Thankfully, Lee Han-seo’s worries about not even being able to fill half of a 50-minute lecture turned out to be completely baseless. What he’d brushed off as a long shot had ended up coming true.
The moment he stepped onto the podium, the students welcomed him with thunderous enthusiasm. Thanks to them, he ended up speaking for nearly thirty minutes past the scheduled time before finally heading back to the Center. The real problem, however, showed up the following week—when Park Woo-jun returned.
“Han-seo…”
“Yes, Team Leader? Go ahead.”
“…”
“Oh no. Did I step out of line and offend you, Team Leader? I’m so sorry. I had no idea I was being so presumptuous, talking back to someone who has a direct line to the Minister of Defense and the Blue House! How dare I!”
Dripping with sarcasm, each word was laced with just the right amount of venom. Every time Han-seo ended a sentence with a barbed exclamation, Park Woo-jun flinched and shot him a guilty glance. Honestly, for someone with guts that flimsy, it was amazing he’d managed to fool people for five whole years.
In the end, Han-seo’s hunch was right—Park Woo-jun had been dragged around to every B- and C-Class event he could find, under the condition that Han-seo wouldn’t be assigned any real missions.
Apparently, the deal had been made not with the Center Director, but with someone even higher up. The reason Han-seo suddenly found himself with more free time after getting approval to enter dungeons again? That was why. All those times Han-seo had whined about why his lover was always busy when Kim Joon-young only handled top-level dungeons—laughable in hindsight.
How many times had this exact pattern played out? It was exhausting. So damn tiring. With an annoyed shake of his head, Han-seo decided to focus on the task at hand.
“Alright, Jungdo Elementary! Please come this way! We’ll head to the conference room next.”
Today’s impromptu assignment, brought on by his unexpectedly quiet schedule, was guiding a group of elementary school kids visiting the Center.
With a polite smile and a gentle tone, he led the group—about fifty children in total—who all shouted back in unison, “Yes!” None of them even came up to Park Woo-jun’s waist, and their tiny forms were ridiculously adorable. Just being around them untangled the knots in his chest a little.
“Every Monday, all departments gather here to share major updates from the previous week and briefly go over what’s ahead. It’s kind of like a general team check-in.”
“Guide! I have a question!”
“Yes, what is it?”
“G-ge… geh-gal…? What does that mean?”
The kid had a missing front tooth and couldn’t quite pronounce the word, fumbling with “geh-gal-jeok.” Han-seo suddenly had to resist the urge to squish the child’s chubby cheeks.
“Oh no, I used a tough word, didn’t I? Sorry about that. Hmm… put simply, it means ‘roughly.’ Like, we just talk about everything in general. Got it?”
“Yes!” came the cheerful reply. That round little face—too cute. Seriously. What was Woo-jun like at that age? Are there pictures? I need to see them.
While reminding the kids they could raise their hands anytime if they had questions, Han-seo continued mulling over those thoughts. It was all because of the man trailing behind him, pouting adorably. How was he supposed to concentrate with that?
As the students wrapped up their tour of the Main Building and began watching a video in the audiovisual room, Park Woo-jun—who’d been quietly watching for the right moment—snuck closer. He reached out with just his pinky and gently hooked it around Han-seo’s, tugging ever so slightly.
Unbelievable. He’s really out here doing the most ridiculously adorable things on purpose. Of course, Han-seo had already suspected what was going on, so he wasn’t even all that mad. He just pressed down the smile threatening to break across his face.
Honestly, if he were still being kept off missions after learning the truth, there’s no way he’d have let this slide. But that wasn’t the case anymore.
“Hey.”
“…Yeah?”
“What the hell is this?”
When he raised his left hand, Park Woo-jun’s hand—still clinging by the pinky like a fishhook—dangled along with it. Watching the students engrossed in the video, Park Woo-jun rubbed his cheek against the back of Han-seo’s hand like he was trying to act cute. “Can’t I?” he murmured.
“Lie to me one more time. Just one more. Keep using that pretty face to get away with shit—I dare you.”
Even while scolding him, Han-seo’s tone was back to its usual self. Park Woo-jun seemed positively energized.
The video had about half left when the door creaked open and hurried footsteps echoed in the room.
“Haah… haah… Team Leader! Why haven’t you been answering your phone? Haah…”
The breathless man who burst in was a staffer from the Guide Management Department—someone Han-seo vaguely recognized. The urgency in his face was unmistakable. Was it a sudden dungeon alert?
“There’s a newly awakened Esper causing a disturbance downtown. No one’s been able to get close. They’re asking you to come help transport him.”
No one could get near? That meant his ability had to be something unusual. Han-seo and Park Woo-jun quietly filled in the supervising teacher, then quickly followed the staffer to a transport vehicle. Their destination was a food court inside a department store next to the city airport. One glance at the navigation system, and it was obvious—it was going to be packed.
“He was working part-time at the food court. We’re guessing he’s a mental-type Esper. Fortunately, there haven’t been any injuries yet. But his ability is… strange. There are just too many people, and we haven’t been able to calm him down.”
“What exactly does his ability do?”
“It seems to alter people’s moods or personalities. We’re not sure which one, but we’ll find out after we bring him in. The scene’s total chaos. Civilians keep crowding in, and it’s impossible to control the situation.”
“Yes. So once we arrive, we just need to create some space between the crowd and the Esper, then move him into the vehicle, right?”
“Yes, yes. Thank you.”
As Park Woo-jun listened to the briefing, a strange feeling settled over him. He was sitting in the same kind of vehicle that had once brought him to the Center—only now, he was the one being sent to retrieve another Esper. The fact that he kept getting assigned to non-dungeon tasks was oddly surreal too.
“What’s with that look on your face?”
“It’s nothing. Just… being in here reminds me of the first time I met you.”
“You barely remember it, and yet you sure talk like you do.”
“Still. You remember what I looked like back then, don’t you?”
He had no idea what thoughts had gone through Han-seo’s head as he looked at him that day—drugged, disoriented, completely out of it. What made him decide to take in someone like that and care for him? Park Woo-jun still found himself wondering sometimes. His eyes clouded, lost in thought.
***
Before he became Lee Han-seo’s one and only lover—and his Imprinted Esper—Park Woo-jun had been an average college student. A little lonely, a little out of place, but otherwise ordinary—aside from his strikingly good looks.
He was the youngest of two children in what looked, on the outside, like a happy family. But the older he got, the more he felt like an outsider in his own home.
His earliest memory was from when he was about four or five. It must’ve been his birthday. He remembered holding a Choco Pie with a single candle stuck in it, grinning like an idiot because he was just so happy. There was no fancy fresh cream cake like the ones that always appeared on his brother’s birthday. And gifts? He never even dared to expect one. But even so, that little Choco Pie felt like enough.
“Why are you smiling like that? You look creepy.”
His older brother had said that, then snatched the treat from his tiny hands and took a big bite. Park Woo-jun started to cry. He reached for his parents when they came rushing over—but no warm arms were waiting for him.
“You’re the younger brother! You couldn’t give that one thing to your big brother? Seon-jun wanted a Choco Pie so badly—why didn’t you just say so?”
Their eyes, sharp and scolding when aimed at Woo-jun, would soften instantly when they turned to his brother. Smiling gently, they’d coddle him. Things like this happened all the time. Too many to count. The favoritism wasn’t just obvious—it went far beyond what anyone could explain away as a simple preference for the eldest or an anxious parent’s concern.
His mother was known for being deeply religious. His father was praised as a kind, law-abiding man. And his older brother? The beloved firstborn son. The three of them looked like they’d stepped right out of a picture-perfect family portrait—if you cut Woo-jun out of the frame.
So what choice did he have? In the end, Woo-jun had no one to blame but himself.
There must be something wrong with me, he realized instinctively. I’m not like my brother. I’m someone no one could ever love.
His feelings toward his brother were a constant, exhausting pendulum swing. Dozens—sometimes hundreds—of times a day, they’d shift. If only his brother didn’t exist, maybe he could’ve been loved too. That thought would consume him with jealousy. But at the same time, he longed for the only person who ever paid him any attention at all, even if it came as scorn.
Compared to his parents’ utter indifference, even his brother’s barbed words felt like affection.
Woo-jun had always been gentle and quiet by nature, so those emotional highs and lows rarely showed on the surface.
From a young age, he was a gifted student. Unlike his brother—who’d had tutors, workbooks, and cram schools—Woo-jun never received any extra help. Yet he still aced every dictation test in lower grades and was later selected for gifted programs in math and science.
Most parents would’ve been proud. So when Woo-jun won a gold medal in a national math competition in middle school—an event he’d entered thanks to a teacher’s recommendation—he let himself hope. It wasn’t just some minor school award; it was a real accomplishment. Maybe now they’d finally see him as a son worth being proud of.
But that hope was short-lived.
His misfortune was simple: he was a brilliant child raised by parents who adored their less-talented son.
“Mom, I’m seriously gonna lose it because of him. At school, everyone keeps asking if I’m Park Woo-jun’s older brother. Why the hell am I his brother? If anything, he’s my younger brother!”
Woo-jun stood out like a sore thumb in a family where everyone else seemed cut from the same cloth. His brother—now deep in puberty—resented that more and more. His parents started calling Woo-jun selfish, accusing him of never thinking about his brother’s feelings. Didn’t he understand how stressed and hurt Seon-jun must be to say something like that? Didn’t he know they regretted raising him?
Woo-jun had no defense. Even the praise he used to quietly enjoy—“Woo-jun’s such a smart kid”—started to feel bitter. Every time people looked at him, he felt anxious. What if his brother was watching? What if he got upset again?
Maybe I really am selfish. Maybe I really am beyond saving.
He was only fourteen.
