Chalice opened and closed the refrigerator and pantry doors as he tidied up, glancing at the closed door more than once before stopping himself. He opened the trash can to throw away a few small packaging bags — and while he hadn’t thought there could be anything else surprising after the chaotic day, the pasta noodles carelessly dumped inside the trash can caught him off guard once again.
“…Ruined it?”
He muttered as he tossed the trash in, covering the discarded pasta.
Should I cook something before I leave.
Chalice placed the last bottle of Merlot that had been sitting on the table into the pantry, folded the bag, and quietly turned his thoughts to breakfast.
Didn’t he used to like things like… the French toast that would come out at the facility sometimes when he was little…
Chalice opened the refrigerator to check the number of eggs, then leaned lightly against the side of the refrigerator door — nearly as tall as he was. His expression was one of someone recalling something faintly nostalgic.
The knock was loud. Rodeo, alone in the apartment, was startled by a knock that had no business being there and shot upright. The knocking soon stopped, and a voice — equally out of place at this hour of the morning — cut through the morning air like cold water.
“Come out and eat breakfast before you go.”
In a flash, everything from yesterday came rushing back, and Rodeo made a thoroughly disgruntled face as he scratched the back of his ruffled head. Then, on an impulse, he walked over to the mirror hanging on one wall and kept pressing down the stray hairs at the back. Perhaps thinking he was dawdling, that low voice pushed through the door once more.
“You need to go to the facility starting today, I heard everything—”
“…I’m up, so you don’t need to play guardian.”
Rodeo flung the door open and nearly collided with Chalice, who was standing right on the other side, but brushed past him as though nothing happened and grumbled as he walked away. Chalice, who had been momentarily taken aback, let out a quiet laugh.
“You do look it. Still the same as you were at twenty-seven.”
Rodeo turned with a look that said well, that was a slip and was about to say something — when Chalice’s outfit caught his eye. A black shirt, black trousers, black dress shoes, and finally a black jacket over it all.
“…You’re leaving without eating?”
“I had something quick. Almost time to go.”
The clock on the wall that Chalice gestured to already read 7:55.
“What kind of work do you do?”
Chalice raised one eyebrow and looked back. For a brief moment, it almost seemed like the Chalice Rodeo knew — the one he remembered.
“Don’t look at me like that. I’m not saying what I said before — that Guides can’t work, or whatever.”
When Chalice’s expression didn’t change, Rodeo stood quietly for a moment before letting out a sigh.
“You said I was presumed missing. Ten years ago.”
“…So?”
“You asked about the Time Warp, but you didn’t ask about that.”
“…….”
“Ten years ago is yesterday to me. Then suddenly I heard that Espers were just living like that — not taking jobs from the facility. That was yesterday. Right before I met you. But then you said you do work besides Guiding, and… I didn’t see a single Guide at the facility. So I was genuinely asking what kind of work you do. As a real question.”
Chalice listened, blinked slowly, and cleared his throat.
“If you don’t want to say it, forget it. You get so worked up over nothing.”
“…Bodyguard.”
“Pardon?”
“Civilian protection work, bodyguard. And I still occasionally teach basic combat at the Guide Academy. Sometimes, though.”
“Wearing that?”
Rodeo’s finger pointed to the Decorker on one of Chalice’s wrists. Chalice’s brow furrowed for a moment, but he swept his hair back and turned away — not forgetting to answer.
“The places I work aren’t in this building. When I’m out among civilians, I rarely end up in the Guiding range.”
“Rarely doesn’t mean never.”
“…….”
Chalice said nothing, placed both hands on his hips, and stared at Rodeo. The look on his face was unmistakably one of let’s see how far you take this. But Rodeo paid no mind and kept going.
“I saw it in the elevator yesterday — one Guiding session and you’re completely disarmed. If that happens suddenly outside, your protection work and everything else—”
“I thought I said I wasn’t telling you Guides should live without being able to work.”
“No, that’s not what I’m—”
“If a few seconds of Guiding meant you couldn’t work, how would you even drive? Does a Guide know in advance when they’ll need to Guide before they leave the house?”
Chalice slipped on his shoes and turned toward the door. Rodeo had gone quiet — as if he’d never said a word.
“I’ve been to my own kind of worst, and I’m still alive with no problems. So don’t add anything more.”
Chalice glanced back over his shoulder, a faint smile on his lips.
“Of all people, you — someone who came from the world of ten years ago… you’re not one to say that.”
“…….”
“Eat before you go. I’m leaving.”
He was right. The Chalice of ten years ago was nothing short of a god — and thinking about it, the way Rodeo spoke to him could be called presumptuous by anyone’s standards. He had held a position that no one dared challenge.
Within the organization of the facility, there were those above Chalice in rank, but not a single one who could defy his word. Always in a position of command on missions, he was an unprecedented leader capable of directing not only Guides, but Esper teams as well.
Even when Rodeo had first entered the facility’s training institution, Chalice was already the elite among elites, carrying the full weight of the facility’s expectations. Among Espers who naturally bulked up from combat-oriented training, Chalice still stood out from everyone — tall frame, powerful build — so much so that anyone meeting him for the first time, had he not been such a renowned Guide, would have taken him for an Esper without a second thought.
Espers followed him with admiration, and so did Guides — proud as they were — as though they revered him. He was one of the rare few who could freely use non-contact Guiding, something known to be near impossible. Plenty envied him behind his back, but few could openly defy him to his face.
In truth, the only one who ever did that kind of insane thing was Rodeo.
With combat ability nearly on par with an Esper’s — minus the ability — and the capacity for non-contact Guiding, Chalice had gone into the field and simultaneously performed both combat and Guiding without any restriction, managing and deploying each Esper in exactly the right place at the right time. He was a talent unlike any other. The moment he graduated from the facility’s training program and was deployed on missions, he resolved one major case after another and climbed to the top of the organization faster than anyone.
Everyone celebrated and praised him for having already reached a senior position in his twenties. Rodeo had once been among them — but after the incident, the higher Chalice climbed, the more a nauseating, gut-churning revulsion twisted inside him. Because Rodeo knew what lay beneath the surface of the man all those Espers respected.
That piece of trash…
He was not the type to keep that anger and hatred quietly to himself — so every year when Chalice came to visit the training grounds, he would use his ability to burst every single tire on whatever vehicle Chalice had arrived in. It was an act of hostility and contempt — not hiding his ability to manipulate air vibrations, but flaunting it openly.
Yet even all of that, compared to what came after Rodeo’s graduation, was nothing. Just a harmless little episode.
It was natural that the two didn’t cross paths much before Rodeo finished the Esper training program after Chalice had graduated. Three years passed for Rodeo — years filled with nothing but simmering rage — and then once Rodeo began to be deployed on missions too, the problem grew serious.
Whenever the two were assigned to the same team, what would happen repeatedly was this: Rodeo wouldn’t show up to briefings until the team disbanded, then handle the target alone. Or he would disobey team leader Chalice’s orders and hunt the target as if in competition. Or he would botch plans without even gathering intel, and still end up finishing off the target by himself.
Chalice knew all of this was deliberate, and so as the leader, he took responsibility and kept silent about Rodeo’s conduct. But even the patient Chalice eventually could bear it no longer, and when he finally spoke — intending it as nothing more than a small warning — Rodeo unleashed a torrent of abuse as though he had been waiting for exactly that moment.
Don’t bother. Everyone’s busy worshipping you like you’re some kind of god, so I suppose having one person giving you grief is getting on your nerves. But no matter how well you perform, I know you’re trash. So don’t waste your energy and go on your way. Stop ruining the mood of someone who’s just minding their own business.
…Right. I’ll take that. Word came down from above, actually. They said not to bother reforming an unstable Esper like you. If it comes to it, they’ll just blow you up in a capsule and replace you with someone else. They’re not wrong. As for me — I just find it entertaining, breaking in a bull with a temper.
In the end, when even Chalice snapped and finally responded to Rodeo’s relentless obstruction and provocation, Rodeo used his ability on him — as if he’d been waiting for it all along. Chalice, of course, fought back — and with the Espers who rushed in to intervene joining the attack, Rodeo didn’t escape without serious injury either. After that injury, he was restricted from combat deployment for some time, and once he returned to active duty, the two were never assigned to the same team again. No one asked why.
Rodeo opened his mouth wide and shoved an entire slice of French toast into it. The voice from his memory rang in his ear as clearly as if it had been just yesterday. His head went cold.
“Ten years later, trash is still trash.”
A few innocent slices of French toast ended up riddled with fork holes — but Rodeo couldn’t bring himself to eat another bite, and pushed back from his seat.
A gray SUV circled the fountain roundabout in front of the facility gate and came to a stop. A staff member standing beside the gate approached and requested an Esper registration card for identity verification. The driver hesitated for a long moment, then asked whether an individual registration number would work instead, and recited the number. The staff member made an awkward face and signaled to another employee standing across from them. From inside the window, beneath a mop of disheveled wheat-colored hair, an arm was sticking out — fingers tapping an impatient rhythm against the car door.
The staff member who returned with a walkie-talkie relayed the number the driver had given and requested an identity check using the old registration number from the Human Resources Management Team. The driver sat with a tense face and a forced smile — and when the gate opened automatically with a clunk, gave a casual hand salute, shifted gears, and drove slowly inside.
“Individual registration number — I’ve almost never actually heard anyone say that out loud…”
“Me neither. I heard it on the news when I was a kid. First time I’ve seen someone actually use it.”
