In the silent auditorium, only the instructor’s clear voice echoed.

“This person is a guide. They met an Esper, formed a high matching rate, and became a Pair. Just like many of you here, they became lovers and eventually got married. But, oh dear, what a situation—just one year into their marriage, the Pair’s matching rate began to drop for unknown reasons.”

“…”

“The Center suggested finding a new guide for the Esper. Of course, this was such a rare case that it was worthy of being documented in research papers.”

The sound of people gasping filled the room, including from Choi Taehun, who was hidden behind the blackout curtain. Ji Gwanyeong watched his guide’s every reaction with meticulous attention.

“So, what happened to that Pair—no, that married couple? Wouldn’t you say this is a classic case of the so-called rose-colored glasses coming off?”

Even without looking, it was obvious. Whether they were Pairs or not, the guides were all deeply affected, as though it was their own story. It was inevitable—being a guide, this was a fear that could arise at any moment.

But just as the atmosphere threatened to turn somber, the instructor’s voice, now tinged with sincerity, shifted the mood entirely.

“Ta-da! Actually, this is the story of me and my husband!”

Choi Taehun’s eyes widened in surprise. Without realizing it, he turned his head toward the unseen instructor.

“My husband puts on the most miserable, dreadful face every time he has to go meet his guide at the Center. Honestly, anyone seeing him would think he’s being dragged to the slaughterhouse. When I asked him why, he said he hated spending all day with a burly, bearded man with a belly while leaving behind his beautiful wife. He even said it gives him chills every time they hug!”

“Hahaha!”

“Later, during a matching test, a woman turned out to be his highest match. But my husband, in his sense of loyalty, absolutely refused, saying he’d never accept it. Isn’t that adorable? Well, I don’t mind—it’s not like women would have been ideal either, right? You know what I mean!”

The room erupted in laughter, some soft, others loud. The instructor paused to take a few sips of water, their voice continuing to ring clear and bright through the auditorium.

“If you truly love the Esper you’re with… try trusting them, even just once.”

“…”

“Just as we love them without any particular reason, they love us the same way.”

Choi Taehun had always wondered. Why exactly had he come to hold Ji Gwanyeong, that man, in his heart? Since when had he begun following him with his eyes? But the crisp voice beyond the curtain offered a simple answer.

“For no particular reason!”

And indeed, that was true. If a guide holding an Esper’s lifeline was a form of power, then what the Esper gained in return was the desperate longing for their guide’s love—something fragile, that could break at any time.

That was a secret only guides would ever know, one Espers could never understand.

The guide instinctively glanced first at the man so close that his breath tickled. As if waiting for the gaze, the man curved his eyes into a soft smile. His face drew nearer, and for a moment, it felt almost unreal.

Their lips met gently, awkward as children’s play, but the moments where their breaths intertwined gave them a chance to share gazes instead. Ji Gwanyeong planted a small kiss on his guide’s nose, then leaned in to whisper against his still-flushed ear.

“I’ll pass on burly, bearded men with bellies too, so take care of me, Choi Taehun.”

A loud laugh burst from the guide’s lips.

Taehun was startled by the sound he made and quickly covered his mouth, but he couldn’t stop the small giggles from slipping out. Gwanyeong, as if he found that precarious laughter endearing, pushed Taehun’s hand away and covered his slightly parted lips with his own.

Their soft tongues entwined, the kiss deepening as if even a single breath was too precious to lose. It was sweeter than any kiss they’d shared before. Taehun, the guide, pulled the Esper closer by the neck, running his fingers over the soft curve of his well-shaped ear.

And that’s when it happened.

A second sound, one that should not exist in this space, reached Choi Taehun’s ears.

“…”

“…”

“Goodness. Whose phone is that?”

It was a ringtone as dry as Gwanyeong’s personality.

Taehun froze completely, his body stiff like a statue at the all-too-familiar vibration and sound. Even Gwanyeong, uncharacteristically, was so surprised that he stopped moving for a few seconds. Murmurs filled the auditorium. Unfortunately, Gwanyeong could hear every single word.

“Where’s that sound coming from?” “Isn’t it over there?”

The Esper quietly pulled his phone from the pocket of his thin cardigan. The screen displayed the name “Manager.” Without hesitation, he powered it off immediately.

But Taehun was frozen, unable to even breathe, while the auditorium was still buzzing with whispers. More than anything, there was the unmistakable sense of someone approaching the blackout curtain, looking for the source of the sound.

Gwanyeong frowned slightly, closing his eyes tightly for a moment before opening them again.

“…Gasp.”

The sound of someone sharply inhaling echoed.

In an instant, the noise of many voices was silenced. The Esper who had brought the massive auditorium to complete stillness was someone everyone present knew.

With a polished smile that he was famously known for, the Esper offered a slight bow. But there was no one here capable of receiving his greeting properly. Even the eloquent instructor who had been speaking earlier could only gape at him in stunned silence.

In the tense silence, the man—looking like he had just stepped out of a drama—opened his mouth.

“Apologies for interrupting this enlightening session.”

His voice was enough to leave even the guides who had heard negative rumors about “Esper Ji Gwanyeong” utterly speechless. Wearing a leisurely smile, Gwanyeong continued politely. At this moment, he wasn’t Esper Ji Gwanyeong.

He was actor Ji Gwanyeong.

“I apologize for appearing in such an inappropriate situation. That wasn’t my intention. I simply forgot to turn off my phone.”

“…Oh, oh… Ji, Ji Gwanyeong?”

“Haha, yes.”

The instructor, who had seen it all, stammered the question, to which Gwanyeong replied smoothly.

“I sincerely apologize again for interrupting. I’ll quietly—very quietly—excuse myself now.”

“…O-okay…”

One of the Esper’s arms remained oddly behind the curtain, resisting as though it absolutely wouldn’t budge. That was because of the man who was frantically beating him from behind. Gwanyeong maintained his smile as he dragged Choi Taehun out. No matter how hard Taehun struggled, to the Esper, it was nothing more than a minor nuisance.

When the person who had been behind the curtain with “the top star Ji Gwanyeong” was revealed, someone somewhere let out a loud, “Hurk!”

As soon as the sound reached Taehun’s ears, he hung his head like a sinner, covering his face with one hand. His face was redder than a ripe tomato, so flushed it looked like it might explode.

“Oh, and one more thing.”

Gwanyeong, as if remembering something, added with a radiant smile.

“The lecture was truly excellent. Thank you for your hard work.”

—

“Choi Taehun.”

“…”

“Choi Taehun.”

“…”

“Taehun-ah.”

No matter how sweetly Ji Gwanyeong called out to him with a voice that could enchant anyone, the guide ignored him, pulling the blanket over his head and turning his back. Choi Taehun had been in this state for two hours since returning from training, skipping dinner altogether.

Honestly, for someone as mature as Taehun usually appeared, his behavior was so childish that Gwanyeong initially thought he could coax him out of it with a bit of laughter and soothing words. But now, the Esper sighed softly.

Even when Gwanyeong gently patted the rounded lump beneath the blanket, the guide didn’t budge, as though he were asleep. Of course, Ji Gwanyeong, more than anyone else, knew perfectly well that his lover was not asleep. The subtle change in his breathing every time Gwanyeong spoke gave him away.

“What did the instructor say afterward?”
“…”
“You didn’t eat lunch, either. What about dinner?”
“…”

Gwanyeong felt almost ridiculous speaking in such an absurdly tender voice. Despite his mixed thoughts, however, every word that came out of his mouth was nothing but soft and comforting. The low, gentle sentences were filled with enough affection to melt the frozen heart of his younger lover, six years his junior.

In the end, Ji Gwanyeong decided to change tactics. It felt absurd to even consider, but there wasn’t a better option.

“Taehun-ah, I only slept two hours.”

As expected, the lump under the blanket flinched for the first time.

The guide beneath the covers was the only person in the world who could be moved by the “weak act” of this otherwise fearless man—the absolute deity to whom the Esper willingly revealed his vulnerabilities.

Right now, the cunning Esper was taking full advantage of that.

“One of the old men I was filming with caused such a ruckus that I spent the whole day resisting the urge to twist his neck.”
“…”
“And when the director sat me down to say, ‘It’s so cute how someone who seems so self-centered is having a loud lovers’ quarrel in public,’ I kept my mouth shut and walked away.”
“…Ugh.”

From under the blanket, the sound of Taehun sighing and curling up reached Gwanyeong’s ears. Sensing victory, the Esper delivered his final blow.

“There are only four hours left. When are you planning to get up?”

Even the sight of Taehun rising abruptly, as if to announce his anger, was a relief to Gwanyeong. Finally seeing his partner fully in view, the Esper’s eyes curved gently with a hint of satisfaction. With his arms crossed and a slight tilt of his head, he smiled in a leisurely manner, prompting Taehun to burst out in an emotional voice.

“So what did I tell you?!”
“You told me to go back to the dormitory.”
“Then why didn’t you go?!”
“Because I wanted to see you just a little bit longer.”

The immediate response was endlessly sweet.

Choi Taehun could only open and close his mouth before letting out an uncharacteristic, “Ah, geez…” and lowering his head in defeat.

Honestly, the guide had been quite upset with his Esper.

The feeling he’d had walking back to his empty seat on wobbly legs after stepping down from the stage was something he never wanted to revisit. The sight of Gwanyeong calmly smiling and offering a polite farewell as he left the auditorium—and the five seconds of suffocating silence that followed in the massive space—was a memory that made Taehun’s chest tighten whenever he recalled it.