At the Korea Ability User Center—better known as the K Ability User Center—there were three notorious troublemakers. Dealing with three A-rank Espers together was enough to drive anyone insane, but these three were S-rank Espers—one of fewer than ten in the entire country—and they stuck to each other like glue.
If they’d had decent personalities, maybe it wouldn’t have been such a problem. But each of them was fiercely individualistic, antisocial, and impossible to get along with. By some strange twist of fate, the three had grown up together since childhood. Originally, there had been four of them, but after a certain incident, their group was reduced to three.
Not that they were particularly friendly with one another. They were the very picture of “bad friends.” Once a month, under the excuse of training, they clashed so violently that the Center itself was nearly torn down in the process.
Considering the worth of an S-rank Esper, a demolished building was a small price to pay. The Center Director even set aside a special budget just to cover the damages they inevitably caused.
The real headache was that all three had matching rates with Guides of less than 20%—a shockingly low figure. Missions that required an S-rank Esper to push their powers to the point of risking an Outbreak were rare, but they did happen.
Clearing S-rank dungeons or eliminating S-rank-class monsters—tasks that forced Espers to unleash tremendous power—were assigned to each of them at least two or three times a year. With such dismal compatibility, they had no choice but to rely almost entirely on Guiding Machines, constantly skirting the razor’s edge of losing control.
This problem weighed heavily on Han Chul-yong, the Center Director and Korea’s very first S-rank Physical Esper. It was often joked that more than half the gray hairs on his head were thanks to those three—and it wasn’t much of an exaggeration.
If there were enough S-rank Guides, things might have been manageable. Even with low compatibility, such Guides could still steady S-rank Espers to some degree. But there were fewer S-rank Guides than Espers.
Out of the five in the country, one was already permanently paired, two had exclusive contracts with other S-rank Espers, and another had suffered so much at the hands of the troublesome trio that he would literally flee overseas whenever the Center tried to assign him to them. With S-rank Guides being so precious, the Director couldn’t force him.
That left only one S-rank Guide—and fortunately, he had a good relationship with the trio. They had grown up like brothers, and if he could guide them, the Director’s troubles would be over.
But there was a catch. The Guide’s body was frail, and his compatibility was just as low as the others’, under 20%. Physical-contact Guiding was essential for him, and the three Espers treated him like a sacred relic, never allowing him to be harmed.
With low compatibility, physical contact Guiding caused backlash. Espers could endure it easily thanks to their monstrous bodies and rapid healing, but the Guide had to shoulder the full burden. Rather than risk injuring him, the three stubbornly stuck to Guiding Machines, even if it meant lower efficiency.
Han Chul-yong wasn’t just a leader—he was the most respected Esper in Korea. His contributions to stabilizing the nation during the early chaos of the monster outbreaks were legendary, even recorded in textbooks.
To those working at the Center, Han Chul-yong was both a hero and a boss to impress. It was an open secret that, even past the age most men retired, he still traveled abroad in search of Guides who might match with the three. Yet no matter how far he looked, nowhere in the world could he find a Guide with more than a 20% match rate.
It was, in every sense, a disaster waiting to happen. The trio’s Outbreak risk continued to climb, and there was no Guide capable of reining them in.
Then came the name Nabin.
No one had ever thought to test D-rank Guides. They were too rare and too weak to consider. Who would imagine a D-rank Guide could ever match with an S-rank Esper, let alone show a compatibility rate of over 95%?
That discovery came five years after Kim Nabin had first registered as a Guide. The truth was simple: a desperate employee, buckling under pressure from his superior to find a solution, decided on a whim to run the mana-wave data of D-rank Guides against those of the three S-rank Espers.
It was like finding a diamond in a trash heap.
The moment Han Chul-yong heard, he ordered Nabin to be brought in immediately. Even as a D-rank, if Nabin could perform physical-contact Guiding, it would far outclass the machines.
Han Jigang, the de facto leader of the trio, was dispatched to retrieve him.
The team returned with Nabin battered and bloodied from head to toe.
In Infirmary One, A-rank Healing Esper Kim Su-hyun—a specialist in trauma—immediately shot Jigang a glare after examining Nabin’s state. Given Jigang’s violent nature, it wouldn’t have been surprising if he had nearly beaten the poor Guide to death during the retrieval. That was how dire Nabin’s condition was.
“Relax your eyes, Esper Kim Su-hyun.”
Jigang wasn’t the type to back down from hostility. Even against a Healer, he let a hint of killing intent seep out, the tension spiking.
“Esper Kim Su-hyun! Please hear me out first!”
If Kim Yong-ho hadn’t stepped in quickly, Nabin in his arms, Infirmary One might have gone up in flames. Known throughout the Center for his easygoing personality, Yong-ho smiled warmly as he tried to defuse the tension.
“When we found him, the Guide was already gravely injured. The people transporting him crashed into a guardrail while fleeing, and the car was torn apart.”
His sincere explanation finally softened Su-hyun’s suspicion. Between glaring at Jigang and saving the fragile, barely-breathing Guide, Su-hyun’s priorities were clear.
Regardless of his importance, the young man looked pitiful—nothing but skin and bones, his body covered in cuts and bruises. And this was after being dosed with a C-rank Healing Potion, according to Yong-ho.
A C-rank potion was more than enough to heal most injuries. The fact that Nabin was still in such a state meant his condition was critical.
“From here on, I’ll take care of him.”
Su-hyun took Nabin from Yong-ho and carried him into the ward. Declaring that absolute rest was needed, he barred Jigang and Yong-ho from entering.
He wasn’t exaggerating. Nabin’s state was so bad that Su-hyun needed complete concentration to heal him. Laying him on the bed, he immediately channeled his ability.
Direct healing was always more effective than potions—especially from Su-hyun, an A-rank Healer specialized in physical trauma. His ability was more potent than even an A-rank potion.
Holding Nabin’s thin wrist, Su-hyun sent energy flowing into him. The pale skin exposed beneath his torn clothes was mottled with bruises and cuts. The gash on his forehead was deep enough that, under normal circumstances, it would’ve required dozens of stitches.
His lips were cracked, swollen, and scabbed over. The more Su-hyun looked him over, the harder it became to hold back the sting in his eyes.
The external wounds alone were heartbreaking. But as his healing energy sank deeper, Su-hyun realized the damage inside was far worse.
What kind of life had Nabin endured for his body to be this ruined? His power was drawn toward certain areas, as though consumed by wounds of extraordinary severity.
One place in particular drew the strongest pull.
Su-hyun’s tear-brimmed gaze shifted toward Nabin’s lower body. The most delicate area bore the deepest trauma. At this level… it was as if he had been assaulted daily with something like an iron pipe.
“How… how could something like this…”
The words caught in his throat.
On paper, Nabin was twenty-four. But looking at him, he could have passed for barely twenty—frail and underdeveloped.
He wasn’t short, but his frame was so wasted there wasn’t an ounce of flesh on him. The wrist in Su-hyun’s hand was so thin it could hardly belong to an adult man.
