At some point, Rodeo had been criticizing the Esper Academy as if he were taking the Guides’ side, referring to them as “you people.”
He was only just beginning to understand how the facility operated now, ten years later, and what the Academy even was — yet words were pouring out of him as if he already knew everything.
“What exactly does the Academy even teach? If you’re not going to train them properly, shouldn’t you at least teach history right? Chalice was the most capable person in the facility’s entire history. Out of all espers and Guides combined. Do you have any idea how remarkable that is… how can nobody be teaching that? I know better than anyone how insufferable Guides can be — your dad being a prime example — but even I had to admit there were things you couldn’t say a word against. No matter how much the world turns upside down, there’s such a thing as basic respect for those who’ve earned it…”
“…….”
“And you — do you really not know why the facility discourages remote Guiding? Though I guess if you’ve never even seen a Guide, there’s no way you’d know. Every single remote Guiding session puts even the most physically imposing person flat on the ground, and nobody’s teaching that…”
“Hyung, are you from a Guide human rights organization?”
“…What?”
“I’ve heard there are a few espers in those too… but you’re the first I’ve actually met. Are you and that Guide named Chalice… involved?”
Rodeo was so taken aback he couldn’t manage a response.
The eyes of a few espers sitting in the café quietly turned toward him.
“I got a little suspicious when you started talking about contact-type Guiding… that thing where espers who get addicted to it join Guide human rights organizations to speak up for them, and in exchange receive contact-type Guiding… I thought it was just a rumor, I didn’t know it was actually true. Oh… hyung, so that’s why you’re getting treatment at the facility? Addiction treatment.”
The boy who had spoken so humanely about the painful history of espers, who had been so progressive about esper rights — when it came to the situation of Guides, he knew nothing, and was filled with prejudice, as if their rights were not rights at all.
Rodeo sensed instinctively that this mindset was not something unique to Brian, nor a coincidence.
He was no stranger to how much hatred toward Guides had accumulated among those who had once led what was called the “Esper Liberation Movement” — but an anger he couldn’t quite account for was churning inside him.
“…There’s no getting through to you. Forget it, Brian — give me your dad’s phone number instead. I need to at least hear whatever excuse this lunatic has for what he’s done.”
“If I just give my dad’s number to anyone… I’ll get in trouble.”
“Anyone? Carousel is friends with your dad, and I’m friends with Carousel? If I just say the name Rodeo, Ink will immediately— never mind, forget it. Go on. What am I doing, holding a kid back like this…”
Brian pouted and got up, then hurried out of the café.
Rodeo picked up his phone and called Carousel right away.
Unfortunately, the dial tone cut out before anyone answered, and a short text arrived instead: In a meeting.
Shortly after, feeling eyes quietly converging on him, Rodeo also got up from his seat and headed to the parking lot.
A considerable amount of time had already passed.
Chalice had finished work early and was on his way home, wondering whether he should turn around and go somewhere else even now.
Since it was two hours of treatment per day, if nothing had gone wrong, Rodeo would have already arrived home.
He had pretended not to notice, but Chalice knew full well that the expressions and behavior Rodeo showed him were, by anyone’s measure, blunt and cold — and there was no way he could remain in that shared space as if nothing were wrong and feel no discomfort.
Chalice kept sighing, his face drawn into a frown.
“…Dedicated Guide or whatever, in the end it’s all fallen apart.”
He muttered with a self-deprecating laugh.
Because his Guiding rank was exceptionally high, even espers with a relatively low match rate were generally satisfied — but when it came to actual match rates, strangely, there were almost none who stood out as strongly compatible.
In all forty-three years of his life, the only esper whose match rate had exceeded 90% was a single person — that esper who had gone missing ten years ago.
In truth, even if that esper hadn’t gone missing, he was not the type who would ever accept Chalice as a dedicated Guide — so Chalice had set aside any expectations around match rates and pushed forward on Guiding rank alone, registering as a dedicated Guide candidate even for espers whose match rates hovered around 50% or 60%.
As former teammates who had once worked missions together, he believed that any esper without a strong aversion to him would at least tolerate it.
But these attempts had failed every single time.
Chalice-nim, I’m so sorry. I’ve finally graduated from the instructor position and I’ve been offered an executive role at the facility… but the conditions…
What? You as my dedicated Guide? I can’t make that kind of declaration. I never said anything, but… every time you’ve put in a dedicated Guide application, the facility brass all converge and pressure that esper — did you not know? Ugh… I just want to live quietly.
You know, who do you think would ever give up your Guiding? The ones who hate you obviously can’t stand the idea of you being free, and the ones who want you in their grasp… they just want to share you, since none of them can monopolize you.
Be careful of people from the Esper Liberation Movement organization. Those people… I’m telling you this because I don’t know if they’d even use drugs. I’ve seen and heard things, so please just live as quietly and out of sight as possible.
The espers who had led the Esper Liberation Movement and risen to positions of power had no intention of letting anyone monopolize Chalice’s Guiding.
They couldn’t afford to miss a rare chance to get leverage over him — and if no single esper could be the one to hold that leverage, they used every means at their disposal to ensure no one else could either.
Any time someone attempted it, endless competition and resistance followed, and in the end, everyone crumbled under the pressure and withdrew.
It was precisely because Chalice had been living out his days among ordinary people that he had been genuinely overjoyed when the Decorker, for the first time in nearly ten years, detected an esper with a match rate of 95% or higher.
If someone had appeared out of nowhere, they would have to be a very young esper — and there was no more ideal situation than that.
It had become clear that to the espers currently holding power, Chalice was simply not someone they would ever accept as a dedicated Guide.
Even the most ruthless esper surely wouldn’t resort to pressuring a small child, Chalice had thought — and so he believed that this time, with a young esper who didn’t yet know anything, dedicated Guide registration would finally be possible.
Setting aside how naïve that hope had also turned out to be, the situation Chalice now found himself in — with expectations that had once run so high — was nothing short of the worst possible outcome.
Screech—
Lost in thought all the while, Chalice’s car finally pulled into the dim parking lot.
The lights came on automatically, and Chalice parked with a twisted expression, then couldn’t bring himself to get out right away — leaning his head against the steering wheel in the stilled car.
He had moved here bracing himself for mornings and evenings of being drained dry by Guiding every day, and now it looked as though he would have to leave as if chased out.
“I’ll have to find a new place to live…”
Chalice let out a long, deep sigh, his figure bent with his head lowered and motionless for a moment, before slowly he hauled his large frame upright.
The car door opened shortly after, and a tall man stepped out into the light.
The door closed with a dull thud.
The sound of dress shoes crossing the parking lot echoed low.
When Chalice opened the front door with the expression of someone heading into battle, the apartment was dark — contrary to what he had expected.
The pair of shoes Rodeo had left by the door was gone, and the apartment was filled with the particular stillness of an empty space.
He’s gone to the facility dorms.
Thinking there was no way he hadn’t returned by this hour, Chalice gave a quiet of course and was about to sit at the dining table when he stopped — picking up the plate that had been neatly set on top of it.
It was the plate he had used that morning for French toast.
“It was too much for one person to eat…”
The plate hadn’t been washed, but it was completely clean.
Chalice stared down at the plate with no expression, then strode over to the kitchen trash can and opened it.
“…….”
An entire pile of toast had been thrown away.
“Not even a single slice eaten before throwing it all out.”
It wasn’t unexpected — but Chalice, who was essentially in a position of having to concede, let a bitter smile pass over his face.
He was truly beginning to feel how hopeless this all was.
Even just this morning, ten years ago had felt like a distant memory — so distant that an era even further back somehow felt closer.
And so, he had forgotten that for Rodeo, ten years ago was literally just yesterday, had forgotten the hostility he carried, and had let his guard down — looking at him the way one might look at a thirteen-year-old child from that long-ago time who still couldn’t control his abilities.
He chided himself again.
The battlefield where he had read his opponents so keenly was far away now, and the active years when he had caught so sharply onto what others wanted were even further.
It was because of that, he told himself. He had slipped up because of that.
And as if out of habit, he sank into a self-reproach he couldn’t suppress.
“Well, of course.”
Just then, the sound of the door lock came, and loud footsteps reverberated across the floor.
Over the kitchen wall, a honey-colored head of hair swayed into view — and beneath it appeared Rodeo.
“…….”
“…….”
They only stared at each other, and the hollow metallic clang of the trash can lid falling shut filled the silence between them.
Rodeo faltered, his gaze shifting once to Chalice, once to the trash can.
It was Chalice’s low voice that broke the quiet.
“…You throw food away often.”
“…What do you mean often.”
“You threw out quite a lot yesterday too.”
“…….”
“I’ll grant you that this one is because it was made by someone you dislike, but…”
Rodeo opened his mouth, then pressed it shut with a frown.
“The shrimp you threw out yesterday was good quality. It’s a waste of ingredients, so if you’re not confident in your cooking, say so.”
“I’m fine. I’m not a bad cook.”
“Ah, right. You’d refuse. Even if I cooked, that would be a problem. You won’t want to touch anything I’ve made.”
That wasn’t wrong.
This morning, if Rodeo had put one more bite of anything Chalice had made into his mouth, he would have gagged.
And yet, for some reason, he found himself wanting to make an excuse.
“…I’m not that petty.”
“Is that so?”
Rodeo glanced toward the trash can as he spoke.
“What made you choose a menu from what they served at the facility’s educational institution? No esper who went through that liked the food there. I don’t know about now.”
At the firm words, Chalice’s head tilted slightly, and a low murmur slipped out, barely audible.
“I remembered you liking it.”
“Pardon?”
“…Never mind. From now on, don’t waste the ingredients. Only two more days left anyway.”
“…….”
“Is that silence meant to say you don’t care?”
Chalice looked at him with a pressing expression, eyebrows raised — and Rodeo, like someone who was about to say something he really shouldn’t, reached up to rub the back of his neck with a reluctant look and spoke.
“…Then at least let me know where you’ll be eating.”
The answer was ambiguous.
Chalice lifted his chin with an expression that asked for clarification, and met Rodeo’s eyes.
“…….”
