* * *
This bed is so soft…
I always sleep on the couch, so this is nice…
As his hazy consciousness drifted toward wakefulness, the first thing Ben registered was comfort.
Having always slept on a cracked, sunken leather couch, the sensation of a high-quality mattress beneath him was a delight.
The warmth that enveloped him, like being wrapped in a luxurious duvet, only lifted his mood further.
…Wait. Didn’t I just plan to sleep for five minutes?
That thought made his eyes snap open.
Why am I lying down?!
As soon as he bolted upright, he instinctively realized that he was still holding onto someone else’s hand.
His gaze naturally lowered.
Even without thinking about it, he knew whose hand he was gripping—damnably well-shaped, just like the rest of him.
On top of that, his other hand was still clutching the fabric of the man’s clothing.
No, seriously, what are you doing, hand?
If this wasn’t a dream, then there was no mistaking it—he had slept curled up next to Haimar.
Ben desperately wanted to deny the reality of the situation.
Unlike Ben, who had just woken up, Haimar seemed to have stayed awake the entire time.
He had one hand trapped in Ben’s grip while using his absurdly good night vision to read a book in the dimly lit room.
When Ben made a noise, their eyes met.
Even in the darkness, those brilliantly colored eyes exuded a languid yet decadent air.
“Did you sleep well?”
“…Ah… Um. Yes. I guess.”
I did sleep well… way too well. That’s the problem.
The moment Ben let go of the fabric he was gripping, embarrassment surged up from his ears, making his face flush.
He had no idea how to start untangling this mess.
Why did he sleep like this? What kind of luxury did he think he was indulging in?!
“Do you always sleep this close to people?”
As if to hammer the humiliation in deeper, Haimar’s teasing remark followed.
Ben wanted to find a hole in the ground and crawl into it.
Throughout his life, he had never shared a bed this intimately with anyone.
Even as a child, he mostly slept alone.
And whenever circumstances forced him to share a space with others—like in group accommodations—he always curled up against the farthest wall, away from everyone.
He did have a habit of gravitating toward corners, but he never imagined that, without a wall, he would instinctively cling to a person instead.
“…I, uh, I have a bit of a sleeping habit… Ah, I’m really sorry.”
Unable to handle the situation, Ben nervously ran a hand through his flattened hair.
His pale green eyes, peeking through the tousled strands, seemed to darken with embarrassment.
He kept apologizing, completely oblivious to the fact that he was still gripping Haimar’s hand.
“…Anyway, I really… I really apologize. From now on, I’ll sleep on the couch.”
“I’m not that much of a scoundrel, you know.”
Ugh.
The roles were reversed, but the conversation was eerily similar to the one they had yesterday.
Ben looked at Haimar with an expression like he had been caught off guard, while Haimar smirked as if enjoying the exchange.
“Well… thank you for that.”
Ben, thoroughly defeated, gave a reluctant response before finally noticing their still-intertwined hands.
Slowly, he attempted to withdraw his fingers—only to find them firmly held in place.
He tugged, but the grip remained unmoving.
“…Haimar?”
There was no longer any reason to keep holding on, so Ben looked at him questioningly.
It seemed even Haimar hadn’t realized what he was doing, as he soon loosened his grip.
The warmth that had been there for hours disappeared, leaving an odd emptiness in its wake.
Haimar flexed his fingers once or twice before letting it go.
“What time is it?”
“It’s 8:30 AM.”
“…8:30?!”
At Haimar’s casual answer, Ben shot up in shock.
“I have to be at Central by 9!”
Even though 9 AM was later than the usual workday start, the fact that he had overslept meant he must have been in a very deep sleep.
Central was about a 30-minute commute from here.
Factoring in a quick wash and throwing on clothes, it was going to be tight.
Haimar watched Ben scramble around the room in a full-blown panic, like he was watching a television drama.
Haimar himself could cover the distance in no time if he wanted to, but he knew that an average person couldn’t do the same, no matter how fast they ran.
“If it comes down to it, just call and say you’ll be late.”
“No, it’s fine! I can make it. Besides, I don’t even have a phone right now.”
Buttoning up his navy shirt, Ben suddenly remembered the phone he had broken a few days ago.
He had kept putting off buying a new one because of other priorities, but now he really needed to get one.
“…You don’t have a phone?”
“I’m buying it today! The last one broke.”
“What if something urgent comes up?”
“Like that would happen.”
Ben, who had just shoved his feet into his shoes after pulling on his socks, absentmindedly responded to Haimar’s voice calling out from afar.
Then, he poked his head out toward the bedroom.
He had good eyesight, so he should be able to see even from a distance.
“Alright, I’m heading out. You too, Haimar—see you later!”
Haimar probably wouldn’t stay cooped up in the officetel all day either.
Ben sometimes envied him for not having a fixed working schedule, but considering his position as a major figure in Main Central, it wasn’t all that surprising.
With that thought, Ben brushed off his idle musings and rushed toward Capital Central.
∗ ∗ ∗
That was close…
When Ben arrived at Division 8, he checked his wristwatch—exactly 9 o’clock.
He had no intention of marking his first day with a late attendance record, so taking a taxi at the last minute had been a good decision.
The building housed Divisions 6 through 8, each with automatic doors labeled accordingly.
After scanning his employee card, he stepped inside, where partitioned desks stretched out before him, each occupied by busy employees.
The constant hum of photocopiers and typing blended with voices engaged in meetings.
Ben located his assigned supervisor, introduced himself, and while waiting for instructions, took a moment to survey the atmosphere.
“The head of Division 8 has been out a lot lately, so things have been hectic. For the time being, this person will help you get started.”
“I see. I’ll be in your care.”
Ben extended his hand politely to the man standing beside the temporary supervisor, bowing his head slightly.
When he looked up again, he was met with a man with dark blue hair—eyes of the same color—whose appearance left no particularly strong impression.
The man took Ben’s offered hand and shook it.
“I’m Zereno Osel, a guide in Division 8… Oh?”
Just as he introduced himself, Zereno tilted his head, as if something had just occurred to him.
His eyes narrowed in thought, and then suddenly, recognition flashed across his face.
“Wait a minute! You’re Ben Plaskun, aren’t you?”
“……?”
He had not only recognized Ben but had even recalled his full name.
However, Ben couldn’t quite place him.
There was something vaguely familiar, but at the same time, not really.
It was the kind of face that could be found anywhere—common enough that even if they’d passed by each other a few times, it wouldn’t have left much of a mark.
“Remember when we were in the same squad for that military training a few years ago? You seriously don’t remember?”
Zereno pouted slightly at Ben’s uncertain expression and added a more specific memory.
That was when it finally clicked.
Yes, there had been a navy-haired guy during that training—one who kept making mistakes and whining—
Ah. Now he remembered.
“…You mean Zereno Osel, the guy who pressed the wrong detonation button?”
“That was a dark moment in my past, okay?!”
Zereno reacted sharply to Ben’s offhand remark, confirming that he was indeed the same person from before.
Ben had never expected to run into him again—especially not in Capital Central.
“Well, since you two already know each other, that works out nicely. I’ve got my hands full, so I’ll leave things to you, Zereno. Take care of Plaskun.”
“Of course! Leave it to me!”
The temporary supervisor, relieved at the coincidence, quickly took his leave.
Zereno, on the other hand, straightened up, his voice brimming with confidence.
“I thought you were planning to head to the provinces. What brings you to the capital? Weren’t you an F-grade guide?”
Zereno Osel was a C-grade guide—right in the middle of the ranking system.
While most guides didn’t care much about rank, a select few held a sense of superiority if their grade was higher than others.
Zereno was one of those types.
And for someone like him, an F-grade guide like Ben was the perfect target to boost his ego.
“I had personal reasons for coming here. I look forward to working with you.”
“Of course! You might struggle as an F, but don’t worry—you’ve got me.”
That being said, Zereno wasn’t outright malicious, so as long as he didn’t cross the line, Ben usually just let it slide.
Besides, engaging in a back-and-forth with someone like Zereno was pointless.
Even now, he was confidently thumping his chest, but Ben knew better—Zereno Osel was hardly someone worth relying on.
Back in military training and field exercises, Zereno had been a walking disaster.
His constant small mistakes snowballed into more mistakes, making him a liability.
Fortunately, Ben and their teammates had been able to cover for him, and none of his errors had been catastrophic.
Otherwise, he would have been a complete burden.
His excuse back then?
Something about being naturally bad at physical tasks and training.
He wasn’t particularly impressive in administrative work either, but there had been something pitiful about him that made people nod along sympathetically.
Which was why Ben never would have guessed he’d end up in Capital Central.
If he was here, then either he’d somehow proven himself useful… or there was another reason altogether.
* * *
