“I’ll be more careful going forward. And Huimyeong — if there’s ever anything you need or anything I can help with, just say the word anytime.”
“Yes, senior!”
At the bright reply, Gyujin reached out by habit and quickly pulled his hand back. He had felt Kwon Dajung’s stare boring into him from across the way. Fortunately, Gate entry began before Kwon Dajung could register it.
Whether it was thanks to taking his medication at home beforehand, the damp, stale smell that was characteristic of Gates wasn’t unpleasant enough to make him sick. Still, there was a faint nausea — he regulated his breathing as slowly as he could manage. Team 1’s Espers, noticing, came flocking over.
“Team Leader, you were so cool earlier!”
“That’s our Team Leader!”
“Dajung had it coming.”
While other Espers moved tensely to their assigned positions, these four ignored everything as a matter of course and gravitated straight to Gyujin’s side. His gaze settled over his teammates who weren’t even pretending to follow orders, and sank into something complicated.
Not far away, Kwon Dajung circled nearby with an expression that screamed wounded injustice. And behind Kwon Dajung, overall commander Seo Seongmin was glaring daggers at him.
Every single one of them. Gyujin swallowed the words down. At least once training actually started they wouldn’t keep this up. Even these guys, if they had any conscience at all, had to carry some basic awareness that they were Espers. While the thought was fresh, he called Kim Huimyeong over to check.
“You haven’t been properly introduced yet, have you? This is Guide Kim Huimyeong, who’ll be with us today. Let’s all exchange greetings — politely.”
Given what Kwon Dajung had pulled, extra weight landed on the word politely. In certain ways Yoon Gyujin was more intimidating than Kwon Dajung — so they all complied without fuss. Watching them bow courteously to Kim Huimyeong, Gyujin gave a small nod of approval.
“Seonwoo, Munguk — if you want guiding, do you want to do it now? Once the combat starts it’ll be chaos.”
Thinking of Kim Huimyeong’s inexperience, Gyujin offered the suggestion proactively. It seemed more comfortable for everyone to guide while things were still calm.
At Gyujin’s proposal, Choi Seonwoo and Moon Munguk exchanged uncertain glances. Clearly they didn’t want to, but couldn’t bring themselves to say so in case it made Gyujin angry.
But Gyujin had no intention of backing down. The thought of watching his teammates suffer needlessly just because he couldn’t guide them wasn’t something he was willing to accept. These were people who had every one of them experienced going to the brink of going on a rampage from guiding deprivation. It was Gyujin’s role as their guide to make sure they never got anywhere close to that.
Actions over words — he quickly took hold of Choi Seonwoo’s left arm. At the sudden contact, Choi Seonwoo’s eyes went wide.
“Seonwoo first. Huimyeong, come here.”
“This suddenly?”
Choi Seonwoo protested quietly, but Gyujin didn’t even pretend to listen. Words weren’t going to cut it in this situation — some degree of force was needed. Gyujin gestured to Kim Huimyeong. Under a look that asked what are you waiting for, Kim Huimyeong shuffled over hesitantly.
After what had just happened, the nerves were visibly apparent. To help ease Kim Huimyeong’s fear, Gyujin reassured them gently.
“Seonwoo is nothing like Dajung — he’s genuinely kind. Nothing to be scared of, Huimyeong.”
But even the reassurance left Kim Huimyeong’s expression vaguely unconvinced. Gyujin repeated his instructions more firmly.
“I’ll hold your hand, so you turn around and hug Seonwoo. Do you understand?”
Neither of them looked particularly enthusiastic, but Gyujin didn’t budge. An awkward, stiff atmosphere lingered — like children being nudged along by their mother’s hand.
“Pardon the intrusion…”
Kim Huimyeong said in a thoroughly deflated voice. They carefully wrapped their arms around Choi Seonwoo’s back and began guiding.
Kim Huimyeong shut their eyes tight and concentrated. Guiding was an exchange that passed between the one receiving and the one performing it — the experience varied vastly from person to person. Since there were no visible signs from the outside, it was difficult for a third party to tell whether it was going well or not. Gyujin adjusted his grip on Choi Seonwoo’s hand and watched his complexion.
Choi Seonwoo showed no particular reaction, just blinking. He kept fidgeting with his fingers — Gyujin hissed a quiet warning. Finally settling down, Choi Seonwoo was silent for a while before cautiously opening his mouth.
“Um, Team Leader…”
Gyujin met his eyes without a word. Choi Seonwoo’s brow knitted in an uncomfortable look.
“It doesn’t really feel like…”
At that, Gyujin looked at Kim Huimyeong. They were sweating profusely, concentrating with everything they had. But despite the effort, Choi Seonwoo’s response was lukewarm at best. Was a hug really not enough?
“No feeling at all?”
“Well… not… none. There is something, but…”
There was certainly a sense that guiding was happening. The tangled energy was being smoothed out, if only faintly. In some respects, it was actually better guiding than Choi Seonwoo had expected.
The rank gap was significant from the start, and the matching rate wasn’t something to brag about — so a drop in effectiveness was inevitable. Knowing that, he hadn’t come in with high expectations. Honestly, his impression was simply that Gyujin had brought along an extra person as a condition for participating in the training.
But what was the right way to describe this. No offense to Kim Huimyeong, but — if the guiding he normally received from Gyujin was a three-Michelin-star tasting menu, then Kim Huimyeong’s guiding was a soggy, half-cooked carp pastry that someone had forgotten to put the filling in. It filled the stomach, technically, but the taste left much to be desired.
Saying any of that out loud would just get him called rude, though. Choi Seonwoo, possessing more social grace than Kwon Dajung, phrased it diplomatically.
“It’s not bad, but it’s not enough.”
“Not bad is good enough. Huimyeong, you did well too.”
Kim Huimyeong stopped guiding and caught their breath, panting. Gyujin understood the pressure they were feeling. True to form — endlessly gentle with younger guides — his manner toward Kim Huimyeong stayed soft.
“Guiding Munguk here as well might be too much. For now let’s start the training, and if it gets urgent you can come find us midway.”
“Understood.”
Moon Munguk, who had been watching quietly from the side, answered quietly. Gyujin gave Kim Huimyeong a pat on the shoulder.
“Rest for a moment. The rest of you, get back to the main unit.”
He jerked his chin toward Seo Seongmin’s direction. Watching them scatter in a hurry, he rubbed the space between his brows.
We’re going to need an S-rank guide.
If one guiding session left Kim Huimyeong drained, what would happen with the rest of them? This situation was unsettling no matter how he looked at it.
No matter how much they hated it — next time, it might be better to bring Go Hyeguk along. Gyujin reaffirmed the thought.
At that very moment, an explosion went off at the front. Dust and earth erupted, and the surroundings instantly descended into chaos.
A handful of Espers came running to protect the guides gathered at the rear. A translucent barrier formed in a dome shape around them. In the blink of an eye, dark reddish chunks came raining down like a storm.
“Oh — bl-blood—!”
Kim Huimyeong’s mouth dropped open in horror. The dark reddish chunks were not rain — they were the shredded remains of a monster. Flesh and blood scattered in every direction like a scene out of hell.
Following the commotion, everyone’s eyes converged on one point. The man at the vanguard, cutting monsters to pieces, moved like he was absolutely in his element. His jet-black hair and uniform were already soaked and gleaming with blood.
Kwon Dajung scattered his ability with his whole body broadcasting his foul mood. Wherever his finger pointed, a spray of blood followed without fail. It was a scene violent enough to turn the stomach of anyone watching.
The smell of blood seeped through the translucent barrier and Gyujin’s stomach lurched. He pressed the back of his hand hard against his lips. The medication seemed to be doing its job — the nausea didn’t rise — but settling his churning stomach wasn’t easy.
This is going to be the death of me, for real.
Kwon Dajung making a scene was one thing — but in this state, training or anything else seemed entirely out of reach. By this point, self-reproach and regret were closing in.
No matter how much Kwon Dajung had dug his heels in, he shouldn’t have followed him here. If he hadn’t been here from the start, Kwon Dajung wouldn’t have caused trouble, and wouldn’t have been a burden to everyone around him. The root of this problem lay with Gyujin — who had followed along knowing he would be of absolutely no help.
He looked at Kwon Dajung’s back with clouded eyes. Kwon Dajung in a mood could be soothed — that much was manageable — but if situations like this kept repeating themselves, that was going to be a serious problem.
Gyujin’s mind, balanced on the line between the ordinary and the extraordinary, kept growing more tangled. For Kwon Dajung’s sake, and for his own, the answer had already made itself clear. If a small sacrifice could prevent a larger problem, there was no reason to refuse it.
Gyujin bit down on his lip and quietly rested his hand over his stomach.
And yet — because he kept wavering — his mood plummeted further and further, without end.
