* * *
It was the final training session, and the fact they couldn’t finish it properly weighed on him.
But with this strange, uncomfortable feeling lingering, they couldn’t continue the training like this.
Haebom flipped the switch and squeezed his eyes shut, waiting for the virtual space to fall apart.
But the familiar rumble — like a low earthquake sound — never came.
The usual sensation of the space crumbling away didn’t either.
“Haebom… why isn’t it turning off?”
How much time had passed?
Sensing that the device wasn’t shutting down, Wonho opened his eyes and looked at him.
At Wonho’s puzzled voice, Haebom’s eyelids lifted slowly.
His transparent, jewel-like eyes clouded with confusion, and a deep crease formed between Wonho’s brows.
“… I turned it off.”
“Are you sure you pressed it properly?”
“… Yeah, look, it’s switched to OFF.”
Haebom kept his voice low so the rookie Guides wouldn’t panic.
But they were already noticing the malfunction — one by one, eyes opened, murmurs spreading.
Wonho checked the OFF switch himself and took the button from Haebom, pressing it multiple times.
The switch flipped between ON and OFF, but the simulation wouldn’t shut down.
Or maybe… the device had already shut down.
But they were still inside the Gate.
No matter how hard he tried, Wonho couldn’t make sense of what was happening.
Yet, the thought wouldn’t leave his mind — that this Gate was the real one, the kind he’d walked through countless times like it was nothing.
Was this even possible?
Since the appearance of Gates, monsters, and Espers, he’d never heard of anything like this.
Gate simulation training wasn’t even designed for Guides.
It was originally created for rookie Espers.
There had never been a case like this.
“… Wonho, is this… is this an actual Gate? Is that even possible? The virtual space connecting directly to reality… without any warning…?”
Haebom hesitantly voiced his doubts, but even as he spoke, it didn’t make sense.
There had been no warning, no sign of this happening.
But maybe no one ever warned them because no one imagined this was possible.
But if you started asking, ‘Is this possible?’ — well, Haebom standing here in front of Wonho was technically impossible too.
And yet, here he was, which made this absurd situation seem not entirely impossible after all.
After all, even with all the research in the world, no one could explain Yoon Haebom’s very existence.
Smack—!
“…Huh?”
Haebom’s dazed eyes refocused at the sound of a palm clapping in front of him.
Wonho flicked Haebom’s forehead lightly, a small frown lingering on his face.
Startled, Haebom blinked rapidly.
“Let the researchers figure that crap out. No point in overthinking it. Everyone’s got their specialty, right? So quit spacing out and pull yourself together. You’re the babysitter for those clueless chicks. Aren’t you? And your babysitter is me.”
At the word babysitter, Haebom flinched slightly, but the next part made him chuckle softly.
That’s right.
If he were alone in this mess, he probably would’ve panicked, frozen in place.
But Wonho was right in front of him.
“Shit… look, forget the rest, we just need to clear this place and get out. The enemies are at least B-class, probably higher. As long as they’re not S-class, I can handle it alone. So don’t stress, alright?”
“… Yeah, got it. I’ll stay focused.”
“Good. Smart boy.”
Wonho reached out, ruffling Haebom’s fine, soft hair.
The desert winds had made it a little dry, but it still felt good to touch.
Training, missions, whatever — none of that mattered now.
The priority was clearing the Gate, not completing some exercise.
And there was no need to worry about destabilizing the situation — his Guide was right beside him.
The real Gate — not the virtual kind — was far bigger than Haebom or the other Guides had expected, and the number of monsters wasn’t small.
But with an S-class Esper holding the line and everyone armed, it wasn’t as difficult as it could’ve been.
‘The weapons… they didn’t disappear.’
Everything about this was off.
The Gate that had been virtual had become real.
The monsters were real.
The injuries from their attacks, the scrapes from the harsh desert winds — all of it was real.
If someone got hurt or died here, it wasn’t just a psychological scar. It would be for real.
But the weapons hadn’t vanished — the same weapons generated in the virtual space.
Everyone thought it was strange, but no one dared say it out loud.
Without these weapons, they’d have been forced to just watch while Wonho fought off the monsters and destroyed the Gate Core.
Crude as they were, the group followed Wonho’s orders, forming defensive lines, restraining monsters, striking enemies that tried to ambush him — it was working.
But aside from Wonho, the rest of them were ordinary civilians — rookie Guides, barely trained.
They needed rest.
The real issue was food.
At least they had water — chewing on the chunks of ice Wonho created kept their mouths from drying out.
Thankfully, not all the ice he produced was the kind that never melted.
But they couldn’t create food.
If they cleared the Gate quickly, that wouldn’t be a problem.
But protecting the entire group while fighting off monsters would drain even Wonho.
In the end, he chose to leave Haebom and the others within a space he created with his ice ability and move alone.
“Don’t come out of here. No matter what.”
“… Are you sure? I’m still fine. Wouldn’t it be better if I went with you?”
Even with his face pale as a ghost, Haebom insisted he was fine.
Wonho’s brows knitted in frustration.
‘Should’ve skipped the guiding…’
His selfish desire to be close to Haebom had only made things harder for him.
The realization tightened Wonho’s chest.
He couldn’t let Haebom face any more danger.
Wonho flicked Haebom’s forehead lightly.
“Stay inside. That’s how you help. And we’re almost done anyway — probably just some stragglers and the boss left.”
Haebom rubbed his forehead, glaring at him.
But he knew the truth.
His stamina was nearly gone.
He looked at Wonho with a pout, but nodded.
Figuring out why this happened could wait.
Getting out alive came first.
Wonho left Haebom and the Guides secured within the ice-made shelter and headed back out.
He should’ve done this from the start.
He thought keeping Haebom in sight would help him relax, but moving solo with no one holding him back made things much easier.
The chirping rookies were one thing, but it was that constant, sticky gaze that annoyed him most.
Without it lingering on him, he finally felt light — free.
How much time had passed?
Haebom had been sitting there in a daze ever since Wonho left.
He told himself he needed to rest and recover his strength before Wonho returned, but that was easier said than done.
“Stop overthinking and just close your eyes for a bit,”
Taeyoung, who was sitting beside him, clicked his tongue.
Honestly, he wouldn’t be able to sit still either if his Esper was wandering around inside a Gate alone.
No matter how powerful Espers were, it was only natural to worry about the person you loved.
At that moment, the space Wonho had created trembled with a loud thud.
The eyes of everyone inside shook just as violently as the space itself.
Click.
In perfect unison, everyone raised their guns.
They didn’t know if they could handle a monster without Wonho, but standing here doing nothing wasn’t an option.
Boom! Crash!
A loud explosion rang out, and cracks formed across the ice wall Wonho had constructed.
Another boom followed, and the ice barrier collapsed completely.
Screams filled the air
‘Aah!’
‘Eek!’ and everyone immediately pointed their guns toward the shattered wall.
* * *
