His voice, full of whining and petulance, made me bite down hard on my lower lip.
There was another guide sitting right next to me—did he really have to embarrass me like this?
I felt like a parent at a kindergarten recital. Every other kid is doing their dance moves in sync, but mine’s the one insisting on doing everything backwards, and then stopping halfway through to beam at me and shout, “Dad! Dad!”
Meanwhile, the neighbor’s esper was behaving perfectly, dignified as anything.
“…Please. Just focus.”
I gave in, muttered it, and slammed the mute button. The guide beside me let out a belly laugh.
“Ha! Just like the rumors say—you two get along real well.”
Rumors? What the hell kind of rumors?
Don’t tell me the espers are out there saying I’ve moved in with Cha Gweonwoo. This industry is already crawling with baseless gossip; I wouldn’t put it past them.
When I first came to the Center for training, there was already a rumor that I was a secret trainee at some mega-entertainment company—snatched away and forced into guiding right before debut. Supposedly I’d cried my eyes out, dragged here against my will.
Okay, sure, I was dragged here against my will, but me? A mega-agency trainee? I’ve never even set foot in those companies. And I can’t sing in key to save my life.
I figured once everyone saw me bomb the talent show in week one—me, raising hell onstage—that rumor would die. But nope. Not this industry.
It only mutated: apparently I had trained for years, but my singing and dancing were so hopeless that the higher-ups tried to stop my debut. The president couldn’t let go of my face, though, so they had to let me debut anyway as a “hidden trainee.”
Later the gossip went full circus—supposedly I was besties with K-pop stars. By then I was too tired to deny it anymore, so I just let people believe it.
This place really is the loudest, nosiest corner of Korea. People sure live with a lot of energy. If I had even half of it, maybe I could’ve beaten Sun Wing in Basic Chinese.
The guide next to me narrowed his eyes, thoughtful.
“Anyway, from what I’d heard, Esper Cha Gweonwoo was supposed to be a panther. A jaguar, maybe. But seeing him in person… hmm.”
He rubbed his chin, mulled it over, then suddenly snorted.
“Cute little minnow.”
…A minnow?
The vein in my forehead throbbed.
There are things you can say and things you can’t. That was not respectful.
The only person in this world who’s allowed to compare my esper to a flea, a kitten, a puppy, or anything “cute” is me. And here he was, calling my precious esper a minnow?
Free guides were judged by the strength of the espers they handled. In other words, your esper was your pride. Your personal supercar, skyscraper, limited-edition watch. If someone disrespected them, of course it shredded your pride.
If this guy knew how valuable his esper was, he should damn well recognize the worth of mine. Even if Cha Gweonwoo had been weakened by an accident, he was still one of only two S-class espers in Korea.
I almost spat back something childish, like how his esper looked like Paedocypris progenetica, that 0.3-inch fish found in Sumatra. Barely stopped myself.
Instead I forced my twitching mouth into a smile.
“Ha ha. He may look cute, but his power isn’t.”
No way he missed what I was really saying: my esper’s strong as hell.
The petty little contest of pride was still simmering when Dr. Park Soyoung walked in.
“Did you both have a solid lunch?”
Only then did I learn the other guide’s name: Choi Gihak. Didn’t sound all that nice, though maybe that was just my mood talking.
Dr. Park reminded us, again and again, that even if an emergency call rang, we were not to leave this safe zone until given a specific signal.
And she warned Gihak repeatedly that Cha Gweonwoo might attack his esper. Gihak visibly tensed.
He’d just been boasting about having an S-class across the room, but in truth, Cha Gweonwoo couldn’t use any power right now. Even if he tried to attack, it’d be a slap with a cotton bat. Still, the look on Gihak’s face said he cherished his esper deeply.
Fair. If someone slapped my esper around, even with a cotton bat, I wouldn’t just sit by either.
Then Dr. Park turned her gaze to me. She warned that Cha Gweonwoo’s emotional agitation could be even greater than last time.
The thought made my stomach drop. Greater than last time? What would happen—he’d dig so deep he hit the earth’s core?
Once she left, silence filled the room. I fiddled with my summoner, trying to hide my nerves.
The “RESTRICTED AREA” sign over the door lit up red. I looked through the glass.
Cha Gweonwoo was strapped down tight for safety. The mental esper approached. The closer they got, the more my fingertips tingled with tension.
After Dr. Park’s warnings, I expected chaos. The mental esper climbing onto him, crushing his mind, Gweonwoo writhing against the restraints, then fire, destruction, the whole room collapsing—something like that.
But nothing happened.
It felt like half an hour passed, and Gweonwoo just lay there quietly, eyes shut like a baby in a cradle. Maybe he was sleeping. Maybe not. Either way, nothing dramatic.
The mental esper was clearly doing something, but I couldn’t see it.
And suddenly I understood why TV dramas threw so much flashy CGI at scenes like this. Watching it play out for real was boring as hell.
I let my shoulders sink, chin resting in my palm. Like a five-year-old watching the grown-ups play endless rounds of cards at New Year’s. My skin itched with restlessness.
Time dripped away. My surroundings blurred, eyelids heavy. I blinked slow, fighting a yawn.
When the weight got unbearable, I folded my hands in prayer and shut my eyes—just in case, wishing hard for even a sliver of memory to come back to him.
Thinking back, what a long, grueling day it had been.
Running between classrooms for exams. Losing my nationality on the Intro to Writing test. Proving my lack of musical talent in Lyric Writing Theory. Sitting through that professor’s scolding. Eating the spiciest tteokbokki on earth with Cha Gweonwoo. Melting in the sun with an ice cream—
BOOM!
The whole floor shook. My eyes flew open.
I whipped my head toward my esper’s seat—but it was empty.
I shot to my feet. My chair toppled with a crash, but I didn’t care.
“Ugh!”
A strangled cry rang out. The mental esper was crumpled on the floor like a crushed can. My brow furrowed.
Clutching his stomach, he suddenly lurched upright. Then his feet left the ground. Dangling, choking, his face went blue as he kicked at empty air.
I looked around in shock. The floor was a battlefield of shattered debris. A rolling wheel clattered by—it was from the chair, now wreckage.
The wheel rolled ten paces, then bumped into someone’s foot and stopped.
Slowly, I lifted my eyes. And when I saw that face, my throat locked.
Bloodless pale. Eyes cold and still as a snake’s. Lips curled at the ends.
“…Cha Gweonwoo.”
The back of my neck prickled, stiff with terror.
I’d forgotten for a moment. Forgotten that this was the monster who could destroy a thirty-five–story building without lifting a finger.
Could it be—did his memories return? My head spun.
The suppression team hesitated at the door. Not one dared approach him.
“Shouldn’t we stop him?”
Choi Gihak stamped his feet, panicked, and yelled at me.
I understood how he felt—but that was insane. If even espers couldn’t stop him, what the hell could I do?
I froze, lost, and Gihak shouted again.
“He’s your esper!”