* * *
That whisper, brushing directly against his ear, was low and sexy enough to make Ben’s body tense with a jolt.
He instinctively tried to pull away, but Haimar grabbed him by the nape and let his lips graze the now-red edge of Ben’s ear.
His name didn’t usually sound this… obscene.
But somehow, when it came from his voice—it had power.
Enough to make Ben’s cheeks burn.
“…Kyaa…!”
Moria’s small shriek caught Ben’s attention.
Liran Siu had turned away, her face flushed as if she’d seen something she shouldn’t.
Moria was just as red, yet couldn’t tear her eyes away.
Ben thought, once upon a time, he might’ve panicked and thrashed about.
But now, in the middle of this, he still had the clarity to stay composed.
‘Guess I really have gotten used to this guy.’
“Answer me, Ben.”
His voice…
It was like pouring rich, dark chocolate into a scalding ceramic bowl, thick and molten.
Right now, his ear felt like that bowl.
Still, Ben forced himself to ignore the man and turned to Moria, speaking as calmly as he could.
“He seems to have developed a taste for teasing me lately. I hope you understand.”
‘If that’s teasing, every woman on earth would pass out with a nosebleed!’
Just as Liran was about to protest, Haimar—perhaps punishing Ben for ignoring him—smirked and bit gently down on his earlobe.
Ben stiffened, barely holding together like a glass full of water about to spill over.
“W-wait, don’t bite my ear!”
“I—I actually think this is, um, a really wholesome development! Right, Liri?! Embarrassing, but kind of nice to watch!”
“You don’t say that out loud, Momo! Let’s go!”
In the end, it was Liran Siu who finally surrendered.
Knowing Haimar’s personality, this mushy display was just too much.
She grabbed Moria’s hand and tried to drag her away—but Moria stood her ground.
“Wait, wait! I still have one more question!”
“Moria Iren—!”
“Come on, Liri! Just one more!”
Even as Liran shouted her name—a rare thing—Moria didn’t seem to mind.
She boldly threw her next question at Haimar, who remained leaning comfortably on Ben’s shoulder, daring him to say something.
“Did you two sleep together?”
“Excuse me?!”
“Mooriiiiaaa!!”
At this point, no one over the age of 18—especially in a Guide-Espier dynamic—was going to interpret “sleeping together” as just sleeping.
“That’s not even a weird question! People ask that all the time when you first pair up!”
“Still, you need to consider who you’re asking…”
Liran gave Ben a pained look, but Ben managed a strained, ‘I’m-okay’ smile.
It wasn’t that big a deal.
If Haimar might get upset, he’d just honestly say “no.”
No big deal.
“Hmm… so you didn’t sleep together? …Is that why the Director was asking about Mr. Haimar—”
Wait.
What did you just say—?
“Shh.”
Ben’s ears perked up at the careless word Moria let slip as she brushed back her tousled hair.
But even as he reacted, Haimar, now stripped of any trace of earlier playfulness, pressed a finger to his lips and gave a chilling, crooked smile.
“If you’re done chattering, why don’t you get going?”
It wasn’t exactly a sharp or threatening tone, but the previously calm air had taken on a slightly jagged edge.
Realizing she had pushed her bravado too far, Moria shut her mouth like a mute and looked lost.
She’d ridden the flow too hard, and now she worried if she might literally lose her head for letting her mouth run loose.
“I… I think I got a little carried away. I’m sorry.”
Fidgeting nervously with her fingers, Moria barely managed to speak.
Just then, Liran Siu, who had frozen in place, finished assessing the situation and quickly guided her to the conference room door.
There was nothing to gain from speaking further—doing so would only fan the flames.
She realized the best course was to simply disappear, just as the man had said.
“Sorry about this! We’ll be going now—!”
“Liri! We haven’t been forgiven yet!”
“Later. Not now.”
Thud!
Though Liran Siu rarely won against Moria, she seemed in no mood to lose this time.
Without hesitation, she pulled Moria out of the room.
Once the door slammed shut, silence fell over the conference room, now empty except for Ben and Haimar.
Trash—plates, plastic cups, and other uncollected debris—was scattered messily across the table, but Ben didn’t see any of it.
His mind was focused on just one thing: Moria’s casual, offhanded remark.
Does Moria know the reason Mr. Haimar met with the Director?
If so, then why?
Why is it okay for Moria Iren to know, but not Ben Plaskun?
Ben couldn’t help but feel he had just as much right to know whatever it was Moria knew.
Of course, maybe it really was a meaningless issue, as Haimar said.
Maybe it was something Moria was allowed to know, but Ben was not.
Maybe it was just something he didn’t feel like sharing. There were plenty of possibilities.
And yet, one suspicion rose stronger than the rest, seizing Ben’s mind like a vice.
Once it surfaced, it spun and grew like a storm cloud.
He still didn’t believe it—at least, not yet.
But what if?
What if, just maybe—
What if the reason Haimar Eilec hadn’t told him anything… was because he still couldn’t trust Ben Plaskun?
The sudden hypothesis sent a cold chill through a corner of Ben’s chest.
His stomach twisted.
And from that dark place, a creeping nausea began to stir, slowly spreading into a more concrete sense of confusion.
Upheaval always comes without warning.
Its beginnings are quiet, like the calm before a storm.
Like a sky filled with heavy, gray clouds right before a downpour.
Like the suffocating humidity in the air before thunder strikes.
It was exactly like that.
∗ ∗ ∗
After lunch, Ben returned to his seat but couldn’t focus on his work.
The numbers and letters on the monitor were a meaningless jumble, refusing to stick in his brain.
His healthy right hand held the mouse, unmoving, unable to even produce a click.
His entire mind was still caught on the doubt that had formed just minutes ago.
Even while he busied himself cleaning the trash in the conference room earlier, Ben had struggled to hide his inner turmoil.
He didn’t want Haimar to see how shaken he really was.
Perhaps it looked awkward to Haimar, but since he didn’t ask anything in the end, it was a half-success at best.
Yet that single moment of doubt over “trust” had suddenly widened the distance between them.
It was as if two separate lines had begun to bend toward each other, forming a curve—and then abruptly straightened, shooting off as parallel lines once again.
“Man, working after lunch makes me so sleepy. Don’t you think, Ben?”
Zereno’s voice grumbled from the usually quiet seat beside him.
Ben stopped clicking the mouse and replied with his eyes fixed on the monitor, ignoring the way Zereno leaned in.
“I’m fine.”
“Ugh, boring.”
Ben didn’t have the energy to volley back every one of Zereno’s comments, so he chose the most neutral response possible.
But apparently it didn’t satisfy Zereno, whose eyes narrowed like a disgruntled flounder.
“Don’t you want coffee?”
Ben let out a small sigh, unimpressed by the transparency.
“Just say you want coffee.”
“Gah, you caught me!”
Zereno gave a sheepish laugh after being exposed, scratching his head in embarrassment at Ben’s indifferent expression.
“Well, I mean, it’s normal to be sleepy after lunch. A good cup perks you right up.”
He tossed a glance at a towering pile of documents nearby.
Ben’s own desk was no different, so he reached over with his good arm and pulled back a stack he’d set aside earlier.
As always, the pages were filled top to bottom with standardized font detailing dispatch duties and personnel support.
“Oh, right. You know you’re being sent to help at that Lanilgraph Foundation event in Daegu at the end of the month, right? You filed the paperwork?”
“Yes, I did.”
“That’s an easy gig. You just sit there and look alive. I’m dying of envy—I got scheduled for something else that day.”
Coincidentally, the document Ben was holding was about that support assignment.
The Lanilgraph Foundation, established by Renato Lanilgraph, CEO of the global munitions giant Anatolia, was synonymous with philanthropy.
They were known for funding causes ranging from famine and poverty to welfare and Espers, with no discrimination.
This particular event was one of their regular Esper support initiatives, something Division 8 was often tasked with.
Lanilgraph events were notoriously easy; you just showed up and stayed put.
So employees selected for the assignment were the envy of their coworkers.
In Ben’s case, it just so happened he was reassigned from Hermansen to Division 8 and was included by default.
* * *
