“Right. I heard your dorm’s getting remodeled. Didn’t you just redo the interior not that long ago?”
“Oh… You heard from Jung-hyuk sunbae, huh? Hehe.”
“Yeah. Earlier, Lee Han-seo showed up with a pile of floor plans—none of which made any damn sense—and kept asking, ‘How about this one? What do you think of that one?’ Because of him, we didn’t even get to eat lunch properly. You aware of that?”
Kim Joon-young wasn’t wrong. It hadn’t even been a year since they gutted the dorm interior for a sponsorship video tied to a new furniture brand launched by Han-seo’s cousin. As much as Lee Han-seo was known for tossing money around like confetti, a full-scale remodel this soon was pushing it—even for him.
“My strength came back, but I couldn’t control it, so I ended up breaking stuff here and there. At first, I thought we’d just replace the furniture, but then… I kind of broke a wall. Han-seo said if it’s come to this, we might as well rip everything out and start fresh.”
Park Woo-jun scratched the back of his head with a sheepish grin. He’d been able to quietly toss out things like cups and frying pans and replace them without anyone noticing. But once he broke a porcelain bathtub and a custom-made bed frame? There was no hiding that.
Before his powers fully returned, he hadn’t needed much control—his destructive force was low. But as his body healed, controlling that power became harder. Every day was hell. He was used to getting hurt, but this was his first time enduring such a long natural recovery period. It was unfamiliar and uncomfortable in every way.
Just a few mornings ago, he’d tried to make toast—and destroyed the toaster and ripped the fridge door clean off. The moment he reached out, a gust of wind surged from his hand, shrieking through the air and reducing nearby objects to splinters. They weren’t just cracked or knocked over—it looked like they’d been shredded in a blender.
When Han-seo was around, Woo-jun could barely keep it together, focusing all his energy on keeping his power in check. But what if… What if it wasn’t a chair or a lamp breaking under his hand, but Han-seo’s leg? His arm?
He didn’t care about a few broken mugs or pans. But if—God forbid—he ever lost control and gripped Han-seo’s wrist too hard, or pulled him into a hug and didn’t manage to regulate his strength…
If the razor-sharp winds that could slice steel like paper turned on Han-seo, he might vanish in an instant—reduced to nothing but blood and bits of flesh.
The thought alone was so horrifying, he couldn’t bear it.
So he didn’t tell Han-seo. That very day, he went straight to the lab on his own.
0.5ml of a clear liquid coursed through his veins, delivered through a needle—and just like that, he regained the control he’d been desperate for.
The higher-ups, pretending to be generous, suggested they keep the ampoule treatment a secret. Since his original recovery period was almost over anyway, it wasn’t worth stirring up Han-seo’s famously short fuse over just a few days. Woo-jun agreed without protest. It wasn’t a bad deal.
For two days, he endured searing pain as it felt like every cell in his body died and rebuilt itself from scratch. But masking pain behind a bright smile had always been his specialty—Han-seo probably hadn’t noticed a thing. Woo-jun adored that arrogant cluelessness of his.
Even if Han-seo didn’t realize who the real fool was. What a joke.
“If everything goes well, recommend the contractor. Jung-hyuk’s parents are moving soon.”
Kim Joon-young, sitting beside him as they oversaw training for the new Espers, said casually while flipping through some paperwork. Since all the vetting and contracting had been handled by Han-seo and his family, Woo-jun didn’t have a clue which company to recommend.
When he just blinked, staying quiet, Kim Joon-young let out a snort and nodded as if he’d expected that much.
“Wrong person to ask, huh. Alright, I’ll ask Han-seo directly.”
“…Or I could tell Han-seo you asked, see what he says, and then let you know.”
Woo-jun found himself rambling, his irritation leaking through. Even with that sweet face of his, it clearly rubbed him the wrong way that another Esper would speak to his Guide for something personal. Kim Joon-young raised a brow and smacked Woo-jun lightly on the forehead.
“Ow!”
“Look at you. Just ‘cause you’ve got a Guide now, huh?”
“But still… You wouldn’t like it either if I messaged Jung-hyuk sunbae out of nowhere.”
Woo-jun pouted, rubbing his sore forehead, and added a half-hearted threat: “If you keep doing this, I’ll tell Han-seo.” It wasn’t the least bit scary. Between the two of them, even as fellow S-Class Espers, Joon-young’s body-enhancement type made him physically way stronger than Woo-jun’s nature affinity—so yeah, it hurt.
Kim Joon-young chewed on the end of his pen and rolled his eyes upward, thinking. The answer didn’t take long.
“Yeah. Hell no. Don’t even think about it.”
Even if it was purely business and totally unavoidable, the idea still made his skin crawl. Logically, he knew other people understood that he had a Guide—but the very thought of another Esper getting even a little close to his Guide? It was revolting. Any Esper who had an Imprinted Guide would get it. It was instinct.
“Anyway, what’s up with these new recruits? Their training results are garbage. Who was in charge of their basic instruction?”
“Section Chief Yang Eun-sik.”
“Seriously? You left it to that guy? If there were this many nature-types, wouldn’t Esper Jung Hyun-jin or Esper Ha Soo-yeon have been a better fit?”
“I thought so too… But Esper Jung’s been deployed in Gangwon-do for wildfire prevention until next month, and Esper Ha’s on maternity leave until next year. Asking someone from the physical or special affinities wouldn’t have worked—their traits just don’t align.”
“Tch…”
You’d have to try to get a lineup this unlucky. Section Chief Yang Eun-sik, who currently oversaw the nature-affinity group, had clawed his way up with a “just keep your head down” mindset rather than actual skill. He couldn’t even handle the basics of new recruit training properly.
At this rate, half of this year’s rookie Espers were bound to die the moment they stepped into a dungeon.
“I’m thinking it’s time to replace the head of the nature affinity division entirely and reset the whole training schedule. Assistant Director Lim agrees it’s the right call.”
“Oh yeah? Good thinking. It’s been, what—two years since Section Chief Yang took that post?”
“Yes. So… Sunbae, I was wondering—could you try talking to Esper Han Ji-soo?”
Han Ji-soo, an A-Class Esper now stationed in Incheon, had been recognized as the most powerful nature-type Esper before Park Woo-jun ever entered the picture. She’d been a rising star at the Seoul Central Branch, but out of nowhere, she volunteered for dispatch to a local office and hadn’t shown her face at central ever since.
Even after Park Woo-jun and the assistant director combed through the national registry of A-Class Espers, no one else fit the bill. Han Ji-soo had made it clear she had no intention of coming back—but maybe things would be different if the one asking was Kim Joon-young, her closest friend.
“You two are really close, right?”
“Says who?”
“Everyone.”
“Well… it’s not like we’re not close, but… Ugh, fine. I’ll give her a call.”
“Then I’ll leave it to you, Sunbae. Thanks.”
As always, Kim Joon-young couldn’t turn down a request from Park Woo-jun. Lee Han-seo was constantly worried that Joon-young would twist his innocent Esper around his finger, but reality was far from that. Joon-young never held back when it came to helping juniors who’d earned his trust, and Woo-jun genuinely admired and relied on him.
There was a strange bond between them. The fact that they were the only two S-Class Espers still eligible for combat probably had something to do with it. They were the only ones who could truly trust each other on the battlefield. Of course, Joon-young still loved pulling absurd pranks on Woo-jun now and then, and Han-seo would inevitably explode in rage every time—but even that had become a familiar routine.
“Sunbae.”
“Yeah?”
“You can tell me now.”
“……”
“You didn’t come all this way just to spectate a training session.”
Reviewing the recruits’ performance and planning next steps was both the duty and privilege of the Chief of Espers. Given that Joon-young had held that position for years before Woo-jun, his insight was more than welcome—but truthfully, it was a favor, not an obligation.
They’d danced around the topic long enough. Woo-jun was ready. He wasn’t going to run from it.
“Han-seo’s done a good job with you. Sharp instincts.”
“……”
On the other side of the thin glass wall, the new Espers were in chaos—tumbling, crashing, stumbling through illusionary terrain. Whatever training they’d received over the past month clearly hadn’t stuck. Formations were a mess, and the whole exercise had devolved into pure anarchy.
Seated at the observation deck, Park Woo-jun watched it unfold with a blank expression, waiting for Joon-young’s real reason for coming.
“You’ve probably figured it out already.”
“This is about Ryu Ho-yeon.”
“…Yeah. Ho-yeon—or rather, Esper Ryu Ho-yeon—finally has a compatible Guide. They’ve been admitted for a few months now. Completed basic training. Grades are… decent, from what I hear.”
That part didn’t surprise him. What did was the tone in Joon-young’s voice—deliberate, careful, heavy.
“They’re entering live combat training soon… and it looks like you’re going to be their partner.”
