He’d taken a moment to pause out of sheer disbelief, but of course, the plan was to use some excuse to bail after receiving just a bit of Guiding.
With Guiding patches stuck to his arms as he sat facing Hye-seong, Yoo Ji-ho glanced over and asked bluntly. The way Hye-seong kept smiling like an idiot beside him was so irritating, he couldn’t not ask.
“You like this that much?”
“Yes! You know what they say—well begun is half done!”
“….”
“Hehe.”
Even though he’d only allowed thirty minutes, Hye-seong looked absolutely thrilled, like this was the happiest moment of his life. It grated on Ji-ho’s nerves. So all he could do was glare at that ridiculous face of his.
“Why’re you going this far?”
“Sorry? What do you mean?”
“I mean, I’ve never seen a Guide as… diligent as you.”
“Oh, come on, this is exactly why I became your Pair Guide. It’s only right that I give it my all!”
“….”
He looked genuinely happy, like he thought he was being praised. Ji-ho couldn’t understand what kind of nerve this guy had to keep chasing him around without even comprehending what he was saying. What did he think all of this was even for?
Well, whatever. If it had to be done anyway, and it was Non-contact Guiding, then enduring it briefly wasn’t the worst thing.
But this Guide—he was just lucky things hadn’t gone south yet. If Ji-ho ever had to do Contact Guiding again, there was no way he’d make it through.
And once it got to that point, Hye-seong would end up just like all the previous Guides. So what the hell was he so starry-eyed about?
What Ji-ho really wanted to know was: Why was he doing all this?
“….”
“Hmmm…”
Yoo Ji-ho stared at the small head bobbing beside him, fiddling with a tablet and some scattered sheets of paper.
It didn’t make sense. Was it just because he was being paid well? But even that didn’t explain the kind of nonsense Hye-seong had spewed about following him into a Gate. That kind of blind commitment needed more than just a strong work ethic.
He’d almost cursed straight into that soft-looking face earlier out of sheer disbelief. But doing that would’ve just meant falling right back into the same shitty cycle Director Shin kept pushing on him.
“The Gate… sir?”
“Yeah. I mean, you’re already showing up while I’m eating and everything.”
“…I think I could do it. No, I will do it.”
The way he’d widened those big eyes and said that? It hadn’t been some cocky newbie’s bravado or a desperate attempt to impress a senior.
That’s why Ji-ho, who’d been fully prepared to laugh in his face, had been thrown so off balance.
“Ugh, this is so inefficient…”
Hye-seong was awkwardly shifting the tablet back and forth in his hands, trying to avoid the patch wires stuck to him. Ji-ho kept staring—intently, almost harshly—quietly hurling the questions he couldn’t say aloud.
Why are you going this far? Why, when you’re nothing…
No matter how you looked at it, this level of dedication was beyond diligent. It was devotion.
That’s when Ji-ho finally started to really see Baek Hye-seong—not just as some irritating puppy trailing behind him, but as a person.
***
And not long after, Dr. Na’s words gave him the answer.
“I think it’s because Hye-seong’s a fan of yours.”
“Oh, really?”
Ji-ho turned to look at him with widened eyes—and a smile slowly spread across his lips.
“Yes. I didn’t hear the full story, but… it seems like it.”
“So that’s what this is about.”
“…What do you mean?”
“It’s a thing.”
Dr. Na paled visibly at Ji-ho’s grin, but Ji-ho was genuinely amused. The moment he heard those words, it brought him a weird kind of joy.
And at the same time, it made his blood boil with disbelief.
“Because it’s you, Yoo Ji-ho-sshi. If that ever happens… I’ll do it.”
That little bastard was his fan? That’s why he was so blindly devoted?
If so, then Baek Hye-seong was exactly the kind of person Ji-ho hated most.
Everyone who ever approached him claiming to be a “fan” had some ulterior motive—never once had it come from a place of genuine innocence. There was always something they wanted, something they expected.
Even if it was something they themselves believed to be pure, like kindness or warmth—qualities they considered basic decency—it was still a kind of expectation.
And that meant once Baek Hye-seong saw Ji-ho’s real self, he’d be the first to be disappointed, the first to run away.
“Hah.”
They’d expect some idealized version of him, and when he failed to match it, they’d act all hurt—like it was his fault. Just imagining it made Ji-ho’s insides twist.
Oh, and before all that?
The second he saw Ji-ho on the verge of a rampage, he’d probably cry and whine, begging to stop the Guiding, terrified of dying just from being near him.
Ji-ho had witnessed that pathetic scene too many times to count in his life as an Esper. Going into a Gate? Please. Like hell.
“God, this is so fucking stupid.”
In that moment, Ji-ho lost even the will to put on an act in front of Hye-seong. Even pretending to be polite felt exhausting now. He wasn’t sure he could even look the guy in the face with a smile anymore.
So Ji-ho began actively avoiding him.
Ping—
[Hello ^^ When are you coming into the office today??]
But Baek Hye-seong wouldn’t leave him alone.
Ping—
[Hello ^^ You need a Guiding session—where are you??]
Ping—
[Hello ^^ It’s the weekend, but would a Guiding be alright today??]
Ping—
[Hello ^^ Just wondering where you are??]
Ping—
[Hello ^^ Your wave pattern’s really unstable today—where are you??]
“Has he lost his damn mind?”
Even now, his pager screen was lit up with yet another annoying message from Hye-seong. Ji-ho’s expression instantly twisted into a scowl. He tore off the pager and casually flung it.
Crack!
He hadn’t even thrown it that hard, but the sound it made wasn’t reassuring.
It must’ve hit the marble floor and shattered—screen and all. His strength must’ve gotten away from him again.
Ji-ho stared at it for a moment, then shut his eyes and leaned his head back against the sofa.
“…Ah.”
The very idea that people were still clinging to some stupid hope about Contact Guiding—when it was obviously impossible—was just laughable now.
And the whole Pair Guide system? That was the most absurd part of all.
Tying the lifeline of an Esper—someone who could literally die at any moment—to just one person? It was laughable. Absolutely laughable.
The problem had always been him. He’d learned that lesson the hard way. Expectation only led to slow, torturous disappointment.
So if he could just hang in there a little longer, freedom would be his again. And yet—
“This is so fucking annoying…”
Maybe he’d underestimated things. He thought he could just brush it off, ignore the guy, and let time run out. But he’d never been this bothered by a single person before.
He’d never had to run away from someone before.
Usually, if someone annoyed him, he just dealt with it—removed them before it got this far. But this? This persistent brat who wouldn’t back off no matter what—this was a whole new kind of hell.
His head, already on the verge of splitting, now throbbed even worse. Ji-ho left the broken pager where it was and rubbed at his aching forehead, slumped on the sofa.
And that’s when he felt it—a faint tremor through the floor.
—Emergency assistance requested!
What had started as a subtle vibration quickly escalated into a loud, building-wide alarm that echoed through the ceiling.
—Emergency assistance requested!
—Emergency assistance requested!
The broken pager’s alert was still functioning.
Ji-ho popped three painkillers and downed them with water, then rose from his seat.
***
On the second floor of a large shopping complex, a small church was holding a weekday evening service.
The air tonight felt especially chilly.
“Our Father who art in heaven, hallowed be Thy name…”
A middle-aged woman seated in the back row paused mid-prayer and slowly opened her eyes. Even with everyone else murmuring their prayers, a strange, bone-deep chill was spreading through the room.
It wasn’t her imagination. Her skin prickled, and the air felt completely different from when she’d entered.
A strange scent tickled her nose, making her sniff instinctively—even as she forgot she was in the middle of a prayer.
It smells like blood and water.
There was no mistaking it. The church itself smelled… fishy.
At that moment, the pastor’s voice echoed from the podium through the mic.
“Before we begin the sermon, please turn to Chapter Three.”
The congregation, having received cards before the service, flipped them open. The pastor took a sip from his water bottle and brought up the accompanying slides on the screen.
The middle-aged woman, still frowning in confusion, reached for the paper in front of her.
The rustle of turning pages and the soft sounds of people clearing their throats filled the brief silence between service segments.
Just as the sermon was about to begin—
“Oh my god!”
The scream came from the woman who had first noticed something strange.
But instead of turning toward her, all eyes locked forward—toward the pulpit.
—And refused to look away.
