There was no one who celebrated their deaths. But that didn’t mean anyone could openly grieve, either. Just the day before, they’d been friends—people everyone knew and trusted. Then overnight, they were dead, leaving behind nothing but the label spy. Naturally, the atmosphere at Central turned somber. Everyone held their words close, hesitant to even speak their names aloud.
Lee Tae-rim, too, couldn’t bring himself to say anything whenever he thought about Dr. Han. Just like Yoon Ye-rin had said—he didn’t know how to mourn them. Someone had died, and yet he couldn’t feel sad for them without reservation. That kind of death—one you couldn’t grieve honestly—cut the deepest.
“Do you really think the Deputy Director was a spy? Sure, they said he retired, but the timing’s way too convenient. It’s suspicious.”
“If he really was with Molt, then wouldn’t all our intel already be compromised?”
“Not just intel—classified secrets too, I bet.”
The Deputy Director had been replaced. The official announcement just called it a retirement. To the general public, it was barely a blip—just another article they’d glance at and scroll past. But for those inside Central, it couldn’t be brushed off so easily. Given everything going on, suspicion was inevitable.
What made things worse was the complete lack of a stated reason for the retirement. In chaotic times like these, anyone stepping down would usually cite health problems or some other excuse. But there was nothing. Every photo in the articles showed him looking strong and healthy. And he wasn’t even old enough to be considered frail.
If even the Deputy Director had been a spy, then things were far worse than anyone had realized. Tae-rim had just wanted a quiet, uneventful life—but after dodging two human bombs, here came another one, ready to blow.
He was starting to grow anxious about Choi Jiwoon too. He still hadn’t been found. What if something had gone wrong—fatally wrong—and that misstep somehow dragged Tae-rim into his own death? If he remembered correctly, the novel had wrapped up around this time. He couldn’t recall the exact date of Jiwoon’s birthday, but he was pretty sure it was in late September.
Right now, the protagonists should’ve been celebrating his birthday and passionately merging. But instead, they were apart. So far, all the major plot points had played out more or less according to the story. The point where Lee Tae-rim was supposed to die had long since passed. That’s why he’d let himself relax. But no—this damned world refused to let him rest.
Honestly, Tae-rim had always thought the way he died in the novel was strange. Now that he was living as Lee Tae-rim, he knew—he wasn’t the kind of person who’d die so easily to a monster. Even if he didn’t love the job, he trained diligently. And whenever he went out into the field, he always carried a monster-grade firearm.
After this latest spy incident, he’d also learned that S-rank Guides had tracking chips injected into their bodies. So how did one of them just wander outside the barrier during a mission without setting off alarms? It didn’t make sense. With his skills, Tae-rim could’ve at least bought time with his gun or fired a flare. But in the story, he’d died so quickly—so absurdly.
Monsters in District 1 were all B-rank or lower. Unless they rushed him en masse, his gun should’ve been enough to hold them off for a while. Not to mention, Espers were always stationed nearby to deal with threats. And yet, Lee Tae-rim had died. That alone was suspicious.
“Everything just feels… hopeless.”
“Yeah. It’s like we can’t trust anyone anymore.”
“I’ve got a feeling Molt’s going to make a huge move soon.”
“It’s nerve-wracking.”
“Totally. And we still haven’t found Choi Jiwoon.”
“I don’t know… I kind of feel like he left on his own. What if he was a spy too?”
“Come on. Then why would they try to kidnap him? Why kidnap one of their own?”
Yoon Ye-rin shrugged. Tae-rim suddenly tossed out a word that didn’t match the mood at all.
“Love.”
“Huh?”
“If Guide Choi Jiwoon was a spy, then shouldn’t being madly in love with Esper Kwon Hae-beom be a problem?”
“……”
Silence fell. At first, everyone looked at him like he’d lost his mind. But soon enough, their expressions shifted—thoughtful, even intrigued.
“You’re right. If that was just an act, then he deserves an Oscar. Jiwoon looked completely serious. The way he lost it and hit Tae-rim—that was real. That was rage.”
Yoon Ye-rin, who had witnessed that madness up close, nodded grimly. Tae-rim’s expression also turned serious.
“What if Guide Jiwoon was trying to defect? Maybe he tried to take Kwon Hae-beom with him twice and failed. Then the third time—he succeeded?”
“I still think he left of his own accord. My bet’s on some deeper reason behind it.”
“Actually… listening to Tae-rim, that kind of makes sense. Maybe he was ordered to betray Esper Kwon Hae-beom.”
Tae-rim remembered something Seon Juho had once said—that he found Jiwoon’s fake friendliness off-putting. He didn’t like the fake “good guy” mask, but more than that, he hated how Jiwoon acted close with him even though he clearly didn’t want to. He always had a smile, but it felt forced. That made it even worse.
That’s why Tae-rim thought—what if Molt had ordered Jiwoon to get close to Seon Juho, and Jiwoon had resisted?
On top of that, Seon Juho was one of Molt’s test subjects. Maybe they were trying to retrieve him. But the strange part was… Dr. Han had been a spy. He should’ve already informed them that Seon Juho had undergone an Incomplete Imprint. So then—why go to such lengths?
No one really knew when an Incomplete Imprint would dissolve—not even the person who bore it. Was it even possible to undo one? Or was there internal disagreement within Molt over what to do with it…?
The more Lee Tae-rim thought about Choi Jiwoon approaching Seon Juho, the more uncomfortable he felt. He hadn’t thought much of it before, but now that the idea of Jiwoon being a spy had entered his mind, everything seemed suspicious.
“Ugh. What’s the point of sitting around and talking about this? It’s not like anyone’s listening or will take us seriously.”
“Even if we were in a position to file a report, imagine saying, ‘We think it’s because of love~.’ You think the higher-ups would take that seriously? No way. Those old farts would just laugh in our faces.”
But before the sentence had even finished hanging in the air, Kim Hyo-il turned his gaze on Tae-rim, his eyes narrowing as a grin crept across his face.
“You’re Guiding Esper Jung Jae-heon, right?”
“Uh… yeah.”
“Then why don’t you just mention it to him?”
“Why would I? Even if it’s true, it’s not like it’s going to help find Jiwoon. What’s the point?”
“Still, you never know. There’s a big difference between someone going missing and someone running away.”
“Mm… I’ll bring it up if the timing feels right.”
“Hey, I’m not saying you have to.”
Kim Hyo-il chuckled awkwardly, rolling his eyes like he’d just embarrassed himself.
“Ugh! Don’t bother, seriously. Ye-rin’s right—it’s not useful information for an investigation anyway.”
“Sorry, but yeah. If this were a murder case or something, maybe, but…”
“Exactly…”
Just as the mood turned a bit awkward, Tae-rim’s watch let out a soft chime.
“Speak of the devil—look who shows up the second we mention his name. Esper Jung Jae-heon’s like a tiger.”
“Pfft!”
“He’s on his way?”
“Yeah.”
“…Alright, we should get back to work too.”
“Got it.”
Under normal circumstances, they’d have stayed to chat even after Jung Jae-heon arrived. But today, the timing felt too on-the-nose. The three of them slipped out in a hurry, saying they’d be back later. Tae-rim chuckled under his breath.
After tidying up the cups they’d left behind, a knock came at the door, and Jung Jae-heon stepped inside.
His face looked sharper than usual. Not as severe as Kwon Hae-beom’s, but it was clear he was worn down. He looked more exhausted than Tae-rim had ever seen him.
“Were you able to sleep at all?”
“Yeah. Just enough to not die.”
He let out a dry laugh, like he was joking—but it didn’t feel like a joke. The dark circles under his eyes were deep and heavy.
“This is driving me insane. We’ve been looking this whole time and haven’t found anything—why would we suddenly find him now? Hae-beom’s falling apart, and the higher-ups aren’t any better. One of them even gave me a speech about grit today. Can you believe that?”
Sounded like he’d gotten another earful. Poor guy.
“I want to run away like Hye-min…”
Kim Hye-min had escaped to the field. She’d always hated anything complicated, and eventually the higher-ups gave up on trying to involve her. Even now, every time something blew up, she fled to the front lines before anyone could ask her to do anything. She really couldn’t stand this kind of mess.
“Hang in there.”
There wasn’t much Tae-rim could say—just a few words of support. Jung Jae-heon received Guiding and left to get back to work. After the session, he looked visibly more grounded, and even started dozing off a little. Because of that, Tae-rim didn’t get a chance to bring up anything Kim Hyo-il had mentioned earlier.
It hit him again just how good-looking Jung Jae-heon was. The textbook definition of a mature, handsome man. And now, with exhaustion etched into his features, he even had a bit of a rugged, sexy vibe. If only he didn’t have that old-man personality… he’d probably be insanely popular. What a waste.
Not that Jung Jae-heon wasn’t popular. He was an S-rank Esper—there were probably tons of Guides who would’ve killed for a chance to be his exclusive. Of course, it wasn’t quite the type of popularity he wanted. He’d never reach the kind of fame someone like Esper Jeon Jun-pyo had.
Seon Juho was popular too. He was undeniably handsome, and his cold indifference toward everyone but Tae-rim only made him more alluring. As a result, Tae-rim had earned more than his fair share of envy from the other Guides.
