“What… just happened?”
In that instant, the shock overwhelmed him, and his body spiraled out of control. He tried to push himself up off the ground, but his limbs flailed weakly, unable to respond to his will. His ears rang so loudly that he couldn’t hear a thing. His dazed mind, likely jolted by the life-threatening danger, struggled to comprehend what had happened.
There were no monsters. He was sure of that.
That was why Seo-ha had tried to use the brief opening to guide Han Ju-oh. But then a massive explosion erupted, and before he could even grasp what was happening, his consciousness was blown away.
“Ugh…”
His strength still hadn’t returned, but driven by the single-minded determination to find Han Ju-oh, he forced his head to turn—and there he was, lying not far away.
“Han… Han Ju-oh…”
Seo-ha stretched out his arm toward the unconscious man. Thud. His fingertips barely brushed against Ju-oh’s forehead. Because Ju-oh’s body lay farther away, his face was the only part within reach. Still, the fact that he could touch him at all made Seo-ha smile faintly.
Now, if he could just start guiding…
“Ah…”
The energy wouldn’t flow in. Because Han Ju-oh was unconscious, his body was instinctively rejecting everything from the outside. A minimal form of defense to ward off potential threats—but it was the worst possible condition for guiding.
“Hey. Han Ju-oh.”
Wake up.
The rest of the words dissolved into nothing but wind. He had to wake up.
Beep—beep—
A shrill alarm cut through the ringing in his ears. Ju-oh’s watch blinked red, and as Seo-ha saw the dangerously spiked vitals on the screen, despair welled up in his eyes.
That person came to mind—the one who had held his hand despite the low compatibility rate and had confessed his heart, saying they should try imprinting together… The one who had pushed himself to the limit using his powers, and whom Seo-ha had tried to save by initiating an imprinting. But before the connection could form, the monster’s tendril had pierced through his chest.
His first love.
The person who had held him up when he was crumbling, who gave him hope—how could he not fall in love with someone like that? But he had dared to love him… and in doing so, had changed his fate. If he had met a different Guide, he might not have died so senselessly. His younger brother, the only family he had, had sobbed so hard at the funeral that his wails shook the entire room. Faced with that sorrow, Seo-ha hadn’t been able to say a single word.
“I….”
It was happening all over again. Now Han Ju-oh was in danger too. If only he’d guided him more before things reached the brink of overload, it would never have come to this.
Seo-ha withdrew his hand from Ju-oh’s face and crawled toward him completely. The way Ju-oh overlapped with his memory of the person from his past—it felt like a warning. A sign telling him not to let another Esper die so meaninglessly.
And in that same moment, he realized there was still a way to guide Ju-oh. Gritting his teeth, he forced his body to move. If there was a silver lining in this misery, it was that Ju-oh’s face was within reach.
“Sorry I didn’t ask for permission.”
With a joke that the other couldn’t hear, Seo-ha pressed his lips to Ju-oh’s.
Mucosal guidance.
The same method that had once miraculously opened the path to imprinting with that man. Of course, the emotions they had shared undoubtedly played a part in that success. But now, with Ju-oh unconscious and rejecting all external contact, energy couldn’t be transferred through mere skin contact. So Seo-ha chose to kiss him, to let the energy flow like breath between them.
“Haa…”
Not just energy—he forced his breath into him as well, stirring inside Ju-oh’s mouth. Their lips locked, and to his relief, Ju-oh’s body began to accept the energy. Seo-ha crushed Ju-oh’s tongue with his own, forcing energy into him, dragging his tongue along the roof of Ju-oh’s mouth.
The way he licked along Ju-oh’s teeth made him feel like a desperate puppy, but he had no other choice. He just wanted to give Ju-oh even a little more of his energy. That’s why he didn’t notice it—how the dam that always blocked the flow of energy in his own body hadn’t reacted this time.
***
The surrounding noise faded away. The silence was so deep it felt eerie—and it was that unnatural stillness that jolted Seo-ha awake. He didn’t know when he had lost consciousness, but as his memory drifted back, he recalled being caught in the explosion. He wasn’t even sure if they were still inside the dungeon.
“Ugh…”
He groaned and moved his fingers. It must’ve been instinct, remembering how he’d lost control over his body before. All ten fingers moved. His legs moved too. He felt everything—there wasn’t a single numb spot.
‘Thank god.’
Considering the blast from before, it wouldn’t have been strange if something had gone horribly wrong. But there didn’t seem to be any major issues with his movements. Releasing a shaky breath, he slowly opened his eyes.
“Ah!”
Seo-ha’s suppressed scream burst out involuntarily the moment his gaze met Han Ju-oh’s.
“Wh-What the hell?”
How long had he been watching? No—he’d been too preoccupied to notice, but he hadn’t felt even a shred of presence.
“Are you hurt anywhere?”
At Han Ju-oh’s question, Seo-ha glanced around. Earlier, he’d closed his eyes to check whether he still had sensation; now, he actually wanted to see if his limbs were all still attached. Catching on to Seo-ha’s intentions, Han Ju-oh supported his back and even placed a makeshift pillow for him.
As he sat up and took in his surroundings, Seo-ha realized they were no longer in the dungeon—and relief swept through him.
“Whew. Everything’s still in one piece.”
The words slipped out on their own once he confirmed all his limbs were intact.
“Nothing got blown off. The blast did damage your eardrums, but I healed them.”
He wasn’t sure how long he’d been unconscious, but when he’d briefly regained his senses after the explosion, he hadn’t noticed anything wrong with his hearing. The Esper must have healed him with his abilities.
“That… explosion—what was it?”
“An Esper.”
“Ah…”
He’d suspected as much. If it had been a monster, and not a fire-type, there shouldn’t have been any kind of explosion. Which meant there were only a handful of plausible causes for something like that.
The Esper whose life Han Ju-oh had saved. As the image of Yoo Seong-hyun rushing to his partner flashed through Seo-ha’s mind, his chest tightened. Just the fact that a college classmate of his had been involved left his lips dry and parched.
“He wasn’t in good shape.”
Han Ju-oh began to explain the events of that day. Yoo Seong-hyun had recognized his Guide and rushed toward him. In doing so, his instability spiraled into a full-on overload. The explosion consumed him instantly, killing him on the spot. But because he had taken the brunt of the blast, those behind him—including others in the vicinity—had escaped with lesser injuries. Still, that didn’t mean there weren’t casualties—minor wounds were sustained, but Seo-ha had been the most at risk.
When Seo-ha had stepped forward to guide Han Ju-oh, the distance between him and the other Guides had widened—putting him in the path of the blast’s shockwave. He had only survived because Han Ju-oh had shielded him with his body.
‘So that’s why he collapsed back then.’
While Seo-ha had been disoriented, trapped in a fog of ringing ears and scrambled senses, Han Ju-oh hadn’t opened his eyes once. Realizing now that it had been because he’d shielded him from the blast, Seo-ha lowered his head.
As they continued to talk about that moment, the mood grew increasingly heavy. Espers—bound for life to rely on guidance. That was the cost of their superhuman powers, a destiny and shackle they carried for life.
He had seen it up close—their constant fear and unease, never able to wield their powers freely. It wasn’t something only an Esper could understand. Whenever they were on the verge of overload, they emitted unstable waves and desperately sought out a Guide with even slightly higher compatibility to ground themselves.
So when someone rejected a low-match like him, it wasn’t something he could blame them for. If he were an Esper, he wouldn’t have chosen a Guide like himself either. That was why Han Ju-oh’s bold choice stood out even more.
“…Thank you.”
After hearing it all, Seo-ha’s first instinct was to offer his gratitude.
“If you hadn’t saved me… I’d be dead.”
Even when he had given up on everything else, he’d never let go of his will to live. Even if he couldn’t guide anymore, the desire to find some way to survive had burned within him.
“I just wanted to stay alive—somehow. And you made that possible.”
Han Ju-oh said nothing. And the silence only made the atmosphere more awkward. So Seo-ha forced a smile and spoke again. Rather than letting himself drown in grief over Yoo Seong-hyun’s death, he chose to focus on Han Ju-oh. That was how he’d survived through countless dungeon raids—his own way of coping.
“Still nothing? Not even a ‘You owe me your life’ or a ‘You better pay me back’ after throwing your body on the line for me?”
“You gave me your lips.”
“What the hell? Don’t make it sound like I offered them up as some kind of sacrificial offering…”
Crap.
He’d completely forgotten that he had flat-out gone in for a mucosal guidance—basically a full-on lip smash.
“Um…”
As Seo-ha awkwardly darted his gaze around in every direction, trying to recover, Han Ju-oh let out a quiet chuckle.
“Then let’s just say we both gave something.”
“What kind of logic is that? I only did it because I had no choice, okay? Skin contact didn’t work.”
“So you decided to use your tongue?”
“I was literally dying trying to reach out, all right? I barely managed to touch your forehead, and I was trying to guide you that way, but it was like you were made of bulletproof glass!”
You were repelling everything. What else was I supposed to do?
Seo-ha’s tone turned plaintive, but Han Ju-oh kept that smug little smile on his face.
“Still, going straight for the lips. Pretty bold move.”
“Wait—that was…”
Seo-ha trailed off mid-sentence, flustered, as the memory of why he’d even attempted mucosal guidance came rushing back.
