“Wow, Woo-jun, you really don’t look anything like your brother!”
People who saw them together would toss out that line without thinking, but to his older brother, it was like striking a match to dry tinder—another reminder of what he lacked, another jab at his inferiority complex about his looks. And every time he heard it, he’d barge into Park Woo-jun’s room to take it out on him. Yelling, nitpicking, sometimes just sulking. Eventually, Woo-jun learned how to survive: obey, give in, let it go.
“Park Woo-jun! What the hell are these grades? Because of you, I can’t even show my face! The kid next door, Butler Kim’s son, got picked to represent the school in the competition. I figured I could let things slide since you were at least good at studying, but you couldn’t even hold on to that?!”
Their father didn’t like it when Woo-jun did too well—but he hated it even more when his son came up short compared to someone else’s kid. “Calm down, Dad,” his brother would say, lips twitching with amusement as he pretended to stop him.
“Try being just half like your brother. Half! I swear, I just can’t bring myself to care about you.”
If he really were half like his brother, his school ranking would’ve nosedived into the triple digits. But Woo-jun only stood there quietly, bowed deeply, and murmured, “I’m sorry.”
The heartbreaking part—the truly tragic part—was that back then, moments like that still felt like something. They hurt, but they also proved his father still noticed him. That was enough to leave a bittersweet mark in his memory.
“Why are you getting all worked up over something so trivial? It’s not like this is the first time you’ve had a problem with Woo-jun. Now come on, let’s go shopping. Our Jun-ie said he wants braised short ribs. He’s lost so much weight from the heat. Just looking at him breaks my heart.”
In his mother’s eyes, Park Woo-jun had long been pushed out of the family circle. Park Seon-jun and Park Woo-jun—same shared syllable, “Jun”—but not once, not once, had she ever called him “our Jun-ie.”
Then one day, out of the blue, their father got reassigned overseas. It was right before Woo-jun was set to start high school.
“We’ve decided we’re all going together.”
“…”
“So what are you going to do?”
Her tone was cool, final. She’d already made up her mind. And the “we” in that sentence clearly didn’t include Woo-jun. There was no room for argument.
What could a teenager, raised to be obedient and submissive, possibly say in the face of that?
So, in February, just one month before the school year started, seventeen-year-old Park Woo-jun found himself moving into a tiny, five-pyeong studio apartment near the high school gate. His parents offered to cover the rent and some pocket money like they were doing him a favor. It was exile in everything but name.
No one taught him how to pay taxes. No one showed him how to manage a home. For months, the water, heat, even electricity would get cut off without warning because the bills were piling up—and he didn’t even know.
If it hadn’t been for his homeroom teacher—who stopped by after getting worried about a student living alone—he might’ve frozen to death that winter. She was the one who showed him how to pay those overdue bills.
Lying on the floor of that cramped, dark room, staring blankly at the stained ceiling, Woo-jun would often wonder if this was it—if he’d spend the rest of his life like this. The moldy wallpaper, the stale damp air, the quiet dread… It all gnawed at him, slowly but surely, starting from his fingertips and toes.
By the time graduation came around, he’d completely lost contact with his parents. The only thing they still gave him was rent and a pitiful allowance—and even that, he told himself, was something to be thankful for.
He took the college entrance exam alone. Graduated alone. He sent them a message about the ceremony, but—of course—there was no reply. One teacher stood by his side that day in their place: his homeroom teacher from first year, the one who had helped him pay his bills and tried, more than once, to report his parents for child neglect.
But without bruises or broken bones, and without any intention on Woo-jun’s part to pursue it, her efforts always came up short.
Even when Woo-jun was accepted into a well-known university in Seoul with a full scholarship, he said he wouldn’t go. He couldn’t afford the admission fee. That same teacher called his parents herself, demanded the money, and made sure he went. That was all she could do as a teacher.
“Make lots of friends, okay, Woo-jun? You’re a great kid. A really good one. Maybe your parents will come around, just a little. Just hang in there. Go to school, prepare for a job… If you keep living your life step by step, things will get better. That day will come. And if it ever gets too hard, come visit me. Just don’t… don’t go to a dark place, okay?”
She was still clinging to him even as they were leaving the graduation hall, her eyes full of worry. He was one of her first students as a newly certified teacher—and one she couldn’t stop thinking about.
“…Yes, Teacher. I’ll call you.”
Woo-jun didn’t believe a single word. He didn’t think things would get better. But he nodded anyway. Being agreeable—going along with what others said—that was the only survival skill he’d mastered. It was second nature by now.
As expected, nothing got better in college. Not even a month into the semester, his parents reached out—for the first time in three years.
They said they’d done enough. They’d raised him to adulthood, and that was more than enough. He was on his own now.
Park Woo-jun didn’t argue. He accepted it in silence. He’d never asked for anything to begin with, and ironically, it was the very face his brother had been so jealous of that made it easy for him to find part-time work.
His awakening as an Esper came during a large lecture class. He’d been feeling off all morning, then suddenly his body flared with heat and his vision spun. As he collapsed, one thought flickered through his head: Ah… I need to let my boss know.
Screams ripped through the air, deafening.
In that moment, he genuinely wished he could just die.
***
“Mr. Park Woo-jun, can you hear me?”
When he opened his eyes, he was already inside the Center. A researcher in a white lab coat was standing behind a glass wall, calling out to him. The room was stark and bare, with just a single bed in the middle—and he was the only one there. It felt more like solitary confinement than a hospital.
“Where… am I?”
“You’ve probably seen it on the news. This is the Center. More specifically, you’re in an Esper Awakening Isolation Unit. I’m not sure if you remember, but you awakened yesterday. That’s why we brought you here.”
“I… awakened? Me?”
“Yes. We’ll need to run some additional tests to be sure, but early signs suggest you’re nature-affinity—at least A-Class. Congratulations.”
Center? Esper? None of it made sense. It was the kind of stuff he’d only ever heard about in passing, things that had nothing to do with his world. Woo-jun blinked slowly, then pinched his cheek—hard. The staffer watching through the glass let out a chuckle.
“Nope. You’re not dreaming, so don’t bother. For now, you’ll spend today in isolation and receive intensive Guiding. Starting tomorrow, you’ll begin basic education and undergo your grade evaluation. Oh—and just so you’re aware, unlike Guides, Espers are placed under official government jurisdiction the moment they awaken. That’s standard under the National Security Act.”
“…Excuse me?”
The researcher rattled off information like he was reading off a checklist—fast, clinical, impersonal. Woo-jun didn’t understand even half of it, but the man only smiled in that detached, professional way.
“Don’t worry. You’ll figure it all out eventually. Just focus on getting some rest.”
“…What the hell is going on.”
Alone in a room that was blindingly white, Woo-jun sat frozen, staring blankly at the walls. He had no idea what came next. All he could think about were the horror stories he’d seen on the news—Espers worked like dogs until their bodies gave out, their deaths labeled as ‘accidents’ or ‘mysteries.’ Would that be him too?
Not like it makes much difference.
If this was the end, then maybe it was better than dying alone in his dingy apartment, only to be discovered by a city employee weeks later. At least this way, he’d contribute something before he went. That thought, as detached and bleak as it was, felt oddly comforting.
Park Woo-jun had never cared much about his own well-being. And so, he accepted it—quietly, calmly, without resistance.
What he didn’t know was that the very next day would flip his entire life upside down.
When he woke the following morning, he was still in the same isolation room. So, it really hadn’t been a dream. He sat quietly, unsure what he was supposed to do. Around nine o’clock, the digital clock on the wall blinked, and the staffer from yesterday appeared, tapping on the glass.
“Good morning. Must be a bit stuffy in there, huh?”
“…Ah, no. I actually slept pretty well.”
The isolation room had only a bed and a small bathroom—nothing special—but it was still cleaner and more spacious than the studio apartment he’d lived in since high school. Maybe that’s why he’d slept better than he had in years.
“Um… how long do I have to stay in here?”
“Ah, sorry about that. Just a little longer. We haven’t found a temporary Guide match for you yet. Right now, the room is filled with a mild sedative—your body’s in worse shape than you realize. You need Guiding. I know it doesn’t feel urgent yet, but it is.”
That would explain the weird heaviness he’d been feeling. Woo-jun nodded without protest.
The staffer didn’t show it, but he was surprised. Most newly awakened Espers were so sensitive and high-strung, they’d go off the rails if left in isolation for even half a day—screaming, threatening, demanding to be let out. But not this one.
About two hours later, the staffer returned—this time with someone else.
Even before they appeared, Woo-jun could sense them coming. Thud… thud… thud. He heard it like chocolate being crushed under soft pressure—the sound of footsteps reverberating through the air. Heavy, deliberate.
So this is what it’s like to have Esper senses, he thought distantly.
Just behind the heavy footsteps came another set—tap, tap—lighter, quicker, following close behind.
