The question had burst out of him, demanding a clear answer.
“Huh?”
He even widened his eyes, waiting a moment expectantly—but on the other end of the speaker, there was only silence. Not even a vague reply, let alone a proper one.
“Why the fuck can’t you answer me? You said as long as I cooperated, you’d bring someone in, so why the hell hasn’t anything changed?”
—Esper-nim, w-we’re trying, but for now…
“Use those brilliant brains of yours and give me a fucking answer.”
Again, only suffocating silence returned through the speaker.
“Why—!”
His furious shout rang through the vast, quiet lab.
Letting out a ragged breath, Yoo Ji-ho ran a hand through his hair and screamed again.
“Why the fuck is it that every goddamn person you bring in is so fucking disgusting?!”
—Esper-nim, please calm down. I think it’s best if we stop here for today. Tomorrow we can—
“Not even surprised anymore.”
Before the sentence was finished, Yoo Ji-ho had already turned on his heel and stormed out of the lab.
His jacket, which had been tossed carelessly over the table, snagged on his outstretched hand at the last second.
His breathing remained harsh, unsteady. He strode down the corridor, fingers combing through his disheveled hair to smooth it back.
Though the buttons on his shirt were still undone, slipping the jacket back on at least gave the impression of composure, muting the sharp tension that had made him look like he’d explode at the slightest touch.
This sudden reactivation of the “Find a Guide for Yoo Ji-ho Project” had only served to remind him—again—of just how useless the Center could be.
He’d always known the incompetence of its people transcended titles and positions, but the past few days had truly been something else.
“…Haa.”
He notified the Director that he was canceling his schedule and headed to the private wing. He was supposed to oversee the A-rank rookie Espers’ training next, but with the state he was in, there was no way he could stand to even look at someone’s face, much less lead a session.
No matter how hard he tried to understand, he just couldn’t wrap his head around it. If that clueless little brat had managed to pull it off, why couldn’t a whole team of trained personnel do the same?
But the thing that pissed him off the most—more than anything else—was the fact that Baek Hye-seong’s absence affected him this deeply.
Second on the list was the chronically incompetent Yeouido Center, which kept serving him this never-ending bullshit.
Third? That insolent little shit who had the nerve to disappear on him.
If someone showed up right now and solved even one of those three things, he’d have no more wishes left in life.
The night Yoo Ji-ho had formally asked Hye-seong to become his Pair Guide, he’d even let the man stay at his house.
It made sense—if there was only one germ constantly making a mess of his home, letting it roll around for one more night wasn’t going to make much of a difference.
“Goodnight, Yoo Ji-ho.”
“Yeah.”
“…Take care.”
That had been the final thing Hye-seong said to him, just before heading off to the guest room after being offered the sofa.
He never expected it.
That odd farewell… turned out to be the fucking goodbye.
Baek Hye-seong had unilaterally decided to end things.
He was gone the next morning. Applied for a transfer over the weekend. Yoo Ji-ho didn’t even hear about it until Monday morning.
And even then, it was only after receiving the bouquet and the letter Hye-seong had left behind in front of his house.
He later learned that Hye-seong had already cleared out his dorm room completely. When Yoo Ji-ho showed signs of being taken aback, Director Shin had the gall to tell him they could call Hye-seong back anytime if he wanted.
Want to? Fuck off…
There was absolutely no reason to want that. So Yoo Ji-ho told them to leave him alone.
It wasn’t like losing a single Guide was the end of the world.
And Baek Hye-seong had made it painfully, blatantly clear that he intended to disappear from Yoo Ji-ho’s life.
There was no way to miss the message—it had been loud and clear.
Still, compared to how stubbornly he’d resisted having a Guide before, Yoo Ji-ho was now cooperating with a newfound, burning willingness. All thanks to someone.
If he could just find anyone to fill the space Baek Hye-seong had left behind—just one person—that fury inside him might finally settle.
So the project began again.
But days passed with no success.
The Guiding Rejection Condition had returned, exactly as it had been before.
The same vile, all-too-familiar disgust he’d never felt with Hye-seong was back with full force, and it made it even harder to bear.
But he couldn’t stop the search. So he just endured the nausea that welled up multiple times a day, making his wave patterns worse by the hour.
If nothing improved tomorrow either, he’d probably have to receive Non-contact Guiding for an entire day just to stabilize.
Eventually, Director Shin couldn’t take it anymore and made a suggestion.
“Ji-ho… I know it might’ve just been dumb luck last time, but maybe this whole thing’s a little too reckless. Should we just… reach out to Hye-seong?”
“Reach out? Who the fuck’s reaching out to who?”
“Uh? Us… to Hye-seong.”
“Don’t you fucking dare. Try it, and I swear—”
From that moment on, Yoo Ji-ho made it crystal clear that if anyone dared go crawling to Baek Hye-seong, there’d be hell to pay. He threatened them repeatedly.
Left without options, seething with some unnamable fury, Yoo Ji-ho tried to sort through his thoughts.
Why? Why am I like this…?
But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t figure it out.
Even if he was angry… why was he this angry? To the point of madness?
He didn’t know for sure, but if he had to name the emotion clawing at him, it felt like… betrayal.
He felt betrayed.
After all that talk about being his fan—fuck.
Yeah, he said he was a fan. Stumbled home drunk that night, cheeks flushed, and confessed it outright.
Said he was his fan.
And now he was feeling betrayed by that dumb little Guide who’d dared to disappear on his own terms after confessing something like that.
He always had this stupid smile, and sometimes acted a little off… but Yoo Ji-ho never expected this—to be screwed over like this.
To vanish without even asking. Without permission.
Why the hell?
Did Baek Hye-seong figure something out?
“If he ever finds out the truth, he’ll run like hell.”
Ever since the Guide vanished, that voice—Director Shin’s voice—kept echoing in his head.
Did Baek Hye-seong learn something? Is that why he ran?
“…Fuck.”
Thinking about it only made his mood darker and fouler.
He could feel the flinch from everyone he passed in the hallway, but he didn’t care.
He couldn’t figure out what he’d missed.
He’d listened patiently when Hye-seong babbled on about not wanting to go back to the dorms.
He let him sleep over at his place. He asked him to stay on as his Pair. Hye-seong even nodded.
But still, he left.
And trying to make sense of it all was enough to drive him insane.
Yet despite everything… Yoo Ji-ho still didn’t feel the need to bring Baek Hye-seong back.
He was beyond pissed—furious enough to feel like his blood was boiling in reverse.
But there were plenty of Guides in South Korea who could take Hye-seong’s place.
Even if they were bound somewhere else, Yoo Ji-ho could pull strings and bring them in. That’s the kind of person he was.
He would find another Guide just as capable.
He could live perfectly fine without that insignificant Guide.
That infuriating Guide who ran off after stealing his damn soul. Fuck…
***
Two weeks after Baek Hye-seong’s disappearance, Yoo Ji-ho was finally prescribed sedatives and Guiding stabilizers. He was pulled from all public engagements.
With the help of the medication, he seemed noticeably calmer.
“I’ll administer the shot now. You should stay in bed for a few days.”
“What about the Guide?”
“It’s too dangerous as it is. Let the Center handle it for a few days—we’ll keep looking.”
Though Yoo Ji-ho had once despised guiding altogether, now he was obsessed with finding a “replacement Guide.”
But even so, he still showed the same intense aversion to actually receiving regular Guiding sessions like other Espers. It was a glaring contradiction.
With no results, he started to wonder—maybe there really wasn’t a Guide out there compatible with him.
And that thought only enraged him further, because every time it crossed his mind, he thought of Hye-seong.
Eventually, Director Shin and Dr. Na Hye-yoon stopped even mentioning Baek Hye-seong’s name in front of him.
You said you were my fan. You said you liked me. So how the hell could you leave me?
There’s no way.
He never understood that crap people say—about leaving because you love someone, or walking away for their sake.
That noble, self-sacrificing nonsense that gets parroted around like gospel—he’d never bought into it.
Now, more than anything, he was curious.
Just how the hell did that dumb little brat’s brain even work?
No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t predict it.
Why? Why did you leave me?
I was planning to be good to you.
