80.
The sudden peace came unexpectedly, but it wasn’t unwelcome. A massive rainbow that stretched across the world’s skies remained for about a week before disappearing. During that time, people eagerly fueled their favored conspiracy theories, babbling about alien invasions or signals of war.
The colorful parade of conspiracy theories finally came to an end about two weeks later, after the International Esper Alliance released an official statement.
Appearing before the media cameras in a particularly composed black suit, the Chairman of the Alliance began with a solemn announcement about the disappearance and presumed death of South Korea’s S-class Esper Ryu Ho-yeon and the S-class Guide Lexy, who had volunteered to be his pair.
It was a tragic incident, but in these chaotic times, Espers and civilians were dying by the dozens. Until then, people who had been paying close attention to the Chairman’s announcement were quick to criticize without understanding the full context.
What immediately became the topic of discussion was the announcement that followed:
“This may be unbelievable news, everyone. We have finally been completely freed from the unexpected dungeon attacks. I would like to express my deepest gratitude once again for the noble sacrifice of the two Espers who walked the arduous path of salvation. Detailed explanations will follow, of course, but right now, I would like to say this: Farewell to our evil friend!”
According to the explanation that followed, the long, white luminous scar in the sky was a masterpiece created by Ryu Ho-yeon, a manifestation ability user, with the assistance of Guide Lexy. The Chairman summarized the essence in very concise and clear terms.
The ring of light created by Ryu Ho-yeon had made dungeons leave Earth forever. Although the sacrifices that followed were regrettable, the results were encouraging.
Indeed, since the day the ring appeared, the frequency of high-level S-class dungeons dropped significantly worldwide, and as days passed, lower-level dungeons also gradually decreased in number, so no further proof was necessary. People decided to pray for the soul of the kind-hearted Santa Claus who had secretly visited Earth overnight. It was truly a holiday worth celebrating.
Complicated stories about Guides from the future or parallel universes were never made official. The truth about the salvation had already been decided to be shared only among a very select few within the Alliance.
When Dr. Ryu Hee-yeon, who was responsible for South Korea’s research department, and Choi Jae-won, who had been Ryu Ho-yeon’s paired Guide, first reported this, no one at Alliance Headquarters believed them. But an unexpected individual stepped forward to support their claims: David Howard, who had been dreaming of crossing over to the future with Lexy.
He seemed unable to accept that he had been thoroughly left behind, just as Choi Jae-won couldn’t accept being directly injected with anesthetic by his pair.
The few items from the future left hopelessly in Howard’s hands, the traces of Ryu Ho-yeon and Lexy honing their abilities every day, and the brilliant ring of light hanging day and night—more convincing than any logic or physical evidence—finally made them face the truth.
Regardless of what anyone said, Ryu Ho-yeon became the greatest human to appear since dungeons began arriving on Earth. Religious leaders from various faiths rushed to announce their official intention to bestow honorary positions on Ryu Ho-yeon, and even the South Korean government, which had treated him as a potential criminal for unauthorized departure, quickly shut their mouths and pretended they had supported him from the beginning.
It was truly shameless behavior, but Choi Jae-won decided not to struggle against it and instead ride the wave. Because Ryu Ho-yeon had said he would return. He said if he could return, he definitely would. He said he would save this world for him. Choi Jae-won decided to wait for him until the end of this world.
Choi Jae-won desperately tried to get Ryu Ho-yeon’s achievements recognized by all kinds of people and forces. His intention was to prepare a place for Ryu Ho-yeon when he returned.
No one around him could bring themselves to stop him. Having him focused with bloodshot eyes on some goal, unable to accept Ryu Ho-yeon’s presumed death, was much better than him insisting on following Ryu Ho-yeon in death.
Meanwhile, time continued to flow smoothly.
After a year, B-class and higher dungeons stopped appearing worldwide. Even those appeared barely once a month, if at all.
Choi Jae-won remained unchanged.
Another year later, dungeons could no longer be found anywhere on Earth. Led by the United States, more and more countries began abolishing the mandatory conscription of Espers. South Korea, neither too early nor too late, acknowledged that Esper conscription was unconstitutional and drastically reduced the functions of the Esper Management Office and Centers.
Lee Han-seo and Park Woo-jun permanently returned to Korea during this period. Choi Jae-won went alone to meet them without Ryu Ho-yeon. Lee Han-seo sniffled habitually when he saw the empty space beside Choi Jae-won. Choi Jae-won didn’t cry. It would be more accurate to say he didn’t even have the energy to cry.
By the time three years had passed since Ryu Ho-yeon’s disappearance, Park Woo-jun, Lee Han-seo, Kim Jun-young, and Lee Jung-hyuk had all coordinated their timing to officially leave the Center. It was then that Choi Jae-won stopped waiting passively and began actively searching.
He spent an incalculable amount of money searching for one person. He searched throughout South Korea, then gradually expanded his scope. But there were no results.
By this time, everyone started trying to dissuade him. Even the research director, whom Choi Jae-won had trusted until the end, suggested that it was time to let Ryu Ho-yeon rest in peace. Choi Jae-won still couldn’t accept it. The search continued.
Unable to stand by any longer, Chairman Choi made a decision. He cut off all the group-level investigation resources that had been provided to appease Choi Jae-won. While Choi Jae-won might be somewhat useful within South Korea, he who had been pushed into the Center even before his high school graduation ceremony certainly lacked the personnel or know-how to investigate on the international stage.
The condition Chairman Choi offered was very clear.
Leave the Center, graduate from university, and learn the company business.
Chairman Choi declared he would maintain the current investigation resources only if Choi Jae-won accepted these conditions.
Choi Jae-won had no choice. He wanted to wait for Ryu Ho-yeon. If Ryu Ho-yeon truly couldn’t return, he felt he needed to see the body with his own eyes to be satisfied. Following Ryu Ho-yeon could come later.
So Choi Jae-won became a late-blooming freshman at the age of twenty-nine. Growing older year by year without Ryu Ho-yeon was always difficult, but that year was particularly hard.
“Next year, I’ll have to bring my brother in a padded jacket instead of a coat. One with a sturdy zipper.”
“…Next year?”
“Yes, next year, hyung.”
“…Sounds good.”
“What?”
“Coming out like this again with you next year. It sounds good. Wearing a padded jacket instead of a coat.”
At midnight on January 1st, amidst the bustling crowd, Ryu Ho-yeon had been exactly twenty-nine years old when he smiled faintly, saying it would be nice to come out like this again next year.
Despite their five-year age difference, while Ryu Ho-yeon was briefly away, Choi Jae-won had somehow caught up to his heavenly lover’s age.
“Hey, hyung. Can I kiss you?”
“…”
“The guiding effect has worn off anyway.”
Choi Jae-won listened to this year’s bell-ringing alone too. Without anyone to pull down his scarf neatly instead of answering whether a kiss was allowed, without those pale eyes that never stopped shining even in darkness, just alone like that.
He dared to hope. That he, who had somehow become the same age as Ryu Ho-yeon, would find Ryu Ho-yeon before surpassing the last age he remembered him being.
* * *
[Yesung-nim. How does the Prince seem today? Possible to leave on time?]
5:53 PM. Today, like every day, the scheduled messenger arrived at the scheduled time. She could tell that all employees belonging to the Global Marketing Team were collectively holding their breath, waiting for her typing, even without seeing it. The back of her neck tingled.
Her luck in the seating draw at the beginning of the year had been atrociously bad. Of all places, she’d drawn the seat closest to not just any superior, but the so-called “Prince” whom the Chairman had been announcing for years would inherit the company.
Normally, there would be no way for a regular employee like her to be seated near the “Prince.” But with the establishment of a democratic corporate culture that eliminated rankings and unified all forms of address to “So-and-so nim,” seating arrangements had become this uncomfortable—or rather, equitable. Many people would have already resigned if they hadn’t been able to secure partitions.
Ms. Song Yesung cautiously peeked over the partition. As always, she immediately saw the Prince’s handsome, neatly groomed forehead. Eek. Their eyes met.
“What is it?”
Hmm. This level meant his mood was just normally bad. Since the Prince had never been in a good mood since joining the company, this level was something other employees would be grateful for.
“Oh, nothing. I was just wondering if… Jaewon-nim wasn’t preparing to leave.”
Every time she had to speak his name aloud after playfully calling him “Prince” among colleagues, her heart raced with fear. She was terrified that if he took it even slightly the wrong way, she’d be fired immediately.
Although she knew no employee had ever been dismissed for such a reason since the Prince joined, for ordinary employees with ordinary backgrounds like herself, his very existence was intimidating.
Even the older employees who used to be called team leaders or department heads before job titles disappeared found it uncomfortable to face him in the office, to the point they wished he would just hurry up and be promoted to director. So how must it be for Ms. Song Yesung, who had only been with the company for barely three years?
“Never mind about me. You all should go ahead.”
After receiving his businesslike answer, she typed just four characters in the group messenger—”Looks like we can go”—then hurriedly packed her bag and shut down her work PC. Standing up, she saw it was still only 5:59, but the Prince across from her, whose mood was generally bad, still seemed just normally bad and showed no particular interest in her.
Ms. Song Yesung, who had plans after work for the first time in a while, quietly slipped out of the office, trying to muffle her footsteps.
It was suffocating just to see the shadow of the Prince as he flipped through documents without even disturbing his posture. Ms. Song Yesung and the entire Global Marketing Team always wondered: had someone like him ever been disheveled even once in his life?
Author: Hyacinthus B
Hyacinthus
