Back in the April quiz, I got crushed by the Chinese Lit majors—Lin Zhilin from Chinese Lit, Jiang Jingchu from Chinese Lit, plus the exchange students from China, Lin Yichen, Gan Lulu, and countless other friends with PRC passports.
To avoid an F, I absolutely had to resurrect myself on this exam. I don’t want to stake my life on a general-ed course, but I also can’t be blocked from graduating because of a gen-ed.
But when I faced the fact that I had to memorize a whopping 250 characters, my morale tanked. How was I supposed to cram 250 hanja into my head in a single day?
After much agonizing, I went with a minimalism strategy.
First, I ruthlessly cut any characters that didn’t look like hanja. Next, I grouped the ones that looked similar, picked exactly one to memorize, and ditched the rest. Finally, I tossed anything that—by my standards—didn’t look likely to appear on the test.
After discarding like that, I had around fifty left; I stayed up all night and memorized them cold. Tomorrow’s only the Basic Classical Chinese exam, so I planned to go straight home after and catch up on sleep.
But life never goes according to plan.
I’d just received the test, scanned it from start to finish, and was working steadily through the problems I could solve first when—
Bzzzt—
The summoner, silent for over a week, went off. It had been so long that the vibration on my wrist made me flinch.
Great timing, as always. I’d been wondering when he’d call, but during the exam? Even so, since I only had to show up at the Center within six hours of a call, I ignored it for the moment.
But before long, it buzzed again.
I glanced at the summoner, casual—then my heart plummeted to the floor.
Code Red.
In all my guiding life, I’d never seen that signal before. A Code Red is something a guide cannot ignore. In ten minutes, a transport car from the Center would triangulate my location and barreling-head here.
With a Code Red, the guide can request cooperation under any circumstances. Even now, in the middle of an exam, I could get the professor’s immediate permission to leave. They’d probably let me make it up later. But even if they did, the thought of re-memorizing a hundred characters for a retake made my vision go dark.
For fuck’s sake… why does a Code Red have to hit now!
I had no choice. I plastered every answer space with the hanja I’d split my head over last night, tossed the paper onto the lectern, and bolted out of the classroom.
In that short span, the Code Red tone sounded again. My heart started pounding. A Code Red going off twice in a row meant things were very serious.
As I sprinted with everything I had, my head swarmed with thoughts.
Don’t tell me Cha Gweonwoo is dead?
No way, come on. I tried to erase it—yet it wasn’t impossible. Espers die at an average of ten a year. My assigned esper could be one of them.
Panting, I burst out of the building. Right on cue, the Center’s car was waiting out front. I jumped in.
With a siren on the roof, the guide transport blew past the campus speed limits and tore down the road.
“Did something happen to my assigned esper?”
I stuck my head forward between the seats, panicked.
“All we know is that a Code Red was issued—we don’t have details. Esper Cha Gweonwoo was probably on-site at Bonghwasan, but it’s total chaos there right now. A building collapsed, they couldn’t get out, and he was—buried—”
“Buried?!”
“Not buried—he went in to rescue a buried esper and then the building had a secondary explosion—”
“An explosion?!”
“All I heard is that he was emergency-transferred to the Center. You’ll get details faster if you check yourself. It’s… Esper Cha Gweonwoo.”
He shut his mouth, like he couldn’t say more. I shut mine too.
Right. Cha Gweonwoo is an S-class esper protected by the state. Everything about him is classified. For the same reason, even if he had died, it wouldn’t be made public easily.
My hands went bloodless.
“He’s not dead, right?”
At my mutter, the man in the passenger seat only shrugged.
Sure, there were times I’d wished he would just die… But I never meant it. The thought that my esper—the one I’d been seeing every day lately—might actually be dead brought bile to my throat.
He won’t be dead. He’s not S-class for nothing. He’ll be alive—just to spite me. I thumped my chest with my hand, trying to steady its wild lurching.
The car blasted through central Seoul and screeched to a halt in front of the Center, leaving dark skid marks.
The moment I got out, I yanked my ID and guide card from my bag and sprinted straight into the lobby. The staffer I’d seen every day up until two weeks ago was at the entrance, but there was no time for greetings.
My voice came out urgent on its own.
“Guide registration number FGA285, Kim Doweon. Assigned esper AAS011. Do I go to Room 305?”
To show how urgent it was, I held up the summoner on my wrist. The Code Red—chilling just to look at—still blazed.
“Guide Kim Doweon, please go to the 7th floor, Room 701.”
The instant I heard “seventh floor,” my vision blurred. Seventh floor. The trauma center.
Something had happened to Cha Gweonwoo.
My hand shook as I took the access badge.
This had nothing to do with whether I’d liked him or not—that was beside the point. I’ve always had a hard time when someone around me is hurt.
A woman with her hair yanked up high into a knot was waiting at the elevator on seven. She recognized me at a glance and swept forward, white lab coat flaring. I followed, catching the name on her coat.
Dr. Park Soyoung.
She fired a question as she hurried along.
“When was the last time you performed mucosal guiding with your esper?”
“…N-never.”
My mouth was dry as dust. Dr. Park whipped a look back at me, incredulous.
“Not even once?”
“Uh… the esper refused mucosal guiding.”
Her pace had become a near run. Mine quickened to match.
“…Then it’ll be hard to attempt mucosal guiding under duress.”
“Sorry?”
“Esper Cha Gweonwoo’s levels have gone into rampage.”
I sucked in a huge breath. Thank God—he wasn’t dead. He was alive.
But was that really good news?
Now it was my turn to die.
An esper in rampage.
I’d only ever heard about them, never experienced one. Rumor said they want to devour their guide raw—that their eyes roll back and they charge you naked. Was I seriously about to do that in front of the doctor?
I worried about him, sure—but at this point, I worried more about me.
Without a flicker of hesitation, Dr. Park shoved open a frosted glass door. I squeezed my eyes shut and reflexively raised both arms to guard my head.
But, amazingly, nothing happened.
When the silence grew awkward, I cracked one eye open. Three or four people in the same white coats as Dr. Park were looking at me.
Beyond them, there he was—Cha Gweonwoo, lying on the bed, lines dangling from him like vines.
“Guide Kim Doweon has arrived. He reports no experience with mucosal guiding.”
Before I could even check his condition, they had me lying on the adjacent bed. The tangle of lines on Cha Gweonwoo’s body were connected to mine. Looked like they were going to use the machines to suck out every bit of energy in me and pump it into him.
As the lines clicked in, I did what I always do—checked the monitor first. To watch the fluctuations of his wavelength in real time.
The graph looked wrong. I’d never seen anything like it. His levels had shot straight up—then the line just… cut off. As if the machine had maxed out and couldn’t measure any higher.
“Holy shit…”
The graph was so deranged I swore without meaning to.
When the guiding began, a few dots speckled the ceiling of the graph for a moment—then bounced off again.
One of the doctors, watching the monitor with held breath beside me, spoke.
“There seems to be a response, so let’s monitor overnight.”
Excuse me? Where is there a response? Those few dots were it.
I glanced sideways in dread. Face drained white, Cha Gweonwoo lay there like a living corpse.
Someone injected a sedative into my arm. Since this would be a major drain physically, they must’ve wanted to knock me out for a bit. The drug worked so well a lovely languor washed over me. With a loose tongue, I still managed to ask:
“Is there a chance he won’t wake up?”
“He’ll wake. Don’t worry—get some deep sleep.”
Seeing the anesthesia rig, panic spiked.
“But what if the anesthesia doesn’t take? If I don’t fall asleep, that won’t hurt me, right? You’re just putting me under because I might get tired, right? I really don’t go under easily…”
“Guide Kim Doweon, Guide Kim Doweon.”
“…Oh no. I don’t think I’m under yet.”
“You’ve slept for two days. It’s time to wake up.”
Me?
Stupefied, I pushed myself up—and the bed beside me was empty.