Among the countless Guiding Rooms at the Center, there was always one that remained suspiciously quiet. Today was no different. It was as if all the Espers had made an unspoken agreement—every single one of them would bow politely at the reception desk and murmur, “I don’t mind waiting, really… just, uh, anywhere but that one.”
Since the room assignments changed daily, even the receptionists, wearing sheepish smiles, would simply say, “You know… that room,” and leave it off the list entirely.
That perpetually vacant Guiding Room had lately become an unofficial break room for idle Guides. For workers with already limited time, hiking down a hallway that felt like it stretched a hundred meters just to reach the shared lounge was a pain. So, they made the more efficient choice.
Today’s impromptu lounge—Guiding Room 31—was no exception. Half a dozen Guides were packed inside, snacks in hand, chatting comfortably.
“Okay, so… I know this sounds ridiculous, but just in case—I mean just in case—I wanted to ask.”
“Oh no. What now?”
Jo Min-soo, an A-Class Guide, lay stretched out across a bed meant for Guiding sessions, replying with zero enthusiasm. It wasn’t just him—none of the Guides crowded into the room ever took Lee Han-seo’s questions seriously anymore. Mostly because they never turned out to be useful.
Not that it had always been this way. Whether junior or senior, Lee Han-seo was the nation’s one and only S-Class Guide—a walking national treasure. At first, his fiery personality only added to the reverence. If he so much as sighed, people would rush over, eyes wide, asking if something was wrong.
But then he started saying things like:
“I’m really stressed. Woo-jun is just way too handsome. What if the other Guides fall for him? Ugh. Even the Espers have eyes. I shouldn’t only be watching out for the Guides.”
“Sunbae… I have a problem. Woo-jun likes me too much. He says he can’t stand being apart from me. What do I even do?”
“No, seriously—this is a huge deal! Like, real serious! I thought Park Woo-jun was just handsome, but he’s cute too! What am I gonna do?!”
…With “crises” like that, even his dramatic sighs stopped getting attention.
“Do you think… my Guiding isn’t good enough?”
Yep. Another throwaway question.
The Guides—ignoring the supposed owner of the room—kept sipping coffee and chatting until the inevitable calls came in, pulling them away one by one.
“You’ve really got too much time on your hands, huh? No wonder you’re out here talking nonsense.”
“Come on, it’s just… no one’s coming at all.”
“Put your hand on your heart and think. Do you really not know why?”
Jo Min-soo, the last to leave, gave him a look and pointed to Han-seo’s phone screen with a lazy jab of his finger. The display showed Park Woo-jun’s smiling face, filling the entire lock screen.
Han-seo snorted and, as soon as Min-soo stepped out, locked the door behind him.
He knew the question was pointless. But still, if someone looks troubled and asks you something with a serious face, shouldn’t you at least pretend to listen? That was just basic human decency. Either way, today was the end of the open-door break room policy.
A Guide’s grade was determined by two factors: total Guiding capacity and purity. Both were measured, converted into scores, and added together to determine the rank. So even among A-Class Guides, one might have high capacity but low purity, while another had high purity but less capacity.
From an Esper’s perspective, the quality of Guiding depended far more on purity than total amount. That’s why Guides with lower capacity but high purity often ranked higher in real-world value.
But Lee Han-seo stood in a league of his own. Both his total capacity and purity weren’t just S-Class—they were far beyond the S-Class threshold.
True, his overall capacity available to other Espers had dropped significantly after his Imprint with Park Woo-jun. But his purity hadn’t budged. If not for having to consider Woo-jun’s feelings, every un-Imprinted Esper in the Center would be camped out at Han-seo’s door right now. That much was obvious.
And so, Han-seo spent the rest of his day in that Guiding Room, utterly alone. At first, he heard a few knocks. But then came the chatter from outside:
“Is it locked?”
“Guess he’s napping or something.”
After that, not even the Guides using the room as a lounge bothered to stop by.
“So boooored…”
And that was the real problem. He was bored—bored to a devastating degree.
Back when Park Woo-jun was on leave, they’d text throughout the day, or Han-seo would be too busy fending him off from trying to burst into the Guiding Room to even feel lonely. But now, sitting around all day like some forgotten ornament with nothing to do? It was enough to drive him insane.
Even when the other Guides dropped by, they’d barely sit five or ten minutes before vanishing on a call—not nearly enough to help. Sure, it was better than sitting around in the dorms, but still. Still.
It wasn’t like Han-seo wanted to Guide any Esper besides Park Woo-jun. But this time, the sheer, unrelenting boredom had simply won out.
Even the mobile game he’d been obsessed with had lost its charm. The webtoons, movies, and dramas he used to enjoy all felt scripted to be painfully dull. He couldn’t even get through a scene without yawning.
No one was there to pat his back when a character did something unbelievably stupid. No one to pop a snack in his mouth when he was throwing a fit over a frustrating plot. No pair of big hands to clap beside him, shouting “Our Han-seo’s the best!”—whether he won or lost at the game.
The moment the workday ended, Han-seo bolted out like a rocket.
Not that it did him any good.
Even after finishing dinner and grabbing some ice cream at the new shopping mall inside the Center, it was still only six o’clock. Lee Han-seo plopped down on the nearest bench, aimlessly scrolling through his contacts. But just like every other day lately, no matter how long he stared at that screen, no new name magically appeared. There was still no one to call.
Being the grandson of a chaebol family and Asia’s only S-Class Guide didn’t do a damn thing to fix his pitiful social life.
A strange, weightless kind of emptiness crept in like the tide, pooling quietly at his feet. If he excluded Park Woo-jun—and he really should—there were only two people he could maybe count as close: Lee Jung-hyuk, who he’d practically forced into friendship by following him around since childhood, and… ugh, he hated to say it, but Kim Joon-young. That was it. Just those two.
As for Ryu Ho-yeon, the one person he might’ve actually called his best friend? Han-seo had burned that bridge himself—stabbed him in the back and ran. He didn’t even have the right to think about him anymore.
Now that both Jung-hyuk and Joon-young were off on assignment, even the occasional dinners they used to drag him to had stopped. It was almost pathetic how utterly alone he was. Sure, there were a few Guides he got along with, but they were strictly “work friends.” Nothing more.
“What’s the point of clocking out if there’s nothing to do after…”
Han-seo had officially entered the Center when he was fifteen. Before that, he went to elementary and middle school like any other kid. You’d think he’d have made friends back then—but that had been a dead end, too.
He had some freedom, sure, but only compared to what came later. After all, the moment he took that mandatory Esper aptitude test before first grade and was diagnosed as an S-Class Guide, everything changed. The risk of kidnapping meant he couldn’t go anywhere without a dozen bodyguards glued to him.
People might have grown used to him now, but back then, the media frenzy was insane. “Which country would get Asia’s first S-Class Guide?” That was all anyone could talk about. Every move he made was under a microscope—every blink, every breath, broadcast to the world.
And if anyone dared bring up things like privacy or human rights, the media would fire back with, “The public has a right to know! It’s a matter of national security! A small sacrifice for the greater good!” Dozens—no, hundreds—of naturalization offers flooded in daily, both through official and unofficial channels.
Neighboring countries like China and Japan, even distant ones like the U.S., were desperate to claim him. S-Class Guides weren’t just rare—they were irreplaceable. No number of A-Class Guides could make up for one. And the offers they made? The kind of jaw-dropping numbers that made your eyes water.
People used to joke that it was a miracle an S-Class Guide had been born into a chaebol family—because anyone else would’ve sold their kid on the spot.
Honestly? It wasn’t even a joke.
If his family hadn’t had the money—if they hadn’t bought out a private school foundation, vetted every teacher and cafeteria worker, or hired an elite 24/7 security team made up of ex-special forces—Han-seo probably wouldn’t have even gotten the chance to say goodbye to his parents before being shipped off to the Center. And really, that probably would’ve been safer for him.
I mean, come on. A seven-year-old S-Class Guide? All sweet smiles and strawberry-flavored candy? That was basically begging someone to kidnap him.
Even his parents had changed.
His mom used to scoff at her father’s obsession with money and had zero interest in the family business. His dad was a human rights lawyer who said his dream was to help people with nothing. But after Han-seo Awakened? That all vanished.
Because they both realized, all too clearly: without power—without wealth—you couldn’t protect even the child you loved more than life itself.
A perfect breeze for an early summer evening rustled past, lifting his styled bangs before disappearing into the distance.
He missed Park Woo-jun.
