Beneath the cave they had deemed the safest place… who would’ve guessed the boss monster was hiding there?
The brief moment of calm they’d allowed themselves during their rest snapped taut in an instant. As they stood face to face with the final boss of the dungeon, tension surged anew.
Thanks to Han Ju-oh carrying him to a secure vantage point, Seo-ha was now witnessing the battle unfold from a fresh angle, his fists clenched tightly. The boss had the appearance of a turtle, but its body was as enormous as a whale. Its thick, armored shell made it a tough target, but Han Ju-oh flew through the air with precision, striking relentlessly at the exposed weak points beyond the shell’s protection.
“He’s good…”
Han Ju-oh wasn’t holding back. He clearly intended to finish this quickly and open the Gate. Every strike was precise, every blow deadly.
“No one else can hear me right now, so I’ll just say it—my Esper is incredible. To think someone like him had a restriction that blocked guiding once his rampage risk exceeded the threshold… he must’ve been so damn frustrated all this time.”
It pained Seo-ha to think of someone with wings being forced to crawl on the ground—but not anymore.
“Our ranks might not match, and I can’t change that. But at least now, I can let you fly whenever you want.”
Resolute, Seo-ha locked his gaze on Han Ju-oh through the whirling storm of sand. The louder the monster’s screams grew with each blow to its skull, the harder Han Ju-oh drove his attacks.
The creature’s shrieks were so grotesque, so piercing, they sent a chill down Seo-ha’s spine. Then Han Ju-oh thrust out his palm.
Flames erupted, trailing black smoke as they scorched the inside of the beast’s gaping mouth.
SCREEEEEE!!
The monster writhed in agony, flailing an arm toward Han Ju-oh. But he twisted in midair, dodging the strike with ease.
The beast’s enormous arm sliced through the air just inches from his face, wind whipping past with a violent roar—but Han Ju-oh didn’t flinch.
Instead, he summoned the flame once more.
This time, it didn’t shoot upward but burst straight forward in a searing line—still powerful enough to drive the monster back into its shell.
“Just a little more… just a bit more…”
Seo-ha clutched his hands together tightly, silently pleading for the creature to fall. The boss had retreated into its shell for now, but Han Ju-oh was firing flames directly into the opening. It had to be doing damage.
If it went down like this, that would be best. But Seo-ha couldn’t relax—not with the lingering fear that something unexpected might strike back.
Why did gut feelings always turn out to be right?
Just as the monster’s head emerged again, a volley of razor-sharp spikes rained down, targeting Han Ju-oh.
He raised both arms to shield his face, but the sheer impact knocked him back—and then, his body went limp, plummeting toward the ground.
“Han Ju-oh!!”
The moment Seo-ha saw him fall, he sprang forward like a compressed spring uncoiling, arms outstretched.
There was no time to think about weight or impact. Only one thought echoed in his mind: I have to catch him.
Seo-ha lunged precisely to where Han Ju-oh was falling and managed to catch him midair. But the force was too much—he couldn’t absorb the full impact, and the two of them were knocked backward.
“Ghk…!”
Seo-ha crashed into the ground with Han Ju-oh in his arms and cried out. Pain radiated from his back and skull. One of his fingers bent unnaturally from the collision.
“Haah… haah…”
He forced air into his lungs until it felt like his ribs would crack, but it still wasn’t enough. Breathing itself became a struggle. That’s how bad his condition was.
“Han Ju-oh! Ju-oh, hey—are you okay?”
But Seo-ha wasn’t checking his own injuries.
All his focus was on Han Ju-oh.
He tried to lift his upper body to see Han Ju-oh’s face, but a wave of pain shot through him, locking his muscles in place. Seo-ha grit his teeth and pushed through it.
And then—he saw Han Ju-oh’s face.
It had turned jet black.
“…Poison?”
The moment he realized the spikes embedded in Han Ju-oh’s body were coated in venom, his entire body felt like it had been drained of moisture.
With a finger twisted out of place, Seo-ha grabbed Han Ju-oh’s shoulder and shook him.
“Ju-oh. Come on, wake up. You can’t die. You hear me?”
A brutal truth struck the back of Seo-ha’s mind—Espers usually didn’t die from illness. They died in accidents.
He’d seen it too many times before.
And yet, somehow, he hadn’t thought Han Ju-oh could be one of them.
He’d gotten careless.
He thought Han Ju-oh would be fine.
He assumed they’d be safe—because it was him.
That was the mistake.
Entering the Gate had been reckless.
“Self-recovery… please…”
That was the only thing Seo-ha could wish for now. Espers, beyond human limits, typically had powerful regenerative abilities. Han Ju-oh had to be the same.
Especially if he guided him—guiding could help ease the poison, ease the wounds.
“You’re not allowed to die. Got it?”
As Seo-ha poured energy into Han Ju-oh’s body, the ground beneath them trembled.
“Ah…”
The fight wasn’t over.
And the proof was right before his eyes—The monster was baring its fangs again.
***
The area around the Gate was completely surrounded by units deployed by the Control Center. They were ready—determined not to let a single monster escape alive.
Not far from the Gate, Kim Mi-yeon stood watching with a grim expression.
“It’s already been over a week. This is turning into a disaster.”
Moon Roi, who had rushed over the moment he heard Seo-ha had gone into the Gate, looked visibly anxious.
According to Director Kim Beom-hak, Seo-ha had said he was going on a trip. Who would’ve imagined that “trip” meant diving into a dungeon?
If Seo-ha found out, he’d blow up, insisting this wasn’t the kind of trip he’d planned.
Then again, that kind of reaction… only someone like Moon Roi would ever get to see it.
At that moment, the Gate rippled.
They called it a “Gate,” but it didn’t look anything like a normal door—more like a black hole. It pulsed with dark energy, expanding outward as though devouring the space around it. A sure sign: the Gate was beginning to open.
Then came a low, resonant goooooom, followed by a haunting vibration that made the air itself hum. The Gate opened.
Everyone stared into the swirling dark with tense, focused eyes. A parched silence stretched thin, and just as anticipation began to crackle in the air, an unfamiliar sound broke through.
It was hard to place—maybe footsteps… or something being dragged. At first faint, the noise grew steadily clearer.
Kim Mi-yeon narrowed her eyes. She hoped it was Han Ju-oh and Baek Seo-ha approaching, but there were no voices. Just that eerie, indistinct sound. It was impossible to read the situation.
“Prepare to engage.”
At the Esper’s order, everyone raised their weapons, ready to strike at whatever came through the Gate. The black threshold wavered ominously, pressure mounting with every heartbeat.
And then—two figures emerged.
Kim Mi-yeon was the first to exhale.
“Han Ju-oh.”
It was indeed Esper Han Ju-oh and Guide Baek Seo-ha.
As Kim Mi-yeon called out, the others recognized them and slowly lowered their weapons.
“Seo-ha!”
Moon Roi, who had been watching Han Ju-oh, suddenly noticed Seo-ha in his arms—and ran over.
“Are you okay? Are you hurt?”
He instinctively reached out to lift Seo-ha’s face but stopped himself, afraid to cause more harm, and instead dropped to one knee. His eyes searched Seo-ha’s condition with growing concern, asking again and again if he was alright.
“I…”
Seo-ha’s eyelids fluttered weakly. His lips moved faintly, like he wasn’t even sure he was awake. His voice was so soft, Moon Roi had to lean in close to catch it.
“Did we… make it?”
A question—barely a whisper.
Moon Roi let out a small, shaky laugh.
“Yeah. You made it back alive.”
He’d been scared out of his mind, wondering if this would end in tragedy. Just hearing Seo-ha’s voice—he didn’t care about anything else. His friend was alive. That was enough.
“I’ll carry him.”
Moon Roi extended his arms to take Seo-ha from Han Ju-oh. Both men were breathing, but just barely. Especially Han Ju-oh—he was a wreck. His clothes were shredded, deep cuts visible all over.
“I’ve got him.”
Despite the obvious injuries covering his body, Han Ju-oh didn’t let go. Instead, he pulled Seo-ha tighter against his chest.
“Ugh…”
Seo-ha let out a low, pained groan. Kim Mi-yeon immediately called for the medics. The medical team rushed in with two blankets.
Han Ju-oh took one and gently draped it over Seo-ha’s back.
“His finger’s broken. Start there.”
“Bring a healing-type Esper,” Kim Mi-yeon ordered, coordinating the scene with practiced urgency.
Meanwhile, Seo-ha couldn’t even cry out—just ragged, wheezing breaths.
“…You’re really not okay.”
Only now did Moon Roi’s expression darken. The relief he’d felt moments earlier vanished. Now that he could see clearly, Seo-ha looked far worse than he’d expected.
“I…”
Through his shallow breathing, Seo-ha looked like he was trying to say something.
“…did it.”
“What?”
The words barely escaped his cracked lips. Moon Roi leaned closer, then hesitated. Whatever it was could wait—he needed treatment first.
“Let’s talk when you’re stable. There’s still time—”
“S…”
Seo-ha’s trembling fingers grabbed Moon Roi’s arm.
The faint grip pulled Moon Roi back down. Seo-ha’s lips parted once more, voice hoarse and broken.
“It’s done.”
“…What is?”
“My rank… it changed.”
With those final words, Seo-ha’s eyes rolled back—and he lost consciousness.
