Life after work always followed the same routine. Just because he was an Awakened didn’t mean his days were anything special. In truth, it was no different from any other office worker’s life. He came home, took a shower, ate, watched a bit of TV, and eventually fell asleep.
If he had a hobby, maybe he’d be doing something more fulfilling in his free time. But unfortunately, Lee Tae-rim didn’t have that luxury—because of someone. He really wanted to read those novels stuffed with steamy scenes, but there was no way he could bring himself to do that with Seon Juho hanging around.
So instead, Tae-rim started watching dramas. Maybe it was because Espers and Guides existed in their world, but there were a ton of shows that made them the stars. In reality, they were just monster-slaying civil servants, but since Espers had unique powers and were paired with Guides, the combination made for the perfect setup in melodramatic trainwrecks.
“I just don’t get it…”
The drama Tae-rim was watching now was called I Just Want to Erase Love. The title made it sound like some heart-wrenching love story, but it was anything but. It was a full-on chaotic soap opera.
The female lead was a Guide, and she was dating an Esper like any normal couple. She had a childhood memory of nearly drowning, and the boy who saved her back then had become her first love. Suddenly, that boy reappeared in her life—now as an Esper.
Torn between her current boyfriend and her first love, she ultimately chose the latter and even got engaged to him. But at the engagement party, the ex-boyfriend crashed the event and claimed he was the one who had saved her, complete with evidence to prove it. Of course, the first love insisted that he was telling the truth.
Stuck between the two, the female lead kept wavering. And just when things couldn’t get more ridiculous, a third man showed up in the last episode—claiming it had been a long time and asking if she remembered him saving her as a kid.
And now, in tonight’s episode, a fourth man appeared.
Tae-rim chuckled as he popped a handful of popcorn into his mouth.
“You seriously like this stuff, hyung?”
“Yup.”
At this point, there had to be a major plot twist coming. Otherwise, why the hell did all four of them have the exact same scar on their legs from saving her? To make it even crazier, all four were S-rank Espers with excellent Matching Rates. For the record, the female lead was just a B-rank Guide. Tae-rim was honestly dying to know how the writers were going to wrap this up. The whole thing was gloriously unhinged.
With Mental-type Espers in the mix, stories like this always managed to throw in insane, mind-bending twists. There was even a film once where everything turned out to be a dream conjured up by a Mental-type Esper’s ability.
Tae-rim was convinced this drama would pull the same trick. How else could they explain all of this absurdity? And if not—well, no big deal. He was still looking forward to the next episode.
Unfortunately, Seon Juho clearly wasn’t enjoying it. He still watched it with Tae-rim, but he kept grumbling, “There’s no way four S-ranks would be obsessed with a B-rank.” Given how unrealistic the premise was—especially to someone like Seon Juho, who was an S-rank Esper himself—it made sense that he couldn’t wrap his head around it.
But a drama’s a drama. The Cinderella trope was standard fare. Not that Kim Hyo-il, Yoon Ye-rin, or Lee Jae-hwa seemed to understand that either.
“Come on. Even A-ranks are treated like backup batteries, and a B-rank’s got four S-rank Espers wrapped around her finger?”
“Yeah, it’s a drama, but this fantasy’s totally over the top.”
“And then rookies show up at Central with their heads full of this nonsense, thinking it’s real. Choi Jiwoon was a literal one-in-a-million. Normally, S-rank Espers wouldn’t give a B-rank Guide the time of day!”
“Shouldn’t we be filing complaints with the broadcasting network? Even fiction has its limits. Stories that delusional should be toned down. What happened with Choi Jiwoon was a miracle, seriously!”
Listening to the three of them rant, Tae-rim couldn’t help but laugh. They were talking like characters who’d been dropped straight into a novel themselves… If only he could tell them. Too bad he couldn’t say a word.
And the real miracle? Tae-rim was living it. He’d escaped that cursed Omega body and now lived as a Beta. If that wasn’t a miracle, what was?
Later that night, after brushing their teeth side by side, Tae-rim and Seon Juho climbed into bed. As always, Seon Juho pulled him into a back hug. Lately, Tae-rim had been feeling great. He was sleeping so deeply he didn’t even dream anymore.
Maybe it was because the stress had finally lifted. Back when he’d been an Omega, he’d lived in a constant state of tension. Now, he barely even remembered what that felt like. His mind was at peace.
At first, sharing space with someone else had felt awkward and uncomfortable. But now? It didn’t bother him at all. In fact, he’d gotten so used to Seon Juho clinging to him at night that sleeping without it would feel oddly empty.
Stress really is the root of all illness. Just getting rid of it had completely changed his quality of life. He was sleeping like a baby. Even his skin seemed to be getting better. Smiling faintly, Tae-rim closed his eyes in Seon Juho’s arms.
Another peaceful day.
***
Why did I do it?
Choi Jiwoon stared blankly into the void, his eyes unfocused. When did everything start to go so wrong? All he had wanted was to be happy with Kwon Hae-beom. That was it. Just happiness. But now, he was right back to being a test subject. He thought if he apologized—if he begged for forgiveness—that everything would be okay again. But that had been a foolish, hopelessly naïve belief.
In the stillness of early dawn, when the world was asleep, Jiwoon slipped out of the Center with the help of an accomplice. He’d never imagined things would end up like this. All he’d thought about was talking to them. That’s all he’d wanted—to speak, to explain, to make things right.
But they had never wanted to talk.
The moment he stepped out of the car, they pounced. The treatment was immediate and brutal. They grabbed him and dragged him somewhere, then started stripping him without a word.
Jiwoon resisted. But it didn’t last long.
The instant he struggled, a boot slammed into his stomach. The pain was blinding. As he collapsed, Jiwoon realized that this wasn’t new. Since he was young, pain had always followed disobedience. He’d learned early on: if you fought back, fists and feet would fly.
They had never seen test subjects as human. He hadn’t understood that as a child, but the longer he’d lived outside—as a person—the clearer it became. If you don’t obey, they beat you. They never once tried talking first. He’d never known that kind of mercy.
After stripping him bare, they dragged him into a sterilization room and disinfected every inch of him. Then they tossed him a single piece of clothing. When Jiwoon caught it, he went pale. It was the gown he’d worn for years as a child—the uniform of a lab subject.
And just like that, Jiwoon had returned—on his own two feet—to the very place he’d once been desperate to escape. A cold white room, furnished only with a bed, a toilet, and a sink. His old cell. Choi Jiwoon was once again a test subject.
They treated him exactly as they had before, as if his time outside had never existed. If he tried to speak, they slapped him across the face. If he resisted, they kicked him without hesitation.
But Jiwoon wasn’t the same person anymore. He had seen the world, lived a life, learned what it meant to be treated like a human being. So when he blocked a raised hand or deflected a kick, they grabbed him by the hair, dragged him back to the cell, strapped him to the bed, and injected him with something before leaving.
What followed was agony—an excruciating pain he never wanted to experience again. His whole body felt like it was being torn apart. There wasn’t a single place that didn’t hurt. It wasn’t just pain; it was destruction. Like his very being was shattering to pieces.
Tied to that bed, Jiwoon endured an eternity. He didn’t know if it had been hours or days—just that he wanted to die. That’s how unbearable it was. After that, he stopped resisting. Completely.
Looking back now, the symptoms he’d experienced were eerily similar to what Espers went through when their wavelengths spiked from a lack of Guiding. That unbearable pain Espers always described—like their entire bodies were being torn to shreds.
Jiwoon regretted it all. He hadn’t known Kwon Hae-beom was in that much pain. He’d wanted so badly to believe him when he said he was fine. He’d clung to those words. But if he’d known the truth—if he’d known what Hae-beom was actually enduring—he would’ve forced him to go to Lee Tae-rim. No, he would’ve dropped to his knees and begged Tae-rim to Guide him.
But it was too late. Everything had already passed.
They ran endless experiments on Jiwoon. They said his wavelength had shifted in fascinating ways and subjected him to every test imaginable. It didn’t matter how much he suffered—how violently he shook from the pain—they never once paused.
The worst was when they extracted Guiding energy. Every time, it felt like they were tearing out his heart. It didn’t feel like energy. It felt like his life force was being drained.
It hurt so much he genuinely thought death would be better. But the moment he thought of Kwon Hae-beom, he wanted to live. He wanted to see him again. He missed him so desperately it ached.
The experiments grew even more brutal. Jiwoon felt like he was going to die. And maybe, deep down, he wanted to—because one day, he came to and realized he’d been self-harming. He’d been clawing at the skin above his heart with his fingernails until it bled.
When they saw what he’d done, they called in a Mental-type Esper to implant a suggestion that would stop him from hurting himself again. After that, Jiwoon often found himself staring off into space, blank and numb.
He could feel his body breaking down. They must’ve known it too, because they ramped up the experiments—desperate to extract more results before he became useless.
Jiwoon didn’t even have the strength to resist anymore. He was dragged around from room to room, subjected to whatever they wanted. And the more his body deteriorated, the more often he drifted off into that empty haze.
The time he spent living outside felt like a dream now. The memory of being loved by Kwon Hae-beom felt like something he’d imagined—some fantasy his tortured mind had conjured to keep him from breaking.
But he missed him.
That was the only thing that remained.
No matter how much I didn’t care for Jiwoon this was incredibly sad to read