The director clenched his jaw instead of smacking his own head in frustration. This time, he began scrutinizing Yoo Ji-ho’s appearance.
How the hell does he not show even a single sign? How?
As expected, his face wasn’t just polished—it was flawless. It was downright uncanny how he didn’t show a single trace of Chronic Guiding Deficiency.
Even Director Shin himself, who faced Yoo Ji-ho up close every day, hadn’t realized until yesterday how dangerously unstable his wave pattern had become. Meanwhile, the media was in a frenzy, claiming that the guiding-deprived Yoo Ji-ho now exuded a sort of decadent allure.
Of course, the Center welcomed this reaction. After all, an S-rank Esper’s wave patterns, health status, and everything else about them were classified state secrets.
Which was exactly why action needed to be taken now, before things worsened and leaked to the public.
“Can’t you just do it once? Why are you avoiding it like the plague?”
“I’ll just increase the frequency of non-contact Guiding.”
“That’s a stopgap at best! How long are you going to keep relying on a temporary solution? You know what happens when you hit the brink of rampage like before.”
These days, the supernatural society had long since entered a period of stability. Esper rampages weren’t common anymore. Especially in Yeouido, where the higher the Esper’s rank, the tighter the Guiding management. In this environment, Guiding Deficiency was unheard of—except in Yoo Ji-ho’s case. He was the only Esper suffering from such a unique issue.
After Director Shin brought up the risk of a rampage, Yoo Ji-ho fell silent. A sure sign that his condition had deteriorated beyond what he could handle. Back in the day, at the mere mention of it, Yoo Ji-ho would’ve unleashed a barrage of vulgarities so nasty Shin’s mental state would’ve been left in shambles.
“You used to just hate physical contact, sure. But that was, what, ten years ago? Things could be different now—how would you know?”
“Fine.”
As expected, Yoo Ji-ho—who had looked like he was wavering—eventually accepted the proposal.
“I’ll try it once. But if it doesn’t work, don’t ever bring it up again.”
“Got it, got it! Good choice!”
As soon as a smile stretched across Shin’s face, Yoo Ji-ho’s expression twisted in annoyance.
Director Shin had a dark little plan in mind. Even if this trial didn’t work, he was determined to keep trying. And frankly, he was confident.
Little brat. You might be all high and mighty, but you’re still an Esper~
As someone who had been a bit of a big shot Esper himself in his prime, Director Shin knew better than anyone how Espers truly worked.
No matter how much they claimed Guiding felt like shit, no matter how foul-tempered they got, in the end, an Esper would always submit before their Guide—because a Guide was like a respiratory system to them. Since Yoo Ji-ho was aware of how bad his condition had gotten, he had no choice but to agree in the end.
Especially when he was this parched for Guiding—if he didn’t immediately roll over and bare his belly the moment a Guide laid a hand on him, that alone would be a miracle.
“It’s honestly disgusting seeing you smile like that, Director.”
“Oh, was it that obvious? Ahaha!”
“God, you’re seriously annoying.”
“……”
Yoo Ji-ho spoke with the tone of an iced café latte after all the ice had melted—neither cold nor warm. It was his way of generously informing the other party of his mood, even while a gentle smile pulled at the corners of his lips.
Which, in Yoo Ji-ho’s case, meant he was actually pissed. Director Shin quickly wiped the smile off his face—but he couldn’t suppress the twitching at the corners of his mouth, threatening to curl up again.
I’ve got to lock in that damn Guiding schedule ASAP.
Then maybe—just maybe—his own stress would lighten a bit too. Director Shin firmly believed that the universal nature of Espers would be enough to subdue Yoo Ji-ho’s temper, no matter how dog-like it got.
***
Despite joining with a bold resolve, Baek Hye-seong’s current workload remained painfully light. For now, organizing his desk and zoning out had become the bulk of his daily schedule at the Center.
At least he’d volunteered to run coffee errands for the senior Guides whose schedules were jam-packed with Guiding sessions. That was something.
“Okay, low-fat milk instead of regular in the vanilla strawberry cream frappuccino… add chocolate chips, half blended, half whole, whipped cream made with soy milk, chocolate drizzle on top…”
While waiting for the elevator—which happened to be way up on a high floor—Hye-seong rehearsed the list of complicated coffee orders he’d written on a sticky note.
The area around the elevators was eerily quiet. It almost felt like proof that everyone else was hard at work in their own posts, and the thought left a slightly bitter taste.
If only this phase would pass soon. If only he could learn fast and become just as busy and capable as his seniors. Hye-seong longed to become the kind of Guide who, like his teammates, quietly contributed to national security behind the scenes.
Of course, I’ll never be anything like Yoo Ji-ho…
Before he became a Guide, Yoo Ji-ho had been the one to inspire Hye-seong to dream of becoming an Inspector.
Back then, Hye-seong believed that becoming an Inspector who helped supernaturals was the only way he could repay the unreachable savior who had once saved his life. He had truly thought that was his path—completely unaware that a few years later, he’d end up becoming a Guide instead…
Ding—
“Huh…?”
When the elevator doors opened with a chime and he looked up without thinking, Hye-seong froze.
The person he locked eyes with through the opening doors was someone achingly familiar.
It had been seven years since he’d last seen his savior.
A completely unexpected, surreal encounter. As they stood frozen in place, the man’s eyes narrowed, casting a dry gaze down at Hye-seong.
“……”
“……”
The same face Hye-seong had seen on TV this very morning blatantly swept him from head to toe. After silently gauging Hye-seong’s frozen state, Yoo Ji-ho let out a brief sigh and moved his head, reaching out toward the elevator buttons.
His straight fingers—eerily similar to his own demeanor—hovered between two buttons, hesitated for a moment, and then tapped one of them casually.
“Should I carry you in?”
The elevator doors remained open. Instead, Yoo Ji-ho flashed a slight smile and spoke.
“…What?”
That familiar voice—he’d even heard it during this morning’s interview. The sound of it finally brought Hye-seong back to his senses. His wide eyes blinked rapidly.
“If not, then get in already.”
Somehow, those smooth lips curved into a gentle arc again as he spoke. A smile anyone would find attractive.
As he stepped into the elevator with Yoo Ji-ho, Hye-seong felt like his soul was slipping out of his body.
There had always been something he wanted to say if he ever met Yoo Ji-ho again. Something he should’ve said back then—but missed his chance. Even if it was too late, he’d still hoped to say it someday.
Thank you—for saving me back then. I’ve been cherishing the time you gave me ever since.
To Yoo Ji-ho, he was probably just a speck of dust—someone not even worth remembering. And the odds of ever running into him again in this lifetime had seemed astronomically low. But if that miracle ever happened—if he ever got the chance to meet Yoo Ji-ho face-to-face—he wanted to finally express his gratitude.
Now, seven years later, he’d encountered that dreamlike moment without a shred of preparation—and the result was utterly humiliating.
“First floor?”
“…Yes.”
“Alright.”
That was it. The end.
In icy silence, the elevator dutifully took Hye-seong to the first floor without any interruptions.
Ding—
And not a single word passed between them until the doors reopened. Even as he stepped out of the elevator with dragging steps, Hye-seong couldn’t bring himself to say anything to Yoo Ji-ho.
Just before the doors closed, he glanced back.
Yoo Ji-ho, frowning as if sensing something off, slowly turned his gaze toward Hye-seong—
…But the doors closed before their eyes could meet.
He couldn’t even register what had just happened. But one thing was for sure: he’d been holding his breath the entire time.
“…Haa.”
The moment the doors shut, a heavy breath escaped him.
Even in a daze, like someone possessed, Hye-seong managed to complete the entire coffee run perfectly—including that ridiculous low-fat vanilla drink.
But even after returning to the office, his mind was still drifting miles away.
“Hye-seong, are you okay?”
“…Huh?”
“You seem kind of out of it.”
“…Yeah…”
After zoning out for a bit longer at his desk, Hye-seong eventually headed to his assigned Guiding room right on schedule. It was the same session booked that morning.
“Hello, Hye-seong.”
“Hello.”
The only Esper whose face Hye-seong had memorized—Han Geon-woo—was part of Team A2, and a well-known elite at the Center.
As a trainee, most of Hye-seong’s Guiding sessions were one-offs for Espers with urgent schedules. But Han Geon-woo was the only one he saw regularly. Though their ranks differed, their compatibility was high, so they were often matched together.
On top of that, Geon-woo was always remarkably kind to his Guides.
“I hope I’m not being too much of a bother. I feel like I’m here way too often.”
“What? Not at all—I’m actually really grateful.”
And he meant it. Especially today. If it weren’t for Han Geon-woo, Hye-seong would probably still be stuck in a daze.
“Well, I’m glad to hear that. Haha.”
Smiling at that laugh, Hye-seong took his seat.
“Uh…”
Just as Han Geon-woo reached for the backrest of the chair, Hye-seong dropped into his seat before he could help, making Geon-woo awkwardly pull back and walk to the other side.
“Shall I go ahead and stick the patch on today, too?”
“Yes!”
“Alright. Haha.”
As Geon-woo applied the patch to his arm himself, Hye-seong accessed the state graph on his tablet and began reviewing his data diligently. Then he suddenly jumped to his feet with a startled expression.
“Are you feeling hot again today? I’ll lower the AC a bit.”
“Oh, no, it’s fine!”
“Are you sure? You’re already sweating…”
“Well, I was worried you might get cold…”
Every time he met with Hye-seong, Geon-woo would end up sweating during Guiding. Probably because he was a fire-type Esper. Which made his thoughtfulness all the more touching.
“I don’t really get cold easily. I’ll go adjust it real quick!”
Feeling warm inside, Hye-seong replied with a cheerful smile. Geon-woo rubbed the back of his neck wordlessly.
After adjusting the air conditioning, Hye-seong returned and focused on the graph displayed on his screen. Then, he reached out and gently took Geon-woo’s large hand in both of his own.
Even on his busiest days—or slow ones—Geon-woo never missed a Guiding session. He was a responsible, model Esper.
His wave pattern was always stable, and their compatibility was high, so they could usually finish within about five minutes.
And once Guiding began, Geon-woo naturally struck up conversation.
“Hye-seong, did you have lunch? Something good, I hope?”
“Oh, I went to the cafeteria with some seniors today. What about you, Geon-woo?”
“I see. I grabbed some homemade burgers with my team.”
“Oh… really?”
But the moment his body touched the chair, complicated thoughts began to flood Hye-seong’s mind again.
Why did I act like that earlier?
Even if they worked in the same building, running into someone personally like that was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. Who knew if it would ever happen again? And yet, why had he just stood there like a fool?
“They have this amazing cheese burger there. You said you liked vegetarian options, right? They’ve got vegan burgers too. I tried one today—it was really good.”
“Oh… really?”
Self-loathing began to creep in again. Lost in thought, Hye-seong could only respond mechanically with empty eyes whenever Geon-woo tried to talk to him.
