“Hahhh — wonder when they’ll be back.”
Seung-jun yawned widely, mouth gaping open with boredom. It had been nearly three hours since the others had left. He kept himself busy with restless movements — swinging his water bottle back and forth, setting it on the ground, tossing it into the air and catching it again — but the boredom refused to go away. Still, being bored here was far better than moving with the attack squad.
Having manifested as a defense-type, his ability to deploy a wide-range barrier meant that in most Dungeons, he was assigned to stay behind at the Base Camp to protect the Guides. This was especially important in special Dungeons like the 1178 Dungeon — since the exit wouldn’t open until every last one of the 1,178 creatures inside had been eliminated, mid-dungeon departure was impossible, meaning injured members couldn’t be rushed to a hospital, which made protecting the Guides more critical than anything else.
Seung-jun stared blankly at the tent where the Guides were gathered together, then shifted his gaze further out to where Hee-young and Ha-ram were sitting. As he watched the two of them seated across from each other at a small folding table going through their lesson, the thought of Shin-yul suddenly sent a wave of goosebumps rippling across his entire body.
Jeong-min — their original team leader who had stepped away briefly to clear the area around the Base Camp — had returned looking pale as a sheet, and with an exhausted expression, lamented that someone had taken out 100 creatures while doing Base Camp cleanup. Every member of the team had been shocked at that. 100 creatures? How long had it been between when they left and when Shin-yul reappeared? Ten minutes at most? He had wiped out 100 creatures in ten minutes? Seung-jun had felt genuine fear at those words.
Having manifested less than a year ago, Seung-jun had never entered a Dungeon with Shin-yul or any other S-rank, and had only picked up scattered rumors about what S-ranks were like. And so, unable to truly grasp how formidable an S-rank actually was, Seung-jun listened as his teammates — who hadn’t even managed to fight a single creature themselves and had only scrambled to keep count of the ones Shin-yul killed — praised his ability use as nothing short of transcendent.
In the 1178 Dungeon, since all 1,178 creatures had to be eliminated without exception, keeping count of those killed was critical. The team members who had gone along came back looking visibly drained even though they hadn’t fought at all — just kept score.
Jeong-min, who had hurried back after tallying the dead creatures, watched Shin-yul finish up a neat round of Guiding with his Guide and thought, as expected, S-ranks really are different…. His team members nodded along in agreement.
Recalling the reverent gazes the team had cast Shin-yul’s way, Seung-jun made a sour face.
That whole S-rank thing. One lucky manifestation and your whole life’s sorted.
Seung-jun shoved the water bottle into the ground.
In the first place, there were only four S-ranks, and A-ranks could be counted on one hand. His own rank — B-rank — was already considered quite high. On top of that, a wide-range barrier was rare, and he was regarded as quite capable among defense-types. Because of that, he’d lived in reasonable satisfaction knowing his ability meant he didn’t need to throw himself into dangerous combat, and that teams always preferred to have him. But witnessing Shin-yul’s composure even in a Dungeon that had everyone else tense — his overwhelming ability, the admiring gazes of everyone around him — made the emotion of envy creep up slowly inside Seung-jun.
The one area where he’d thought he and Shin-yul were comparable — or where he might even have the edge, if he was being honest — was Guiding. No one was unaware of Han Shin-yul’s Guiding problem. They’d reportedly gone as far as requesting cooperation from overseas to search for options, and still hadn’t found a single Guide with a Matching Rate above 50%.
Every time Seung-jun had spotted the always-tired, always-irritable-looking Shin-yul at The Center, he’d sneered to himself: what use is an S-rank Esper if he can’t even receive Guiding? He himself didn’t have a Pair Guide either, but not having a Pair was different from being unable to receive Guiding at all. Watching that same Shin-yul suddenly acquire a Pair Guide and walk around with a settled, relaxed expression instead of his former tightly-wound, cold one made Seung-jun’s insides twist.
Seung-jun fixed a sticky gaze on Ha-ram — the Guide with whom he had his highest Matching Rate. Since Ha-ram had declared he would not form a Pair with any Esper, Seung-jun, who had been angling for him, had been left to do nothing but watch from afar like a dog that had chased a chicken right off a cliff. On top of that, even Jang Tae-seong — an S-rank — had already been courting Ha-ram, and Ha-ram had turned even him down and remained a Center Guide. There was nothing Seung-jun could do about that.
Seung-jun stared intently at Ha-ram and Hee-young sitting warmly across from each other, deep in their lesson. With an Esper’s physical abilities, he could see their faces clearly even from a distance. Ha-ram, refined and serene and beautiful; Hee-young, blindingly lovely even at a passing glance, with a delicate and quietly forlorn air — Seung-jun stared at them with poorly concealed greed, but the helpless feeling of looking at something he could never have wouldn’t leave him, and his mood soured of its own accord. He made a disgruntled face, stood up abruptly, and headed toward the Espers’ shared tent.
Of the 25 team members, 18 were Paired, and there were only two Center Guides. In other words, two people were covering five unpaired Espers. One of them was the veteran Ha-ram — but Ha-ram tended not to provide Guiding beyond a certain level. That had been a persistent source of frustration for Seung-jun, and he glanced around at his surroundings. They’d said Base Camp cleanup had taken down 100 creatures, hadn’t they? Then there shouldn’t be a single creature left in the vicinity. Surely it’d be fine to drop the barrier just for a bit?
Seung-jun looked at the watch displaying his Guiding levels. He’d been using his ability continuously since arriving at Base Camp, and his whole body felt stiff and tired because of it. Even though he was capable of holding the barrier without rest for a full day, Seung-jun made flimsy excuses to himself and let his guard down.
Besides, once the attack squad returned, the Center Guides would handle their Guiding first. Seung-jun’s ability drained Guiding levels slowly to begin with, and since he always stayed close to the Guides anyway, his Guiding was almost always bumped to last. He could have gone ahead and asked for Guiding before the others got back — but proud as he was, that had never once crossed his mind. The protection of the Base Camp was critically important, so no matter what, the Guides always came to find him on their own once the urgent Guiding sessions were done. It suddenly struck Seung-jun as irritating — the Guides who, despite him being perfectly capable of keeping himself safe with his own ability, always pushed him to the back of the queue.
There was nothing to sense in the surroundings beyond the presence of other people. A B-rank may not be as sharp as an S-rank, but a manifested Esper was practically a different species altogether. Overconfident in his own abilities, Seung-jun shot one last glare at Ha-ram, then dropped the barrier entirely. A reasonable call, he told himself — managing his condition. He shrugged his shoulders at his own logic and walked into the tent.
He threw himself onto the cot and lay down comfortably, and for a few minutes felt the bliss of peace. Having an S-rank around does have its perks, he thought with a smile. If other S-ranks cleared Base Camps like this too, I should take advantage of it more often.
At that very moment, Ha-ram’s scream rang out from the distance.
“Hee-young!”
At the sharp, terror-stricken cry, Seung-jun — lying there half-drowsy — froze.
“It’s not…. Surely not, not really…?”
Seung-jun’s face drained to white. He frantically threw the barrier back up and checked the situation outside.
It’s nothing. Come on, they killed 100 of them. But — what if creatures really had broken through? Even as the thought crossed his mind, his feet refused to move. Outside, the sounds of commotion continued, interspersed with occasional screams.
Seung-jun’s hands were trembling. He was in a full panic. He knew he had to burst outside and protect the Guides right now — but his body had locked up like stone and wouldn’t move. He had never faced a monster alone without an attack-type Esper before, and beyond that, he was simply too terrified to go out and see what was happening. The weight of responsibility for a moment of carelessness and selfishness was crushing.
“Hee-young! Stop!”
When Ha-ram’s desperate cry rang out again, Seung-jun squeezed his eyes shut and pushed himself out of the tent. He sprinted toward the cluster of gathered people. It was toward the outer edge of the Base Camp where Hee-young and Ha-ram had been having their lesson. Thankfully, no one appeared to have sustained serious injuries. But every face was drained white — as though they had all seen something horrific. What happened? Was it not a monster attack? With a desperate, fervent prayer, Seung-jun pushed through the crowd and saw the scene for himself — and his face went just as pale with shock as everyone else’s standing around him.
“Hah…. What’s everyone looking at?”
A young voice rang out alongside the grisly sound of a kitchen knife being wrenched free from a creature’s body.
“Hey — are you alright, teacher?”
“……Yes.”
Hee-young’s right hand — the one gripping the knife — seemed to be in pain; his brow was furrowed, and his whole body was trembling. And yet, he didn’t let go of the knife he was clutching so hard his knuckles had gone white. He scanned his surroundings sharply, and with his free hand wiped the sweat from his forehead — smearing the creature’s dark green blood across his face, making him look even more disheveled. But Hee-young, still unable to let go of his tension, didn’t even notice the state he was in, and kept his ragged breaths going as he stood guard.
The moment he heard Hee-young’s words, Seung-jun noticed Ha-ram — slumped on the ground, blood dripping steadily from his left arm, pressing down hard to stanch the bleeding. Seung-jun rushed over to Ha-ram’s side and stammered,
“What — what on earth happened….”
“…….”
Ha-ram said nothing in response to Seung-jun’s question. He simply watched, silently, as Hee-young swept his cold gaze around one final time, drove the kitchen knife deep into the creature’s body one last time, and staggered upright from the recoil of the force.
Hee-young stood tall, as though the murmuring crowd around him didn’t even register to him, pulled the knife free from the creature’s carcass, and kept scanning left and right without pause. There was exhaustion in that sharp-edged face — but no hesitation. Whatever it was, if something threatening appeared, he looked ready to throw himself at it at any moment. The fierce killing intent laid bare over his delicate features made the scene even more chilling.
Then Hee-young looked past the crowd into the distance, and gave a slight smile.
Ah, you bastard. Never around when I actually need you.
In that instant, a wave of relief washed over him, and Hee-young felt all the strength drain from his body at once. His consciousness began to slip away in a flash.
Ah, damn it — passing out again. This useless body…. Still, managed to make it work this time. Even as that thought crossed his mind, he kept his eyes fixed on Shin-yul hurtling urgently toward him. Still — at least he’s here…. And with that, he let himself relax, closed his eyes, and pitched forward.
