“Baby, what are you talking about?”
“Huh? What do you think I mean? Should I just jump straight into an S-Class dungeon? Are you okay with that?”
“No, no, that’s not—wait, I mean…”
Unlike the calm and composed Lee Han-seo, Park Woo-jun was in full-on panic. His heart had barely survived Han-seo’s one run through a B-Class dungeon—now he was talking about S-Class? Just hearing Han-seo say he’d go into an S-Class dungeon was enough to send his pulse skyrocketing.
“Honestly, even if you told me to go right now, I couldn’t handle S-Class yet. I know that. I’m not even confident enough to jump into an A-Class right away. I’ll start with B-Class, get used to the flow, then move up to A-Class. Once I’m comfortable with that, I’ll go into S-Class.”
“…Wait, what?”
“How long do you think I’ll need to adjust? Three months? Half a year?”
While Park Woo-jun and Attorney Lee sat frozen in silence like someone had dumped ice water over them, Han-seo was completely unbothered, casually sharing his plan like it was no big deal.
“Once I’m fully adapted, I’m going to fill all four runs exclusively with A-Class or S-Class dungeons.”
“Hold on—baby, can we please talk?”
“Talk about what, exactly? We just say we’ll do a few easy runs together, pretend it was tough, pat ourselves on the back like, ‘Wow, that was rough. Great job, babe.’ You think I don’t know that’s the plan?”
Caught red-handed, the two so-called partners in crime could only glance at each other awkwardly. Han-seo looked between his boyfriend and his father with a sharp, unimpressed stare.
“And you, Dad. I saw that little wink you two shared. I know blood’s thicker than water, but seriously? You’re always gushing about ‘Team Leader Park this’ and ‘my precious firstborn that,’ and now you’re just going to throw me into danger all by myself? You got no shame?”
Even if he was the third most important person in Han-seo’s life, messing with the number one—Park Woo-jun—meant no forgiveness. With zero filter, Han-seo let the words fly like darts. Attorney Lee, who was used to watching his carefully raised son throw verbal daggers, finally snapped.
“Lee Han-seo! Watch your tone when you talk to your father!”
Unfortunately for him, that son was none other than Lee Han-seo.
“You always pull that card when you’re losing an argument—‘watch your tone.’ You do realize how lame that sounds, right? Coming from a lawyer, no less. It’s petty, and honestly, kind of embarrassing.”
His razor-sharp tongue, inherited straight from his mother, could stab hearts with just a few words—and Han-seo wielded it like a master.
“God, sometimes you’re just like your mom. Always has to get the last word.”
“Oh, right. One more thing—I forgot to add this earlier. Dad, make sure this gets written in too.”
“What is it now?”
“If either party breaks the terms of the agreement—for any reason—the Pairing is terminated.”
“…!!”
Park Woo-jun’s eyes widened like they might pop out of his head. Forget the fact that breaking a Bonded Pair after an Imprint was practically impossible and a total legal nightmare—the idea of Han-seo even suggesting it was enough to send shockwaves through his entire system.
Han-seo gave a sunny smile as he reached out to gently pat Woo-jun’s trembling back. His boyfriend sat frozen, too stunned to even scream.
“That’s the deal. Let’s be smart about this, Team Leader Park.”
“…”
“If you don’t like it, we can terminate right now—”
“N-No! I don’t want that! I would never—never break the Pairing…”
He’d tried so hard to impress Han-seo’s father, going out of his way to look reliable. But it all crumbled in an instant. Overwhelmed by a wave of helpless emotion, Park Woo-jun buried his face in Han-seo’s chest and burst into sobs.
“How could you… how could you say something that scary so casually… sniff…”
“What are you talking about? Just stick to the contract.”
“…hic.”
To Park Woo-jun, who wasn’t even ready to take Han-seo into an A-Class dungeon yet, this contract felt like a cruel sentence. Meanwhile, Han-seo, sounding completely refreshed—like he’d just cleared years of pent-up stress—added brightly:
“Let’s set the adjustment period at three months, okay, baby?”
Total defeat. Park Woo-jun didn’t stand a chance.
***
“Something’s off.”
“Hm? What is?”
After sending Park Woo-jun off on an S-Class deployment, Han-seo found himself with rare free time. He’d gone to see Ryu Ho-yeon, and was lying around lazily when he suddenly spoke. Across from him, Ho-yeon and Choi Jae-won were lounging and flipping through manga, but both turned toward Han-seo the moment he spoke. Flapping his arms and legs like an overturned bug, Han-seo repeated himself.
“I said something’s definitely off!”
“What exactly is off? Didn’t I tell you to stop cutting out all the context when you talk?”
“Jae-won.”
“…Seriously, hyung. I really wish you’d fix that habit.”
Han-seo abruptly sat up and looked at the two of them, then slowly opened his mouth.
“Park Woo-jun is… too…”
“Too?”
“Park Woo-jun is just… way too free lately.”
It was a ridiculously trivial concern, especially considering how dramatic Han-seo sounded. Even Ryu Ho-yeon—who usually backed Han-seo without question—fell silent this time, idly rubbing his chin with an unsure look.
“I’m serious! Yesterday’s S-Class dungeon? That was the first mission he’s had all week!”
“I mean… Espers can have downtime, right? Isn’t that a good thing?”
“No, yeah, of course it’s good. It’s just… weird. I haven’t seen him this free in five years.”
At first, Han-seo had chalked it up to logistics. With another S-Class now in rotation, they could split A-Class duties with Ho-yeon and S-Class with Kim Joon-young, which would naturally ease his schedule.
But a little breathing room was one thing—this? This was weeks of uninterrupted quiet. When a month had almost passed and nothing changed, even Han-seo had to admit something felt off. In the past, Woo-jun had been so overworked he’d get pulled into even C- and B-Class dungeons just to plug gaps. He was busier than Kim Joon-young despite holding the same rank.
And now? A total drop-off in low-rank dungeon assignments. Not even Ho-yeon’s debut could explain that sudden shift.
He was so underbooked lately that he’d started getting roped into the weirdest tasks. Just last week, he gave a lecture to a group of underage Espers who had delayed joining the system. The week before that, he and Han-seo were invited to the opening ceremony of some random art museum allegedly founded by a politician’s spouse. For a man who never used to accept external engagements unless absolutely necessary, this was a radical change.
It was getting to the point where Han-seo could start piecing things together if he tried.
“…No way. There’s no way, right?”
Woo-jun had said he’d be back within two weeks. Han-seo figured when that time came, he’d corner him and demand answers—whether it turned into a fight or not. Worrying in advance would get him nowhere. Even though he knew that shrugging things off with a “nah, couldn’t be” always ended badly, he still forced out a laugh and let it go.
For now, it was better to focus on the mountain of problems already in front of him.
“Oh, right. Jae-won.”
“What?”
“You got any idea what kids these days are into?”
Of all the people he could ask, Choi Jae-won was the closest thing to a “modern teenager,” so Han-seo tossed the question his way. Jae-won raised an eyebrow, clearly baffled, and replied flatly, “Stocks? Mutual funds?”
“No, not your spoiled trust fund friends. I mean normal kids.”
“How would I know that?”
It felt a bit like insulting his own family, but every time this sort of thing came up, Han-seo was reminded that Jae-won really was living in some alternate rich-boy reality.
“Okay, but why are you even asking?”
“Oh, right. I’ve got this career lecture coming up at a middle school. Some kind of career week thing. I figured I’d bring a few prizes or something, but I have no clue what kids want these days.”
“You? Giving a career lecture at a middle school? That’s… wow. Just doesn’t fit.”
“Shut up. I know how weird it is.”
It stung a little, but Han-seo had to admit it—he agreed. He hadn’t chosen this job out of passion or calling. One day, he just woke up, got marked as a Guide, and was dragged into the system before he could blink. What was he supposed to tell a bunch of middle schoolers about “finding your path”?
When he’d accepted the offer, it had seemed simple. It was his alma mater, after all—he figured it’d be nice to visit. But now that the date was creeping closer, he was starting to panic. He thought maybe he could coast by on handing out prizes, but even that was proving tricky.
“If that’s the case, why not ask Jung-hyuk hyung?” Ho-yeon, who had been quietly listening, suddenly spoke up.
“He used to do stuff like that pretty often, didn’t he?”
“Oh, god. Don’t even remind me. I tagged along once because I was bored, remember? The second he picks up the mic, it’s like an avalanche of questions.”
Granted, most of them were ridiculous things like “Did you have a first love?”, “Are you really dating Kim Joon-young?”, or “What’s your type?”—not even remotely related to career advice—but still, it filled the time better than anything else.
“Compared to him, I…”
Han-seo looked into the mirror, turning his face this way and that, objectively assessing himself. Surrounded by guys like Ryu Ho-yeon with his unreal good looks, or the universally swoon-worthy Park Woo-jun, Kim Joon-young, and Lee Jung-hyuk, he didn’t exactly stand out. But still, he wasn’t bad-looking. His features were neat and well-balanced, with a clever, slightly sharp charm. Honestly, kind of cute.
“Ugh… they expect me to talk for fifty minutes. How the hell am I supposed to stretch it that long…”
No matter how decent his face was, it wasn’t fifty-minutes-of-stage-time decent. With a deep sigh, Han-seo gave in—he’d better start prepping for this damn lecture properly.
