Prologue
“So you’re saying you’ve been sleeping at all hours, feeling nauseous at even the smell of food, and experiencing lethargy?”
The doctor pushed his silver-framed glasses up and skimmed the chart. His expression was gravely serious as he read and reread the densely written contents.
“Doctor, is there something seriously wrong with our Gyujin?”
Yoon Palsik, the Guide Center director, asked anxiously. Where else would you find a center director who’d chase someone all the way to the hospital just over one guide’s health? Gyujin grabbed the director’s shoulder, a wordless signal for him to stop making such a fuss. Seriously, does this guy have nothing better to do as center director?
“You really don’t have to stay, senior—”
“No, Gyujin, you be quiet for a second. So, Doctor — is something wrong? Is it serious? It’s not something like a terminal illness or guiding addiction, right?”
“Wrong… rather than wrong, it’s more that I’m not quite sure how to put this…”
The longer the doctor dragged it out, the more the director’s face drained of color.
“So there IS something! This kid isn’t normally like this, but he’s been drooping around like a drugged-up chick, nodding off at every hour of the day!”
“I never — when did I ever—”
“Hey, you, be quiet for a second! Doctor! What is it! Is it serious? It’s not guiding addiction, right? Is it?”
“No, it’s just that his condition isn’t great, it’s not really an ill—”
“It’s not an illness.”
Those were welcome words to hear — relief spread across Gyujin’s face. Yoon Palsik wiped his forehead, as if a great weight had been lifted. The doctor set the chart on the desk and looked back and forth between the two of them. But looking again, there was something strange about the doctor’s eyes too. He picked the chart back up and the hand examining it again was trembling ever so slightly for some reason.
“It’s not an illness… it’s not an illness, but, well, it’s not, and yet…”
The doctor swallowed whatever he’d been about to say. By that point, it was impossible to shake the feeling that something was going very wrong.
“If it’s not an illness, then what is it?”
Yoon Palsik couldn’t hold back and asked again. The doctor muttered “This really is something…” for what must have been the dozenth time.
“You’re pregnant.”
You’re about seven weeks along. At those words, Gyujin burst out laughing.
“Doctor, I think you must be confused about something. I’m a man.”
“Yes… it says so right here. Male, 35 years old, S-rank Guide.”
The doctor pointed to a section of the chart. Only then, realizing it wasn’t a joke, did Gyujin’s face crumple.
“You’re joking right now, aren’t you?”
“I would never joke about something like this.”
“But… no, how could a man — how could I get pregnant? I don’t have the, I don’t have that kind of biological function, do I?”
Or has everything I’ve understood as common sense actually not been common sense at all? The sun rising in the west would at least be more plausible than this — what… what is this?
“The test results got mixed up, or the sample got contaminated, or there must be some kind of misunderstanding. I’m a man. How does a man get pregnant?”
“That’s what I’d like to know. How did you get pregnant?”
“Excuse me?”
“Even across my 35 years as a doctor, this is the first time I’ve encountered a case like this. The only thing that comes to mind as a possible explanation… assuming that the patient is an S-rank Guide with a very unique constitution…”
“Assuming that?”
Gyujin swallowed dryly. The doctor pushed his glasses up and murmured, “Perhaps…”
“It may be a side effect of guiding addiction. In theory, it’s possible. If the person has a unique constitution, a matching rate exceeding 90 percent, and has been in repeated contact with the same Esper over the course of several years, then it is theoretically possible for a man to become pregnant. Theoretically, it is poss — wha—!”
Before he could even finish saying “possible,” Yoon Palsik’s eyes flew wide open and he toppled backward.
The crash of him falling sent the flustered doctor scrambling, shoving the desk aside as he shot to his feet. The medical staff, startled by the commotion, came bursting through the examination room door.
Amid the chaos of raised voices, a cot came rattling in. Through all of it, Gyujin burst out laughing — ha, ha, ha.
“I’m pregnant…?”
What in the absolute hell is this?
Chapter 1
[Open Forum] Is that rumor actually true? (122)
Heard YGJ is retiring. Is that for real?
Comments (122)
— Yeah, the Center’s in an uproar right now
↳ Stop lying. Then who’s going to guide KDJ?
↳ Were you off on some long business trip or something? The Center’s been a mess for ages. YGJ handed in his resignation and KDJ’s been reverting back to how he was five years ago;
↳ God, please tell me that’s a lie
You people are insane. Instead of wasting time posting garbage like this, spend every waking moment begging and praying for YGJ’s resignation to be withdrawn and for him to come back. I can’t stand watching the clueless newbies getting all excited like they think this is a good thing. People who actually remember what KDJ was like five years ago can barely breathe without second-guessing themselves right now. Do you have any idea how much it took to turn him into a functioning human being……. You want a national disaster? This is a national disaster.
↳ Stop being so dramatic.
↳ You’re a new hire, aren’t you?
↳ Yeah;
With every scroll down, a bitter smile tugged at the corner of Yoon Gyujin’s mouth. The anonymous board, never short on drama, was overflowing with all manner of bewildering speculation beyond just this.
“You know what that post I just reported said? Apparently Yoon Gyujin turns out to be some chaebol wife? That he’s being sponsored by someone — that’s why he’s quitting, supposedly. Senior, do you happen to have some wealthy lady on the side?”
The man sitting across from him, glancing at his laptop, asked offhandedly. Gyujin slumped back against the sofa, too tired to even laugh at the absurd rumor.
“As if.”
Not a wealthy sponsor — he didn’t even have friends, period. Looking back across his entire life, every person he knew was tied to him through work. Staff at the Guide Center, Espers from the Esper Bureau — beyond that, maybe employees from the Management Bureau or journalists. Having manifested as a Guide at a young age, he had neither classmates nor friends, and it had been a long time since he’d cut ties with family.
“Hyung worked way too hard at life. That’s your biggest problem.”
Go Hyeguk, who fell under the “Guide Center staff” category in Yoon Gyujin’s social circle, clicked his tongue disapprovingly. He snapped his laptop shut and crossed his arms.
Go Hyeguk had manifested as a Guide exactly ten years ago. The senior who had looked after him when he first came to the Center had been none other than Yoon Gyujin. Even then, Gyujin had been a seasoned veteran, and ten years on from that, he had become the most senior figure of all. There were barely a handful of people left at the Center with more seniority than Yoon Gyujin now.
“I just want to retire — I don’t get why everyone’s making such a big deal about it. Can’t I just start a new life from here? I saw that Yunhui quit guiding and opened a café.”
“Yunhui senior left because she married her paired Esper — technically that’s not really retirement either, is it? Her Esper is on sabbatical right now, but who knows what’ll happen next year.”
“This devil of a company. If I’d known it was like this, I would’ve gone into hiding and never become a Guide.”
Whether Guide or Esper, once your ability awakened, it was effectively a lifelong appointment. The Center almost never approved a resignation.
He understood their reasoning. Both Guides and Espers were exceedingly rare. And even accounting for the high mortality rate, the number of Espers awakening was abnormally high compared to Guides. Which meant the number of Espers each Guide had to manage was enormous — and that naturally translated into an overwhelming workload for Guides.
“Overwhelming workload” was putting it charitably. The working conditions were so horrific that it wasn’t uncommon for Guides who couldn’t adapt to take their own lives. Things had improved considerably now, but twenty years ago when Yoon Gyujin had first awakened, it had happened nearly once a month.
“Is there an Esper somewhere who can turn back time? Like regression, or something like that…”
“Why? So you can regress and go into hiding?”
Gyujin said nothing, just rubbed at his forehead. Go Hyeguk caught the silent confirmation and let out a short laugh.
“There’s no such thing as a regression Esper, but even if there were, you still couldn’t do it, hyung. Could you actually go back to the past and leave Kwon Dajung behind?”
“……Oh, come on. Of course I could.”
“I’ve watched you for ten years — you think I don’t know you by now? If you were the type who could walk away and leave him behind, you wouldn’t have been dragging this rumor around with you in the first place.”
Go Hyeguk’s fingertip pointed toward the laptop. Among all the gossip — the breakup rumors, the things too embarrassing to even repeat — the names Yoon Gyujin and Kwon Dajung always appeared side by side. Partly because the two had been a team for five years, and partly because of Kwon Dajung’s increasingly intense obsession that had grown stronger with each of those five years.
“You’re really not going to tell me? Just how big of a secret is it?”
Gyujin, who had still been holding his forehead, glanced sideways. Go Hyeguk shrugged.
“You know the whole world is tiptoeing around Kwon Dajung right now. Honestly — if KDJ heard you wanted to resign, do you think he’d just go ‘Sure, got it’ and let it go calmly? Absolutely not. He’d sooner kill you than let you go.”
“Sooner kill me than — why do you have to put it like that…”
“It’s not an exaggeration, it’s reality. You know it too.”
Yoon Gyujin rubbed his face dry and swallowed down a sigh. As miserable as it was, Go Hyeguk was right.
Gyujin’s teammate and dedicated Esper — an ability-user of the unprecedented SS-rank, once called “bottom-of-the-barrel trash” — Kwon Dajung was… yeah. More than capable of exactly that.
Gyujin had first met Kwon Dajung five years ago, when Kwon Dajung was 19. Setting aside the fact that he had been a minor, the Kwon Dajung of that time was the very definition of arrogant and immature in every possible way.
He was well-socialized now — capable of getting along with people and working hard — but back then, Kwon Dajung had been barely tolerable to look at. Just the thought of that time was enough to send a sharp ache through his head, migraine pressing in. Five years of grueling work to barely turn him into a decent human being… and now he had to push him away with his own hands. Why was life so impossible to predict, even one step ahead?
“It can’t be helped. I won’t be able to guide for a while. And I’m still his team guide — if I can’t guide, then… stepping down is the right thing to do.”
Even being SS-rank and set in his own ways, Kwon Dajung showed a reasonable matching rate with just about anyone. So there was no shortage of people who could guide Kwon Dajung even without him. In this relationship, Gyujin was the one with less leverage. The one who would be better off leaving — completely and utterly so.
“What I’m saying is — why you can’t guide him anymore — be honest with Kwon Dajung about that, hyung. Instead of just suddenly hitting him with ‘I think we should end things.'”
Even at Go Hyeguk’s reproach, Gyujin kept his mouth firmly shut. The stubborn silence ate at Go Hyeguk too.
“What is this reason you won’t even tell me? What’s so big that you can’t say it? The Center director looks like he knows something but it’s clear he’s not going to say anything either. It’s not like your ability suddenly vanished. Just listening from the side, I feel like I’m going to suffocate from frustration — imagine how Kwon Dajung must feel.”
Even at that venting, Gyujin could only offer a weary smile. No matter how much Go Hyeguk scolded him, or how much Kwon Dajung threw a fit after being told it was over, Gyujin couldn’t tell him the reason.
And how could he? So I’m actually pregnant, and apparently I can’t guide for the time being. I haven’t decided yet whether I’m keeping it, but they said it’s dangerous to guide right now? How was he supposed to say something like that? He’d sooner bite his own tongue off.
“It’s just… there’s something going on. That’s all.”
He lowered his head bitterly, and Go Hyeguk let out a long exhale.
“Hyung, you really are—”
He stopped mid-sentence and abruptly pressed his lips shut. Go Hyeguk’s gaze drifted to somewhere behind Gyujin. His face had gone slightly pale, and he started scrambling to gather his laptop in a fluster.
“Oh gosh, what was I thinking — I had something urgent I forgot about. I’ll head out first. Take care of yourself, let’s meet up later.”
“You’re leaving already? You haven’t even finished your drink.”
Gyujin pointed to the cup on the table, still more than half full. But Go Hyeguk didn’t even turn his head, too busy frantically packing up his things.
“Anyway, I’m off. I’m going!”
He bolted from his seat, looped around the café, and disappeared through the back door. Left suddenly alone, Gyujin scratched the back of his head.
“What could possibly be so urgent?”
He picked up his own cup and brought it to his lips. The ice had nearly all melted, but there was still a faint chill to it. He took an absentminded sip and turned things over in his mind — everything he’d have to deal with going forward.
The rumors circulating inside the Center — he trusted those would die down on their own if left alone. Rumors always sorted themselves out with time. That left only Kwon Dajung… but what on earth do I do about him?
“This is going to kill me…”
There was no answer to this problem, and the headache it gave him just kept producing sigh after sigh. He hadn’t been able to bring himself to tell Go Hyeguk, but this morning Gyujin had delivered his fifth breakup notice to Kwon Dajung — and received his fifth refusal. No, wait — today there had been one extra line added, hadn’t there?
‘If you want to watch me die, then go ahead and try.’
He had clearly been smiling when he said it, but it had been frightening enough to make Gyujin’s knees go weak. Kwon Dajung was someone who followed through on what he said. If Gyujin said one more word about breaking up, or about quitting, there was a real chance he’d actually go through with it. How he wished it were a joke — but the probability of Kwon Dajung making that kind of joke was vanishingly small.
“What are you thinking about so hard?”
Gyujin flinched, his shoulders jerking. The man who had approached from behind without him even noticing gently pulled him into an embrace by the shoulder. The moment he turned his head, a familiar face was right there.
Kwon Dajung — whose name was every bit as tender as the word it came from — smiled softly and tilted his head. Like a man who knew exactly what expression to wear and what angle to tilt his head to look beautiful, his every movement was gracefully precise.
He slipped his arm around Gyujin’s shoulder as naturally as breathing and pressed his lips to his ear in a soft kiss.
“I said we’d go to work together. Why did you come ahead without waiting for me? Hmm?”
