Chapter 7
How flustered must that nameless Guide have been? Who knows—maybe a workplace sexual harassment report had already been filed. The fragmented, hazy memories left Dohyuk assuming the worst, since this was his first experience of its kind. In this world, news of crimes committed by unconscious Espers during guiding appeared at least twice a month. He couldn’t become the subject of such an article. It wasn’t the slap-on-the-wrist punishment for Espers that he feared. The problem was the Guide who might have been terrified because of him. If only he could remember their expression. No, what good would remembering their expression do? While he was high on drugs, losing his mind and panting, they probably felt nothing but disgust.
Dohyuk, who had seriously contemplated whether cracking his skull would actually kill him not even a minute ago, once again violently wanted to die.
After writhing in self-loathing for quite some time, Dohyuk finally looked around. A clean space equipped with just a single bed and a nightstand. His personal belongings were neatly arranged on the nightstand. Looking at this scene—more familiar to him than the officetel he’d recently rented—he couldn’t help but sigh.
The Esper lounge was a space for Espers who hadn’t been injured enough to need the recovery room but still couldn’t regain consciousness after guiding.
Dohyuk was still in his combat uniform with only the leg holsters removed, suggesting he’d been moved here right after receiving emergency guiding. Fortunately, due to the… combat uniform’s special properties, no stains remained. Feeling the damp, unpleasant sensation, Dohyuk clutched his head.
“…Maybe I should just die after all.”
He never wanted to experience the functionality of the high-tech Esper combat uniform—a product of cutting-edge technology that inhibits microbial growth to prevent fiber contamination—in such a vivid way.
Dohyuk weakly gathered his belongings and, with his gloves still on, pressed the call button connected to the bed. After briefly reporting his condition to the medical staff, he wanted to hurry home and quietly spend some time banging his head against the wall.
Not long after, a familiar face opened the door before the medical staff arrived and rushed toward Dohyuk.
It was Seungmin.
“Dohyuk-ah! You were groaning nonstop when they moved you—does your head still hurt? Are you uncomfortable anywhere? What were you thinking, almost going into an outburst? Seriously, I’m aging because of you, Choi Dohyuk, I’m aging.”
Since the accident had happened at their joint dispatch location, he must have been worried sick. It was obvious he hadn’t properly rested since returning and had been waiting in the standby room. As proof, Seungmin was still in his combat uniform. Dohyuk clicked his tongue at his caring friend, wondering why he was so concerned when he was only in the lounge, not the recovery room.
“…I know I’m Choi Dohyuk better than anyone, so ease up on using my name.”
“You disagreeable bastard, you’re in your right mind!”
Diligently answering a few questions from the nurse who entered shortly after, Dohyuk unconsciously frowned.
Embarrassing memories are always like this. They suddenly resurface even through completely unrelated incidents, making you want to hide under a blanket.
As if he could be in his right mind. If he had been, he wouldn’t have done such bizarre things. Dohyuk felt ashamed of himself every three minutes.
“By the way.”
After receiving confirmation that all his vitals were normal and checking that his choker was glowing green, Dohyuk awkwardly sat up and spoke.
“…There hasn’t been any restraining order filed against me, has there?”
Seungmin ignored that serious question, thinking he was just talking nonsense because his body was still exhausted.
***
The Republic of Korea guaranteed ability users, except S-class, the right to choose whether to contract with Headquarters.
Up to A-class Espers, who could wield formidable power, had an obligation to wear choker-type control devices, but the Special Law on Ability User Management, which had been amended several times due to human rights organizations’ activism, was considerably less coercive than in the past. Of course, if ability users committed crimes, they received punishments five times greater than ordinary people, but it was undeniable that Korea had a higher degree of freedom for ability users compared to countries experiencing civil wars. This came at the cost of excessive paperwork and various registration and reporting systems that infringed on personal freedom.
Director Park Byeongcheol of the government-affiliated Guide Management Office still vividly remembered the day Guide Yu Junseo first came to headquarters.
After the Second Transformation Period, humans invented an ability testing device with an accuracy of over 83.5% thanks to remarkable research achievements regarding abilities. Of course, not all citizens were tested through this device. After filtering out non-ability users with no possibility in the mandatory test conducted at age 15 by the state, formal testing was carried out when those on hold turned 17.
Yu Junseo was diagnosed as an ordinary person in the 17-year-old ability test. And while living the life of a non-ability user, he belatedly awakened as a Guide. It was during the first semester of his third year in university—a much later awakening than average.
Even while taking a leave of absence to receive education at the Guide Training Center as required by his awakening, Junseo seemed unable to grasp his reality of having to be permanently affiliated with the state after awakening as an S-class Guide. Well, having lived without any hardship as the second son of ruling party representative Yu Minhwan and planning to continue living comfortably, only to accidentally awaken—the director could somewhat understand his feelings.
While awakening might be a blessing for others, for Junseo, being an S-class ability user seemed more like shackles. Moreover, he’d awakened not as an Esper—a combat-type ability user who receives public welcome and praise—but as a Guide, who’s evaluated as merely assisting Espers. Of course, recently the position of Guides had risen rapidly through the government’s diligent public service advertisements and welfare programs, but the general public’s perception remained similar to the past.
For these various reasons, Director Park in the past sometimes sympathized with Junseo, who’d suddenly become bound to headquarters. Of course, he couldn’t deny that 80% of what nurtured this sympathy was the modest “gesture of goodwill” unofficially delivered through Representative Yu Minhwan. Until he received the generous gift contained in a white envelope, the director had thought that Junseo, an S-class Guide, would manage well enough on his own.
But the situation began to turn increasingly strange.
The first issue was the results of Junseo’s Guide aptitude test. Junseo, who’d entered the most prestigious K University in Korea as valedictorian, completed the 2-year Guide Training Center education in just 1 year, and had never received any score other than the highest in his life.
9 points.
If ranked in reverse, it would be the highest score. Director Park, who’d rubbed his eyes while looking at Junseo’s score, calmly pushed aside the test results, pretending not to have seen them.
The aptitude test is important, but not the most important thing. He might have made a marking error. Even if it didn’t match his aptitude, humans are adaptable creatures, so things would probably improve with continued work—this was his complacent thinking.
A year passed like that.
“…Guide Yu Junseo.”
“Yes.”
“Why did you make Esper Seo Jaesik faint during guiding?”
And he was still as clueless as ever.
Director Park, while overseeing the Guide Management Office for 15 years, witnessed for the first time a Guide making an Esper of a lower rank faint through guiding.
“He was fidgeting with his hands. I was so shocked and embarrassed that I unconsciously…”
From his first day at headquarters until now, Junseo—who had made twelve A-class Espers and twenty-six B-class Espers faint through violent guiding and ultimately was assigned as few guiding duties as possible unless with S-class Espers—replied gently with an innocent face.
The tall man, whose well-balanced physique could easily be mistaken for an Esper rather than a Guide, looked nothing short of an angel with his snow-white face.
Even Director Park, when he’d first received the report of the fainting incident, had suspected that this frail-looking man might be suffering from malicious bullying by other men. Of course, that thought disappeared within a week. Victims appeared in succession.
The guiding was clearly progressing successfully, yet Espers were falling ill instead of feeling stable. It was a reaction never before witnessed. The side effects reported by most Espers who received guiding from Junseo were as follows:
Psychological shock, dry heaving, headache.
The side effects worsened the lower the rank of the Esper receiving guiding, and since Junseo was the first such case ever, even after a year, it remained unclear how to resolve this. It was even ambiguous how to formally reprimand him. This was because the control devices of the unconscious Espers conspicuously emitted green light.
“Huh…”
Remarkably, Junseo was also the first Guide to receive an anonymous complaint. Someone anonymous had diligently submitted a recording as evidence, and Director Park’s eyes nearly popped out when he heard it.
[“…The Guide is the one holding the leash.”]
[“This bastard doesn’t know his place.”]
Of course, the recording and the complaint disappeared without anyone knowing. Given the silence so far, it seemed the complainant had also been silenced by an invisible hand.
Director Park Byeongcheol’s inner pocket became thick with the weight of another “gesture of goodwill,” but his hair became thinner.
Nevertheless, the director did receive a small touch of emotion through this incident.
‘Even though he constantly emphasizes his powerlessness and unsuitability for the role, at least he treats me as a superior.’
