* * *
Joo Youngha, likely the strongest Esper on the planet, was treated the way he was for a reason.
Sure, powerful Espers are valuable.
It’s no wonder countries go out of their way to recruit high-ranking ones.
They’re not just dungeon-clearance tools — they’re national defense assets in human form.
But Joo Youngha… was a burden.
Because he had zero motivation.
They’d ended up spending a lot of time together since their academy days, yet Jaewon still didn’t know Youngha’s hobbies or preferences.
Honestly, it didn’t seem like he even had any.
Leave him alone, and he’d sit still like a doll, blankly staring into space.
At this point, it was less apathy and more enlightenment.
Nothing interested him.
Nothing fazed him.
He didn’t follow orders, didn’t care what others thought.
Trying to coax or flatter him barely worked.
Giving him instructions often ended with the commander being the one flustered.
Naturally, the higher-ups hated that.
Not that Youngha cared.
Which made them hate him even more.
Not that he noticed.
He didn’t care about anything around him.
“You’re basically an EX-rank as a guide, right? But if you tie yourself to Youngha this early, that’s it. You’re done. You’d be better off in a team, or ideally at the center — better pay, better career growth.”
Ah. There it was.
Straight to the point.
And Jaewon understood.
Why waste a top-tier guide on a decorative Esper who never listens?
Better to “milk” him for value in the center instead.
Everything the division head said was objectively true.
Being part of a team was better than being stuck with a single person.
And working at the center came with safety, work-life balance, and stability.
“No matter how much Youngha insists, in the end, we prioritize the guide’s own decision, okay? If you say no, not even the Director can override that.”
Hearing no protest, the division head seemed to think his words were working.
“You’ve got so much potential, Jaewon — even more than you did as an Esper.”
He reached out and patted Jaewon’s shoulder.
“It’s your time to shine now. You’ve done more than enough babysitting for Youngha.”
“Babysitting, huh…”
Jaewon let out a small, involuntary laugh at the blunt phrasing.
It wasn’t wrong.
He had dragged Youngha through everything, stubbornly making it work.
And despite all the pain and effort, the spotlight always went to the prodigy, while he lived in his shadow.
Had this conversation happened 15 years ago, Jaewon might have agreed.
But the Jaewon of today — both on the battlefield and in life — was a veteran who’d been through hell.
‘And he knew what that man was really like.’
Pretending to be concerned, the division head had once tried every trick in the book to pin Youngha’s past mistakes squarely on Jaewon.
As soon as they left the dungeon, it was interrogations, misleading media leaks…
Jaewon had been a promising S-rank Esper, and this man played a major role in burying his career.
But that was all in the past.
None of that mattered anymore.
Regardless of the division head’s true intentions, Jaewon already knew exactly what he wanted to say.
“…Sir.”
The man’s greasy smile brightened instantly.
“Right, of course — you’re going to refuse the assignment. Smart move.”
“No. I’ll accept the position as Joo Youngha’s personal guide.”
The division head blinked, as if he’d misheard.
“Jaewon, you’re joking, right?”
Jaewon sat up straight and looked him in the eye.
Only then did the head realize he was serious and raise his voice.
“You’re seriously going to rot away with Youngha?! You won’t be able to do anything with that guy!”
“You’re misunderstanding something.”
Jaewon deliberately paused to collect his thoughts.
“Joo Youngha is not exactly… a useless bastard.”
No, that wasn’t quite right.
He corrected himself, speaking more firmly this time:
“That bastard is absolutely hopeless.”
Startled by the harsher language, the division head stammered.
“R-right, yes… exactly…”
But Jaewon remained calm.
Every word he spoke came from a place of clarity and conviction.
Even “hopeless” was sugarcoating it.
Joo Youngha was a pretty, walking piece of trash that drove people insane.
Anyone who’d dealt with him knew not to be fooled by his face.
If he even bothered to walk around in the background while others ran themselves ragged, it was a good day.
His pedometer probably barely reached 100 steps a day.
He doesn’t even speak nicely.
Honestly, it would’ve been better if he just didn’t talk at all.
Most of the time, he keeps his mouth shut, and the few times he does speak, it’s always some lazy sarcasm or words that just kill motivation.
The “Raise your hand before you speak” rule in Team 4 exists because of Joo Youngha.
First, because people need time to brace themselves for whatever mental slap he’ll throw out.
Second, because there are situations where that bastard simply cannot be allowed to speak.
And yet, the guy is absurdly, almost inhumanly strong—so much so that the one left emotionally wrecked ends up reconsidering their career.
Every time there’s a team dinner, someone always says, “I seriously looked up how to get a computer certificate because of Joo Youngha.”
So yeah, Joo Youngha is a bastard, trash, a traitor, and utterly hopeless.
Absolutely.
And yet. Even so. Despite all that!
“But back in Gangneung, if it weren’t for Joo Youngha, we’d all be dead.”
At the mention of “Gangneung,” the manager’s eyebrows twitched.
It was the time monsters broke out from a dungeon breach and attacked the area.
Normally, Espers don’t operate outside their designated regions—but that wasn’t a situation where boundaries mattered.
Without EX-level firepower, no one could’ve handled it in time.
There was a situation where Joo Youngha was absolutely essential.
And there would be more in the future.
For Seo Jaewon to not end up as a national disgrace, and for the peace of South Korea—Joo Youngha was necessary.
That was the conclusion Seo Jaewon had come to after his rebirth.
And that left only one option.
“So we need to just neuter him altogether.”
… thunk.
The manager dropped his pen.
Beneath it was the standard contract for center guides.
Seo Jaewon slammed his fist down on the narrow armrest of his chair.
“His free will! His so-called thoughts!”
Call it babysitting if you want.
But Seo Jaewon’s vision went far beyond that.
Perfect surveillance.
Total control!
That’s what had been missing until now.
In the past, he failed to properly control Joo Youngha.
He’d made the mistake of treating him with human decency, of having expectations.
But things would be different now.
Joo Youngha’s human rights? He could throw those to the dogs.
Matching rates, compatibility—whatever.
If Joo Youngha wanted guiding, he’d get it.
It didn’t matter if his pendant was yellow or red; he was never the kind to behave anyway.
Espers, as far as Seo Jaewon knew from being one himself, were simple creatures.
As long as they got guided, they were basically content little pigs.
At the edge of his vision, the system message still sparkled like a revelation.
Yes. Maybe the reason he received this quest was exactly because…
“…I’ll do it.”
A moment of silence passed.
“W-What the hell are you saying?!”
The manager shouted, but his pupils trembled slightly.
Like he was looking at a madman.
There was even a flicker of fear in his eyes.
“Seo Jaewon—Esper, no, Guide! You can’t say stuff like that out loud! There are protests practically every week over Ability User exploitation!”
Ah, so he’s against it…
Jaewon clicked his tongue silently.
Compared to Joo Youngha, the manager’s yelling wasn’t even slightly scary.
What was he going to do—kill someone?
“Were you always this kind of—uh, this type? Seriously, kids these days…”
“We should put a leash on him and drag him around!”
“No! Absolutely not! I won’t let you!”
“I’ll do it even if you say no!”
“Try making some sense! You can’t do anything without my authorization anyway!”
This bastard…!
Unfortunately, the manager was right.
All assignments involving Espers and Guides in this branch were under his jurisdiction.
Without his approval, there was no such thing as an exclusive Guide.
“Are you doing this because you want to be someone’s exclusive Guide? Fine, I’ll assign you to someone who’s obedient and competent—just stop talking nonsense!”
“No! If it’s not Joo Youngha, it doesn’t mean anything!”
Who cared about other Espers?
Seo Jaewon mentally clawed at his own head.
The resistance was stronger than expected.
He thought the manager would grumble and let it slide if it was Joo Youngha.
“Seriously, all you need to do is do your job quietly. Why can’t you just do that?! Kids these days…”
“Manager, please just listen—”
As he stood up, unable to hold back any longer, something flickered in the manager’s eyes.
A flash—sharp and quick, like a spark leaping from a short circuit.
“……?”
“……Kids…”
The manager’s voice, which had been rising in anger, suddenly grew quiet—his face flushed from shouting just moments ago.
“…these days…”
“Manager?”
“…….”
Surely he wasn’t having a stroke?
As Jaewon hesitated in confusion—
“…kids don’t just do as they’re told. If that’s what you want, do as you please.”
“…Huh?”
Jaewon blurted it out without thinking.
The manager, face now eerily calm, pulled out another contract from the drawer.
It was like none of that previous rage had ever happened.
No—he wasn’t calm.
He was blank.
His gaze drifted far off, not fixed on anyone.
Like something inside him had just… collapsed.
Or been shut off.
A chill ran down Seo Jaewon’s spine.
* * *
