Davis walked through the empty street. The national state of emergency caused by the Gate had been lifted. And yet, not a single person was in sight. That was entirely due to the rampage risk of a single Esper.
“Talk about influence.”
‘If I went on a rampage, would the streets clear out like this too?’
The disparity in treatment gnawed at Davis, twisting his mood. Sure enough, Han Ju-oh was a menace to everyone.
This wasn’t Davis’s first encounter with Han Ju-oh’s rampage risk. The first time had been only a few years into his career as an active Esper, back when he and Han Ju-oh were both fairly young. Davis could understand someone sobbing over the loss of their family right before their eyes—but to spiral into a rampage because of it? That he couldn’t accept. There were countless people who had lost loved ones to monsters. If Han Ju-oh exploded in a full-blown rampage, everyone would die, and yet there he was, drowning in his own sorrow like nothing else mattered.
‘Is your own family’s death the only one that counts? Are other people’s lives expendable? Why the hell didn’t he try to get guided when his rampage risk was spiking? Why just stand there like a statue?’
When Davis found himself on the brink of death, caught in the chaos of Han Ju-oh’s rampage, the resentment that surged through him was unforgettable. That memory burned itself into his brain, and from that point on, he became hyper-sensitive about his own safety. He couldn’t escape his duty as an Esper—to kill monsters—but outside of that, he made sure everything went his way.
As an S-Class Esper from the Black Mamba Guild, Davis often teamed up with Ian Poulter and handled rear support roles. He took on missions to protect Guides and sought out the most skilled ones available.
Living like that, he eventually learned what had triggered Han Ju-oh’s past rampage. He also realized that if the team leader hadn’t rushed in and taken Han Ju-oh away, he might have actually died that day. To Davis, Han Ju-oh was nothing short of a ticking time bomb. He couldn’t just sit back and let such a dangerous element be left unchecked—so he reported it. Now, he was waiting for Han Ju-oh to blow up again.
“This should be good enough.”
Davis had positioned himself on the rooftop of a tall building. With the whole of downtown Seoul stretched out beneath him, it felt like a weight lifted off his chest. Even if Han Ju-oh exploded, the distance was enough for him to safely escape. The rest, he could handle with his own abilities.
The people surrounding the building Han Ju-oh had entered looked like tiny ants. Drones and flying Espers hovered in the sky. Davis wished he could see their faces up close—were they terrified? Or maybe resigned? To them, Han Ju-oh probably wasn’t much different from a monster that crawled out of an S-Class Gate.
Snickering to himself as he compared Han Ju-oh to a beast, Davis felt his heart race. He wasn’t even in a dungeon, but the thrill was real. Eyes gleaming, he waited for the explosion powerful enough to devour Seoul. If only someone could tell him exactly when it would go off… but that was beyond his means.
“It’ll blow eventually.”
Han Ju-oh had a partner, sure, but didn’t they say only 3% of his guiding had worked? Barely enough to calm him down momentarily. No way that could actually suppress it.
Though he was a foreign operative and lacked full intel, Davis was convinced—Han Ju-oh wouldn’t make it through this one. He was going to blow. And so, he waited. He stayed up the entire night, and now, exhausted, pressed down on his tired eyelids.
“Damn, he’s holding out.”
Davis was certain Han Ju-oh wouldn’t survive this crisis, and yet Seoul remained eerily quiet, peaceful even.
As time dragged on with nothing happening, Davis’s patience started to wear thin. Something was supposed to go wrong. But there was no sign of a full recovery either. If Han Ju-oh had really stabilized, those people wouldn’t still be posted there on guard, would they?
Unable to hold back anymore, Davis headed toward Han Ju-oh’s location.
“Outsiders aren’t allowed past this point.”
“I’m not just any outsider.”
Davis shoved aside the control staffer and pushed his way inside. His mood had soured during the wait. He’d planned to enjoy the show from a distance—but instead, he’d just wasted his time.
“What the hell is going on? Are you all planning to die with the Esper when he explodes? What, is this some kind of suicide cult?”
At Davis’s snide outburst, Yoon Ji-guk, the site supervisor, narrowed his eyes.
“Didn’t you hear the directive? No unauthorized access.”
“I’m the one who reported Han Ju-oh’s condition. That gives me every right to be here.”
Davis found Yoon Ji-guk’s uptight attitude laughable. Even when he first raised concerns about Han Ju-oh, they’d just brushed him off with a cold “we’ll look into it,” never sharing a single update with him. That line they drew in the sand made his blood boil—but he decided to wait. To bide his time.
He would remember everything that happened here and expose it to the world. If he could taint this country with the image of failing to manage its Espers, then high-ranking Espers wouldn’t want to stay here.
“Never heard of any rule saying informants get full disclosure. Leave. Now.”
“Hah. This informant came here over a safety issue. That gives me the right to know.”
“We’re doing everything we can to ensure that safety.”
“And yet it’s going to blow anyway, right? Or did you already take care of him?”
Even if there was an explosion risk, killing an S-Class Esper wasn’t something done lightly. The number of S-Class Espers was directly tied to national power. It was a matter enshrined in law—but Davis didn’t care. He was relentless.
“Leave. Or I’ll file a formal complaint.”
Yoon Ji-guk gave Davis one last warning. Seeing the unwavering look in his eyes, Davis suddenly relaxed his scowl, as if he hadn’t been fuming a moment ago, and let out a dry laugh.
“Are you threatening me right now? You think you can do anything to me?”
Folding his arms, Davis shot him a look of utter contempt.
“Go ahead, try it. Hell, maybe I’ll throw a fit right here and now—might be fun.”
It wasn’t that there weren’t Espers capable of stopping Davis, but doing so would split up the personnel needed to manage Han Ju-oh. Davis knew that monitoring Han Ju-oh was their top priority, and this was his way of warning them he was more than willing to cause real trouble.
“Then I won’t just stand by either.”
“And what are you gonna do?”
“I’ll restrain you.”
There was a law prohibiting the use of force against civilians—unless they were monsters. Yoon Ji-guk stared down Davis, but soon enough, all attention in the area had turned to them. Then, with exaggerated flair, Davis used his power, blasting a hole into the ground beneath him. Like Han Ju-oh, Davis was a nature-type Esper. He could float on air and weaponize atmospheric pressure.
“Now what’re you gonna do?”
Just as Davis shot them a defiant look, daring them to stop him, a shadow passed overhead, dimming the light above. He glanced up.
“What the—argh!”
He saw something plummeting straight at him—far too fast to dodge. The next thing he knew, it slammed into him like a meteor. Davis was flattened against the ground, his lips parting in breathless shock, mouthing soundlessly. It hadn’t even fallen from the sky, yet whatever crashed down on him made his entire body ache like every bone had shattered.
“What the hell…”
The one who’d landed square on top of him was none other than Han Ju-oh—still holding Seo-ha in his arms, meaning Davis had taken the full weight of both of them.
“Jeez… Why’d you have to be standing right here?”
Seo-ha looked at Davis with mock pity, then dismounted from Han Ju-oh’s arms.
“You…”
Davis pointed a trembling finger at Seo-ha. He wanted nothing more than to rise up and crush him in return—but his current condition wouldn’t allow it. The aftershock from the impact made even lifting a finger send tremors through his entire body.
“Ah, Esper Davis. I saw you not too long ago, and yet it feels like it’s been ages, doesn’t it?”
Seo-ha took Davis’s outstretched finger and wiggled it up and down.
“You… You did that on purpose, didn’t you?”
Davis’s face twisted with fury, his voice trembling. Seo-ha tilted his head as if mulling it over.
“Of course I did.”
“You son of a—”
“This spot here—Team Leader Yoon Ji-guk specifically left it empty. So tell me, why were you standing in it?”
When Seo-ha revealed the meaning of on purpose, Davis’s gaze snapped to Yoon Ji-guk. His eyes screamed Is that true?, and Yoon Ji-guk returned the look with an icy glare.
“Next time, don’t enter a restricted zone without authorization. You never know what kind of danger might be waiting.”
‘Just like what you just went through.’
“Knew it.”
Seo-ha clenched his fist in victory. Seeing that reaction confirmed it—this spot had definitely been cleared out deliberately. Realizing how thoroughly he’d been played, Davis clenched his teeth in frustration. He tried to rise, but there was still no strength in his limbs.
For the downed Davis, Seo-ha graciously knelt on one knee and brought his face close.
“You look pretty banged up. Want me to guide you?”
With Guiding, the body’s natural healing speeds up. Just as a glimmer of hope lit up in Davis’s eyes, Seo-ha stood back up.
“Ah, but what a shame. I’m completely drained. Not a drop of energy left in me. I’d love to help—but, oh well.”
Davis’s pupils froze mid-glimmer.
“Next time, maybe do your homework before barging in.”
