“Sixteen Espers from the Assault Team, including Park Woo-jun, and fourteen Guides reporting for return. Total confirmed casualties inside the dungeon… four.”
There wasn’t even time to throw himself into that wide, familiar embrace he’d missed so desperately. One Esper, one Guide—two out of the four were lost without even their bodies being recovered. Standing in front of that shame-filled face delivering the report, anyone would’ve been frozen the same way.
It wasn’t unusual for Guides to get injured or die when a dungeon campaign dragged on—after all, their baseline stamina and survivability were leagues below those of Espers. But even considering that, losing three Guides at once wasn’t something that happened often.
No one dared to put a price on a human life. Still, the fact that all the deceased Guides were A-Class meant one thing: higher-ups were going to come down hard. Everyone here knew it. No one said it out loud, but the consequences were already taking shape.
Park Woo-jun’s jaw clenched so hard during the report it visibly bulged. Lee Han-seo stayed quietly beside him. Though his face was half-covered by tactical goggles, the tight, trembling jaw and the way his words faltered made it painfully clear what he was feeling.
Just standing next to Park Woo-jun—who was gathering every last ounce of strength just to stay upright—made Han-seo’s skin tingle. His instincts kicked in, sensing the condition of his Imprinted Esper. A surge of Guiding waves burst out like a crashing tide. The overwhelming disparity in energy made his vision blur, but Han-seo gritted his teeth and tried not to get swept away.
“…First, get the critical injuries transported. The samples we collected are sorted and ready—just take them as is.”
“Yes, understood. And the Team Leader… is he stable enough to move with us now?”
Park Woo-jun didn’t answer right away. He clenched and unclenched his fists several times, seemingly gauging his own condition. Before he could respond, Lee Han-seo grabbed his hand and spoke for him.
“No. Team Leader Park Woo-jun is staying here until his Guiding levels return to normal. Please clear the site.”
“Understood. We’ll leave it to you.”
People always got hurt—or died. That was the rule. And yet, just moments ago, Han-seo had forgotten even that. He’d let himself get giddy with longing like a fool. The realization made him sick.
The torn-up combat suit, the ghastly wounds peeking through ragged slashes, the dried streaks of blood—these were still signs of a lucky return. Compared to the ones who hadn’t even made it back, this was a luxury.
“……”
“……”
Han-seo couldn’t bring himself to ask Woo-jun if he was okay, or whether he’d been seriously hurt. He just held his hand and kept pouring out Guiding energy, trying to guess his condition through that connection.
It took less than an hour for the once-crowded site to go completely quiet. One last staffer from the Esper Assignment Division told them the area would be off-limits to civilians until tomorrow, so they could take their time recovering. Then even he left, footsteps heavy.
Only then did Han-seo reach for the goggles still covering Park Woo-jun’s face. His hands were shaking so badly it was hard to take them off.
The thick lenses that had hidden Woo-jun’s clear gaze clattered to the ground. Han-seo held his breath, eyes fixed on the subtle quiver of his lashes. His eyes—bone-dry and dull—felt oddly unfamiliar. He was sure… sure that he’d cried.
“I’m okay.”
“……”
“So don’t cry, Han-seo. I mean it. I’m really okay.”
Ah. So it wasn’t Woo-jun who’d cried. It was him.
That’s when he finally noticed his own ragged breathing, how uneven and shallow it had become.
“I can’t believe it… Hyung Eun-sik is dead… hic… Uncle Tae-ik is dead…”
“It’s okay. You don’t have to say anything.”
The Esper and Guide who’d died were people Han-seo had known for years.
Nam Eun-sik had met him back when Han-seo was just a scrawny teen in a school uniform. He used to say Han-seo reminded him of his youngest brother—always fussing, always trying to feed him or hand him something.
And Kim Tae-ik… he’d done his military service, found a job, and was living an ordinary life before being identified as a Guide and dragged into this world. Even though he was just three years into his induction, he was technically Han-seo’s senior—but he’d always treated him with the warmth and care of an older brother. “You’ve lived here your whole life? That must’ve been rough,” he’d say, handing over a recovery drink. That gentle touch had stayed with Han-seo.
The other two who died weren’t strangers either—faces he’d seen and greeted more times than he could count, people he’d spoken to in the hallways of the Center.
“All I could think was, thank god it wasn’t you. That’s it. But how could I? That’s so horrible. What’s wrong with me, Woo-jun? I’m awful, I—”
Woo-jun leaned in and kissed his trembling eyelids, steadying his breath.
“It’s not awful. I felt the same way.”
“Huuh… ngh…”
By some miracle of scheduling, the lineup for this operation had been solid. It was an S-Class dungeon, sure, but even then, no one expected the damage to be this bad. Not this brutal.
The disaster had hit fast. A special-affinity Esper—his first time in an S-Class—broke formation halfway in. That made him an instant target for the monsters.
When the ambush broke out, Park Woo-jun had been dealing with a different threat on the front lines. He couldn’t immediately pull out to help.
He didn’t stop to think. Didn’t calculate how long they could hold without Guiding. He just finished his fight and rushed to the rear. It hadn’t even taken five minutes.
By then, three were already dead.
If not for the one Esper guarding the Guides, who’d held the line with everything he had, it could’ve been even worse.
Everything after that was a blur. He didn’t really remember how they finished the mission.
One thought had jolted him into clarity, ringing louder than anything else in his head:
Thank god I didn’t bring Han-seo.
No matter what happens, I’m never bringing Han-seo into a dungeon again.
“When people were dying right in front of me… all I could think was, ‘Thank God Han-seo didn’t come in with us. Thank God it wasn’t you who died.’ That was it. That’s all I thought. And that’s okay. It’s not wrong.”
Even knowing the sobs weren’t meant for him, they were still so rare, so precious, that Park Woo-jun clung to every trembling breath like it was slipping through his fingers. His lips kept moving, murmuring soft, incoherent words, eating away at the silence like he was trying to swallow his guilt whole.
“Just think about me. Just worry about me. I don’t want you crying over someone else.”
“…Okay.”
Han-seo pulled him close, pressed their foreheads together, and wrapped his arms around Woo-jun’s trembling shoulders. Woo-jun’s arms, completely drained of strength, barely managed to hook around Han-seo’s back. The weight of them settled against him like grief made solid.
He was reaching his limit.
As he rubbed his cheek against Woo-jun’s tear-streaked face, his own eyes fluttered shut. For just a moment, he let go.
***
“Park Woo-jun. Woo-jun.”
“….”
The arms around him suddenly sagged, going heavy all at once. Han-seo carefully shook Woo-jun’s shoulder and called his name a few more times, but there was no clear response. Woo-jun didn’t speak—just let out low, pitiful whimpers, like a sick puppy, and clung even tighter.
He was gone. His consciousness had finally snapped.
Still, given everything, he’d held on longer than most. Han-seo didn’t panic. He immediately started unfastening Woo-jun’s combat gear.
“It’s okay. I’m not going anywhere. Just taking this off, alright?”
Woo-jun whimpered, looking like he might cry again, and clung harder, wrapping his long limbs around Han-seo’s body like a child afraid to be left behind. Only after endless coaxing—soft reassurances murmured again and again—did Han-seo manage to peel the gear off his body.
“Ah…”
The moment their bare skin touched, a shuddering breath escaped Woo-jun’s lips. His eyes fluttered, hazy and wide, and he instinctively leaned in—like he could feel exactly where the sensation was coming from. He pressed his lips to Han-seo’s skin without hesitation.
He kissed and licked whatever he could reach—Han-seo’s nose, the fluttering pulse on his neck—touch starved and desperate. Each fevered movement pinned Han-seo in place.
They were barely a few meters from the temporary shelter. But at this rate, they’d end up doing it right here, in the open, as if all the effort to create a private space had meant nothing.
“Wait… just a little more. Let’s at least make it to—ah!”
Han-seo’s legs buckled under Woo-jun’s weight. Even though his mind was completely gone, Woo-jun’s Esper instincts kicked in. He caught Han-seo mid-fall, lifting him easily into the air.
In that same moment, Han-seo felt it—Guiding energy beginning to pull from beneath his skin.
“I told you not to use your powers for this…”
Then again, with the whole site locked down, no one was coming anytime soon. What did it matter anymore?
Resigned, Han-seo floated in midair and began unbuttoning his shirt, fingers moving one at a time. Woo-jun, laser-focused, chased every newly revealed inch of skin with his lips—pressing soft, lingering kisses as more and more of Han-seo came into view.
Even in an abandoned zone, with no people in sight, the sight of an old teahouse sign and a rusted bus stop just behind Woo-jun made Han-seo hesitate. His hand, hovering over the zipper of his pants, froze.
But Woo-jun fussed immediately. He mouthed at Han-seo’s hand, licked along his knuckles, even bit them gently—begging without words. Pleading like a child.
Some Espers, when they black out, lose all control. They lash out, violently, with no thought for their Guide’s wellbeing. But Woo-jun… even now, even like this… was still just Woo-jun.
“You’re really… God, it’s because it’s you. You get that, right? It’s because it’s you, Park Woo-jun, that I’m letting this happen. Whether you remember it or not—you have to understand that.”
Decision made, Han-seo’s fingers moved again. The zipper slid down with a slow, deliberate rasp.
And Woo-jun—his eyes gleaming, throat bobbing in a thick swallow—lit up like he’d just been handed the entire world.
