s catching feelings doesn’t mean the other person’s obligated to feel the same. His attitude was simple: Let him pine. I’ve got better shit to deal with.
“Julian.”
For once, instead of his usual curt hey, Han-seo called his name with a faint smile. And just like that, Julian’s expression lit up, flickering with something like hope. His face softened, just barely.
Still wearing that same smile, Han-seo reached out and gently grabbed the back of Julian’s neck, pulling him in close. Julian stumbled forward awkwardly, posture clumsy, but stayed stiff as a board, unsure of how to react.
“You know what kind of person I hate the most?”
“…What?”
“The kind who doesn’t know their place.”
“……”
“Just like you. Right now.”
“…!!”
Han-seo whispered it with a laugh in his voice—and then, just as smoothly, he started draining Julian’s Guiding levels. The numbers on Julian’s device dropped like a rock—66 percent, 57, 52, 46. The lower it got, the more Julian froze up, making strangled, breathless noises. His body, already conditioned by past rampage episodes, started trembling uncontrollably once the levels hit the low 30s. He knew what was coming. Knew it too well.
“Tch. Boring. I’m done.”
“Khh… What the hell—what was that?!”
Han-seo stopped right at 32 percent. Then, in one smooth move, he pushed all the Guiding energy back into Julian’s system and gave him a light shove. Barely a touch—less force than a clap. But Julian still tumbled backward and landed flat on his ass, a mess of limbs and pride.
“I don’t care if you’ve got a crush on me or not, but knock it the hell off. When I give you Guiding, shut up and say thank you. Discrimination? You think you’re the one putting up with me? How many times do I have to spell it out for you? You and Woo-jun aren’t even in the same league. Hell, you don’t even belong on the same field.”
