“—Hey, did you know?”
“Why are you calling me out of nowhere to ask if I know something? I know everything except what I don’t.” Seo-ha, mid-bite into his sandwich, glanced at his phone and replied curtly. What the hell was this guy suddenly calling for? “Are you bored or something?”
After returning from a gate, Moon Roi was supposed to be stuck in the Guiding Room for a while. Was this call because he was getting bored of that? Since he didn’t have a partner yet, he was still obligated to spend a certain number of hours guiding.
That reminded Seo-ha of the time when he had his own Guiding Room too.
Wasn’t bad, honestly.
Resting his cheek in the palm of his sandwich-holding hand, Seo-ha stared out the window.
At first, there were tons of Espers coming in—meaning lots of chatter, lots of trouble—but eventually, things settled down. With no Espers visiting anymore, he could enjoy time to himself. Sometimes, he’d lie back and gaze at the sky, the moans leaking from the adjacent Guiding Room just background noise.
Come to think of it, who the hell thought it was a good idea to cram the Guiding Rooms so close together?
He really didn’t get it. The rooms were furnished like resting lounges—desks, chairs, sofas, even beds. Clearly, the furnishings were meant for guiding Espers, but what made zero sense was how close the rooms were to one another.
The walls weren’t thin partitions, but they weren’t exactly soundproof either.
“You do realize you’re on a call with me right now, right?”
“It’s ‘cause you’re saying weird shit. If you’ve got something to say, say it. If not, I’m hanging up.”
Seo-ha shot a side glance at his phone, still holding his sandwich, and continued eating. He’d come into the guild this morning, filled out his guiding log, and then headed to the cafeteria for an early lunch.
There were other people in the cafeteria, but even when he made eye contact, they only exchanged brief greetings—none of the awkward stares or tension, which made for a pretty pleasant time. That is, until Moon Roi ruined it.
“I’m heading back up soon, so talk fast.”
“It’s about Han Ju-oh.”
Seo-ha’s eyes narrowed. Moon Roi hadn’t said much, but he’d dropped the one name that Seo-ha couldn’t just ignore and hang up on.
“…Why?”
“You like him, don’t you?”
“What the hell.”
Seo-ha instantly gave an exasperated scoff. Moon Roi couldn’t see his face, but the irritation in Seo-ha’s grumbling tone must’ve come through loud and clear. That’s how out-of-nowhere and ridiculous Moon Roi’s question was.
“Yeah, we became partners, but it’s not like that.”
Seo-ha spoke in that brusque way of his, like he didn’t even owe him an explanation. This was his one and only friend—if he were ever to actually get into a relationship, this would be the first person he’d tell. And in that sense, it was not happening with Han Ju-oh.
“Then is that just how he is normally?”
“If you’re gonna keep beating around the bush like this, then just stop. I’d rather not hear it.”
Seo-ha was clearly losing patience, and Moon Roi finally got to the point.
“You know how he wrecked those people who were badmouthing you the other day? I mean, yeah, there’s that whole invisible hierarchy among Espers and all, but the law still exists, right?”
Seo-ha knew exactly what Moon Roi was referring to.
A rough analogy might be something like a street fight between regular people. You’re not supposed to fight, but if you do, it doesn’t mean everyone ends up at the police station. Still, some cases do go that far, and when they do, things get nitpicked—who threw the first punch, whether it was self-defense, and so on.
Same with Espers. They’re not allowed to fight one another. Official sparring matches were the only exception, carried out under the pretense of safe, controlled training.
So when Han Ju-oh had knocked the crap out of a group of Espers not long ago, yeah—it was a legal violation, just like Moon Roi said. Luckily, it hadn’t escalated beyond what could be covered up.
“You’re asking if Han Ju-oh took down those Espers who were talking shit about me because he likes me?”
“Yeah.”
Took him forever to ask that one thing. Seo-ha clicked his tongue and downed the rest of his Americano.
“He’s not…”
The cup was already just ice, and the air sucked through the straw. He set it down without hesitation and answered Moon Roi, who was still waiting.
“He wasn’t trying to protect me. He was protecting himself.”
“Himself…?”
“Yeah.”
Han Ju-oh likes him?
Not a chance.
They didn’t meet in some ordinary, casual way. Hell, Seo-ha was pretty sure there was some hatred at the start. Things had been smoothed out and, yeah, they were partners now—but even that had come about not because of some emotional outburst or romantic impulse.
Han Ju-oh just needed him.
“If someone disrespects me, that’s the same as disrespecting Han Ju-oh. If I got upset and ran away, then what?”
At least Moon Roi could understand the situation well enough to get it without further explanation. Seo-ha figured he’d said plenty.
He didn’t bother bringing up the awkward conversation they’d once had—no imprinting, this isn’t love, etc.—because just remembering that made his face flush with embarrassment.
“…Then what about you?”
“What do I think of Han Ju-oh?”
Seo-ha had already sorted through those thoughts during his visit to Moon Seong’s grave, so the answer came quickly.
“I think he’s kind of cute.”
It was a strange way to describe a tall, cold-faced guy who looked like a totally expressionless jerk, but so what? That’s how he saw him.
“He’s actually pretty adorable. And he’s so transparent—you can see right through him. Back then, I kept wondering, ‘why is he like this?’ But turns out I was just being too cynical.”
With Moon Roi silent on the other end, Seo-ha kept talking, trying to pull a reaction out of him.
“When he says something, don’t overthink it. You have to take his words at face value. I’ve been watching him, and Han Ju-oh’s the type to just ask if he’s curious, and if not, he moves on. He doesn’t make things complicated. He’s… pretty simple like that.”
And on top of that, he ate whatever Seo-ha gave him without complaint, which had helped improve their relationship.
“…You make it sound like your life’s way more complicated than his.”
Moon Roi’s quiet murmur didn’t reach Seo-ha clearly, who was wedging the phone between his shoulder and ear while tidying up his table.
“What was that?”
Lowering his shoulder and bringing the phone back to his ear, Seo-ha asked again, and Moon Roi sighed.
“Forget it. Let’s hang up.”
Then, before Seo-ha could even say a word, the call ended.
“What the hell? Just says whatever he wants and hangs up.”
Muttering to himself while staring at the phone screen, Seo-ha looked up. Han Ju-oh hadn’t come to the guild today.
He’d wandered around looking for him, wondering if the guy had somewhere to be, and ended up eating a sandwich alone. The thought of checking in on him crossed his mind again, but Seo-ha shook his head.
“If he needs me, he’ll show up on his own.”
More urgent than that was figuring out how he’d handle their future guidings.
***
After unilaterally ending the call, Moon Roi stared at the crumbled wall of the Guiding Room.
Earlier, it was just the door that got destroyed. Now, the entire wall had collapsed.
Not only had Han Ju-oh launched Esper Kang Kyung-hoon, he was now stomping on him to make sure he couldn’t get back up.
“Why the hell are you doing this to me…?”
“If you feel wronged, go report it to the Guide Human Rights Commission.”
Han Ju-oh, completely unfazed, said the words like he welcomed it—like he didn’t care what punishment might follow. But Moon Roi noticed that he was looking at the wrecked wall with a smirk.
The CCTV was gone without a trace—nothing left but a few black wires sticking out.
Han Ju-oh had deliberately destroyed the device. Because Kang Kyung-hoon had been talking about Baek Seo-ha.
He didn’t want to leave that alone. So he obliterated the evidence.
Now there was no way to prove what happened today, so Kang Kyung-hoon wouldn’t be quick to cry victim.
The man looked confused now, unsure of how to react, but even if he realized later that Han Ju-oh was the one who’d attacked him, no one would side with him.
He was one of the people who used to give Baek Seo-ha hell.
He’d shamelessly picked on Seo-ha’s good looks, made inappropriate remarks, and often hinted at wanting deeper physical contact.
But when Seo-ha slipped through his grasp like an eel, Kang started hunting for a new target.
A guide could’ve been the one to expose Kang Kyung-hoon’s scummy behavior. Honestly, it was strange nothing had been exposed sooner—but of course, it made sense.
Kang Kyung-hoon had no partner and only ever went after lower-ranked, easily cornered prey. Seo-ha had been the exception.
Most guides wouldn’t dare speak up, no matter how much he acted like a pervert.
Even Guide Cho Ha-cheol, who wanted to report him to the Human Rights Commission, had a hard time doing so.
Because if things blew up, the backlash would land squarely on Cho Ha-cheol’s shoulders.
So instead of taking action, they opted to endure the moment. That’s how it had always gone.
But now Han Ju-oh had stepped in.
People were going to start paying attention.
And everything Kang Kyung-hoon had said or done in the past would start getting dragged out into the open like a string of dried fish on a rack.
Would it really stop with just Kang Kyung-hoon?
The Espers who used to belittle Baek Seo-ha wouldn’t be able to toss his name around so casually anymore.
And Han Ju-oh would take on every bit of the burden that Seo-ha was supposed to carry.
That had been Moon Roi’s intention all along when he dragged Han Ju-oh to the center in the first place.
“…And after seeing all that, you still say he doesn’t like you?”
Maybe it wasn’t love.
But out of all the Espers out there, no one gave more of a damn about Seo-ha than Han Ju-oh.
