* * *
“What the hell, you punk?!”
Seo Jaewon tightly shut his eyes.
‘Here we go—Joo Youngha’s bombshell statement…’
This was his specialty.
He could drop something outrageous with the calmest, blank face, not blinking an eye.
He stayed completely composed while the rest of the world went into crisis mode.
And worst of all, he was always dead serious—100% with no regrets.
“Come on, cut it out. Don’t say such terrifying things.”
Naturally, the Director looked like he was about to have a heart attack.
You couldn’t just quit being an Esper like it was some part-time job.
But still, no one could force an Esper to work either.
If someone like Joo Youngha dropped out of the system, it would be a national loss.
As hard as he was to deal with, he was the world’s only EX-class Esper.
His power couldn’t even be measured.
His very existence was worth its weight in gold.
Joo Youngha didn’t seem to feel the need to respond.
He just stared blankly at the Director—and casually started fiddling with Seo Jaewon’s hand.
The Director, now apparently responsible for the sudden retirement of an EX-class Esper, looked toward Seo Jaewon like he was clutching at straws.
But…
More than Youngha’s surprise retirement declaration, more than his absurd claim of “ownership,” and even more than the Director’s desperate eyes…
There was something else Seo Jaewon couldn’t ignore.
“Wait… wait a second. A guide? What are you talking about?”
Who? Me?
“What the f—hell are you even saying?”
“……”
Silence fell over the hospital room.
The Director, and even the doctor standing in the back like a potted plant, went quiet.
Everyone shut their mouths as if watching Seo Jaewon closely—everyone except Joo Youngha, still unreadable as ever.
“Uh… no one told you yet?”
The Director glanced at the doctor. The doctor let out a quiet sigh.
Seo Jaewon, staring at them, slowly looked down at his hand resting on the hospital bed.
An IV line was stuck in it. His body felt… tired and dizzy.
He’d been feeling off ever since he returned to the past.
His senses were dull, his body heavy.
He thought it was because of the time-travel-like event he’d just experienced.
‘That can’t be it.’
He loosely curled his fingers into a fist.
It was easier than breathing—something he’d done thousands, tens of thousands of times since awakening.
Normally, a cool chill should’ve bloomed in his palm, followed by the sound of ice shards forming—
…But nothing happened.
Just then, a corny fanfare rang out from nowhere.
With shimmering holographic petals, a pink message window popped up before his eyes.
‘What the hell is this…?’
And then, Jaewon couldn’t help but swear out loud.
He dropped a solid F-bomb right in front of the Director, but nothing happened.
Instead, he got shoved into a compatibility testing room.
“Let’s at least check his guide ranking. We need to confirm if he’s really become a guide.”
From Jaewon’s perspective, he had no choice but to go along.
That’s just how Espers live.
The doctor claimed he wasn’t an Esper anymore, but a guide now.
Jaewon didn’t believe it.
He’d never even heard of a case like that.
They probably came up with that theory because he suddenly couldn’t use his power.
But once the test was over, they’d realize how ridiculous it was.
There’s no way two Espers would show any compatibility.
“Jaewon, your hand feels rough.”
“…Shut up. I’m trying to focus here.”
Jaewon furrowed his brows again.
But this whole farce was getting to him.
He’d rather be undergoing tests to figure out why his powers disappeared.
Seriously, what was all this?
A cramped little room, a tiny round table, and two Espers sitting across from each other… just holding hands?
‘Can’t they at least turn off the music?’
For some reason, new age piano music was playing in the testing room.
They even offered coffee, apparently.
Except for the sensors stuck all over his body, it felt more like a speed dating session than a scientific procedure.
The thought alone gave him chills.
And of all people, the partner had to be Joo Youngha—which made it even weirder.
Normally, Jaewon would’ve just taken part in the scheduled guide evaluation like everyone else.
But Youngha flat-out refused.
“How could I hold hands with another Esper…?”
“Are you insane? You’ll seriously die!”
After some stupid back-and-forth like that, they ended up in the testing room together with the Director’s reluctant permission.
Even if he really had become a guide, there was no way Seo Jaewon could guide an EX-class Esper.
Not even S-class guides could handle Joo Youngha fully.
And yet, Youngha seemed convinced something would work.
‘Well, it’s just a test anyway. Doesn’t matter to me.’
Jaewon narrowed his eyes at Youngha suspiciously.
Youngha had one elbow on the table, chin propped up lazily, and was playing with Jaewon’s hand using the other.
He looked like a spoiled cat with a full belly.
“Sit up straight and concentrate, Joo Youngha.”
“You’re the one who needs to concentrate, not me.”
…Technically true. It was the guide’s job to do the work here.
But damn if it wasn’t irritating.
He wanted to yank his hand back, but couldn’t.
Obviously. Physical contact was essential for guiding.
Guiding involved absorbing an Esper’s energy, purifying it, and returning it in a stable state.
Depending on compatibility—often called the “match rate”—the effects could vary drastically.
And how do they measure that match rate?
First, you hold hands.
Jaewon stared at Youngha’s hand like it was the devil incarnate.
“…You don’t feel anything, do you?”
Youngha smiled sweetly.
“I do.”
Nice answer.
“…Seriously? I don’t feel a damn thing.”
“Feels good.”
‘Good? That’s it?’
“Do you wanna die?”
Jaewon gritted his teeth and focused harder. Still, nothing.
‘Of course not…’
Drawing a line on a pumpkin doesn’t make it a watermelon.
Just like an Esper trying really hard won’t make them a guide.
And yet, he almost believed—just a tiny bit—because…
This crazy phenomenon was still happening.
The flashy message window had transformed into a small bar now stuck at the edge of his vision. Apparently invisible to others.
It still followed his gaze every time he moved his eyes—annoyingly persistent.
‘Be Joo Youngha’s guide’—what the hell does that even mean? I can’t guide him, so how am I a guide?’
The doctor who claimed Jaewon had become a guide said he collapsed in the dungeon because he’d tried to guide an overwhelming amount of energy.
At the time, things were chaotic, but he did remember feeling something like intense fatigue—a strange, cold sensation, like falling off a cliff.
But now? There was nothing.
Not even a tickle.
Jaewon had experienced guiding before—as an Esper—and he could tell.
This wasn’t working.
Nothing was happening.
They were just two grown men… holding hands.
‘Even the necklace’s still the same.’
Jaewon’s eyes flicked to Youngha’s long neck.
Around it was a thin choker-like necklace glowing yellow.
It functioned like a vital watch—only instead of showing time, it revealed energy load levels.
If the indicator light is green, everything is fine; the closer it gets to red, the more dangerous it is.
In essence, it’s an older version of the current Watch system.
You can wear it like a watch, but no one wants to go around with something that looks like a dog collar.
These days, it’s mostly used by newly awakened espers.
Anyway, after experiencing the pain of losing control once or twice, people usually learn to be cautious on their own.
Most are able to take it off within half a year.
So why is Joo Youngha still wearing one?
Ironically, it’s because he’s too powerful.
Youngha has an energy limit far, far beyond that of others.
No one has ever seen him struggle from overload.
He can withstand intense power usage for a long time, but that also means that if he ever did lose control, it would be nearly catastrophic.
That’s why, instead of a basic Watch, he wears a collar that more visibly shows his condition.
“Even though I’m risking my life fighting, they treat me like a walking bomb.”
The thought always left a bad taste in Seo Jaewon’s mouth.
But logically, even he had to accept it.
Because Youngha hated Guiding.
He hated people, and he hated physical contact even more.
Getting him to accept guidance was harder than bathing a cat.
Thanks to that, Youngha’s collar was constantly flickering between yellow and orange.
Jaewon had never seen it green.
Considering how most espers maintained a green light except immediately after battle, it was definitely unstable.
And since Youngha wasn’t the type to report when something was wrong, others had to catch it early and force intervention if necessary.
“That guy, having a dedicated Guide? As if—when has he ever liked Guiding?”
For an esper, Guiding is like a painless acupressure massage.
The energy smooths out and returns to where it belongs. It relaxes you. It feels good.
It’s hard not to like.
Yet somehow, the man who hated it was now shamelessly saying:
“Jaewon, hurry up and put it in.”
“Ugh—don’t say it like that! It sounds weird!”
He meant the purified energy, obviously!
If anything would even go in at all!
Jaewon tried squeezing Youngha’s hand, pinching it, even endured the humiliation of intertwining their fingers—but nothing worked.
He even read the Guiding Handbook (ridiculous name, but that’s what it’s actually called), but it was still all too vague.
Finally, Jaewon gave up.
“No, this isn’t working, Youngha. Let’s stop here.”
“Can’t we?”
“I’ve been saying we can’t. And there’s no way I suddenly became a Guide out of nowhere. Just get some sleep and it’ll probably go back to normal.”
Youngha looked like he was thinking it over.
His languidly lowered eyelids gave off the air of deep contemplation.
And then he said:
“Then… wanna try with mucous membranes?”
* * *
