“It’s only a hypothesis. To verify its validity, we’d need to recreate the situation once again…”
The professor’s voice faded into the distance. Seo-ha simply didn’t want to hear it anymore. The professor’s calm, clinical words were essentially suggesting they risk an Esper’s life, and that alone was enough for Seo-ha to shut down.
But was this something that would just go away if only he refused to listen? Han Ju-oh’s expression as he looked at the professor was completely unreadable. He looked not just calm, but detached—like he was listening to someone else’s story entirely. That expression drained all the color from Seo-ha’s face.
“Rather than going into a Gate, the safest method would be to try drawing out the energy manually here in the lab and conducting the experiment—”
“I’ll work harder on raising our sync rate, Professor.”
Seo-ha cut the professor off, grabbing Han Ju-oh by the wrist. The professor looked flustered at the interruption, and Han Ju-oh stared in disbelief at Seo-ha, who had suddenly shouted loud enough to burst an eardrum.
“Please, don’t—”
“Goodbye.”
Seo-ha didn’t give the professor another chance to speak. He pulled Han Ju-oh out of the consultation room and didn’t stop there—he practically stormed down the hallway, afraid the professor might follow them. Thankfully, Han Ju-oh didn’t resist, allowing Seo-ha to lead them swiftly outside.
“Whew. The breeze feels good.”
Feeling the cool wind hit his face, Seo-ha took a deep breath—almost just to prove to himself that they were out.
“I’ve been in that hospital too long.”
And because of that, he’d heard things he really didn’t need to, things that had chilled him to the bone and nearly made him faint.
“I don’t want to sleep on a hospital bed. They’re uncomfortable and hard.”
He didn’t care for that strong smell of antiseptic, either. All the more reason why he felt he’d done the right thing getting out fast.
“They were just saying we should run the experiment in a safe environment.”
Han Ju-oh, who’d been silent, finally spoke up when Seo-ha kept changing the subject. It would’ve been better if he had the kind of personality that left things unspoken when others were clearly avoiding them—but unfortunately, he wasn’t like that.
‘As if I don’t know what the professor was really saying.’
Precisely because he understood, Seo-ha had cut the man off, laying down a firm refusal—he would not listen to that any further.
“If you’re just worried about me being in danger, you really didn’t need to go that far.”
Han Ju-oh pointed out how Seo-ha had intentionally interrupted when the professor started suggesting a full reenactment.
“If it were only you at risk, I’d be fine with it. But I’d be in danger too, and I’m not okay with that.”
Seo-ha lightly twisted Han Ju-oh’s words. Run the experiment in a “safe environment”? What safe environment? What kind of situation could they predict with 100% certainty? Seo-ha was firmly against it.
To him, even a 0.000001% risk was unacceptable.
“And, what, are they going to test based on a single sync rate spike to 30%? That’s just…”
Seo-ha glanced at Han Ju-oh for his reaction, then reluctantly brought up another option.
“It’s better to raise it little by little.”
And that meant doing various things together with Han Ju-oh. Seo-ha looked at him anew, murmuring to himself about the shift in his own mindset.
“Looks like I’m the one who’s going to end up jumping you first.”
He’d decided to let go of the guilt he held toward Moon Seong-hyung, and try to raise his matching rate with Han Ju-oh. But now, it wasn’t just an intention—it was a solid decision.
“All we did was go into a Gate once.”
He couldn’t help but laugh.
He was still chuckling when Han Ju-oh gave him a weird look.
Seo-ha looked at him and asked, “Did you eat?”
“……”
Of course. Like you would’ve eaten.
“Wanna come over to my place for some ramyun?”
Seo-ha was just starting to feel hungry again himself.
***
The moment they stepped into the house, Seo-ha crossed his arms and turned to Han Ju-oh.
“You’re cooking, right?”
Han Ju-oh, still standing there with his shoes on, furrowed his brow. It was just a single vertical line on that otherwise smooth forehead—but damn, how could even a wrinkle look that handsome?
Seo-ha rolled up his sleeves, arriving at the absurd conclusion that even wrinkles look good on good-looking people.
“I got an IV drip earlier, so my hand’s all weak. Not even sure I can hold chopsticks properly.”
Han Ju-oh stared intently at the back of Seo-ha’s hand. Of course, the faint bruise still lingering on the left hand wouldn’t just vanish, and since Seo-ha was right-handed, he had every intention of shamelessly playing the victim.
“What are you waiting for? Go cook.”
Seo-ha urged him again, as Han Ju-oh still hadn’t moved.
Eventually, Han Ju-oh stepped inside, took off his shoes, and awkwardly went to wash his hands before opening every cabinet. Seo-ha could have told him where everything was, but instead he just leaned against the wall and watched him.
‘How long has he been going without food?’
When Seo-ha had mentioned ramyun earlier, he suddenly started wondering if Han Ju-oh had even been eating properly. Judging by the fact that he was still alive, he must’ve eaten something—but how much, really?
‘There’s no need to guess—I can just ask.’
Seo-ha pushed himself off the wall and stepped into the kitchen, opening the lower-right cabinet. He pulled out an apron and unfolded it, then called out to Han Ju-oh.
“Look over here.”
As Han Ju-oh instinctively turned, Seo-ha looped the apron strap over his head. By the time Han Ju-oh realized what was happening and tried to take it off, Seo-ha was already a step ahead.
“Hold still.”
When Han Ju-oh froze in place with both hands slightly raised, Seo-ha moved in no rush, calmly adjusting the apron.
“You’re wearing white. What if something splashes on you?”
It was a bit over-the-top to wear an apron just to cook ramyun, sure. But Seo-ha kept a perfectly straight face as he convinced Han Ju-oh.
Given that he wasn’t resisting anymore, it didn’t seem like he planned to refuse further.
“We’re going to be spending a lot of time together from now on. I’m trying to do my part, too.”
With those words, Seo-ha pulled Han Ju-oh into a hug. It might’ve seemed random to do something like that while tying an apron, but Seo-ha was just wrapping the straps around his waist. Sure, he could’ve gone around behind him and done it, but there was no need for that.
“You’re using the apron as an excuse.”
Han Ju-oh looked down at Seo-ha, who clung to him without letting go.
“If you don’t like it, push me away.”
Seo-ha had already thrown himself into his arms before Han Ju-oh could even try. But since Han Ju-oh didn’t reject him strongly, things easily continued. Seo-ha leaned into him fully, letting his body relax as he clung.
There had been times when they touched by accident, even kissed during guiding, but this felt different.
This time, it was intentional. That changed everything.
‘I can save the weird thoughts for after the guiding’s over.’
Seo-ha placed his hand against Han Ju-oh’s back and began guiding. Ideally, he’d slip his hand under the hem of his shirt to make direct skin contact, but this was enough—he could feel the energy flowing in just fine.
Maybe this, too, was part of the experiment. They needed to raise the intensity anyway, so wouldn’t it make sense to test whether fabric blocked energy flow?
The energy was transferring, but not in greater amounts than before. Despite his bold declaration in front of the professor, there’d been no real progress.
But now wasn’t the time for regret or despair. Seo-ha let go of Han Ju-oh, finished tying the apron, and stepped back.
“Start boiling the ramyun. I’ll be right back.”
Leaving behind Han Ju-oh’s puzzled expression, Seo-ha stepped outside. As the front door shut with a solid thud, even the faint sounds from inside were cut off. Left alone, Seo-ha finally let out a long sigh.
“Nothing ever goes smoothly. One mountain after another.”
Muttering about his current situation, he walked past unit 302 and stopped in front of 303. The moment he rang the bell, the door opened and a head peeked out.
“Hello, Secretary Park.”
It was Park Joo-hee, secretary to Kim Mi-yeon, the White Guild’s guild leader.
“What brings you here?”
“I had something to ask. Did Ju-oh eat today?”
“If you mean Esper Han Ju-oh, he received a lunch box from Guild Leader Kim Mi-yeon the day before yesterday.”
As she added that she didn’t know beyond that, Seo-ha picked up on the implication. The only meal Han Ju-oh had eaten recently was that boxed lunch from two days ago.
“He doesn’t eat much, so I’ve been worried.”
“Esper Han Ju-oh is like that. That’s why the Guild Leader tries to look after him, but it doesn’t always go well.”
Park Joo-hee answered evenly, though she occasionally glanced at her phone—clearly texting or checking messages with someone.
“It’s almost dinner time. Hope you have a good meal.”
When Seo-ha bowed slightly, Park Joo-hee returned the gesture and slipped back inside. She’d probably call Kim Mi-yeon and report the whole conversation. Seo-ha knew she served as a go-between, sharing just enough information in both directions—so he didn’t bother stopping her.
‘There’s no reason to stop her if it’s out of concern for Han Ju-oh.’
Thinking as much, Seo-ha casually hinted that he’d be eating dinner with Han Ju-oh and went back into unit 301.
A sharp, spicy scent hit his nose the moment he walked in.
