* * *
In the novel, the Wonho he had read about had waited patiently for Choi Yoonseo to guide him.
And if Choi Yoonseo refused, he didn’t even try to hold hands—he simply accepted radiation guidance and left.
Haebom had read those scenes multiple times.
Now, he could only glare at the front door Wonho had disappeared through.
But no matter how hard he stared, Wonho wasn’t coming back.
“…Shit.”
Scowling, Haebom shot up from the couch.
Sure, he had been the one chasing Wonho down, insisting he get guidance.
But that didn’t mean he had agreed to any kind of intimacy!
Especially not with someone who didn’t even like him back!
It stung even more because, at the very least, Haebom had some level of human affection for Wonho.
But Wonho clearly felt nothing of the sort toward him.
Grumbling under his breath, Haebom stomped toward the kitchen.
He wasn’t entirely sure who he was protesting against, but he made sure to stomp loudly for effect.
The moment he opened the fridge, his eyes landed on the chocolate cake he had bought for Wonho.
He had planned to eat it together with him.
Snatching it up, he nearly grabbed a fork to devour it himself—but after a long sigh, he put it back.
Because he knew Wonho’s personal information.
That included his birthday.
The day Wonho had fled into the gate, his birthday had come and gone.
It had already been two days.
When Haebom had asked Jin Seyoung about it, he learned that Wonho used to celebrate his birthday as a kid but had stopped once he got older.
That had weighed on his mind, so he had bought the cake…
But now, after Wonho had stolen his first peck too?!
“You’re such a bastard Wonho…”
Muttering under his breath, Haebom grabbed a sticky note and scribbled something down before slapping it onto the fridge.
Then, with no one to witness his stomping protest, he marched off to his room.
Whether Wonho came back or not, he didn’t care anymore.
At least, that’s what he told himself.
With a heavy sigh, he pulled up Wonho’s status.
Seeing that his condition had improved, Haebom felt slightly relieved.
His hair hadn’t fully returned to its original color, but at least the pain had subsided a bit.
Next time, he’d set a clear rule—handholding only!
Firm in his resolve, Haebom flopped onto his bed.
He had been too anxious to sleep while Wonho was in the gate, but now, exhaustion overtook him.
The moment his head hit the pillow, he was out cold.
Long after Haebom had fallen asleep, the quiet house was filled with the sound of the front door lock beeping as it unlocked.
A shadow entered but remained still in the entrance for a long time, as if assessing whether there was any movement inside.
Once it seemed certain that nothing stirred, the shadow began to move.
Step by step, unhurriedly, it approached the room where the presence could be felt.
Creak.
The door opened, but the room’s occupant did not move.
That wasn’t to say there was no movement at all—his breathing was steady, causing his thin stomach to rise and fall rhythmically.
It was a subtle motion, but the intruder didn’t miss it.
“…Yoon Haebom.”
Wonho had never once spoken that name aloud while those closed eyelids concealed dark irises beneath them.
Perhaps that was why, when he finally did, his mouth felt unbearably dry.
He reached out a hand.
However, before it could touch Haebom, it halted mid-air, frozen as if time itself had stopped.
“Wonho, how does it feel when Haebom guides you?”
Wonho recalled the question Seyoung asked earlier.
With nowhere to go besides the center or home, the only place left for him to escape to had been the research lab.
He had considered going to the training grounds but, having just returned from the Gate, he felt no particular urge to train.
Since it wasn’t too late in the day, he headed straight to Jin Seyoung’s lab without hesitation.
Unlike guides, who had designated offices to rest in within the center, espers had no such luxury.
That wasn’t to say they had nowhere to rest, but the available space was a communal one, rarely used by espers for obvious reasons.
Espers could sense each other’s energy waves, and that was nothing short of irritating.
Unless they were the type to keep an entourage—like Na Hyunjoon—most preferred to be alone.
Except for their guides, of course.
Before Haebom had claimed the lab as his base, Wonho had used it as his own.
But once Haebom started frequenting it, Wonho stopped going as often.
Still, whenever he was sure Haebom would be home, he sometimes dropped by—like now.
What he hadn’t expected was to be hit with such a question the moment he arrived.
“…Why are you suddenly asking that?”
Seeing Wonho’s guarded expression, Jin Seyoung inwardly cursed herself.
If she let it slip that Haebom had mentioned it, things would spiral out of control.
Haebom had worked hard to close the distance between them—Seyoung couldn’t be the one to ruin it.
So, maintaining a casual façade, she met Wonho’s gaze.
“As a researcher, it’s my job to monitor my esper’s condition. And I’m also this team’s leader, you know.”
Wonho had no rebuttal.
It was true.
But that didn’t mean he wanted to admit that that happened to him during guiding.
Instead of pushing the subject further, Jin Seyoung simply handed Wonho a tablet.
“What’s this?”
“Guiding education materials. Specifically for espers.”
Wonho frowned as he looked at the tablet Seyoung had offered him.
“I already received guiding education.”
He recalled the training he had undergone years ago.
It had been so long that he barely remembered the details, but he was certain of one thing—there had been no mention of any physical reactions like the ones he had experienced.
Guiding was an esper’s lifeline, a process that supposedly brought euphoria.
The materials described sensations like refreshment, serenity…
Honestly, when Wonho first read about it, he thought it was all a lie.
For him, guiding had only ever meant pain.
But now he knew better.
He had learned that guiding could be peaceful—painless.
He had realized it when he received guidance from Choi Yoonseo.
That was what guiding was supposed to be like.
Even so, none of his previous education had ever mentioned this.
“I know. That was the training for when you were younger. This is the adult version. You’ve always found guiding painful, so I never thought to give you this. That was my mistake. Sorry.”
“Why are you apologizing? It’s fine. It’s not like—”
Wonho furrowed his brows even deeper, not understanding why Seyoung was suddenly being so apologetic.
He pushed the tablet back toward her, as if to say he didn’t need it.
But Seyoung didn’t back down.
She pushed the tablet right back toward Wonho.
Since Wonho’s hand was still touching it, he could have easily resisted, but he never used his strength or abilities against civilians.
So, instead of pushing it away, he let out a sigh and turned it on.
The file was long—pages and pages of information.
Seyoung placed a cup of warm tea beside him before turning back to her own work.
Truthfully, she considered leaving the room to give Wonho space, but much like Wonho, she had nowhere else to go.
As Wonho read through the guide, his crimson pupils wavered slightly.
Then, suddenly, they trembled violently, as if shaken by an earthquake.
Was this really an educational document?
Or was Seyoung just messing with him?
His mind flooded with countless thoughts.
At first, it seemed similar to the materials he had studied before.
But as he read on, he began noticing differences.
The biggest distinction was in the section about pleasure and sensitivity.
[The higher the compatibility rate, the more pleasure and sensitivity an esper will experience during guiding. The process of untangling energy waves and dissolving accumulated impurities triggers an aphrodisiac effect.]
…What the hell?!
* * *
