* * *
Harsh though he was, Elgran hadn’t said anything wrong.
He wasn’t kind, but he was clear.
The state of an Esper was inherently tied to their Guide.
It all came down to the Guide’s capability—something Ben had completely failed to assess.
Instead of answering, Ben closed his eyes tightly, then reopened them to meet Elgran’s cold, hard stare.
Reflected in Elgran’s pale violet eyes was the pathetic figure of himself.
The stubborn links of flawed logic that had held his thoughts together began to crack and shatter one by one.
From the beginning, his relationship with Haimar had been built on one promise.
A promise to give each other time—to grow familiar, to build trust.
It had been Ben himself who’d proposed that condition.
“When I first met Mr. Haimar… I said we probably needed time to get used to each other. I’m an F-rank Guide, and being labeled as irregular… I just didn’t think we were in a place to act like—like a real pair yet.”
But what if that assumption had been wrong from the start?
“What the hell is that supposed to mean? Are you in some kind of business arrangement with Haima?”
The answer was obviously no.
But Ben’s lips couldn’t seem to say it.
It wasn’t business, no—but could he really call it a partnership with confidence?
That small seed of doubt sprouted quickly, growing leaves of suspicion until it bloomed into something undeniable.
In front of Elgran, whatever he had with Haimar already felt meaningless.
“…No. It’s not like that.”
Amid the flood of unorganized thoughts, Elgran’s sharp voice cut through like a blade.
“‘Time,’ huh? Would you be talking about ‘time’ if you were standing in front of a nuclear bomb about to go off?”
It wasn’t like Ben hadn’t considered that.
He’d made a bold promise to Haimar not to let things spiral out of control.
Espers needed Guides.
He knew that.
Compared to when things started, their relationship had changed—so he wanted to believe it hadn’t been meaningless.
He wanted to say that to Elgran, to himself.
But what did any of that matter now?
All he could face was the fact that, hidden behind that promise, Haimar’s condition had likely worsened.
He couldn’t possibly be the same as he was in the beginning.
There’s no way.
“Do you really think that time is enough now? I know you care, but for an Esper without a partner, ‘time’ is the most brutal thing there is. Not just time—but time without a Guide. But what’s worse is that he has a Guide, and it’s still like this.”
As an Esper himself, Elgran understood that agony, that desperation, better than anyone.
That’s why his words, even though they were scathing and cold as ice, burned like fire.
Ben could understand exactly what Elgran was trying to tell him—yet still, no words would come.
Had he been thinking only of himself all along?
And could an Esper truly trust a Guide like that?
A Guide who doesn’t Guide properly—isn’t a Guide.
It’s such a simple truth, so obvious it doesn’t even make it into children’s textbooks.
“So in the end, Haimar didn’t tell you what he talked about with the Director, right?”
“I asked, but…”
The rest of the sentence got stuck in his throat and stayed there.
But Elgran, as if he’d already heard it all, continued without waiting.
“I don’t know what was going through Haimar Eilec’s head when he didn’t tell you, but if I were the one making that call as an Esper, it’d come down to just two reasons. Either—he didn’t want to worry you, or—”
Elgran’s words slowed to an unbearable pace.
Ben didn’t even need to hear the rest.
He already knew.
The next words would be like a final judgment.
“—he didn’t trust his Guide.”
The crumpled ball of trash left Elgran’s hand and landed cleanly in a far-off trash bin with a soft thunk.
Ben’s milk tea, barely touched, had already gone watery as the ice melted.
It didn’t look drinkable, but he swallowed it anyway.
The bland, flavorless liquid hit his tongue, but taste wasn’t the point—if he didn’t swallow something, it felt like he’d suffocate under the pressure in his chest.
Elgran let out something like a sigh, drained his mug in one go, and stood up.
After glancing between the dregs of his chocolate drink and Ben a couple of times, he finally muttered as he turned to leave.
“Whichever it is… don’t you already know the answer?”
∗ ∗ ∗
“What’s the next appointment on the schedule?”
It was just around the time early winter was settling in, and the wind weaving through the shawl wrapped around her shoulders was biting.
A strand of neatly pinned-up hair came loose, fluttering in the breeze.
Hoaphilen Legius calmly took out a pin and tidied her hair.
“That was the last event for today, Director. But, actually…”
Hoaphilen had just returned from attending a formal event in a small town on the outskirts of the capital, where she gave the usual ceremonial remarks and listened to the concerns of Espers and Guides, offering encouragement.
Since the event had run into the late afternoon, the sun had already disappeared, and dusk was quietly falling.
With no appointments left, all that remained was to get into her private vehicle—driven by her designated chauffeur—and head back to Central.
Unfortunately, it wasn’t her car that greeted her, but a secretary with a troubled expression.
“Oh dear, no need to look so distressed. What’s the matter?”
“One of the tires suddenly blew out, and they’re in the middle of replacing it. Unfortunately, there isn’t a spare here, so they likely won’t make it back in time for your departure. I’m sorry, Director, but… you may need to wait a little.”
It had been unexpected, sure, but Hoaphilen wasn’t the kind of woman to be upset over something so trivial.
She loved her work, but also knew how to enjoy the moments of peace it offered.
With a poetry book always tucked into her clutch, she was more than ready to pass the time gracefully.
“Of course, that’s perfectly fine. Where should I wait?”
“I’ll contact you once preparations are complete. Please wait in the temporary office we’ve prepared for you here.”
“Oh my, thank you. Then, could I trouble you for a hot cup of coffee?”
“Yes, I’ll bring it the way you always take it.”
The temporary office that Central had arranged for her was just one floor up from the lobby.
Hoaphilen headed there, pulled a poetry book from his clutch, opened the office door with practiced ease, and turned on the lights in the dark room.
And the moment Hoaphilen Legius saw the now brightly lit room—
Thud.
The poetry book slipped from his hand and landed silently on the black carpet.
“……!!”
Frozen like a statue, Hoaphilen didn’t even move to pick up the fallen book.
His expression remained composed, but his eyes trembled as if caught in a violent storm, and his tightly pressed lips betrayed a rage never before seen on his face.
“Oh my, did I startle you?”
Sitting with one leg elegantly crossed atop a wooden table at the center of the small office was a woman who resembled a red viper.
Her short skirt revealed glimpses of a garter belt and fishnet stockings—borderline vulgar, and yet there was an overwhelming allure to her presence.
“It’s been a while, Hoaphilen Legius. Or should I say, Director of Aeternita Central now?”
She sat at the table, blowing lightly on her freshly lacquered nails painted jet black, then extended her hand proudly under the light.
Through the glimmering manicure scent that hung in the air like perfume, her gaze pierced toward Hoaphilen.
“I figured you were alive, but I didn’t expect to see you like this, Loilnia.”
“You’re looking at me like you’re wondering why I’m here. Don’t be so cold.”
“Well then, you won’t mind if I press the emergency button, will you?”
Regaining his composure, Hoaphilen relaxed his clenched jaw and flipped open the cover of the emergency switch on the wall.
It looked like he was ready to press it at any moment.
But Loilnia, clutching the now-closed nail polish bottle, stood up from the table and slowly approached him with a pout.
“Oh, don’t be like that. You know it won’t do anything anyway.”
The gleam in her red eyes wasn’t a bluff—Hoaphilen knew it was genuine.
He had more than just a poetry book in his clutch; he carried a gun too.
But he didn’t believe it would work against her.
Guns were for fights between equals—not against espers.
“The fact that I’m here at all just proves how sloppy your people are. That must sting, Director.”
“Seeing how easily you waltz in and out, I guess [Integra] is a useless organization. Or maybe someone powerful is backing you.”
“I haven’t done anything yet that would warrant Integra sending hunters after me, you know?”
“You revealing yourself to me means you’re plotting something. Even a five-year-old could see through that.”
Loilnia’s lips curved into a quiet smile as she bent down to pick up the poetry book.
Her smile was beautiful, but her eyes were icy.
Hoaphilen ignored it and calmly accepted the book as she handed it back.
* * *
