* * *
Whether it was Hermannsen that provided the space for Haimar or not, he led Ben to an empty office that Ben hadn’t even known existed.
The two of them sat across from each other with nothing but a single table between them. O
riginally, they had planned to eat at a restaurant, but Haimar suggested having a light meal in the room instead.
Ben had followed along without any objections.
The reason was simple: the more people gathered, the more the mysterious newcomer with striking looks—Haimar—attracted attention in this tiny rural town of Hermannsen.
The murmurs that followed, directed at both Haimar and Ben trailing behind him, only seemed to grow exponentially.
Ben didn’t think he could properly eat in a restaurant filled with people.
Besides, he suspected Haimar wasn’t particularly fond of crowded places either.
And so, their lunch ended up being croissant sandwiches and coffee they had picked up from a nearby café.
“…Aren’t you going to eat?”
Ben pulled a sandwich box from the paper bag and opened the plastic lid of his own case, picking up one of the sandwiches.
Inside the halved croissant, layers of crisp lettuce, cheese, tomato, and a generous portion of tuna created a satisfying, appetizing look.
Haimar, who had been sitting quietly, reached for his coffee instead of the sandwich.
Seeing this, Ben took a large bite.
Even though Haimar was simply holding a takeaway coffee cup, it somehow made the setting feel like a high-end restaurant.
It wasn’t just Ben’s imagination—there was something absurdly ironic about eating such an ordinary meal in front of a man who seemed better suited to slicing into a luxurious steak.
How should I bring it up…?
The only sounds in the room were the soft clatter of Haimar’s coffee cup and the rustling of Ben’s sandwich wrapper.
The silence stretched between them.
Ben, staring intently at his sandwich, decided that since he was already here with this man, he might as well say what needed to be said.
Swallowing his bite, he cautiously glanced at Haimar—who hadn’t even touched his sandwich and was instead staring at Ben as if he were studying him.
“…So, about that,” Ben started hesitantly.
At his words, Haimar raised an eyebrow, looking as if he was inviting Ben to continue.
“Well, it seems like I’m your guide.”
Throb.
A headache struck instantly.
Ben wasn’t someone prone to frequent headaches, but ever since yesterday, every encounter with this man brought a sharp pang to his skull.
“Do you not want to?”
Haimar’s deep, velvety voice carried a hint of amusement, making Ben instinctively frown.
He had expected this, but no matter what he said, it always felt like Haimar was one step ahead.
“No, it’s not that—”
“Should I pay you? I have plenty of money.”
“…I’m not that desperate for money.”
Ben’s mood soured.
He had been trying to reach a mutual understanding, but Haimar immediately threw money into the conversation.
Ben wasn’t greedy for wealth, and the way Haimar framed it—offering to buy his guidance—rubbed him the wrong way.
A man who can read minds but doesn’t understand people—
…Wait.
A man who doesn’t understand people…?
No, before that—if he can read minds, then isn’t this entire conversation pointless?
If Haimar could effortlessly read his thoughts, why was he asking questions? Was he testing him?
Something wasn’t right.
If Haimar were exactly as people claimed, this shouldn’t be happening.
Ben put down his sandwich, his mind racing.
As he pieced things together, something started to click.
The persistent headaches, their first meeting…
What had Haimar said back then?
Suddenly, the darkened container from the night before resurfaced in Ben’s memory.
The words he had heard just before blacking out from an unbearable headache:
[What are you thinking? Hm?]
No way—
“…You can’t read my thoughts, can you?”
The once-relaxed atmosphere tightened, becoming suffocatingly tense.
It felt as if even the air molecules had sharpened.
Instinctively, Ben clenched his fists.
A strange, unshakable dread settled over him, as though his head could be severed at any moment.
He bit down on his lip, enduring the worsening headache, and forced himself to keep his gaze steady.
Bingo.
There was no other word for it—this was a jackpot.
“So it seems. I can’t read them. Annoying, isn’t it?”
“People don’t usually read each other’s thoughts when they talk.”
“For me, it’s usually impossible not to hear them.”
This man—he could act as friendly as he wanted, but his attitude could flip in an instant.
It was second nature to him.
Look at that—his face was all warmth, but his tone was as icy as the Siberian tundra.
His personality was downright awful.
“I rarely have to ask questions, but—”
“I think that’s about to change.”
“Shut up and listen.”
Oh boy, his true colors were definitely coming out now.
For as long as Haimar had lived, he had barely needed to ask questions.
The reason was obvious—he had never needed to.
But as the tension in the room escalated, Ben forced himself to take a steady breath.
There was no way he was going to be a puppet, manipulated at Haimar’s whim.
Even if he couldn’t turn the tables, at the very least, they had to be on equal footing.
That meant taking control of this conversation—winning this exchange—was crucial.
And that was a battle that only Ben Plaskun himself could win.
“What do you want?”
“Before that, could you stop trying to read my mind? I think that’s what’s been giving me this killer headache.”
The moment it became clear that Haimar couldn’t read Ben’s thoughts, Ben had a rough idea of what was causing his migraines.
Sure enough, as soon as Haimar gave up, the pain faded instantly, leaving Ben feeling more at ease.
It had to be one of those peculiar side effects between irregular guides and espers that Riran had mentioned.
Not that Haimar was ever going to apologize.
Ben hadn’t expected an apology, but seeing Haimar sitting there, completely unbothered, made his irritation spike.
He had half a mind to accidentally spill coffee all over him.
But picking a fight with an esper just to satisfy his own annoyance wasn’t exactly a smart move, so instead, Ben absentmindedly fidgeted with the bandage over his bruise.
“I know you need a guide. And honestly, you don’t have many other options.”
If he had reached the point of locking himself in that eerie container out of desperation, then that said it all.
The fact that Ben was an irregular guide was one thing, but the bottom line was that espers needed guides.
Everyone knew that.
And Ben Plaskun wasn’t the kind of person to simply turn a blind eye to that kind of need.
Still, all Haimar had to do was admit it—just say ‘I need you’—and this conversation would be a lot easier.
But considering he had spent his entire life reading other people’s thoughts, it was no surprise that he was terrible at communicating when faced with someone he couldn’t read.
For Haimar, things like trust or emotional bonds between people had probably never been necessary before.
“I’m not saying I won’t be your guide. I’ll do it. But I think we need some time to—”
Wait, no, this wasn’t a damn arranged marriage.
What the hell was he even saying?
Ben scratched his brow and lowered his head, embarrassed by his own words.
But that was the best condition he could come up with.
He had already decided to be a Guide—he had accepted it—but there was no way he could suddenly do it like Liran or Moria overnight.
“If you’re going to be a Guide, then just do it. Why do you need time?”
“I know. I will do it, but… how should I say this… You know what I mean.”
Unable to finish his sentence, Ben shifted his gaze awkwardly.
Haimar, resting his chin on his hand, bluntly filled in the gap.
“Sex?”
“Ah, come on!”
Did this guy have no shame?!
“I mean, technically, yes, that’s what it comes down to. But even if that’s part of guiding—no, even if that is guiding—I just… Look, it’s not that I hate you, it’s just that I can’t suddenly dive into skinship and all that. I’m not bold enough for that. So I thought maybe both of us could take some time to adjust first.”
Maybe Haimar was fine with jumping straight into bed, but for Ben, that was impossible.
He needed time to find a middle ground and ease into it.
“Why should I?”
As expected, Haimar’s reaction was as cold as a storm.
“Have you not considered that I could just force you?”
The atmosphere pressed down on Ben, growing heavier.
The predator sitting across from him—brilliant platinum hair, icy blue eyes—wasn’t even moving, yet Ben felt paralyzed, trapped in place.
It was like watching himself become prey in real-time, powerless to escape.
He’s going to devour me…
Even though Haimar spoke politely most of the time, his words could turn sharp in an instant, cutting deep.
Ben’s initial determination wavered for a brief moment, but he quickly pulled himself together.
No. Get a grip, Ben Flasque.
Even in a tiger’s den, if you keep your wits about you, you’ll survive.
* * *
