But the closer he got — even by a fraction of a fingernail — to the version of him who had lived ten years without Rodeo in them, the more something inside him kept expecting things, growing to a size he could no longer ignore.
Rodeo kept talking himself down.
The collar of his jacket, bunched up from being tossed onto the sofa, cast a shadow over his face like a hood.
“It’s not disappearing. Just because time has passed, that doesn’t mean he’s become a different person. Even if this situation has us briefly joining hands… even if it comes to standing against Ink… that doesn’t mean the hatred I have for him disappears. It’s not something I can forgive. I’m only trying to stop the ones who are desperate to make someone their prey.”
Alone in the room, eyes never once closing, Rodeo murmured this low to himself — then abruptly stood up and shook his head.
The rhythm of his steps as he left the room had returned to his own.
The door lock clicked, and the door opened.
Chalice stood beneath the entryway light in a suit, his hair still wet, quietly reading the atmosphere of the apartment.
Outside the windows it was dark, and the apartment was silent.
Chalice let out a small, relieved breath he’d been holding.
Then, without warning, the lamp beside the living room sofa clicked on.
“You said you leave at 8 and get back before 7 — seems like you left at 7 and got back at midnight.”
It was Rodeo.
Chalice gave a small flinch, drew a breath, then released it in a rush.
“I had a lot of work. I’d appreciate it if you went back to your own place tomorrow as soon as possible. A guest who’s only staying temporarily and already sees fit to comment on things is unpleasant.”
“Ah, my apologies. I’m a Time Warp accident victim, so I’m a little sensitive about time.”
Chalice’s head tilted, and his expression as it landed on Rodeo said plainly: what exactly is your point.
Even in the darkness, those deep blue eyes were sharp.
“Are you genuinely busy with work?”
“Is that genuinely what you’re curious about?”
“There’s someone who says they need a bodyguard. I was going to bring some work your way.”
“…….”
“Your hair is wet, which suggests less that you’ve been working hard and more that… you’ve been doing quite a bit of exercising. Forgive me if I’m wrong, but aren’t you in a financially tight spot right now?”
Rodeo lifted his chin and looked at Chalice steadily.
Chalice, who had already been racking his brain over thoughts of finding a new place to live, let out a bitter, humorless laugh and opened his mouth.
“…Fine, I can adjust my schedule. But tight or not, I can’t just take any job. I’d have to at least meet them first.”
“…….”
“What, you’re not expecting a thank you, are you?”
“No, of course not. Have the meeting tomorrow at 10 AM at the facility. The pay will be good.”
“First thing tomorrow, how is that even—”
“Tomorrow is Saturday. And I know you don’t work on weekends.”
Before Chalice could reply, Rodeo rose from the sofa and switched off the lamp.
The surroundings went dark in an instant.
“Sleep well, then.”
With just those few words, Rodeo disappeared into his room.
Chalice stood in the silence for a moment, then waved a hand — and the entryway light came back on, illuminating the space.
“Even worse than I remembered.”
Chalice’s low voice resonated quietly in the dark, and then he too vanished beyond his bedroom door.
Shortly after, even the entryway light went out, signaling the close of a day already long over.
Social Justice Practicum I
Even on a weekend, the facility was busy from early in the morning.
The executive parking area, usually nearly empty, was packed full — and on top of that, one SUV had taken up two spaces horizontally, so it was a morning where even a few senior espers who prided themselves on dignity could be heard raising their voices.
The security officer who knew full well who had descended on the facility today was breaking into a cold sweat, calling the vehicle’s owner repeatedly — but this owner, registered in the system as neither “executive” nor “employee,” did not pick up a single time.
“I left it there specifically to piss them off. Why would I pick up.”
Rodeo said, flipping his endlessly buzzing phone face-down.
He was sitting just as he had the day before — on the 4th floor of the facility, in Carousel’s office — one leg crossed over the other, the raised foot swinging idly.
The atmosphere was hectic, but the clock had only just ticked past 8 AM.
“This sofa is uncomfortable, but I like it. Figured it was strange for an office sofa to sink you in this deep — but then when you think about getting up, it makes you not want to.”
“It’s past 8. They’ll be coming now.”
“On a weekend, right on the dot of business hours. Are they busy or aren’t they. I’m bored to death waiting.”
Carousel, perched at the very edge of his chair as if ready to bolt at any moment, pen bouncing furiously in his hand, kept his eyes fixed on the closed office door.
The minute hand of the clock lurched past 8:04 and swung toward 8:05 — and then a knock rang out in the quiet office.
Creak—
“What is this, are they going on a mission. Why are there so many of them.”
The crowd that had been filing in one after another down the narrow hallway faltered and stopped dead in front of the door, as if they’d hit a wall.
Despite the door being wide open, not one of them stepped inside.
“What — what is that.”
“What — oh… that… that stubborn bastard…”
“They said that guy was reported missing — this son of a—!”
“No — where the hell has he been this whole time—”
Amid the flustered voices bursting from every direction, Rodeo stood up and smiled broadly, as if in response.
“Security that tight, is it? How are you all this behind on the news?”
Only then did the crowd slowly begin to move, filing into Carousel’s office.
Rodeo bantered about how everyone had aged terribly in ten years — but when he spotted a few former mission colleagues among the group, his expression tightened and stiffened into an uncertain smile.
I thought it would only be the ones worth dealing with…
Ink alone had already been enough of a gut-punch — but seeing the sheer number of people who had rushed here, and then spotting faces he had genuinely believed still had their heads screwed on right, the wide smile he’d been wearing slowly hardened.
“I don’t know what brings you all the way here, but judging by the matching suits you’re all wearing, it looks like everyone’s got themselves a title of some kind… and yet here you are, either completely unaware of what goes on in this organization, or cut off from facility intel. Seems like you’re all just wearing the hats without filling them?”
He kept a loose smile on his face, but the words he threw out with cold eyes drew nothing but shuffling discomfort and silence from the group.
“So — what brings such esteemed people as yourselves to visit our very own Carousel, who I hear has been sidelined up here on the 4th floor, sorting paperwork for falling out of favor with people like you?”
“…Rodeo, I’m glad you’re alive and it’s good to see you, but today’s meeting agenda is important. Step out for a minute. We can do this properly another time…”
“Meeting? Since when do espers do anything as grand as ‘meetings’? Looking like a bunch of penguins.”
Rodeo cut in loudly and without subtlety.
What had seemed like a joke turned into a sneer, and the smiles on the faces of those who had been looking at him warmly began to fade one by one.
“Back on missions when we were hunting, we just roughly synced up our movements and went. …Oh — is there prey in here somewhere?”
“Carousel, was it yesterday that the registration application was filed—”
One of the older-looking espers stepped forward to address Carousel — but the room fell suddenly cold and quiet.
The sound of dress shoes moving slowly through the crowd, and a figure making its way forward.
Carousel and most of the other espers fell silent, eyes darting cautiously.
The man who had entered stood before Rodeo and smiled — quietly, evenly.
“Rodeo.”
He was a man as tall as Rodeo, his dark grey hair — carrying a warm, beige undertone — swept back from his face.
“…Time really is a bastard. How did you get so old?”
Rodeo, unable to hold back the pleasure of seeing a familiar face, spoke with ease.
The man smiled and gave a small nod in greeting.
It was Logan Jet — or rather, Ink.
“The information about your case was… classified. Only the researchers involved and certain specific staff would have known. Not every executive gets access. Even now, in this facility, as you said yourself… there is such a thing as security.”
Ink’s gaze drifted lazily toward Carousel, then came back to Rodeo.
Carousel visibly avoided Ink’s eyes and cleared his throat.
“The details of that incident still haven’t been fully disclosed… not suppressed, exactly, but given the facility’s security concerns, broadcasting what happened like this to everyone is something that should be avoid—”
“I was Time Warped, everyone.”
Rodeo’s voice cut straight through Ink’s warning, and Ink slowly blinked.
“It’s nothing, really. I just jumped because of an accident ten years ago, and apparently there’s some law about not being able to go back, so I’m told I have to settle here. Is there any reason to keep this secret? Then how do you explain a face that hasn’t aged at all? Just go around saying Rodeo’s always looked young, and live as a lie?”
Rodeo held Ink’s steady gaze with his own as he tossed out questions that weren’t really questions, and amid the two of them talking, not a single one of the many people in the room opened their mouth to add anything.
“Let’s cut the dull preamble, Rodeo.”
Rodeo shrugged at Ink’s words.
“The executives are right to think what they’re thinking. The dedicated Guide registration application filed today has Rodeo’s name on it.”
Ink narrowed his eyes at Rodeo, then turned smoothly to face the executives who had only been watching, and spoke.
At these words, the people who had been hesitating erupted into murmuring at once.
“That can’t happen.”
An esper with long blonde hair tied back spoke up with an air of elegance.
“Oh, jumping straight to informal speech. Why can’t it happen?”
“…Recently, the number of Guides manifesting has been steadily declining, and on top of that, restrictions on Guiding are already being applied based on Guide condition… if the number of registered dedicated Guide pairings increases further, that becomes a problem.”
“So what you’re saying is that the executives show up mob-handed like this for every single dedicated Guide application?”
The blonde esper had faltered at the pushback over the informal speech — and as the unfriendly stares of the surrounding espers followed, they flushed, dropped their gaze to the floor at Rodeo’s question, then looked up again as if they hadn’t heard it.
“…The likelihood of not being able to receive Guiding immediately in an emergency increases significantly, sunbae-nim.“
“Ignoring inconvenient questions? Fine, sure. You said emergency — are there even emergencies happening in the world right now?”
