B-Team from the Gyeonggi Branch, who appeared to be the first responders to this chaos, was barely managing to peel off the sticky, sky-blue creatures that had jumped up and latched onto their faces and bodies.
Yoo Ji-ho ignored them entirely and gestured for the more competent-looking support team to head upstairs, where civilians were still likely trapped.
The crucifix and piano on the pulpit at the front of the sanctuary were thoroughly smeared with octopus-like creatures, and the floor was layered with the corpses of the dead ones, their dull, murky glow casting an eerie light.
—Ten minutes remaining until Gate collapse.
That meant he had ten minutes to finish this shitshow and save every last person. Yoo Ji-ho scanned the inside of the church, then suddenly frowned.
Something else had been getting on his nerves this entire time.
Bbyong bbyong. Bbyong bbyong. Bbyong bbyong. Bbyong bbyong. Bbyong bbyong.
Yeah. The most goddamn annoying thing right now was that fucking noise.
“Ha…”
It wasn’t even a joke. What the fuck. He let out a dry laugh in disbelief.
So this is what the Director meant by “stress levels spiking.”
Countless jellyfish-octopus-whatever-things were launching themselves into the air, slamming their soft heads against the ceiling with eight freakishly flexible legs. And they were doing it everywhere, all at once. It was indescribably annoying.
Monsters like this—non-lethal but irritating as hell to deal with—often started popping up once the Gate cycle had peaked and was tapering down.
Yoo Ji-ho began taking out dozens of them with his abilities while stomping on others with his foot. A sticky, transparent mucus clung to his shoes, and he shook it off in disgust.
“Fucking hell.”
Unable to stomach the revulsion, he frowned and looked around.
Since the beginning, the Espers had been focused on sealing the Gate entrance. Peering into the rift, he could make out the suction-cup-covered head of an adult octopus. Massive tentacles—nothing like the smaller ones—were writhing, trying to slip through any gap in the blockade.
Sure, rescuing the missing person who’d been sucked in was critical—but so was cleaning up this ocean of corpses.
Even if these creatures weren’t toxic, monsters in general came with a universal mix of disgust and fuck-no that made no one want them anywhere on Earth.
Yoo Ji-ho started rounding up the ones mindlessly bbyong-bbyong-ing through the air. The plan was simple: scoop them up and toss them back into the Gate. No need to kill them.
Some of the Espers caught on and began helping—tossing in dead ones and the ones they’d already taken down.
“Urgh…”
The sight of all those wriggling octopus-things writhing in unison as they floated was enough to make anyone sick. From inside their eight legs, a soft neon blue glow was pulsing. And that goddamn bbyong-bbyong noise still filled the room.
Once the clean-up began, the operation gained momentum. Espers who’d been flailing helplessly began moving quickly now. Even as they got smacked around by the monsters, they picked up corpses and flung them into the growing pile Yoo Ji-ho was building. Some even brought back bodies that had spilled outside the Gate’s perimeter.
The massive ball of sky-blue octopus meat rolled forward like a boulder tumbling down a mountain. As it moved, sticky trails of mucus splattered across the floor with each roll.
Pushing the ball of corpses closer to the Gate, slightly out of breath, Yoo Ji-ho contacted the control room. He also peeled back the invisible barrier he’d put up on the Gate just a bit.
“How much time left?”
—Three minutes remaining!
The moment the words reached him, Yoo Ji-ho’s expression twisted.
A massive tentacle exploded out of the Gate and wrapped around his body. Before he could react—fwip—he was yanked inside.
“…Huh?”
“……”
“……”
A pitch-black silence fell over the church.
The Gate had swallowed Yoo Ji-ho.
Everyone who witnessed it had the same thought.
Yeah, sure, that was shocking… but like… was this really a big deal?
Since it was Yoo Ji-ho, everyone looked uncertain, unsure how to react.
“U-Uh, what do we do…”
“Um…”
The Espers, who’d thought things were nearly wrapped up, stood frozen in a mix of shock and confusion.
Pop!
“Aagh!”
“Shit, that scared me…!”
Breaking the terrible silence, Yoo Ji-ho’s arm suddenly shot out of thin air.
His outstretched hand grabbed hold of a massive sky-blue tentacle—another arm that had poked out in a different direction.
It was the same one that had dragged the pastor in earlier.
Yoo Ji-ho’s hand pulled it, then disappeared back into the Gate.
Silence again.
Splat.
With a wet gurgle, a person was spat out of the Gate like something ejected from a beast’s throat.
“AAAAAHHHHH!”
“Whoa—!”
The figure tumbled across the floor and collapsed.
The Espers, now shaken from their daze, rushed toward him.
“Huff, huff…”
The man was covered in goo and trembling—clearly the missing person. A middle-aged man. The church’s pastor.
Now, there was only one person left to wait for.
All eyes, heavy with exhaustion but filled with hope, turned toward the Gate.
The barrier over the Gate was back in place, and the tension in the room was suffocating.
Then—from within the darkness—Yoo Ji-ho’s back began to emerge.
The Espers watched with bated breath, ready for anything.
His back slid out from the Gate slowly, deliberately, like someone clawing their way out of thick mud.
A neon-blue tentacle still clung to his arm, barely slipping through the narrow opening made just wide enough for one person.
Yoo Ji-ho motioned with one hand, sending vibrations through the barrier he’d cast. A funnel-shaped gap opened.
—Ten seconds left!
At the alert, Yoo Ji-ho’s eyes glinted. He waved his hand again, as if beckoning.
And almost like it understood, the massive octopus ball began to roll.
—Six… Five… Four…
The ball of corpses, flinging slime with each bounce, changed direction mid-roll and shot toward the Gate like a golf ball driven by a perfect stroke.
It followed the path of vibration straight into the Gate—swoosh—and disappeared.
The gaping mouth snapped shut.
As if to confirm, a voice sounded in Yoo Ji-ho’s ear.
—Gate has stabilized.
The Gate had vanished.
“……Ha.”
The breath Yoo Ji-ho let out carried a heavy weight. It meant everything—all of it—was over. Perfectly.
One of the Espers collapsed on the spot with a sigh.
That broke the dam.
Everyone exhaled in relief, flopping onto the floor without a care for their ruined uniforms.
After 48 minutes, peace had returned like a calm river.
One Esper leaning by the window cracked it open and shouted down to the street.
“Mission success!”
“Oh, thank the Lord!”
“Thank you, thank you!”
Outside the church, the congregation—who had been praying desperately—embraced each other with cheers of joy.
Personnel waiting outside began to enter to wrap things up, and the rescued pastor was loaded onto a stretcher.
An Esper who had been reassuring the pastor now cautiously approached Yoo Ji-ho, who still stood staring at where the Gate had been.
“Esper Yoo Ji-ho… You really are incredible.”
“……”
“Uh… A-Are you okay?”
The Esper’s expression slowly turned grim.
Something was wrong.
Blood vessels bulged visibly on Yoo Ji-ho’s exposed neck and arms, and his eyes were bloodshot. He radiated intense heat, even without being touched.
Wait. This is—
Just as the other Esper realized what was happening, Yoo Ji-ho swayed in place.
He slumped forward, leaning heavily on the arm that rushed to catch him. Head bowed low, he murmured into the still-connected comms.
“Prep the chopper. Now.”
This was no time to pass out.
***
Night had fallen at the Guide Dormitory’s dining hall. Unlike the busy lunch hour, dinner was quiet, with only a handful of staff scattered at tables.
Sitting in a corner, B-rank Guide Kim Young-woo tapped the leg of his colleague across from him and whispered.
“That guy.”
Following his nod, the other Guide turned to see a boy with a bright, fresh-faced look eating hungrily alone—so absorbed in both his food and his phone that he didn’t even notice being watched.
He looked young. Way too green. He practically screamed rookie.
And he was cute too. His face looked familiar somehow.
The Guide who kept sneaking glances at Hye-seong from across the room quickly put two and two together.
It was easy to understand why Kim Young-woo was sitting there in utter shock.
“He’s your roommate, right?”
“Yeah. Yoo Ji-ho’s Pair.”
“Damn… You weren’t kidding. He’s really just… that.”
“Right? Didn’t I tell you?”
Hye-seong’s roommate, Kim Young-woo, stared openly at him, unable to hide his displeasure.
“Come to think of it, Yoo Ji-ho’s chopper was dispatched today. That emergency alert earlier—it was serious.”
“So, uh… is that kid gonna die tonight?”
“Huh? Why?”
Kim Young-woo blinked in confusion. But it didn’t take long for him to catch the look on his friend’s face. His eyes narrowed.
Then he snorted.
“Ah… Death by oversex?”
