LLHT Ch 2.2

“You don’t seem to care much for him, but couldn’t you just say the Center values Lieutenant Ahn too much to drag him into combat?”

“Exactly. If you just say you’re accepting other guide applications, the paperwork would stack up to your height, Commander.”

The battalion members unanimously believed Baekhan would finally break the bonding and cast Ahn Chiyeong aside this time.

During this deployment, hadn’t he been asking foreign mercenaries about how to undo a bonding?

They seemed to know the answer, and after a few exchanged words, Baekhan’s face had looked nothing but stern. When he wore that expression, the neck of a boy soldier, barely twenty years old, had been snapped.

What difference would there be for a guide he so despised and loathed?

Honestly, enduring five years after learning Chiyeong was male was already an anomaly.

“It wouldn’t be bad for Lieutenant Ahn either. Staying in that position, he’s getting harassed by other guides who are foolishly holding onto impossible feelings.”

Captain Park Hyeongin, disassembling a rifle and wiping iron dust from its parts, shrugged as he spoke.

Baekhan let out a scoff and crossed his arms.

It was a gesture that said, “Keep going.” Knowing that keeping quiet when given such an opportunity prevents trouble, the members clamped their mouths shut like clams.

Except for the youngest, who hadn’t yet grasped the situation.

“Seems like even the Commander doesn’t really think of himself as an esper with a guide…”

Heo Inna subtly covered the youngest, Lee Inkyo’s, mouth.

But the die was already cast, and with that one sentence, a heavy silence swept through the Chunran Brigade’s team quarters. Gi Baekhan had unleashed his esper aura without restraint.

The espers instinctively straightened their spines. The aura brushing their skin was razor-sharp. Suppressing the instinctive urge to retaliate just to defend themselves was exhausting.

The members quietly agreed to appoint the youngest as the torturer starting today.

“Alright, since you all so desperately want to bring a mom to the quarters, this papa will step up.”

Even as his tightly woven esper aura tore at their skin like a savage beast, Baekhan cracked a joke, raising the corners of his lips in a graceful smile.

His smile was so beautiful that the members felt uneasy. While his aura squeezed their bodies like a vise, the words from that lovely mouth made it sound like he was a commander who deeply loved his team.

As if the matter was settled, Baekhan laughed brightly and bounded up to his room on the second floor. The members left on the first floor exchanged glances, rubbing their goosebump-covered forearms.

“Is our commander off to cause more chaos?”

“Even if we know, can we stop him? We’ll just have to watch what he’s thinking.”

“Does our commander even think?”

A voice echoed from the staircase landing, “I said I hear everything,” and only then did the espers stop their gossip and return to their tasks.

🚀

“Why’s this guy so lifeless?”

Im Sang-hyun, the chief of the communal guiding room, commented upon seeing Chiyeong, whose under-eyes were sunken and face deathly pale.

Chiyeong, too drained to respond, kept his mouth shut. Normally, he’d try to acknowledge others’ greetings, but his silent head bow made worry cloud the chief’s face.

He knew his complexion was bad, but there was nothing he could do.

His plan to guide all night, take the afternoon off, and get an IV at the guiding room was derailed by an explosion that hit the moment he arrived at work.

Injured espers were brought in one after another, requiring emergency guiding, leaving him no time to think. In such chaos, he couldn’t insist on getting an IV.

Having poured radiant guiding into a sleeping hippo bastard until dawn, Chiyeong’s aching body had to guide the incoming espers, causing his internal guiding levels to plummet and leaving him with mild chills.

“Lieutenant Ahn’s been like that for a while. It’d be better to let him rest.”

Kim Hee-jung, who awakened as a guide while working as a nurse and was bound to the Center, spoke with concern.

Even if everyone at the Center disliked Chiyeong, the people in the communal guiding room were a bit less harsh.

Guides like Hee-jung, who had decent ranks but awakened too late without backing, or people like Im Sang-hyun, demoted to guiding room chief after causing trouble, or Seok Jin-hyeok, with a low guide rank like Chiyeong, didn’t ostracize him, given their own difficult circumstances.

But as they say, only those who’ve spent money know how to spend it, and for Chiyeong, receiving someone’s concern was so rare that the situation felt utterly awkward.

“I’m fine. I’ll get an IV at lunch.”

Chiyeong answered with a ghostly complexion.

Today was the day for the weekly meeting at 9 a.m. with administrators, medical staff, and chiefs of each medical guide unit, so Chief Im Sang-hyun’s attendance was mandatory, and even Hee-jung had to accompany as a secretary.

Since Seok Jin-hyeok was on leave, Chiyeong had to endure the morning’s war zone alone.

“You idiot. If it was tough, you should’ve sent them to the medical ward. Why’d you guide them all yourself?”

“There weren’t many…”

Chiyeong muttered with a face devoid of expression. It was unclear if it was a reply or just him talking to himself, and Sang-hyun clicked his tongue.

“Hee-jung, put him on a cart and send him to the medical ward.”

“I’ll just get an IV at lunch…”

“What, an IV here? You need a prescription! Go get an IV or whatever!”

Sang-hyun’s face crumpled at Chiyeong’s muttering. When the chief made that face, even Chiyeong couldn’t argue further.

Lacking immunity to someone genuinely worrying about him, his mumbled “I’m fine” was as faint as a mosquito’s buzz.

In the end, Hee-jung dragged him out and loaded him onto a cart.

“Lieutenant Ahn, go rest well and come back. Afternoon duties are fine with me and the chief.”

“…I need to water the lucky bamboo.”

“Ugh, I’ll do it. One day without water won’t kill it. But you look like you’re about to die right now.”

Hee-jung, exasperated, shoved Chiyeong onto the cart. Though slimmer than him, her pushing strength was impressive.

Unable to resist further, he climbed on quietly and waved back as Hee-jung waved from outside the window.

It was like an elementary schooler being put on an academy bus, waved off by their mom.

Chiyeong waved slowly until Hee-jung was out of sight, then slammed his forehead onto the front seat.

He didn’t mean to, but exhaustion made it happen. It wasn’t a great choice, as his head started ringing.

The already bad headache worsened.

“Ugh…”

Chiyeong groaned softly, audible only to himself. He got like this sometimes. When headaches darkened his vision and the ground seemed to rush up, he’d often faint and wake up later.

The headaches started back when he was hauling food in the Ieok Brigade.

Even medication didn’t help, and during the two years he lived as Baekhan’s guide without being rejected, an esper with healing abilities examined him but couldn’t identify the cause.

They suggested an MRI, but the appointment was set for the day Baekhan returned.

After that, well, as you know, the appointment vanished without a trace. That’s when Chiyeong’s era of suffering began.

Today’s headache wasn’t without cause.

Guiding all night and handling the morning’s influx of espers likely drained his internal guiding levels, causing this.

—This stop is the medical ward.

Chiyeong barely pressed the bell and slowly got off the cart.

The cart started moving the moment he stepped off, catching his foot on the curb, and in the chaos, Chiyeong ended up rolling on the ground.

He heard passing guides and espers whispering among themselves.

Yeah, gossip away. I’m not Chun Doo-hwan—can’t you at least worry a bit when someone falls?

Resenting them dazedly amid the headache, Chiyeong walked slowly. Each step felt like his skull was splitting.

The back of his eyes started throbbing.

…Why’s the medical ward on a hill, damn it? Are sick people supposed to climb and drop dead?

Unable to smooth his instinctively furrowed brow, Chiyeong just walked.

But he couldn’t actually enter the medical ward. Someone blocked his path and wouldn’t move.

“Well, who’s this?”

“…Ah, hello, Operations Director…”

Chiyeong barely managed a salute toward the man grinning at him.

Even seeing Chiyeong’s sweat-drenched, ashen face, the man didn’t easily say, “At ease.”

As a result, Chiyeong had to stand rigidly, unable to lower his salute, despite his vision narrowing from the headache.

“Isn’t this our Lieutenant Ahn? Where were you headed?”

“To the medical ward… I’m not feeling well…”

“Oh? Then you’re not in a rush?”

The man grabbed Chiyeong’s wrist and pulled him into his car.

It wasn’t a common military Humvee but a German sedan, likely the man’s personal vehicle.

The headache made being dragged and loaded into the car unbearable, and the man’s cologne smelled nauseating.

It was surely an esper cologne, but it felt different from Gi Baekhan’s.

Whether it was the headache causing nausea or the cologne upsetting his stomach, the queasiness was hard to endure.

While Chiyeong fought the urge to vomit, the man got into the driver’s seat and grinned again. It wasn’t a pleasant smile.

“Lieutenant Ahn, thought about what I said last time?”

“…Yes.”

The man’s name was Son Jin-hwa. He was the Operations Director and, if Chiyeong recalled, the Center Commander’s son-in-law.

Chiyeong looked at a family photo placed incongruously on the sleek foreign car’s dashboard.

It showed the man in a dress uniform, hand on the shoulder of his smiling wife.

“Oh? And your answer?”

“Yes, but if I succeed in that mission, my discharge…”

“That’s well within my power, so don’t be so impatient.”

The man smiled again. Chiyeong felt a faint illusion of an esper aura emanating from him.

If he wasn’t attacking or coveting Chiyeong’s guiding, why emit an aura? Chiyeong’s foggy mind pondered this.

The man’s offer was simple: complete a mission, and he’d reward him generously.

Chiyeong, needing neither promotion nor special allowances, had demanded discharge.

He hadn’t heard the mission details yet, but since it came directly from the Operations Bureau to a mere guide, it must be highly confidential.

As he thought this, the aura grew thicker and more viscous. Chiyeong instinctively gasped.

“Hrk—!”

“Oh, but our Lieutenant Ahn.”

The man licked his lips with his tongue. Chiyeong, hunched over, panted heavily. It felt like someone had plunged a hand into his abdomen, stirring his insides.

“Strange. I think Lieutenant Ahn might be a bit different from the rumors.”

He patted Chiyeong’s shoulder. Chiyeong wanted to swat the hand away in revulsion but couldn’t.

The aura savagely churned through him, like a stray dog digging for scraps.

“Does Lieutenant Ahn wear cologne too?”

“Hk, hrr—!”

The pain was now so intense his eyes rolled back. As the trembling Chiyeong’s spine was stroked, the man asked again.

Chiyeong couldn’t answer. Then it happened.

Bang—.

A loud crash accompanied the sound of the car’s tinted window shattering.

A hand tore through the broken glass without mercy, grabbed Chiyeong by the collar, and yanked him out through the shattered window.

Chiyeong’s back scraped against the jagged glass. Thanks to Hee-jung dressing him in thick clothing due to his chills, his back wasn’t cut, but the grinding sound of the glass was chilling.

“What the—!”

“Long time no see, Operations Director. Meant to tap the window in excitement, but I broke it. Send me the bill.”

Grinning brightly was Gi Baekhan.

“What’s this insolence, Lieutenant Colonel Gi?”

Son Jin-hwa, stepping out of the car with a flushed face, pointed accusingly.

Gi Baekhan ignored him, looking down at Chiyeong, sprawled on the ground, and asked coldly:

“Ahn Chiyeong, what’s with this pathetic state?”

Yanked abruptly through the broken window, Chiyeong’s body ached. His headache worsened, and he groaned, unable to respond.

Baekhan’s gaze on the writhing, pained Chiyeong was icy. As if Chiyeong was enjoying this, his face looked at him like he was something pitiful.

Chiyeong felt tears welling up. But since tears had long stopped coming easily, his eyes just burned and throbbed.

“Lieutenant Colonel Gi!”

“Get up. Don’t piss me off.”

Son Jin-hwa’s esper aura was easily dispelled by Baekhan’s.

Despite being a parachuted appointee, Son Jin-hwa, young for an Operations Director, must have a high rank, yet Baekhan’s aura sliced through it like a ripe radish, making it vanish.

Gi Baekhan spoke sharply to Chiyeong.

Chiyeong felt wronged. He just wanted to get an IV. As Chiyeong staggered to his feet, pale from the headache, Gi Baekhan glared at him the whole time.

Chiyeong felt a mix of slight shame and overwhelming injustice. Whether it was this bastard or that one, espers never left him alone and tormented him.

He looked at Baekhan with a resentful face.

Perhaps enraged that his words were ignored, Son Jin-hwa’s demeanor sharpened.

“What’s this? Protecting your guide now? Don’t you think it’s a bit late for that?”

As if that hit close to the truth, Gi Baekhan grinned.

“That’s why I’m here to save the dying one. Can’t you see how close we are?”

He pulled Chiyeong by the waist, almost lifting him, and turned to walk away.

Chiyeong, barely able to stand, was dragged along like a ragdoll and instinctively struggled.

“But damn, just leaving like this pisses me off.”

Baekhan stopped, released Chiyeong from his hold, cracked his neck, and turned toward Son Jin-hwa.

As he strode forward, a startled Son Jin-hwa stammered, “W-What?”

Baekhan brushed past Son Jin-hwa, who’d taken a defensive stance out of fear, and raised his leg, slamming the heel of his combat boot onto the car’s hood with a bang.

The car beeped, its hazard lights flashing. The hood crumpled as if a valley had formed, clearly beyond repair.

With the engine half-destroyed, scrapping it seemed inevitable.

Leaving Son Jin-hwa gaping, Gi Baekhan flashed a radiant smile. The slight curve of his eyes was strikingly captivating.

He walked back to Chiyeong, pulled him close by the side, and started walking.

“Lieutenant Colonel…”

“Shut up and stay put.”

Chiyeong wanted to ask to be let go, his stomach churning, but a glance at Baekhan’s face showed it was terrifyingly hardened. His clenched jaw muscles stood out.

…Why’s he acting like this, again?

Chiyeong sighed. He couldn’t fathom what twisted Baekhan’s damn temper to torment him like this.

All he wanted was to get an IV as the guiding room staff suggested, rest for an hour or two. Was that so extravagant? Was even a moment’s peace too much for someone in his position?

Drained and slumping, Baekhan glanced down at him.

“Wanted to be picked up by that trash? Babe, I’m still your bonded esper.”

A scoff escaped Chiyeong involuntarily.

You, who’ve been spreading all sorts of rumors with other guides, suddenly care that the burden you’ve been circling around, unwilling to claim, is looking elsewhere?

One of Baekhan’s eyebrows shot up as he caught that scoff.

He seemed to ponder something for a moment before setting Chiyeong down at the entrance to the medical ward.

“All grown up, huh, sneering like that?”

“…Why are you here, anyway?”

Since, as Baekhan claimed, Chiyeong was his guide, he needed to confirm why Baekhan had come to the medical ward.

It was important to know the condition of the esper he was bonded with.

Baekhan just stared at Chiyeong with narrowed eyes.

“…What?”

“Why are you the one looking so sickly?”

What’s it to you?

Chiyeong muttered inwardly with a smirk, then shrugged. His attitude of not wanting to explain made Baekhan’s eyebrow rise again.

Ironically, the moment he touched Baekhan, the throbbing headache that felt like his heart had migrated to his brain began to subside.

Even though the headache eased, the dazed feeling lingered, so Chiyeong stood still. Over his pale face, he wore an expression that said, “If you’ve got more to say, go ahead.”

Looking down at him, Baekhan tapped Chiyeong’s cheek, like coaxing a naughty child.

“Go get your IV.”

“I’ll handle it myself.”

“Stop talking so damn prettily. Makes me wanna bite you to death.”

Baekhan, his refined face crumpled in irritation, spoke sharply. To Chiyeong, it was laughable.

He didn’t know why Baekhan was acting like this. Pretending to care after months apart felt suspicious, some new whim.

Gi Baekhan had never once been kind to Ahn Chiyeong since their bonding.

Hadn’t he acted like even basic pleasantries, the kind strangers exchange, were impossible between them?

What right did he have to meddle and tell him to get an IV? Chiyeong opened his mouth, expressionless.

“Really that pretty?”

“…What?”

“Wanna see it even prettier?”

Baekhan stared at Chiyeong.

His eyes, often compared to polished brown tourmaline for their light hue, darkened with a low saturation.

It was a somewhat strange gaze, but Chiyeong couldn’t read its depths.

Having given up on understanding him, Chiyeong could speak casually.

“I wanna look so pretty it kills me.”

“…This guy, seriously.”

The man growled, his voice like he was scratching his throat, as if telling him to quit messing around.

It wasn’t particularly scary. To Chiyeong, Gi Baekhan’s very existence was a threat.

Broadly, his personal safety; narrowly, his small joys—both were constantly shattered and destroyed by this man.

Yet the sole reason Ahn Chiyeong couldn’t truly hate Gi Baekhan and only pleaded for him to kill him instead was simple.

“Then maybe you’d regret picking me up a little less, Lieutenant Colonel.”

Because you were my only savior.

Even if everything about him was ruined because of Baekhan, that fact remained unchanged, didn’t it?

Chiyeong turned and walked into the ward without expecting a reply.

He didn’t know what kind of look Gi Baekhan was giving him.

It didn’t matter. He didn’t think Baekhan was still watching him.

Buried in ennui and pain, Chiyeong tired easily, and today, he was consumed by the desire to get an IV and sleep.

🚀

Chiyeong furrowed his brow.

“What’s that supposed to mean, all of a sudden?”

Unable to comprehend what he’d heard, he had to chew over the administrator’s words several times.

“I’m saying you can’t live here starting today.”

After getting an IV and heading back to the guiding room, he’d been sent home immediately by the chief’s thunderous scolding.

“Chiyeong, don’t live so desperately. It’s all good, but how do you think that looks to the people around you who care, huh?”

Those words hit him hard.

For five years, he’d tried hard not to care about how others saw him.

Focusing on others’ gazes and words would’ve made it impossible to endure.

He must’ve lobbied naked to become the bonded guide of an S++-rank esper, they said. He acted no better than a prostitute with his guiding, they said. He was infamous as a rag even back in the Ieok rebel army, wasn’t he?

The thoughts of those who said such things were obvious.

If he can do it, why can’t I? He’s nothing special, so why not me?

If Gi Baekhan had bonded with a high-rank guide like Gi Baekyeon, it wouldn’t have mattered.

But the one he bonded with was an F-rank guide, so low-ranked they were hard to find.

For the first two years, Baekhan treated him as “his guide,” and with a clear matching rate, Chiyeong was envied. But once Baekhan learned Chiyeong was male and began ignoring him, things changed.

So Chiyeong tried not to care about how others saw him.

Like a diseased tree rotting from the inside while its outer bark looked vibrant and healthy.

After years of that, he no longer needed to consciously avoid caring about others’ gazes.

That’s why he hadn’t cared about how the guiding room staff saw him…

“Okay, Lieutenant! Rest well and come back!”

Hee-jung’s worried voice shouted through the phone.

The chief scolded him for planning to return right after the IV, and Hee-jung urged him to rest with concern.

It was the first time in years he’d received such worry, and with a heavy, aching chest, he returned to his quarters.

The security office was now empty, and hearing people bustling, he’d come up to his room wondering what was happening…

“An eviction order’s been issued. I can give you a grace period, but you’ve got three days max to move out.”

The administrator’s bored tone handled a person’s housing issue with cold bureaucracy.

Feeling his subsided headache flare up again, Chiyeong narrowed his brow slightly and replied.

“I’m living here just fine. How am I supposed to find a place outside when my workplace is the Center? I don’t understand what you mean by telling me to get a room elsewhere.”

Espers and guides weren’t allowed to use regular military housing. Their existence was a secret to civilians, after all.

Regular soldiers guarding the Center’s north, west, and east gates knew the people inside were ability users, but most civilians didn’t know what espers and guides did.

Thus, they were wary of the suspicious “Special Forces Korea Branch,” as it was publicly called.

Their visibly different treatment didn’t help.

A fight breaking out in regular military housing could spiral out of control.

Not allowed to live in military housing, and now told to commute from outside the Center—it was nonsense.

Moreover, the Seoul-Gyeonggi Center, where Chiyeong was stationed, was in a forested hill in northern Gyeonggi. Unless he built a shack, there was no place to stay starting tonight.

Suddenly forced to declare “I’m a naturalist,” Chiyeong frowned in panic.

“I regret it too. But what can I do? I’m just following orders from above. I’m a government worker too—cut me some slack.”

The administrator wore an annoyed expression.

It wasn’t regret for kicking Chiyeong out onto the streets but annoyance at being saddled with this task near quitting time.

…If I punch this guy’s face and get sent to the brig, wouldn’t that at least secure a week’s lodging?

As Chiyeong thought this, a man approached from down the hall, rhythmically waving his index finger like he was conducting the air.

Behind him, what looked like Chiyeong’s belongings floated in the air, drifting as if dancing to the man’s direction.

“…What the hell?”

Too dumbfounded to keep it in, Chiyeong muttered, and Gi Baekhan, flicking his finger in the air, grinned and said:

“Moving service, huh? So convenient. Touched, babe?”

His smile was like sunlight. The mole under his left eye folded slightly, perfecting the grin.

Chiyeong’s head throbbed.

How was he supposed to deal with this lunatic using his ability to multiply or erase gravity for moving furniture?

Humming, Baekhan sent Chiyeong’s floating furniture and belongings down the emergency exit.

A brief crashing sound rang out, but Baekhan just laughed as if nothing happened.

“…Why are you here, Lieutenant Colonel?”

“Worried my babe might end up homeless.”

Chiyeong looked at the administrator with a fed-up expression, determined to find out what this so-called eviction order was about.

“What’s the reason?”

“Why ask me? Ask Lieutenant Colonel Gi right there…”

“He’s doing government work. Stop harassing him and let him go. I’ve already cleared out all the stuff.”

As the administrator started to say something with an irritated look, Baekhan stepped between him and Chiyeong, flashing a bright smile.

…What’s with him, seriously?

To Chiyeong’s dumbfounded expression, Baekhan gave another sly grin, narrowing his eyes so the mole under his left eye stood out—a bewitching smile.

“It’s moving day, so let’s go eat jjajangmyeon. Your treat?”

Treat, my ass. I’d rather shoot your head.

Though venomous inside, Chiyeong’s face didn’t show it as he ignored Baekhan.

Leaning past Gi Baekhan’s broad back, he questioned the administrator again.

“So why should I ask Lieutenant Colonel Gi? I haven’t gotten any explanation, so please explain it yourself, Administrator.”

“Oh, should I? Let me explain… Hold on. 3, 2, 1… Yep, sorry. It’s six o’clock sharp. I’m off the clock. Since the stuff’s already moved, you two can sort it out, right? I’ve got a family to get to. Need to buy diapers on the way and bathe my eldest.”

The administrator trailed off, smiling only with his mouth, then backpedaled toward the elevator.

Like he was on a conveyor belt, he slid backward, slipped into the open elevator, and hit the close button five times in a row—Chiyeong saw it clearly.

“Hey, wait, Administrator!”

“Ugh, I said I’m hungry.”

As Chiyeong reached out and started toward him, an arm grabbed his waist, yanking him back to his spot.

Flabbergasted, Chiyeong looked up at the man.

What’s his deal? Why’s he popping up like this today of all days?

As if reading Chiyeong’s expression, the man shrugged.

“I was just passing by and heard you were moving.”

“…Passing by?”

How the hell was the guide-exclusive quarters, tucked in the most remote corner of Nanseul-dong’s lodging district, on his way?

Both backed by the same forested hill and located in Nanseul-dong, sure, but the Chunran Brigade’s team quarters were in the scenic area with the finest houses.

Opening the living room’s large windows revealed a wide field, a pine forest starting the hill, and a small stream at the mountain’s entrance.

In contrast, the guide-exclusive quarters, long neglected, were so close to the hill that deer sometimes appeared.

The deer’s keening cries sometimes sounded like human screams.

Those deer would sneak into the garden behind the quarters, stealing eggplants and zucchini Chiyeong had planted.

You’re not one of those deer, so what business do you have at this hillside? Chiyeong’s glare was completely ignored as Baekhan, grinning slyly, pulled him along.

“Let’s go eat and talk about that stuff you love.”

A curse nearly slipped out, but Chiyeong bit it back, grinding his teeth.

Gi Baekhan wasn’t the type to let a subordinate curse to his face.

Or was he? He seemed lenient with the Chunran Brigade members.

Correction: Gi Baekhan wasn’t the type to let Ahn Chiyeong curse to his face.

They said he was harsh to outsiders but endlessly kind to his team. In that narrative, wasn’t Ahn Chiyeong stuck as the outsider?

The only oddity was the excessive attention lately.

He’d been to the desert—maybe he caught some endemic disease? Like African dengue fever…

Knowing an esper’s immunity could destroy even cancer cells, Chiyeong still couldn’t help but think dazedly.

Which is to say, these weren’t thoughts someone who’d just lost a cherished home would typically have.

Faint anger quickly turned into lethargy.

Unbeknownst to Chiyeong, it was a form of depression.

The garden he’d tended with care, the small quarters with a living room and bathroom where he’d felt at ease as his own world—all given up with a few questions after a sudden eviction order.

But the guide didn’t know what it was, and because he didn’t, his esper didn’t notice either.

It was like a small time bomb, ready to explode at any moment.

🚀

The food came out quickly. Staring at the dishes filling the table, Chiyeong felt slightly dazed.

Misinterpreting his reaction, Gi Baekhan spoke up.

“Need me to mix it for you? So high-maintenance.”

Shrugging as if surprised, Baekhan took Chiyeong’s bowl, poured in sauce, mixed it, and slid it back in front of him.

They’d come to a Chinese restaurant in Nurim-dong, the commercial district.

The Chinese restaurants frequented by non-commissioned officers and lower-ranking soldiers were at the entrance of Nurim-dong, but this one, though in Nurim-dong, was a high-end place closer to Dodam-dong, the medical ward district.

A large aquarium stood at the restaurant’s entrance. Round-bodied, dorsal-fin-less golden carp swam toward the glass wall, then turned back.

Chiyeong watched the aquarium endlessly as he walked, but not a single carp met his eyes. Suppressing the urge to keep staring, he continued on.

The servers, all in black-and-red modified qipaos, greeted the entering Chiyeong kindly. He returned the greetings, and he could feel Baekhan chuckling.

He didn’t understand why Baekhan insisted on eating at a place like this. Thinking so, Chiyeong had no choice but to sit where Baekhan led him.

Some time passed after the food arrived, but Chiyeong’s long Chinese chopsticks remained clean.

“Eat up. I even picked out the cucumbers.”

Being treated like a picky kid made Chiyeong glance at him, wondering if he was serious, only to see no trace of a smile on Baekhan’s face.

He looked unfazed, popping the cucumbers he’d taken from Chiyeong’s bowl into his own mouth.

Chiyeong hadn’t even asked for the ganjjajang, let alone the two oversized bowls of jjambbong for Baekhan, a medium-sized kkanpunggi, a large tangsuyuk, and two bowls of fried rice, which now adorned the table.

Chiyeong was already overwhelmed by the sheer volume.

‘How are we supposed to eat all this…’

Too daunted to eat, Chiyeong watched as Baekhan had already polished off both jjambbong bowls and one fried rice. He’d done it so quietly that Chiyeong, just starting to clink his chopsticks, forgot his manners and stared at the empty bowls.

Espers eat a lot. The man before him was a high-rank ability user, so in terms of energy efficiency, this wasn’t excessive.

Still, the contrast was jarring between his refined features, which seemed too delicate to drink anything but Swiss spring water, and the reality of him clearing a bowl of jjambbong in two chopstickfuls.

“…Eat my share too. I’m not eating.”

“You need to gain some weight. I prefer something with a bit more to grab onto.”

…Who asked about your damn preferences?

Chiyeong, often disadvantaged by his unreadable face despite his irritation, just hardened his expression and stared blankly at the red tablecloth.

“Pouting because I didn’t order kkanhso shrimp?”

“Eat it yourself, Lieutenant Colonel.”

He wasn’t in the mood to eat. As if the jasmine tea in the white porcelain cup was the only edible thing on the table, Chiyeong sipped it slowly.

Baekhan flashed him a grin.

It was a lovely smile, like a peony in full bloom, but Chiyeong knew it wasn’t anything good.

The prettier that man’s smile, the worse the situation became—he’d learned this over years.

Gi Baekhan was staring at Chiyeong. Wiping the elegantly curved corners of his mouth with a napkin, Baekhan tilted his head.

“Eat.”

“…”

“Don’t piss me off and eat. Unless you want to get stuck here.”

…Stuck? The moment Chiyeong, puzzled by the meaning, showed slight confusion, he felt Baekhan’s esper aura reach across the round table.

Only then did Chiyeong understand. Baekhan, who hated physical contact with him, always spoke like this. As if he was doing him a favor…

Like an esper patiently watching a young guide until they come of age.

When in reality, he had no interest in him. Gagging every time they touched.

Caught between that deceit and insult, Chiyeong’s face, once flushed, turned pale.

Without taking his eyes off him, Baekhan spoke again.

“You wouldn’t want to set up a honeymoon suite in a Chinese restaurant, would you? I don’t care about the place, but my babe’s too refined to do it somewhere like this. Right? Or did big brother’s lack of tact upset my babe again?”

“…”

As Chiyeong bit his lip in humiliation, refusing to answer, Baekhan pointed at his bowl with chopsticks and said:

“I’m not gonna eat you, so empty that bowl first.”

Baekhan had been acting strange all day.

Just when Chiyeong thought he was being mocked, Baekhan would take care of him. But when he got confused by the care, Baekhan would act like he was about to shove him into the mud.

…Fine. If he wants to toy with me, I’ll play along.

Some people are born to walk a royal path. Humans of noble birth, raised superior. They don’t know how to look down, and while they know misery exists, they don’t understand exactly how it grinds a person down.

That was the nature Gi Baekhan possessed.

A billion light-years apart from Chiyeong, who was abandoned in a baby box with the eleven characters: “The child’s name is Ahn Chiyeong.”

When someone a billion light-years above wants to play, how could a lowly, groveling wretch like me dare to refuse? Chiyeong decided to half-resist, half-compromise.

There’s a limit to acting defiant. Baekhan wasn’t indulging him out of affection.

“…Where’d you put my stuff?”

When they came down in the elevator, Chiyeong had expected his belongings to be neatly stacked in the courtyard, but they were already gone.

Baekhan, who had more than he could ever lack, wouldn’t steal Chiyeong’s meager possessions, and no one could’ve taken them in that short time, yet they’d vanished completely.

“Finally curious about that?”

Baekhan, taking a bowl of white jjambbong from a server he’d instructed to keep the food coming, let out a scoff.

It was a laugh that said, “You’re really something.”

That laugh sparked a sudden irritation in Chiyeong. What does he know about me?

Lately, Chiyeong had been thinking Baekhan was acting too familiar with him. He hadn’t said it out loud, though.

“Moved them to the Chunran Brigade quarters. You’re staying there from now on.”

“You, Lieutenant Colonel? You’re staying at the Chunran quarters?”

Where else had he been staying, then? Chiyeong’s blank expression prompted Baekhan to pour jasmine tea into his empty cup.

“You’d better keep that mouth shut. This is the third time I’m telling you to eat. Wanna find out what happens on the fourth? Go ahead and try.”

Chiyeong knew it was a final warning because goosebumps rose on his forearm.

The esper aura Baekhan had spread throughout the room clung to Chiyeong’s body, salivating.

Even if he seemed to spew nonsense, the scary and infuriating thing about Gi Baekhan was that he carried out every word he spoke with a nonchalant face.

Chiyeong figured he’d better put something in his mouth before things escalated.

Silently picking at his food, a piece of tangsuyuk landed on Chiyeong’s plate.

“…I can’t eat all this.”

“Leave what you can’t. I’ll eat it.”

His brazen way of talking was grating.

Why act so familiar… Since when were we close?

Chiyeong averted his gaze, poking at his bowl. He only stopped after Baekhan scolded him for ruining his appetite, though.

Still, he realized he’d eaten far more than he would’ve alone when he stood up and felt his stomach heavy after just a few steps.

Even though Baekhan had finished off the leftovers, Chiyeong felt quite full.

…Was he serious about staying at the Chunran Brigade quarters?

A guide living in a team’s quarters is akin to being the team’s main guide.

The main guide of Chunran. To the guides at the Seoul-Gyeonggi Center, it’s a goal, a dream.

When Chiyeong first arrived at the Center, everyone, including himself, thought he’d be appointed Chunran’s main guide.

Now, it’s something he doesn’t dare hope for. Having a team, or the hope of properly guiding someone as a guide, either.

The idea of staying at the quarters was shaking the self-defensive resignation he’d built. Chiyeong placed a weight on his heart with an impassive face.

He’d always prepared for the worst, but even that often fell short. Exchanging farewells with the staff as he left the restaurant, Chiyeong deliberately didn’t ask.

Finding his stuff and a place to sleep starting tomorrow wouldn’t be bad.

“Let’s go home.”

That word—“home”—felt heavy with its resonance. He’d never had a “home” to share with others.

Chiyeong followed Baekhan silently, reminding himself that the place they were going could be Baekhan’s home but never his.

Perhaps sensing his distraction, Baekhan raised one eyebrow and glanced back.

Baekhan’s Humvee, which they’d driven to the restaurant, was parked haphazardly in a corner of the lot.

Its brazen stance, diagonally crossing parking lines, was no different from its owner, making Chiyeong frown.

While other cars carefully parked within lines, Baekhan’s Humvee boldly took up two spaces.

“Why aren’t you getting in?”

“…”

Urged not to dawdle, Chiyeong had no choice but to climb into the Humvee.

The interior was surprisingly tidy. Or rather, it was more accurate to say the owner had remarkably few belongings.

A pair of sunglasses clipped to the driver’s sun visor seemed to be the only personal item. Not even a common car tissue box was present. It was a barren setup.

Even if it was a Center-issued vehicle, once it had a license plate, it became the officer’s personal car.

Chiyeong hadn’t ridden in many cars, but the guiding room chief’s Humvee had a flower-shaped air freshener with a smiley face in the center.

Even if not to that extent, a car’s interior, like a “room,” usually bears traces of its owner.

But Baekhan’s Humvee had none of that. It was surprising. With his reckless personality, Chiyeong had half-expected him to plaster stickers on a military Humvee.

“Need me to buckle you up too? Quite the lordly type, huh.”

“Uh, I can do it…”

Lost in observing the car, Chiyeong forgot to buckle up, and Baekhan leaned over, reaching for the seatbelt.

Chiyeong, flustered, tried to grab it, but Baekhan wordlessly locked the buckle.

Chiyeong, not expecting such personal kindness from him, bit his lip.

Through the suddenly close distance, Chiyeong caught the scent of his esper cologne. The assertive fragrance clinging to his nostrils was irritating.

It was just like its owner—acting arrogantly, knowing how great he is. The car, the cologne—both were so Gi Baekhan, and it grated on him.

As if oblivious to Chiyeong’s thoughts, the Humvee started driving smoothly.

Unlike the careless parking that ignored lines, the smooth driving was unexpected.

“Oh, speed bump.”

“…Seriously, what’s with you?”

At the speed bump near the exit leaving Nurim-dong from the restaurant’s lot, Baekhan stretched out an arm to hold Chiyeong, as if considering the passenger.

The issue was that the Humvee was going under 30 km/h, and instead of grabbing Chiyeong’s chest, Baekhan pressed down on the crown of his head.

His large hand, gripping Chiyeong’s head like a basketball, was playful. A soft chuckle followed.

Recoiling and swatting away the arm on his head, Chiyeong was dumbfounded. What’s with him, seriously… This sudden familiarity was giving him goosebumps.

Since when were we so close?

Baekhan usually acted like he’d devour Chiyeong, then ignored him, and Chiyeong, staring at his back, had only managed to give up on him after much time.

Given that history, this level of familiarity between them was undeniably strange.

Even as Chiyeong pushed back with a furrowed brow, Baekhan just kept chuckling.

By then, Baekhan’s Humvee had reached Nanseul-dong, the lodging district.

It was a long drive from the entrance to reach the Chunran quarters, with its backyard leading to a birch forest and a stream at the mountain’s base.

The sister units, Dongjuk and Chuguk, had quarters nearby.

Baekhan, who drove well but parked carelessly, got out first. Chiyeong sighed and followed.

He planned to just grab his stuff. He wouldn’t be welcome here anyway.

How could an F-rank guide manage a team’s guiding?

Thinking so, he closed the car door and saw Gi Baekyeon standing on a lawn with a hose. It must be the Dongjuk quarters.

“Ahn Chiyeong. What brings you here?”

Baekyeon, cigarette in mouth, mumbled unclearly, questioning Chiyeong’s sudden appearance.

Barefoot in slippers, wearing loose shorts down to her knees, she looked unusually relaxed. Chiyeong considered saluting but just bowed his head.

“Hello, Major.”

“Yeah. Eaten yet?”

“Yes, I’ve—”

“Enough with the greetings. Why so chatty?”

Baekhan, voice laced with irritation, pushed open the low gate in front of the Chunran quarters.

Baekyeon pulled the cigarette from her mouth with her index and middle fingers and tossed the hose carelessly to the ground.

“So you brought Lieutenant Ahn? Stop tormenting the kid—”

“Does he look like a kid to you? From now on, we’re gonna do everything bonded pairs can do, so it’d be a problem if he looks like a kid. I mess with a lot, but I don’t touch kids.”

Gi Baekhan cut off Baekyeon mid-sentence with a scoff. Chiyeong, standing blankly, was startled by that smile.

Even if he acted like a reckless lunatic, hadn’t he been somewhat human with his twin, Baekyeon? Plus, Baekyeon was Chiyeong’s superior. Hearing such crude words in front of a superior was absurd.

But with a faint killing intent emanating from Baekhan, Chiyeong could only blink slowly.

Baekyeon, standing still, looked at Baekhan and spoke.

Her face rarely showed expression, and that hadn’t changed now.

Without turning her head, facing Baekhan, she asked Chiyeong:

“Lieutenant Ahn, do you even know why you’re here?”

“I…”

“Damn, like you’ve never had a subordinate. So damn protective. Yeon-ah, cut it out. I’m getting annoyed.”

Since Chiyeong worked under Gi Baekyeon, the head of the communal guiding room, he was technically her subordinate. Not that they were particularly close.

At Baekhan’s words, Baekyeon narrowed her eyes, tilting her head as she replied:

“Fine, whatever. As you say, Ahn Chiyeong’s my subordinate. Treat him well. You’re past the age of breaking a toy’s legs just because it’s pretty, little brother.”

With that, Baekyeon turned off the hose’s valve, crossed the lawn, and went into the Dongjuk quarters.

Chiyeong stood staring blankly when someone grabbed his jaw with strong force, jerking his head around.

“You got something going with Gi Baekyeon?”

“…What do you mean by that?”

His gripped jaw ached, leaving him baffled.

‘What’s with him now?’

Irritated by the man’s mood swinging from sly grins to sudden shifts, Chiyeong couldn’t guess what had twisted his precious temper this time.

Baekhan, still holding Chiyeong’s jaw, stared into his eyes for a long moment before letting out a low hum.

“Whatever. Stop dawdling and follow me. Before everyone here starts drooling over you.”

Drooling over what… Chiyeong glared at Baekhan, who had already turned and was walking ahead.

No esper was interested in him. His rank wasn’t high enough to inspire that kind of greed.

If anything, it’d be curiosity, not interest. Thinking dully, he noticed Baekhan striding farther away.

The distance from the mansion’s low gate to the entrance was quite far. The 300-pyeong lot was well-utilized, leaving a wide front yard.

Would the backyard be the same? It’d be nice for a garden. …Come to think of it, what about my garden?

Lost in thought while walking, Chiyeong bumped his forehead lightly against Baekhan’s back. He hadn’t realized he was that close.

“You’re a real piece of work. Kinda clumsy, huh?”

“…Since we’re here, give me my stuff.”

“Why would I give you your stuff?”

“I need to go find a place—”

“You’re not going, and I’m not giving. Have three kids or something. Then I’ll think about letting you go.”

Chiyeong frowned involuntarily. Baekhan, seeing Chiyeong’s openly irritated expression, let out a scoff.

“Ready to meet the kids at our house?”

“…”

“Well, with that pretty face, you’ll be fine.”

Baekhan said it like he was humming. Chiyeong’s face flushed, then paled with shock.

Pretty? Was that meant to mock him?

Coming from someone whose face looked like it was crafted with divine care, calling Chiyeong’s pale, clean skin—otherwise unremarkable—pretty? The ways to insult were endless.

His face wasn’t particularly masculine, nor was it elegantly refined like Gi Baekhan’s.

Chiyeong had known this even during the two years he lived in delusion.

“Get inside.”

But Baekhan, unbothered by Chiyeong’s shock, pushed his back toward the entrance.

The lit mansion entrance looked warm under the soft white lights.

But Chiyeong thought this would be the last warmth he’d see in this house.

Bringing an F-rank guide to the quarters—Chunran’s team members would likely find it insulting, if anything.

Chiyeong let out a short sigh, but the force pushing him from behind left no room to retreat.

In the end, he took his first step, heavy with a sigh.

The moment he stepped into the Chunran quarters, Chiyeong couldn’t resist the hippocampus’s command to recall old memories.

Gi Baekhan, urging him to meet the Chunran team members, flashed through his mind before he could stop it.

“…You can take it to go, so can you stop eating like a refugee?”

At 18, Chiyeong had his first hamburger. The idea of “who doesn’t know hamburgers these days” was laughable to him.

The orphanage director didn’t abuse or oppress the kids, but he skimmed off subsidies and donations diligently.

Money collected for Children’s Day or fall sports festivals was evidenced only by a photo of the kids in their best clothes.

Photos of a sports festival that never happened, or kids smiling with gift boxes on Children’s Day, served as proof for subsidies.

The non-existent sports festival ended with a single kimbap roll split between two, and the gift boxes, stacked to the ceiling, were just well-wrapped empties.

After being kidnapped by Ieok, he lived only in the mountains. With “rebel army” prefixed to Ieok’s name, their range of movement was limited.

Funded by neighboring countries or Middle Eastern terrorists for profit, Ieok had to live hidden from modern society’s CCTV.

Even espers, who seemed to boast divine powers to outsiders, couldn’t fully escape modern conveniences.

Chiyeong lived confined in the mountains, working as a kitchen hand.

That day was when the matching rate results came in.

Upon hearing the 95% matching rate, the man looked at Chiyeong with an indescribable expression.

A mix of slight joy, some yearning, overwhelming desire, and barely contained, explosive elation. They blended, making his beautiful face look strange.

Flustered, meeting that gaze, Chiyeong heard the man say with a bright smile:

“Let’s go eat something good.”

And they arrived at Nurim-dong, the Center’s commercial district.

The problem was that when asked, “What do you want to eat?” Chiyeong’s easy admission that he only knew a few home-cooked dishes revealed he didn’t know food names.

Baekhan chuckled and said they’d start with something simple, taking Chiyeong to a franchise burger joint.

Hearing “1954 Burger,” Chiyeong thought there were 1954 versions and said he wanted to try “1953 Burger” next, earning a mocking laugh.

The fluffy fries, fizzy cola, and rich meaty scent from the patty made Chiyeong’s stomach rumble. Eating ravenously, he drew the man’s disapproval.

“You’re not some country bumpkin seeing a train for the first time. Eat normally. You can take it to go.”

Embarrassed by the disdain but soon elated—you could take this stuff with you?

You could eat something this amazing anywhere? Chiyeong thought an unbelievable stroke of luck had hit him.

Back then, to Chiyeong, everything outside Ieok felt like paradise. A naive time, not knowing that outside hell was still hell.

“Let’s go meet the team after you eat.”

“Teawm membuhs?”

“Not ‘teawm,’ team.”

Baekhan had chuckled at Chiyeong’s slurred pronunciation. It was a genuine smile, rare for the current Chiyeong to see, tinged with something like affection.

Seeing that smile, the tears that welled up as cola scratched his throat made him wonder if they were actually from his racing heart.

With his arm on the white burger joint table, chin resting, Baekhan didn’t take his eyes off Chiyeong.

Sunlight streaming through the window grazed one of his eyes and the sharp ridge of his nose. The high bridge cast a shadow on the other side of his face.

Chiyeong, forgetting his food, stared blankly at the sight. It wasn’t just a beautiful human—it was like gazing at vast natural scenery, instinctively awe-inspiring.

Baekhan, tapping Chiyeong’s gaping jaw shut with his index finger, grinned.

“They’re dying to meet their sister-in-law.”

How had his heart felt at those words?

What had he thought?

That part he couldn’t recall. But one thing was certain: the looks in the team members’ eyes back then weren’t the same as now.

“Sister-in-law’s back after a while, and everyone’s acting all weird.”

Baekhan stood with his arms crossed, smiling, but it wasn’t a smile of joy or happiness in the dictionary sense.

If anything, it seemed more like an intent to intimidate or suppress. Chiyeong glanced at Baekhan, then averted his eyes from the team members frozen in awkwardness.

“…Uh, hello, sir. Second Lieutenant Lee Inkyo!”

Only the youngest, unable to bear the commander’s demeanor, saluted Chiyeong with a pale face. Chiyeong returned a brief salute, not hiding his slightly awkward attitude.

They seemed to know who he was without him saying, and he didn’t want any more attention than this. Even now, four pairs of eyes were staring holes through him.

“…What’s this?”

Finally unable to hold back, First Lieutenant Kim Min-woo spoke up.

Chiyeong glanced at him, then lowered his eyes again. One of Gi Baekhan’s eyebrows shot up.

“What’s what?”

“Didn’t someone request a team guide? Even so, what kind of rule is this?”

“Oh, keep going.”

The corners of Gi Baekhan’s mouth slowly curled upward. The team members instinctively got goosebumps.

Gi Baekhan had a bad personality, but he didn’t always smile like that. Whenever he did, trouble followed.

When the Bab al-Wastani gate, standing since the Abbasid dynasty, was lifted by Baekhan’s ability and crashed onto terrorists’ heads, he’d worn that smile. When he tore out a Japanese Self-Defense Force colonel’s cruciate ligament with his bare hands during a Korea-Japan joint exercise, he’d worn that smile.

Usually, it ended with him in the brig, but Baekhan always emerged unscathed, ready to torment more people like the lunatic he was.

Facing that smile again after a year and a half, the team members felt chills down their spines.

Park Hyeongin smacked Kim Min-woo’s back. Reflexively, Kim Min-woo spat out a welcome.

“What’s there to keep going? Welcome, Lieutenant Ahn.”

Kim Min-woo extended his hand for a handshake. His eyes still looked disapproving, but his demeanor was impeccably professional, like a top-tier soldier.

Thinking they were full of nonsense, Chiyeong reached out and shook his hand. He then shook hands in turn with Deputy Commander Park Hyeongin, First Lieutenant Heo Inna, and Second Lieutenant Lee Inkyo.

‘…This guy’s seriously gonna make me live here.’

Half wondering why Baekhan was acting like this, half apathetic, Chiyeong looked at him. He’d probably change his mind soon.

Five years ago, hadn’t he acted like he’d cherish him forever, only to change his mind overnight?

The least trustworthy thing was Chiyeong’s life, and the next was Gi Baekhan. Both had already lost his trust.

“Who said anything about a team guide? The kid’s homeless and pitiful. Would an esper abandon a guide in distress?”

A guy who’d probably abandon not just a guide but their great-grandfather spoke so smoothly.

The team members, faces hardened, parroted their welcomes.

Chiyeong didn’t return the greetings.

Their welcomes were fake, and saying thanks would be his own lie, so why exchange falsehoods?

Neither side was thrilled to see the other, yet Gi Baekhan clapped his hands as if witnessing something touching.

About to demand what this was all about, Chiyeong saw Baekhan turn abruptly and say to him:

“You’ll use the second floor. Your stuff’s already there.”

“…Wait, so the stuff that went up to the second floor all embarrassed, saying ‘excuse me,’ was Lieutenant Ahn’s?”

“Guess so… I thought I sensed the commander’s aura on it…”

The team members whispered among themselves.

Without even glancing at them, Baekhan said he’d show the way and climbed the stairs. Chiyeong sighed and had no choice but to follow.

He wanted to ask who else lived on the second floor, but his mouth wouldn’t open. Maybe he’d just stay until he found a place.

After everything he’d been through today, he had no energy to argue about anything.

Chiyeong slowly followed the man up to the second floor.

The staircase was a split-floor design. With an extra level staggered between floors, the second floor had a clear view of the first, but the first couldn’t see the second.

…Come to think of it, he’d heard the man’s room was on the second floor too. Surely it’s not next door. In a house this big, there must be other rooms.

But contrary to Chiyeong’s hopes, their rooms were side by side.

“…Is this the only room?”

“What, wanna move into mine? Pretty bold. I don’t mind.”

Does this hippo bastard think he can say anything…?

Baekhan kept chuckling, even seeing Chiyeong’s irritated face. It was a knowing laugh, making Chiyeong want to punch him.

“Sorry if you were hoping, but I’m not planning to mess with you in the quarters, so just go in.”

“…Who was hoping?”

Leaning against the wall between his room and Chiyeong’s, Baekhan grinned.

The second-floor hallway was lit with soft white bulbs. The dim light made Baekhan’s features look much softer. Chiyeong bit his lip.

“Really? I’m pretty excited, though.”

“…”

“Pray the soundproofing’s good. Who knows what I’ll do while calling your name.”

Baekhan waved his arm up and down. It was a blatant gesture.

That crazy hippo bastard. Chiyeong’s brow furrowed instantly. Still wearing a kind smile, Baekhan opened Chiyeong’s door for him.

“So you’d better sleep quick, right?”

Chiyeong didn’t reply and walked inside. He heard the door close behind him but didn’t look back.

Contrary to his expectation of scattered belongings, the room was fairly tidy, with his stuff gathered in one spot.

The room itself was quite different from the one in the guide-exclusive quarters. It was spacious too—about the size of his old room and narrow living room combined.

“There’s even a TV…”

A TV stood on one side, a trendy stand model. Not knowing how to use it, Chiyeong tapped its edge with his index finger, then sat on a single-seater sofa nearby.

“…”

He’d have to leave soon, but the clean, nice room did lift his mood.

For the first two years at the Center, he’d been dazed, unable to believe such luck had come to him. Knowing now it was fleeting, he wondered if he’d have enjoyed it more.

Since he knew staying in this nice room at these quarters was another fleeting stroke of luck, he decided to enjoy it this time.

After all, once he completed the mission assigned by the Operations Bureau, as promised with Director Son, he’d be discharged.

The government, greedy for espers and guides, created laws and contracts to keep them bound, but they wouldn’t care much about an F-rank.

Or he could switch to a short-term contract, living outside and commuting to the Center as a part-time worker.

Deciding to leave made his heart lighter. Why had he struggled so hard for the past five years?

It was no different from clinging to something impossible, fighting tooth and nail.

He’d desperately wanted to stay by Baekhan’s side, to be recognized. As his guide, bonded through imprinting, he’d wanted to prove his worth.

Now, he no longer thought that way. He didn’t want Baekhan’s recognition, and others’ approval was even less necessary.

The guides at the communal guiding room constantly harassed and belittled him.

It used to be agonizing. He wanted to do well, but it felt like being treated as less than human.

Now, he had no such expectations or hopes.

Maybe because he’d been treated as subhuman so much, he couldn’t see most people as anything more than scum.

Only now, with all expectations and hopes collapsed, did Chiyeong finally feel at ease.

“Wow…”

The gasp came when he saw the small attached bathroom. Brand-new toiletries and clean, light gray square tiles caught his eye.

Unlike the harsh fluorescent lights elsewhere in the house, the bathroom had soft white lighting. A short, linear light fixture sat above the sink mirror.

Pushing aside his lingering irritation, Chiyeong started unpacking his belongings.