“……”
A desperate gaze locked onto Lee Han-seo, unwavering. As the trembling in his shoulders ceased and the tears that had been pouring down his face began to dry, even the civilians who had been thrashing in midair under Park Woo-jun’s control started to calm. The ache gnawing at Lee Han-seo’s heart also began to fade. Even the overwhelming sympathy he felt toward the young Esper started to dull—making him realize that his urge to provide Guiding hadn’t come from pure volition after all.
That realization sparked a flicker of instinctive revulsion—an automatic rejection of psychic-type Espers who could so easily stir the unconscious. But Lee Han-seo didn’t let it show. He held his composure, letting a calm, professional smile curve across his lips as he met the Esper’s gaze with practiced gentleness.
“You’re okay now. You’ve done really well.”
“……”
“You’ll be heading straight to the Center soon. Do you think you can walk to the parking lot? If that’s too hard, you see those people? Woo-jun can carry you, just like he did with them.”
The Esper shook his head, uncertain. Instead, he dropped where he stood and slowly began crawling toward Lee Han-seo. It was pure instinct—an Esper drawn to the first Guide he’d ever met. This was his first awakening, his first time receiving Guiding, and he couldn’t even register the presence of another Esper already standing protectively beside that Guide.
Maybe he remembered Lee Han-seo’s earlier words—about how he reminded him of someone precious. Whatever it was, Park Woo-jun’s unusually patient tolerance only extended to about ten steps. Then, without a word, he stepped in between them like a stone wall. A silent blockade. Lee Han-seo, catching his gaze, immediately stopped emitting Guiding waves.
“Movement appears voluntary impossible. Proceeding with transport.”
The Esper, cut off from his goal, and Park Woo-jun, standing in his way—both stared at each other with equally cold, unreadable eyes.
Then the Esper lunged. As if desperate to see the Guide now hidden behind that broad back, he flung himself forward, limbs flailing, even before Park Woo-jun could react. Woo-jun, still maintaining his restraint over the civilians, couldn’t unleash his full power—not when human bodies shattered like glass under his strength. Instead, he braced himself and absorbed the impact with his own body. Thud. The boy’s head collided with his abs—light as a pillow, laughably weak.
“Urgh…!!”
The Esper bounced off and landed on the ground, glaring up at him with bloodshot eyes full of rage, like he wanted to tear him apart. It was arrogant. Insolent. But Park Woo-jun repeated it in his head—Just awakened. Doesn’t know anything yet. He forced himself not to take it seriously. Though… he couldn’t stop his lips from jutting into a small pout.
And then—
At the exact same moment, both of them moved. Park Woo-jun reached to lift the Esper, and the Esper raised a hand to strike. Perfectly synchronized.
“W-Woo-jun! Park Woo-jun!”
Lee Han-seo’s scream tore through the food court, cutting through the noise like a blade.
Thud. Crash.
Both Espers collapsed, almost theatrically, at the same time—toppling to the cold floor.
Park Woo-jun collapsing wasn’t new. Only recently had he started going on missions with others—before that, he always insisted on going alone. It wasn’t rare for him to return bloodied and bruised. And just as often, Lee Han-seo would stay up all night at his bedside, keeping watch.
But this—this had never happened before. Not in five years.
They weren’t even in a dungeon. No battle. Nothing dangerous. And yet someone who’d seemed perfectly fine had just… collapsed.
He always seemed so light—like you could scoop him up like a scoop of sweet potato mousse. But now? Lee Han-seo couldn’t even roll his limp body over. He just stood there, frozen, as stunned staff rushed to bring a stretcher and carry him away. The whole thing felt surreal, like a bad dream.
The transport bed, clearly meant for one, ended up holding both of them. With no Medical Team on site and only one vehicle available, there was only one option: return to the Center as fast as possible.
“Hey… Park Woo-jun… What’s wrong? Come on, open your eyes, please.”
He was so shocked that tears didn’t even come. Lee Han-seo dropped to his knees on the van’s floor, holding tightly to Woo-jun’s hand. No matter how much Guiding he poured in, it did nothing. Everything read as normal. Perfectly normal.
The staffer at the wheel barked panicked orders over speakerphone, shouting nonstop—but to Han-seo, it was all a blur. He couldn’t hear a word. What the hell went wrong? What caused this? It couldn’t have been the collision. Psychic-type Espers were physically no different from ordinary people. Nothing about that contact could’ve triggered this. He glanced back and forth between the two unconscious men, but no answer revealed itself.
“Goddamn it, what the hell is wrong with Team Leader Park now?”
“I don’t know. Everything was going smoothly, then suddenly—he just dropped.”
“Fine. Send the awakened Esper to Isolation, and get Team Leader Park to medical right away.”
The Medical Team, already on standby, burst into motion alongside several researchers, white coats flapping behind them. Lee Han-seo, barely able to feel his legs, forced himself to move, following them inside. Everyone at the Center looked just as shocked as he was.
“Guiding state is stable. Vitals are normal. Only anomaly is… his brainwaves—they’re fluctuating.”
“Hmm… Start with a brain CT. Could be he was exposed too closely to a psychic Esper who couldn’t control their ability.”
Seriously. Psychic-types were always trouble. One of the Med Team muttered with a frustrated frown.
Esper ranks were determined mostly by how much meaningful damage one could deal inside a dungeon. That’s why Special-Type Espers, who rarely showed offensive capabilities, were often rated lower than their power deserved. Healing and telekinetic Espers had at least some use in dungeon missions, so they fared a bit better. But psychic-types? No matter how intense their wave output, most of them barely scraped by with a B-rank.
“Han-seo. What happened?”
“H-Hyung…”
Clatter, clatter. The wheels of the gurney echoed loudly through the hallway. Lee Han-seo trailed behind, pale and dazed like a goldfish clinging to its tank debris. His heart was pounding so hard it felt like he might throw up. The shock had numbed him—he still hadn’t cried. But then he caught sight of a familiar face. Then came that worried voice, soft and familiar. That’s when the tears finally broke through.
“Uwaaaah, Jung-hyuk hyung, W-Woo-jun, what do I do? He just—just collapsed… all of a sudden…”
Every terrible thought imaginable raced through his mind. Sure, Espers weren’t known to get sick, but what if he’d been hiding some illness? What if he’d been silently enduring it, just to avoid worrying Han-seo, and it had finally caught up with him now? Or worse—what had that psychic-type Esper done? What on earth could’ve brought an S-Class Esper like Park Woo-jun to his knees… right in front of his own Bonded Pair Guide?
Lee Jung-hyuk, clearly having rushed over as soon as he heard, looked just as rattled. Without saying a word, he wrapped an arm around Han-seo’s trembling shoulders and gently ran his large hand over the top of his head.
“It’s okay. He’s going to be fine.”
“Was it… was it because I waited too long? Because I didn’t say I’d go into the dungeon with him? Did he push himself too hard while I was hesitating? Is that why this happened?”
“No. There’s no way. Joon-young hyung’s talking to the Esper Research Team right now. Let’s wait and see what they find.”
Jung-hyuk’s chest ached. Han-seo’s tear-streaked face looked exactly like it had the first time they met—back when the boy cried his eyes out, begging to go home. That same lost expression. That same heartbreak.
You could block physical attacks. You could guard against teeth and claws. But the blind strike of an out-of-control psychic-type Esper? There was no shield for that. Not in this world. If it wasn’t something that could kill monsters in a dungeon, no one ever thought to prepare for it.
“We’ve found traces of intense exposure to a special wavelength in the frontal lobe and parts of the brain. There’s no threat to his life. No damage to combat ability… He should regain consciousness soon.”
But what was the effect of that kind of exposure? If there was any brain damage, how long would recovery take? Would he heal completely? As the patient’s guardian, these were things Han-seo deserved to know. And yet the researcher had stood there like it was nothing, ticking off boxes, indifferent and smug. As if the only thing that mattered was whether Woo-jun could still fight.
“Esper Park Woo-jun has regained consciousness! Guardian! Guide Lee Han-seo!”
“Y-Yes! I’m here!”
At the urgent call from the medical team, Han-seo bolted through the doors, not even noticing that one of his shoes had slipped off. He practically stumbled into the treatment room. Woo-jun was already trying to sit up, his brow furrowed like his head was pounding.
“Woo-jun-ah!” Han-seo cried, voice cracking into something just shy of a scream. He threw himself onto the bed, burying his face against Woo-jun’s chest.
“I was so scared… I really thought something terrible happened… sob sob… I’m so glad you woke up…”
He sobbed, shoulders heaving, tears and snot soaking through the fabric. But the air around him felt… cold. Off.
There was no comforting hand on his head, no gentle voice whispering “You must’ve been scared. It’s okay. Don’t cry. I’m fine.”
Nothing.
Was he still in pain? Disoriented? Too dazed to respond? Han-seo tried to stay calm, told himself not to worry, and slowly lifted his head.
“……”
Sniff. “Park Woo-jun…?”
Their eyes met—cold, distant.
And then—shove. A sharp, unfeeling hand pushed him away.
“Get off.”
“Huh…?”
Han-seo froze, stunned. That wasn’t the Woo-jun he knew. Then the voice came—frosty, sharp, crashing down like a hammer.
“You’re annoying. I said get off.”
