There were plenty of people who could go about their lives without a care in the world, but Jung Jae-heon wasn’t one of them. That’s why he ordered good food through delivery and watched movies at home. If he had a Guide who’d go on dates with him, he could probably be shameless about it—but there was no one like that around. With his thirty-third birthday just days away, a wave of melancholy washed over him.
The senile Center Director was heaping praise on Seon Juho, but anyone could see that Seon Juho wasn’t paying the slightest attention. He’d always been like that—utterly indifferent to everyone except Lee Tae-rim—so the Director, used to it by now, just kept talking, completely unbothered.
Only after he’d praised Seon Juho to his heart’s content did the Director finally wrap up the meeting. The moment it ended and he left the room, exhausted sighs and murmurs erupted from all corners. Working life was truly hell.
Ordered to head to District 3, Seon Juho rose from his seat with a faintly annoyed look. Requests for support from Districts 3 and 4 were nothing new—they came in constantly. They’d been ignored until now, but the fact that they were sending Seon Juho—not just any Esper—meant the stress must’ve really piled up.
If the District Directors of 3 and 4 saw Seon Juho’s abilities up close and got so riled up they flooded Central with transfer requests, maybe then that senile old man would finally shut his mouth. Honestly, Jung Jae-heon felt kind of sorry for the Directors of Districts 3 and 4.
Still, the ones most deserving of sympathy were the staff of District 1—forced to serve under that decrepit Center Director.
“God, seriously. That senile old fossil. Isn’t there any way to get rid of him?”
Kim Hye-min stormed over, visibly fuming. She couldn’t sit still during meetings without going insane. All S-rank Espers were required to attend regular meetings, so even Kim Hye-min—who was notorious for dodging responsibilities—couldn’t skip them. Thanks to that, she was once again smiling like she was on the verge of losing it. Jung Jae-heon let out a long sigh.
“You know those top positions never change. He’ll probably cling to the Director’s seat until he retires.”
“Ugh, I wish he’d just get transferred to Central already.”
“That ship’s sailed.”
Jeon Jun-pyo sighed with a weary face. If the device Seon Juho discovered had been credited as the Director’s achievement, it might’ve happened. But that opportunity was long gone. No point clinging to what-ifs now.
“So, has our Center’s golden boy already taken off?”
“Yeah, he left right after the Director. Probably went to see Tae-rim—what else?”
“Exactly. What else could possibly be in that guy’s head besides Tae-rim?”
By now, everyone at the District 1 Center knew that Seon Juho was practically glued to Lee Tae-rim. Rumors about Tae-rim monopolizing Seon Juho’s attention had mostly faded—there was no need for gossip when the reality was so blatant.
Whenever Tae-rim wasn’t around, Seon Juho’s face turned blank, regardless of where he was. His expression gave off such an intense chill that no one even wanted to talk to him. And if anyone did, they were promptly and completely ignored. Even the Guides knew it by now. The only people Seon Juho bothered responding to were the three Guides close to Tae-rim.
At first, a few had tried to approach him, mustering up some courage—but after being flat-out ignored, not even getting a glance, they quickly realized: Ah, this is what Seon Juho is really like.
Espers putting on an act around Guides was something most Guides were familiar with. But an Esper who outright dismissed Guides the way Seon Juho did? That was rare. Most still maintained at least a basic level of politeness. Not Seon Juho. He couldn’t care less.
Jung Jae-heon could understand, though. From the very beginning, Seon Juho had experienced the best of the best—a top-tier Guiding session with an S-rank Guide who had a 90% Matching Rate. That Guide had appeared right in the middle of his Awakening rampage, like something out of a dramatic scene. It was no wonder he ended up with an Incomplete Imprint.
Even if he hadn’t, knowing Seon Juho’s personality, he probably wouldn’t have looked at any other Guide anyway. It was just who he was.
“By the way, what about Hae-beom? He hasn’t taken a single break.”
Kwon Hae-beom was still obsessed with hunting down Molt. He used to be focused on finding Choi Jiwoon, but now… was it about avenging him? Jung Jae-heon couldn’t be sure. Hae-beom had lost so much weight, and his already cold expression had become even more frigid—it was painful to see.
The moment the meeting ended, Kwon Hae-beom had left the room. Lately, he’d been running all over—not just in District 1, but in and out of other districts as well—relentlessly searching for Molt. He had this unshakable look in his eyes, like he was going to catch them no matter what. Honestly, it was kind of scary.
Still, someone ought to tell him to at least look like a human being again. He looked so worn-down it hurt to watch.
Frankly, if it were his own Guide who’d returned in that state, Jung Jae-heon wasn’t sure he could stay sane either. Spy or not, it wouldn’t matter. To an Esper, their Guide is everything. And if that “everything” came back in ruins—and you couldn’t even be near them?
Jung Jae-heon thought it was a miracle Kwon Hae-beom hadn’t gone on a rampage.
The search for Molt was still going nowhere. They’d originally been nothing more than a terrorist group, but somehow, they’d grown this massive. Now they were big enough to throw the entire country into chaos.
Their goals had been public knowledge from the start—they’d never been subtle about it. But no one had expected things to escalate to this level. People only heard scattered rumors about their expansion, mostly from overseas. In this country, they’d barely been acknowledged.
Then, after all that time lurking in the shadows, they reappeared with something massive. A device capable of interfering with Gates. That alone made them truly terrifying.
Human experimentation on Awakened individuals had previously only been seen abroad. As far as this country was concerned, Seon Juho had been the first to uncover it. And the early discoveries didn’t even count as proper experiments, not compared to what they were doing now.
According to Seon Juho’s testimony, they didn’t treat their test subjects as people—not even close. He’d said they treated them worse than objects. That’s probably why Choi Jiwoon ended up so broken.
The fact that Choi Jiwoon had appeared alone at the front gates of the Center spoke volumes. Normally, teleportation required a teleportation-type Esper to accompany the person being transported. Without that direct escort, it was nearly impossible to maintain sensory equilibrium—there was a 99.99% failure rate.
And when teleportation failed, the results were gruesome. Sometimes only part of the body would make it through. Other times, the body would arrive horribly warped and misshapen. Either way, it meant certain death.
But Choi Jiwoon hadn’t been accompanied by a teleportation Esper—he had shown up completely alone. That meant one of two things: either he had absurdly good luck, or there was an exceptionally powerful teleportation Esper on the other end.
There were S-rank teleportation Espers abroad, but even they couldn’t transport people or objects remotely without direct contact. So the idea of someone with abilities beyond that? It seemed far more plausible that Choi Jiwoon had simply gotten extremely lucky.
Tensions were high around the globe. If the device discovered here had been shared across all of Molt, it could very well spell the end of humanity.
However, given that even the more aggressive foreign powers had remained oddly quiet, analysts suspected that the device hadn’t been distributed. While things were eerily silent here—so much so that people questioned whether Molt even had a real foothold—other countries were in utter chaos.
In some of the more extreme nations, it wasn’t unusual for terrorists to take civilians hostage and make demands through violent means. Some had even released untested drugs into the field during Esper operations or planted bombs in cities under the pretense of “reducing the human population.”
If people like that had gotten their hands on a machine capable of manipulating Gates, they would’ve used it already—and then some. The fact that they hadn’t likely meant the device was a unique prototype, developed solely here. The reason Molt had been lying low, carrying out only minor kidnappings and remaining dormant beneath the surface, was probably to keep this massive project from being disrupted.
Unsurprisingly, analysis confirmed that the device was incomplete. If it had been finished, it wouldn’t have misfired—and they wouldn’t have just left it behind. Several key components had been removed. Anyone could see it had been abandoned there deliberately.
Three days later, Seon Juho made another trip to District 3—this time a two-night, three-day mission. Before leaving, Lee Tae-rim had received not only monster-grade rounds, but also specialized Esper rounds. Hitting an Esper was no easy task, but the fact that he brought them anyway suggested Tae-rim was starting to understand the precarious position he was in.
Even Guides who didn’t attend meetings and weren’t up to speed could sense something was wrong—so what the hell was the Center Director doing, still oblivious?
In truth, it had been deliberate—showing Tae-rim that file on Choi Jiwoon. Right now, Tae-rim was in a dangerously vulnerable state. And not only was the Center failing to take any real action to protect him, they were actively sending him into the field. That’s why it was critical for Seon Juho and Tae-rim themselves to at least be aware of the danger and stay alert.
Fortunately, both returned safely from District 3. From what Jung Jae-heon could see, Seon Juho was on high alert. He acted calm in front of Tae-rim, but the energy around him—his wavelength—was growing more intense and razor-sharp by the day.
And lately, whenever Jung Jae-heon looked at Seon Juho, he couldn’t shake the sense that something dangerous was brewing. It wasn’t a literal scent—it was instinctual, something primal. He couldn’t say when it had started, but that ominous feeling was growing stronger by the day.
