What?
I shoved the summoner right up in Cha Gweonwoo’s face, since he had the nerve to ask for one more time.
“No. You feel better now, Mr. Cha Gweonwoo.”
Look at these nice, tidy lines. No one could be more stable than this.
Gweonwoo cracked his eyes open and caught my wrist, peering at the summoner with blatant curiosity.
“What is this?”
“It tells me whether you need guiding or not.”
He grimaced like he’d bitten a pebble in his rice. “It does all that?”
I lifted a shoulder. “I’m your assigned guide.”
“Oh.”
Mouth round with awe, he suddenly twitched his cheekbones and smiled. The eyes that had been muddy as ditchwater just a minute ago were sparkling again. Definitely feeling better.
All excited, he pointed at the identical summoner on his own wrist. “Do I have that function too?”
“Probably.”
I hesitated—never handled the esper-only model much—and he thrust his summoner at me, asking me to show him the features.
“If I do it, it probably won’t work.”
I pressed my finger to it—nothing, as expected.
“Give me your finger.”
He obediently offered his hand. I pinched his hand like I was picking up a food-waste bag and moved his fingertip. “Feels like it’d be in the basic menu…” I muttered, tapping the center circle. A [Check My Status] function popped up.
“This one.”
I pressed down and lifted my gaze—and his face was closer than I expected. Startled, I let go, and he immediately caught my hand again.
“What else does it do?”
He sounded almost urgent. I ducked my head. “Other functions? I don’t really know the esper-only unit…”
I took his hand again—he was holding it out like he wanted me to—and when I went to hit “back,” his numbers snagged my attention. His heart rate had climbed past 120. For someone sitting still, that was way too high.
It’s literally my job to monitor espers’ status, so I jerked my head up. “Why is your heart racing like this?”
I reached for his carotid. Yep—fast. Thumping like a freshly caught fish.
“What’s going on? Breathe, Mr. Cha Gweonwoo. Deep breaths.”
He pretended to breathe and let the corners of his eyes droop. “I think… we should do what we did earlier. One more time.”
“Do what?”
The question was out before my ears went hot.
Fuck! A kiss is not something you just do whenever! Don’t even toss it out there like it’s nothing!
“That’s not it. Breathe.”
I kept my face as blank as I could and cut him off, firm. His brows slumped theatrically.
“What do I do? My heart’s pounding too fast.”
“Hearts are supposed to beat.”
“Guide Kim Doweon, you just said it was too fast and got startled.”
“I wasn’t startled at all. Stop talking and breathe. Now.”
Instead of breathing, he stared at me—serious, like someone picking bones out of a fish.
“But I’ve been like this ever since I first saw Guide Kim Doweon. So… did I maybe like Guide Kim Doweon?”
“No!”
What the hell are you saying!
I smacked my palm over his mouth. Reflexive, like covering your eyes when you see something awful.
“Don’t say stuff like that! Seriously!”
If he shows up in my dreams again he’ll kill me for this. If the memory-fully-restored Cha Gweonwoo ever finds out those words came out of his mouth, he’ll be devastated. He might gargle salt water for a hundred days out of shame.
I gave him a strict warning. “Don’t—don’t use your mouth like that!”
He looked like a man with a thousand things to say, then finally sagged in surrender. “Fine. Tell me what other functions it has.”
I pinched his index finger like a pair of tongs and gave him a tour. Typical Gweonwoo: where my summoner had apps strewn everywhere, his was organized with surgical neatness by function.
“This is the call function. You’ve used it, right?”
“Can I put it in favorites?”
“Long-press and add it to [My Menu]. This one’s the walkie-talkie.”
“Can I radio Guide Kim Doweon too?”
Packed full of the intent to bother me for nonsense, that one. I rushed to say, “Yes. Emergencies only. Only emergencies. And then… this other one—”
“What’s this? [Find Guide Location]?”
“That shows where your guide is right now, but…”
“Can I check it now, too?”
Packed full of the intent to track me for nonsense, that one. I emphasized again, “Emergencies only. Only emergencies. You’ll never need it in everyday life. And the little envelope is messages.”
“Can I exchange those with Guide Kim Doweon?”
“You can with me, yes.”
“How?”
“Tap [Send Message], hit the plus button, then find my name. Usually your assigned guide is in [Favorites]…”
Mm. Of course he hadn’t done it. That’s so Gweonwoo.
At a comfortable distance—emotionally, I mean—I searched by initial letters to find my name. Common syllables, so there were a ton of duplicates. I scrolled and scrolled, and he immediately scrunched his face.
“Do I have to do it like this every time? That’s a hassle.”
“You can put it in favorites…”
“Please do that.”
He smiled so brightly that I froze up for a second.
Will the memory-restored Cha Gweonwoo be happy to see my name in his favorites?
If he’d like it, wouldn’t he have added me already? Espers usually stick their assigned guide’s contact at the very top!
“Come on. Hurry.”
But with him holding out his wrist and grinning like that, I couldn’t bring myself to say no.
Praying fervently that I’d remember to remove it from [Favorites] before his memories returned, I long-pressed my name and did exactly what he asked.
“Nice.”
Satisfied grin. Then, suddenly, he frowned, handsome brows knotting. I instinctively watched his face.
What now. What’s the problem this time.
“Can I remove the other guys?”
I checked the screen. He had about thirty people in [Favorites] already. Tapping through the names, most seemed to be A1 team. So yeah, probably all necessary contacts.
“They’re probably important, that’s why they’re in there. Looks like your team.”
He was undeterred. He started tapping [Remove] one by one. Muttered, “Why are there so many.”
I almost said, Because your team’s the biggest, duh, but held it in.
Right—he’s not the captain right now anyway. When his memories come back, he’ll swear and re-add them all.
Mid-robotic deletions, he asked, puzzled, “Why doesn’t anything open when I tap this Yoo Jaehyeok guy?”
I checked—other party was offline.
“Probably retired or on leave. Maybe on vacation.”
“How do I take these people out of Favorites?”
“You’ll probably have to delete them.”
Long-press on Yoo Jaehyeok, swipe—[Delete] appeared. I tapped it and a warning flashed:
[Are you sure you want to delete? Contacts who are offline cannot be added back to Favorites.]
He hit [Yes] without hesitation and smiled, satisfied. “Doesn’t matter. The only person I can rely on right now is Guide Kim Doweon.”
Once we cleared the offline folks, the only name left in his favorites was Kim Doweon. Staring at that, I felt… like someone who’d just found his own name written in a Death Note.
Not that he cared—he’d already found a feature I didn’t even know about and shouted, thrilled, “Wow. I can pin Guide Kim Doweon’s profile to the main screen?”
I set a gentle hand on his head. “Remember this, Mr. Cha Gweonwoo—you put my name in your favorites.”
You did that. Not me. Remember it, no matter what. Don’t act like you don’t when you come back.
***
The next morning, I finally dragged myself to campus to take the exam I’d missed—and nearly passed out in the blazing sun. Every step, sweat ran straight down my back.
I couldn’t tell if what was on my cheeks was sweat or tears. I’d just royally screwed the Basic Writing exam.
Why did I even postpone it till today? How is this any different from taking a zero? If I’d just taken the zero, at least I’d still have my pride.
I’d comforted myself that I tanked Basic Chinese because I’m not Chinese, but flunking Basic Writing—an exam in Korean? That was dire.
The fatal mistake was not cracking a book even with the test the next day. The title said Basic Writing, so I assumed it’d be composition. Turns out it was a spelling test.
Who could have guessed I’d freeze up like an idiot at the difference between two Korean verbs—to braise (simmer in sauce) and to boil down (reduce).
I’m the one who wants to cry, and the summoner’s the one whining.
Bzzzt— Bzzzt—
A message from Cha Gweonwoo.