At the same time, Director Shin Hyung-cheol was monitoring Yoo Ji-ho’s Contact Guiding test alongside Dr. Na Hye-yoon, who was primarily responsible for managing Yoo Ji-ho’s wave pattern.
Humming a tune under his breath, Director Shin looked completely confident. In contrast, Dr. Na didn’t look so sure.
“Why are you so worried, Dr. Na?”
“I don’t know. I’ve just got a bad feeling about this.”
“Come on, you’re a scientist. You can’t go around trusting gut feelings.”
“Still, I did bring the best-matched Guide. Someone who’s interacted with Yoo Ji-ho before, and under the current circumstances, this is the optimal choice to get the highest efficiency in the shortest amount of time.”
“Perfect! Oh, and by the way—my being here is top secret, got it? If he finds out, he’ll totally flip.”
“Understood. But if you accidentally let it slip later, I had nothing to do with it.”
“Yeah, yeah. I’ve got a good feeling about this.”
“Do you really?”
“Yes! Trust my instincts. I’ve got a very good feeling today.”
Shouting cheerfully, Director Shin laughed heartily to himself while thinking:
Kid’s just an Esper, no matter how special he thinks he is.
All he needed was a bit of data. No need to report it or get approval. As long as he could extract some compelling data, it would shut Yoo Ji-ho up.
If today’s results could persuade Yoo Ji-ho about the effectiveness of Contact Guiding, everything after that—his condition management, his schedule—would fall neatly into place.
And when the wave fluctuation issues that had kept the entire center on edge for years were finally resolved, the credit would go to none other than Shin Hyung-cheol himself.
“Still, it’d be ideal if the effect was visibly noticeable. We’re struggling enough as it is without any S-rank Guides.”
“It’s all gonna work out. Let’s stay positive, okay?”
After reassuring the visibly uneasy Dr. Na, Director Shin turned his gaze back through the observation window.
But since the angle didn’t give a clear view of Yoo Ji-ho, both of them simultaneously shifted their eyes to the monitor set up in front of them.
And the scene that appeared before them was…
“Huh?”
“W-wait, what?”
“What is he doing?! Hey! Yoo Ji-ho!”
They blinked hard and stared again, but what they were seeing could only be described as a waking nightmare. Just moments ago, Director Shin had been beaming with confidence—but now his face drained of color.
Yoo Ji-ho was trying to kill the Guide!
“Gasp…!”
“Oh my god, what the hell?!”
The moment was so urgent and shocking that Shin forgot all about trying to remain hidden from Yoo Ji-ho today. He slammed the broadcast button and yelled into the mic.
“Yoo Ji-ho! You can’t kill people!”
This brat—he wasn’t supposed to be this unhinged!
“Huh?”
“……”
But what came next made both of them freeze in place.
― BLEEERGHHH!
Yoo Ji-ho hadn’t stabilized his wave pattern through Contact Guiding. Instead, he’d ended up gagging.
The patches that had been attached to his arm fell off and scattered across the floor along with the device connected to the screen. Director Shin frantically checked the data feed on his panel.
[DATA UNAVAILABLE]
[CONNECTION LOST — CHECK SYSTEM]
On their end, a cold silence fell. On the other side, it was pure chaos—like a scene from a disaster film.
The only S-rank Esper in Korea was now gripping a trash can, dry-heaving like he’d just been poisoned. Once the retching stopped, he looked up, eyes blazing with fury, while the Guide who’d been pinned against the wall began inching away, trying to escape.
“……”
But this room and that one existed in the same world. There was no disconnect.
Still rubbing his mouth with the palm of his hand, Yoo Ji-ho slowly turned his head.
And the moment his bloodshot eyes locked onto the very direction where the two observers stood, both of them felt their breath catch in their throats.
― Fuck. I told you not to.
“Hurk…!”
Director Shin’s heart nearly stopped at the sight of Yoo Ji-ho shouting straight at them. Even though there was no way he could possibly see them through the mirror, it was terrifying.
Then Yoo Ji-ho turned and walked out the door of the testing room.
The two of them stood there in stunned silence. A few seconds passed before they even realized something was off, the eerie stillness after all that noise making it even worse.
“That mirror’s… broken, isn’t it?”
“……Yeah, it is.”
The black mirror in front of them had already been cracked wide open. They hadn’t even noticed when it had shattered. It must have been Yoo Ji-ho’s idea of “restraint”—not fully breaking it. Somehow, that made it even more unsettling.
Swallowing hard, Shin Hyung-cheol muttered in a shaky voice.
“What the hell are we supposed to do with that kid?”
“But he does need to start getting guided on a regular basis now. Like, really… What do we do, Director?”
Slumping into the nearest chair, Director Shin realized just how badly he’d miscalculated.
Yoo Ji-ho’s temperament—vicious and volatile—wasn’t something that could be ‘cured’ with guiding.
Which meant: Shin Hyung-cheol’s gastritis and hair loss would be ongoing issues.
With a hollow look, he mumbled:
“Guess I’m finally getting hair implants…”
The greatest unresolved issue in the Supernatural Ability Management and Security Division wasn’t going to be solved that easily. Once again, the Yeouido Center was secretly on high alert.
They needed a new breakthrough.
***
“From now on, let’s go together like this. We’ve all been a bit out of it lately, huh?”
“I really don’t mind going alone… I mean, it’s not like I have much to do anyway.”
“Come on, everyone feels like that at first. Chin up!”
“Yes, sir!”
Today, Hye-seong arrived at the department with both hands full—coffee and drinks in tow, alongside his mentor. Just as he was about to head to his desk, something caught his eye.
A strange tension was in the air. Team members were huddled together, murmuring with curious expressions—clearly, something was up.
Normally, everyone would be busy with guiding sessions at this hour, especially the team leader…
“Everyone, help yourselves to coffee. What’s going on?”
Choi Yoon-sol, Hye-seong’s mentor, put down his cup and walked over to join the group.
“It is one of the Espers, right?”
“Espers? Come on. Who else is even high-profile enough to be assigned a permanent Guide partner? There’s only one. And even during inactive periods, we’re already short on Guides compared to the number of battles Espers face.”
Now that he looked closer, the senior Guides were all staring at the team leader’s tablet PC, placed on the table in front of them.
“Should I throw my hat in the ring? No, that’d be pointless, huh?”
“But… there’s no actual recruitment notice, though?”
“Oh, you’re right. What kind of vague-ass internal memo is this?”
The acting team leader of Guide Team 6, Kim Han-young, had her arms crossed and was glaring at the screen.
Hye-seong, sipping his iced white choco latte through a straw, stood there quietly behind them until Choi Yoon-sol yanked his arm.
“Hey, Hye-seong, come take a look.”
“Ah—yes, sir.”
Taking the tablet from Choi Yoon-sol with both hands, Hye-seong began to read through it carefully, his face turning serious.
At first, he assumed it was some mandatory training material all Guides had to review. But the contents were… not what he’d expected.
A directive had just come down from upper management at the Yeouido Center to the Guide Division.
[A Pair Guide Policy will be implemented for select Espers.]
Compatibility tests will begin in phases starting this Wednesday.
Target candidates: To be nominated through interviews and recommendations.
Details: To be announced later.
For a long while, Team Leader Kim Han-young had remained silent—but now she finally spoke up, her voice low.
“This was already being whispered about under the table since last week. If you want to sign up for the test, just get a recommendation from your team leader. Tell me if you’re interested.”
“I’ll pass. Being the one and only Guide for an S-rank Esper? That sounds way too sacred and heavy.”
“The workload would shoot through the roof. And where did all the people who used to guide Yoo Ji-ho end up?”
“Seriously, where did they go?”
Naturally, regular Guides had no way of knowing who had been assigned to Yoo Ji-ho, or how often he received guiding. While the others chatted, Baek Hye-seong, quietly observing the situation, cautiously asked:
“What’s so different about being a Pair Guide?”
“It means you’re exclusively responsible for guiding one Esper. You don’t do any other assignments. Why, are you interested, Hye-seong?”
“No, no! Me? Absolutely not!”
“Why not? What’s the big deal! Seniority means nothing in this field. And if anyone gives you shit about it later, send them to me—got it?”
“Hehe… still, though…”
Waving his hands wildly in protest, Hye-seong turned his eyes back to the memo.
The notice was short and vague—other than stating they were selecting Pair Guides, there were no concrete details. Naturally, there wasn’t even a hint about which Esper it involved.
But everyone at the Center knew exactly what this notice meant.
It was about choosing the person who would become the closest Guide to Yoo Ji-ho.
“We don’t know who it’ll be, but it’s kind of cool. If it’s a public selection, that’s the highest honor a Guide could get.”
Someone muttered the comment, and Hye-seong gave a small nod in agreement.
Just how skilled and experienced would a Guide have to be to take full charge of the only S-rank Esper? Hye-seong was already curious to see the outcome.
***
“Hey, instead of living like this all unstable, how about getting a Pair Guide?”
“Sure.”
“…What?”
He’d only thrown the idea out there as a casual remark—but Yoo Ji-ho had agreed without hesitation.
The Pair Guide policy had originally been a scheme cooked up by Director Shin to reduce his own risk.
Since Yoo Ji-ho was technically on a short break anyway, they could just rotate a series of A-rank Guides through him—whether via Non-contact or Contact Guiding—let them deal with it however they wanted. That way, Shin wouldn’t have to shoulder any direct danger himself.
And if one of them happened to be a good match? Happy ending for everyone.
But of course, things never went the way he hoped.
“Another fail today?”
“Same as always. They’re all disgusting.”
“……”
Every single time, Yoo Ji-ho would insist on reporting to Director Shin in person, just to tell him that the Guides were disgusting.
And each time, Shin’s suspicion deepened.
He kept saying he was disgusted—but was it just his imagination, or did it seem like Yoo Ji-ho was enjoying all of this?
