The existence of Espers hadn’t been known for long in the grand scope of history. You’d never notice one blending in with the average crowd unless they actively revealed themselves—and Guides were no different. Other than their ability to calm the wild wave activity of Espers, they were indistinguishable from regular people.
When they were first discovered, Espers were seen as little more than luxurious private property for the powerful, or at best, low-maintenance, high-impact weapons. Guides, who acted as leashes to keep Espers under control, fared slightly better.
No matter how strong an Esper was, the truth was that without a Guide, it was nearly impossible for them to stay sane—let alone breathe steadily. Among those in power, the widely accepted belief was that one well-trained Guide could control three or four Espers with ease.
Hatred for Espers—who might lose control at any moment and burn someone alive or blow apart a peaceful street—gained legitimacy under the name of public safety and the greater good. Under that “justified” hatred, Espers were driven underground, reduced to society’s openly enslaved class.
Everything changed when dungeons started appearing—mysterious, gaping voids that emerged out of nowhere across what had otherwise been relatively peaceful land. The only exception to that peace had been the wars humans brought upon themselves.
To this day, no one knows the exact cause of the black voids. One day, they simply started opening above people’s heads—black, yawning maws stretching wide in the sky.
If no one stepped up as a sacrifice to enter them, the voids would quickly unleash waves of grotesque, otherworldly monsters. A ragtag group of social outcasts was drafted and thrown into these dungeons, but that was just a temporary fix. The black voids stayed closed for anywhere from a few hours to three or four days, then spat out monsters with even greater force once they’d finished devouring their sacrifices.
People died like flies. No man-made weapon could even graze a single strand of monster fur.
With survival becoming humanity’s top and shared priority, the world agreed to call these voids “dungeons.”
Countless lives were lost or ruined, but as the world scrambled to respond, knowledge about the dungeons slowly began to accumulate. Once a dungeon appeared, it would only disappear after a certain number of monsters inside were killed. And the only thing that could harm them… was an Esper’s power.
Espers, once treated like tools, were suddenly hailed as heroes. No one had the luxury of pondering whether that was right or wrong. The tide of public opinion shifted by the day, and the world was far too busy trying to survive to worry about anything else.
Thanks to its small territory and centralized government, South Korea quickly became a model nation in dungeon management.
“August 27th, 4:32 p.m. Reporting the return of Park Woo-jun and two others. A-Class dungeon cleared. No injuries. Report complete.”
Park Woo-jun, the nation’s top contributor in dungeon management by both objective and subjective standards, had cleared another dungeon without a hitch. Honestly, things were going so smoothly these days, it felt suspicious.
The reason? Ryu Ho-yeon.
Park Woo-jun didn’t want to give him too much credit—but facts were facts. Even without backup, having two S-Class Espers tackle a B- or A-Class dungeon was practically cheating.
Unlike Espers with nature or physical enhancement abilities, Ryu Ho-yeon had almost no difference in physical ability compared to regular people. When he first started training, he’d been all over the place—clumsy, unfocused. But the moment he adapted to the dungeon environment, it was like wings sprouted on his back. He soared.
The fact that he could summon gear they hadn’t even brought—on the spot—already felt like a cheat. But then the weapons and explosives he created actually managed to pierce through monster hide and inflict real damage.
Woo-jun would read the flow of the air, pinpoint the monsters’ direction and numbers, and relay the info. Ho-yeon would silently squeeze the trigger from the shadows. There was no need to worry about stray bullets—Woo-jun could easily guide their trajectory after they were fired.
No wonder the higher-ups couldn’t let go of an S-Class manifestation-type Esper. Woo-jun had to admit it. Sure, Ho-yeon’s Guide was only B-Class, so his firepower wasn’t sustainable. But if his Guiding ever caught up, Ryu Ho-yeon could very well become the strongest Esper alive when it came to dungeon combat.
And so, three weeks into live combat training with A-Class dungeons, things were going smoother than anyone could’ve hoped. At this rate, they could respond to an S-Class alert right away—and that might even mark the end of Ho-yeon’s training phase altogether.
“Great work today. You holding up okay?”
Someone else was practically glowing from the unexpected side benefits. Lee Han-seo, who had been lounging beside the site supervisor playing a mobile game while waiting for his Esper to return, ran up to Park Woo-jun the second the report was filed.
Seeing Han-seo’s beaming face, Woo-jun’s own lips tugged into a smile. He caught Han-seo in his arms as the younger man leapt into him. Since today’s mission was about Ho-yeon’s adaptation, Woo-jun had stayed on support duty. No blood, no mess. He could hug Han-seo without hesitation—and that made him oddly giddy.
“When did you get here? Did you wait long?”
“Nope. Had lunch at home, came a bit ago. Didn’t wait too long.”
The way his heart melted just hearing that was ridiculous. All he did was kiss Han-seo’s sleeping face goodbye, and Han-seo not only woke up but made himself lunch, too. Why did it feel so heartwarming to know a perfectly healthy 25-year-old man had fed himself?
A-Class dungeons used to take two or three days to clear, even when things went well. Now they barely took half a day. Woo-jun wasn’t getting injured, his Guiding reserves were barely touched, and best of all—Han-seo’s biggest source of stress, the amplifier, was gathering dust in a corner.
The tension that used to arise every time they were deployed had vanished. These days, everything between them was smooth and peaceful. And Han-seo’s bright, carefree smile was proof of that.
“Can’t you just keep running dungeons with Ho-yeon from now on? It’s perfect.”
“Hmm… I don’t know…”
“What? Don’t know? Don’t know?”
Han-seo didn’t like that vague answer. His eyes narrowed, sharp with complaint. Woo-jun tried to distract him, rubbing his nose playfully against Han-seo’s soft cheek—but it didn’t work.
“Think about it. I don’t have to worry all the time. You’ve got it easy. You’re way less likely to get hurt. Isn’t that better?”
“Well… yeah, it is, but…”
He couldn’t even come up with a good excuse—not a single rational reason to say no. So naturally, Park Woo-jun just stood there, completely tongue-tied. While Lee Han-seo pouted and whined, demanding to know why he was against the idea, Woo-jun awkwardly patted the top of his head, eyes darting around like he could find an answer hiding somewhere in the air. No such luck.
“Everyone’s talking about how good your training results have been. Some people are even saying you two should just be made an official team to handle high-tier dungeons full-time.”
“Yeah, I heard that too. Chief Kang said we should schedule a meeting about it sometime.”
“Just say yes. No thinking. Just yes, got it?”
“Mmhm…”
Who in their right mind wouldn’t want an easier job? The problem was—Park Woo-jun wasn’t in his right mind. Not when it came to this.
He’d love nothing more than to clock out early and spend peaceful evenings at home with Han-seo, sweet and domestic. That was a no-brainer. But there was one thing—no, one person—who was ruining his perfect dream: Ryu Ho-yeon.
Lately, Ho-yeon and Han-seo had been running into each other more and more. The awkwardness they’d had at first—the way they couldn’t even meet each other’s eyes—was completely gone. And that alone made Woo-jun’s teeth grind.
Now, whenever they crossed paths, they’d chat like old friends, casually sharing bits of their day. It was maddening. Sure, it was mostly Han-seo talking while Ho-yeon just nodded occasionally, but from Park Woo-jun’s totally unbiased perspective, Ho-yeon was 100% to blame.
“By the way, where are they? Why’d you come to report in by yourself?”
“No idea. As soon as we came through the gate, the two of them took off somewhere. Maybe the Guiding was urgent?”
“Oh no. What if our Ho-yeon’s overdoing it…?”
Our Ho-yeon.
Our. Ho-yeon?
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry! Hey, don’t look at me like that. Just—Ho-yeon. I meant Ryu Ho-yeon!”
“Hehe. Baby, my heart almost dropped right there.”
Honestly, it was an absurd conversation. And the most ridiculous part? They were still standing right in front of the site supervisor. The poor man had been pretending not to see or hear anything, furiously focusing on his paperwork. But eventually, even he couldn’t take it anymore. With an exaggerated, thunderous cough that could’ve knocked someone over, he made it very clear he was done listening to their flirting—right as Woo-jun leaned in for a kiss.
“Not here. Let’s go to the car.”
“Wanna stop by my place for dinner while we’re out? Dad said he marinated some beef and told us to come over.”
“Yes, please.”
It was not a good thing.
As he watched the pair wander off without so much as a goodbye, the site supervisor sat back down with a sigh and slammed his fingers against the laptop keys, typing up an official report like it was a declaration of war.
This damn couple could inspire resignation fantasies in even the most battle-hardened civil servant.
