Special Operations Team 1 had a perfectly respectable official name — but they were usually called things like “bottom-of-the-barrel,” “absolute trash,” or “impossible degenerates.” Kwon Dajung was one thing, but the rest weren’t far behind in terms of catastrophic personalities.
“What do you mean why! We heard Team Leader fainted!”
Choi Seonwoo, who was on the shorter side, cried out while bouncing on his feet. His light brown hair fluttered with every hop.
He looked like he might have barely turned twenty, but Choi Seonwoo was actually the same age as Kwon Dajung. He just looked younger than he was because he never lost his cheerful brightness no matter how dire the situation. Today too, in that characteristic upbeat tone of his, he pelted Gyujin with questions without reading the room at all.
“How did you end up fainting? Hm? And what’s all this about guiding addiction?”
The endless stream of chatter exhausted Gyujin before he could even get a word in. True to form, Choi Seonwoo had no concept of moderation — he said whatever he wanted regardless of how tired Gyujin looked.
“We just got back from a Gate and heard Team Leader collapsed — do you know how shocked we were! Munguk, you say something too!”
“Is it definite that it’s not guiding addiction?”
Moon Munguk, who had been standing silently beside Choi Seonwoo, spoke up with a quiver in his voice. Gyujin, startled by the sound, quickly moved toward him.
“Don’t cry, Munguk. It’s not guiding addiction.”
“Then why did you faint? You don’t have a terminal illness, do you?”
“I told you, it’s not…”
No matter how many times he protested, they didn’t look convinced. Gyujin looked to Kwon Dajung, willing him to do something. Kwon Dajung, who had been standing with his arms crossed all this time, blinked slowly.
“He was showing symptoms that could suggest guiding addiction — but it’s not guiding addiction. He gets nauseous for no reason and has no energy, but he’s healthy either way. He insisted on going into the consultation alone even when I offered to come, but either way, there’s nothing to worry about.”
Kwon Dajung finished speaking and smiled pleasantly. At least he was transparently bitter about it rather than hiding it. Gyujin let out a long sigh.
With the idea of at least moving somewhere else, he stepped away from the group and started walking. Choi Seonwoo whined and attached himself to Gyujin’s side, with Moon Munguk sniffling along right beside him. Song Yeongju and Kwon Dajung trailed after too.
At times like this — how to put it. Whether he was a guide or a mother duck, his sense of identity wavered just a little. Every single one of these kids was impossibly dependent. Kwon Dajung was one thing, but the rest were the type who, if Gyujin told them to drop dead, would happily at least make a show of trying.
He dropped onto the living room sofa. Kwon Dajung settled in right beside him on the left, as naturally as breathing. Song Yeongju, Choi Seonwoo, and Moon Munguk planted themselves on the floor across from him. In terms of the arrangement alone, it looked exactly like children gathered to bow to their elders on New Year’s Day.
“…Why are you sitting on the floor like that? There’s plenty of room beside me.”
At Gyujin’s remark, all three of them finally stirred and got up. The way they kept sneaking glances at Kwon Dajung was almost pitiable.
Partly to help things along and partly to put Kwon Dajung in a better mood, Gyujin quietly held out his hand. Kwon Dajung caught on immediately and laced their fingers together. Seizing the opening, Choi Seonwoo, Moon Munguk, and Song Yeongju took their seats on the sofa one by one.
“Anyway — I don’t have guiding addiction. My condition is temporarily off, so there’s no need to worry. And more than anything, any training and schedules that were already planned go ahead as usual, regardless of me.”
Gyujin announced it firmly. If he didn’t spell things out like this, there was no telling which direction they’d go — which kept making his tone stiffer than he intended. Song Yeongju looked like he was about to object, but Choi Seonwoo was faster. His hand shot straight up.
“But Team Leader, didn’t you say you were unwell? If you’re unwell, how are you going to guide us? This training is being run on a large scale — there’ll definitely be times in between when we need guiding!”
Song Yeongju nodded along beside him. What large-scale training was there scheduled? Gyujin was still trying to think when Kwon Dajung gave the hand he was holding a squeeze and filled in the answer.
“The metropolitan joint training exercise in two days. The one where you enter an A-level Gate to carry it out.”
“Ah… that’s already in two days.”
Gyujin muttered sheepishly. He was normally pretty good about remembering training schedules, but the recent shock of discovering he was pregnant had blurred everything else out. Translation: he had completely forgotten the training existed.
The “joint training” was exactly what the name suggested — a fairly large-scale exercise. It was co-hosted by three organizations — the Guide Center, the Esper Bureau, and the Gate Management Bureau — and held quarterly, which meant it attracted a fair amount of media attention as well.
“I’ll personally take responsibility for finding a substitute for that. So if you all just go among yourselves—”
“That substitute isn’t Go Hyeguk, is it?”
Song Yeongju asked, his face twisting in revulsion. The moment Go Hyeguk’s name came out of his mouth, Choi Seonwoo’s and Moon Munguk’s expressions contorted just as fiercely. Gyujin had absolutely no idea why the animosity ran that deep.
“If Hyeguk isn’t okay, I’ll ask a different guide.”
He offered what he thought was a reasonable compromise, but the atmosphere didn’t improve. Kwon Dajung, who had been fiddling with Gyujin’s hand, added primly:
“Don’t waste your energy. We want you or nobody.”
“You still need to get guiding though. There’s no guarantee I’ll be better by two days from now.”
He’d obviously still be in the same state two days from now. The baby settled inside him wasn’t going to vanish in the meantime. It was still a full five weeks until the twelve weeks the doctor had mentioned.
On top of that — even for Gyujin, after actually fainting, the words “I’ll guide you” didn’t come out easily anymore.
“It’s fine even if you can’t guide. Just come along with us that day.”
What kind of stubbornness is this now. Gyujin gave Kwon Dajung a sideways look of disbelief.
“If I can’t even guide, why would I go in there?”
No matter how much training he’d had, in an actual combat situation, a guide like Gyujin was infinitely more vulnerable than any Esper. If he didn’t have to go — if it was safe not to go — why would he willingly walk into a Gate teeming with monsters and make himself deadweight?
“Right, come with us.”
“I can’t relax without Team Leader there.”
Choi Seonwoo and Song Yeongju chimed in like they’d been waiting for it. Moon Munguk silently nodded along. Watching Espers who only ever seemed to get along in moments like this made his head throb.
“No, logically speaking—”
“Logic or not, my decision doesn’t change. If you don’t come, I’m not going either.”
“Same.”
“I’m not going either.”
“Me neither.”
Gyujin looked around at his teammates answering one after another with unwavering resolve, and slumped back against the sofa, drained.
Just when he thought he’d forgotten, they’d pull something like this — and with every instance it became more impossible to forget why these guys were permanently stamped with the label “bottom-of-the-barrel.”
“Then bring Hyeguk along too. Or if not Hyeguk, bring another substitute. Make sure everyone gets guiding in front of me without skipping out. Otherwise I’m not going either.”
At Gyujin’s ultimatum, Kwon Dajung reluctantly agreed. Just thinking about heading out to training while dragging this lot along made the sighs come automatically. He had absolutely no idea why they wanted to bring him along so badly.
…It’ll work out somehow.
At least he’d gotten the morning sickness medication — small mercies. Just picturing the smell of a Gate made his stomach churn. Maybe if he took the medication before going in, it would be a little more bearable.
Kwon Dajung, who had been toying with his hand, had by now quietly migrated to poking at Gyujin’s side. Gyujin let him do as he pleased. He’ll get bored eventually.
But as always, Kwon Dajung had no concept of limits. Song Yeongju and Choi Seonwoo witnessed him going for Gyujin’s belt buckle and unleashed a volley of condemnation and contempt. Only then did Kwon Dajung stop, lips jutting out in a pout.
Gyujin still didn’t particularly react.
For Kim Huimyeong, a guide three months into the job, every single moment was a thrill.
Among those moments, this training in particular carried a special significance. To have the legendary senior guide Yoon Gyujin — a name known to every last person at the Guide Center — as a mentor: that alone was enough to fill Kim Huimyeong’s chest to bursting with excitement and anticipation.
“I’ll give it everything I have!”
Kim Huimyeong called out spiritedly. Every single one of Kim Huimyeong’s senses, heart thudding without pause, was directed at one person alone — Yoon Gyujin.
This was the first time seeing Yoon Gyujin up close. Inside the makeshift tent erected for the training, amidst the unremarkable surroundings, there was an aura radiating from Yoon Gyujin that made him stand out regardless.
From the days of training at the institute, Kim Huimyeong had heard Yoon Gyujin’s name until the ears could take no more. And the attitude of those who mentioned him split cleanly into exactly two camps. Those who hated Yoon Gyujin with a passion, and those who worshipped him with equal passion.
There was clearly something about Yoon Gyujin that drove both camps to extremes. Some said there was no one as capable, mannerly, considerate, and good-looking as Yoon Gyujin. Others acknowledged that yes, he was good-looking, but criticized fiercely that his easygoing, water-off-a-duck’s-back personality was all wrong for a guide.
Even so, both camps — those who hated him and those who worshipped him — unanimously described Yoon Gyujin’s looks as “insanely handsome.”
It would be a lie to say Kim Huimyeong hadn’t been curious. Brimming with curiosity and anticipation, Kim Huimyeong had applied to the capital’s Guide Center where Yoon Gyujin worked — looking forward to the day of meeting the famed Yoon Gyujin in person.
And now, in this very moment, Kim Huimyeong’s anticipation had become reality. And the Yoon Gyujin standing right there in front of Kim Huimyeong was, with nothing else coming to mind besides the words “insanely handsome” — genuinely, sincerely, insanely handsome.
