Kim Mi-yeon shot a sideways glance at the freshly groomed Han Ju-oh.
“You never listened when I told you to go wash up…”
She should’ve been glad he didn’t dirty the office couch, but she couldn’t help pouting in disappointment. And really, it was no wonder—after all, it wasn’t her, someone with years of close ties to him, who got him to move, but Seo-ha.
Seo-ha felt sheepish at her disappointment.
‘Like I could’ve known.’
He hadn’t been aware of how Han Ju-oh normally went about his day. He’d just happened to mutter something when he saw him following along behind Kim Mi-yeon on their way to the executive office.
“You stink. Could you keep some distance?”
And just like that, the man had vanished like the wind, only to return with damp hair, smelling clean and fresh. With him looking like that, there was no longer any reason to tell him to back off, so Seo-ha had let it be—but the complaint had now landed in the most unexpected place.
“It would’ve been nice if you’d gotten some guiding while you were at it.”
Kim Mi-yeon clicked her tongue.
“I’ll handle it myself.”
Han Ju-oh wasn’t listening in the slightest.
“And who do you think handles all your mess?”
“Isn’t that what a Guild Leader is supposed to do?”
“I should never have brought you in.”
“Pretty sure I’ve saved your life a few times.”
“And this is what I get for it!”
As the two volleyed sharp retorts back and forth, Seo-ha, who’d unintentionally become a bystander, leaned back into the sofa. Their dynamic was beginning to make sense. It looked like they’d had a tight bond long before she became Guild Leader, so the minor outburst just now probably didn’t mean much.
Now that he understood the situation, the seat suddenly felt a lot more comfortable. Seo-ha happily enjoyed the Americano and madeleines prepared for guests.
‘The Center Director didn’t even offer snacks.’
He’d had to brew his own Americano over there. Compared to that, just sitting here in the executive office and getting all this? What a treat.
“Hm?”
While chewing a madeleine, Seo-ha suddenly noticed how quiet the office had become—and that eyes were on him. When he looked up, both Kim Mi-yeon and Han Ju-oh were staring his way, so he waved.
“Don’t mind me. Go on.”
They both clearly had more pent-up tension between them, so he gladly let them take the floor. But the conversation didn’t resume.
“Then I guess it’s my turn?”
Why had they all gathered here again? Oh, right—for the contract.
Seo-ha set down the madeleine he was holding and met Han Ju-oh’s gaze. Before saying anything, he reached out and pulled the man’s wrist to check his watch.
“Tsk.”
Because the automated guiding had been cut off midway, his berserk risk level was sitting at 84%. He wasn’t about to go berserk right now, but the toll on his body had to be significant.
Yet his expression betrayed no discomfort whatsoever. Still holding his wrist, Seo-ha channeled energy into him. As he watched the numbers steadily drop, he mused,
‘The world really has come a long way.’
In the early days, before the existence of watches, there hadn’t even been such metrics. Guides had blindly poured energy into Espers, and Espers had accepted whatever was given. It had been an inefficient mess. If a single Guide had to handle ten Espers, they should’ve been adjusting the amounts individually instead of dumping the same load into everyone.
Over time, guiding protocols began to take shape. They first quantified energy and set benchmarks. Guides transmitted energy according to their rank, and Espers were now able to monitor their risk levels in real-time.
The three seconds Seo-ha mentally counted while guiding Han Ju-oh didn’t match actual time. He’d divided the energy he could send into three equal parts, and found that slowly counting to three lined up just right. It even gave him a moment to let his mind wander.
When he finally pulled his hand away, Seo-ha had to swallow a bitter feeling. Compared to Han Ju-oh’s condition, the energy he could provide was still frustratingly insufficient.
“The guiding itself goes smoothly. The only issue is the limit on the amount I can send, and the cooldown time before I can send again is long.”
Since he’d just done a transfer, the next window would be in about two hours. Seo-ha checked the time and released Han Ju-oh’s wrist.
As Han Ju-oh stared at the warmth lingering in his palm, Seo-ha turned to Kim Mi-yeon.
“You mentioned that the best method is to receive guiding frequently from a Guide with a high match rate, right? I agree.”
Han Ju-oh turned to look at Kim Mi-yeon. His gaze seemed to blame her, and Kim Mi-yeon jutted out her lower lip. She’d said that because she truly thought it was the best option.
Whatever uncomfortable feelings the two were working through, Seo-ha knew that what mattered now was what he had to say.
“But considering the special cases where guiding becomes impossible once the risk level exceeds 90%, how about we establish a Special Pair Contract?”
“A Special Pair Contract?”
Kim Mi-yeon responded faster than Han Ju-oh. It wasn’t because she didn’t understand, but because the idea was already weighing on her mind.
Han Ju-oh only furrowed his brow. That look alone made it clear he was against it—but Seo-ha wasn’t the type to be discouraged by that.
“I’m saying we can catch both rabbits at once.”
At Seo-ha’s suggestion—that he would be the one rabbit, so they should go ahead and reel in the other one too—Kim Mi-yeon glanced cautiously at Han Ju-oh. Her face betrayed her thoughts clearly: Why didn’t I think of that? She was hoping he’d accept the idea.
That’s what a “pair” is supposed to be, after all.
One-on-one.
Espers without a pair could go to any number of Guides for guiding. But if they had a pair, only that single Guide was allowed. That had become the standard understanding. And now, Seo-ha was boldly challenging that notion.
“This feels a bit like you’re asking someone to have two lovers, so I don’t know what to even say,” Kim Mi-yeon said, her tone awkward as she watched Han Ju-oh’s reaction. When Seo-ha had first proposed it, she hadn’t seemed against the idea—but the moment she saw that Han Ju-oh didn’t like it, she switched her stance.
At times like this, you have to prioritize your own people.
“If we’re going to compare it like that, there’ll be no end to it. Can’t people eat beef and pork in the same meal? Or put a perilla leaf on a lettuce wrap? Don’t you watch TV while using your phone? Or sing while dancing—multi-tasking, right?”
Why was everyone so fixated on the “lover” metaphor? If they just shifted perspective, it was clearly possible for two Guides to coexist.
Seo-ha’s attitude suggested he could rattle off even more examples if he had to. Kim Mi-yeon didn’t immediately respond—because she herself was already wavering, and couldn’t come up with a solid rebuttal.
One person convinced. Now for the next.
“No.”
At Han Ju-oh’s blunt rejection, Seo-ha rose without hesitation.
“Then I’m not signing the contract either.”
Han Ju-oh really was a funny guy. What made him think Seo-ha was so desperate to win him over? Seo-ha had only softened because he saw how much Han Ju-oh suffered under machine-guiding—not because he needed this contract. The offer had been for Han Ju-oh’s benefit, nothing more. Seo-ha himself had no lingering attachment.
As he reached for the doorknob, the door slid open on its own. Was this Han Ju-oh’s way of telling him to leave since the contract was off? In that case, all the more reason to go.
But then the door closed again.
Seo-ha frowned. When he tried to open it himself, the door slid away from him, pulling the handle out of reach—then shut again, almost like it was mocking him, intentionally keeping him from leaving.
“…God, I really hate that guy.”
Muttering with a sigh, Seo-ha returned to the sofa. He shot Han Ju-oh a sharp glare for good measure—but the guy was visibly, and annoyingly, in a good mood.
“If you torment people and smile about it, karma’s gonna get you.”
“What’s the condition for modifying this contract?”
Han Ju-oh brushed off Seo-ha’s grumbling like it was nothing and asked casually.
“Condition?”
“The condition for removing the ‘special’ part.”
So he was asking what the requirements would be for changing the arrangement from two Guides to a traditional one-on-one pair with Seo-ha.
Seo-ha considered both Han Ju-oh and his own situation.
Han Ju-oh wanted him. If he could receive regular guiding from a high-compatibility Guide before hitting berserk levels, Seo-ha wouldn’t even need to step in.
But on the flip side, no one knew when he might spiral. Seo-ha couldn’t afford to take his eyes off him. In that case, there was only one realistic way to form a normal pair.
“If our matching rate goes up, then it’ll be possible.”
He chuckled right after saying it—because he knew how absurd it sounded. If his matching rate could have improved, he wouldn’t have quit in the first place. He hadn’t declared he’d go live the farming life for nothing.
“Put that in the contract too.”
Han Ju-oh said it with a straight face, no trace of humor, and Kim Mi-yeon, still looking dazed, called for her secretary.
Seo-ha had just been speaking offhand, but the fact that they were actually planning to include it caught him off guard. He hadn’t expected that kind of reaction.
“Before we finalize the pair contract, how about joining the White Guild officially?”
Kim Mi-yeon laid down copies of the contract, one for each of them. When she suggested fully transferring affiliation, Seo-ha scratched his head and looked over at Han Ju-oh. The man stayed silent, clearly leaving the contract to Kim Mi-yeon—but stared so intently at Seo-ha that it felt more like pressure than support.
‘Seriously, how is anyone supposed to speak freely under that kind of gaze?’
“I can’t join right now. My resignation hasn’t been processed yet.”
He said what he needed to say. Honestly, he’d been under that stare from Han Ju-oh more than a few times now—he could ignore it just fine.
“That’s already taken care of. I’ve spoken with Director Kim Beom-hak. Your transfer to our guild is happening.”
Kim Mi-yeon’s brisk reply left Seo-ha staring in disbelief. When had she even contacted the Center Director—let alone taken the conversation that far?
“And if the contract is finalized, we’ll provide guild housing. Where are you staying now?”
“A friend’s place…”
Seo-ha answered obediently, but then—He suddenly remembered.
Roi!
