* * *
Seo Jaewon’s eyes widened as he stared at his wrist.
Gone. He checked his left hand, then his right.
Then again and again…
“My watch… Where is it…?”
Every active esper wore a vital watch.
Not for counting steps or tracking sleep, obviously—it was to monitor their physical condition.
Espers, born with innate powers, used their abilities to protect humanity from the monsters pouring out of dungeons.
But that power came at a cost.
Using their abilities built up energy overload in their bodies.
Eventually, they’d lose control completely—this was what they called a rampage.
To prevent those breakdowns and unstable conditions, the vital watch existed.
It had only been about fifty years since dungeons and espers first appeared, and guides began to be born—but it had only been three years since energy overload monitoring became commercially available.
In other words: the watches were extremely expensive.
“…You have my watch, don’t you?”
His voice trembled uncontrollably.
Time travel might’ve been free, but the watch cost about fifteen hundred.
And that wasn’t even the real issue—losing one meant disciplinary action.
The watch contained everything: activity logs, biometric data, even security access codes.
Ji Myunghoon tilted his head slightly without answering.
…Was that a yes or a no?
Jaewon resisted the urge to smack him and asked again.
“I didn’t go into overload, right?”
He clearly remembered hearing the alarm before blacking out.
That sound definitely came from his watch.
There were a few reasons for an alert—suffering a critical injury, forcibly removing the watch mid-mission, or entering overload.
None of them were good signs.
‘What’s my energy level right now? No, I didn’t even use my powers…’
Every esper had some degree of obsession with the idea of overload.
Not only was it physically agonizing, but the drug used to suppress it hurt even worse.
And sometimes, one mistake could turn you into a terrorist without even realizing it.
Suddenly, he had the overwhelming urge to bounce his legs.
“I’m not… being held captive right now, am I?”
“Should I try opening the hospital room door? It’s not locked… right?”
Unlike the increasingly anxious Seo Jaewon, Joo Youngha remained completely calm.
“You didn’t go on a rampage.”
“Then where’s my Watch?”
“You don’t need it anymore, do you?”
…What?
Joo Youngha looked at him without so much as blinking, his expression as composed as if he’d just said the most obvious thing in the world.
“……”
Seo Jaewon’s brain, which had been spinning rapidly in crisis mode, finally arrived at a logical conclusion.
“Youngha.”
“Yeah?”
“Don’t tell me I got fired?”
“Hmm…”
Youngha let out a noncommittal sound—not quite yes, not quite no.
The corners of his lips, slack like a fool’s, curled upward ever so slightly.
…Was he smiling?
Right now?
Apparently, he was.
Youngha let out a dazed little chuckle—“Heh.”
It was unsettling to the point of being scary.
What the hell is going on? I don’t get any of this.
Not this lunatic. Not this situation.
Not even why he keeps playing with my hand like that…
“What are you two doing…”
A middle-aged man entered the room, looking dumbfounded.
A doctor in a white coat followed behind him.
“Ah…!”
Seo Jaewon instinctively shook off Youngha’s hand and sat up in a rush.
The man, tall and with dark circles under his eyes giving him a tired look, watched them with mild disinterest.
It was like he was used to seeing people react this flustered.
Jaewon recognized him immediately.
At present, he was the Director of the Seoul Metropolitan Branch of the Dungeon Management Bureau.
And 15 years after Youngha’s death, he’d go on to become the Bureau’s Commissioner.
As an Esper working on the field, Jaewon wouldn’t normally have much to do with someone of his rank—maybe crossed paths once or twice at some official event.
He was a civilian, not an Esper or Guide.
Even back then and still now, he was someone far above what a mere government employee like Jaewon could usually meet.
A chill ran down Jaewon’s spine.
His body responded automatically, trained from his cadet days to brace in front of authority.
Still, he had no clue what the hell was going on.
Well… okay, one thing was becoming clearer by the second: Something had gone seriously wrong.
The Branch Director doesn’t show up just because one Esper collapses.
That never happens unless it’s something major.
‘Did I really mess up that badly?’
Was it something he did?
All he remembers is passing out…
Or maybe it was something Youngha did?
He hadn’t even met with the other team members yet.
All he’d heard was a quick rundown of what happened.
Wait—could this be about failing the mission?
They were all still alive, so from Jaewon’s perspective, that was a huge success.
But they didn’t clear the gate.
So officially, it was a failed operation.
From the outside, with no idea what had almost happened, it would seem like a failure.
“……”
Neither the Director nor the doctor said a word.
They looked down at him with unreadable, awkward expressions.
The silence dragged on, endlessly.
…Ominous.
Jaewon decided to just get it over with.
“I’m sorry. I wasn’t in the best condition, and I may have affected the mission—”
“Oh? No, well…”
Just as expected, the Director looked a bit caught off guard and softened.
Older civilian managers often thought Espers were arrogant and hard to handle—which, to be fair, was sometimes true.
So Jaewon had learned it was often better to show humility first.
It usually disarmed them.
“It’s fine. It wasn’t your fault.”
The Director seemed reluctant, but at least he wasn’t yelling.
‘So… maybe it’s not that big a deal?’
He hadn’t expected the apology to work so well.
He was kind of stunned himself.
“You did what you were supposed to. When the second team went in, the dungeon was empty—just the core left. They cleared it right away.”
“…Excuse me?”
Dungeon cleared?
They hadn’t even seen a single monster, let alone the boss.
Did the others take care of it while he was unconscious?
“So there’s nothing to worry about.”
The Director waved it off and glanced around distractedly before addressing Youngha with a casual tone.
“Youngha, it’s been a while.”
Youngha just stared at him in silence.
So they knew each other?
Though honestly, even a rock on the side of the road would’ve looked at the Director with more warmth.
Jaewon nudged him subtly, but Youngha didn’t even blink. His social skills—or lack thereof—were still the same.
He didn’t care who he was talking to.
Probably because he didn’t have to.
There weren’t many people in the world who could scold the one and only EX-rank Esper for being rude.
Thankfully, the Director was used to it and turned back to Jaewon.
“Esper Seo Jaewon… How are you feeling?”
“I’m fine, sir.”
Jaewon answered politely for both himself and Youngha.
“That’s good… that’s a relief.”
The Director fidgeted—clasping and unclasping his hands behind his back, shifting his feet.
His words trailed off awkwardly.
It was like he was hesitating… as if there was something more important he wanted to say.
“A relief, but…”
“…Sir?”
The silence stretched to an uncomfortable length.
Then suddenly, Youngha raised his hand.
Everyone’s gaze snapped to him.
Jaewon instinctively grabbed it and pulled it down.
“Stay still.”
But Youngha, undeterred, simply raised his other hand.
Jaewon felt a cold chill crawl down his back.
This guy rarely asserted himself, but when he did, it was usually a disaster.
“Hey, Joo Youngha…”
Whatever it was, he had to stop it.
Who was it that gave this guy the ability to speak?
EX-rank was already more than enough—why add talking on top of that?
“I want Jaewon.”
“…Huh?”
Silence.
“…What?”
The Director echoed the question, sounding completely baffled.
Jaewon was just as lost.
Had he hit his head while unconscious?
Otherwise, what the hell kind of nonsense was that?
But Youngha doubled down.
“Jaewon is mine. I want him.”
“Hey, Joo Youngha, what the hell are you—”
He barely stopped himself from saying “What the hell kind of bullshit is that?”
“Youngha, what are you talking about? You barely even accept guiding normally…”
Thankfully the Director cut in before he could explode.
A twitchy smile tugged at his lips like he couldn’t believe what he was hearing.
But Youngha was dead serious.
“Make Jaewon my exclusive Guide.”
One ridiculous statement was stacking on top of another.
The Director’s face finally twisted with frustration.
“I already told you, no. Didn’t we settle this?”
Youngha blinked, then opened his mouth with that same calm expression.
And Jaewon had a terrible feeling in his gut.
“Then I’ll quit being an Esper.”
* * *
