Taehun, who had been under the protection of Espers far from the site, shot to his feet with a pale face. The thunderous noise that marked the beginning of the full-blown battle was so loud it drowned out the sound of sirens.

“Mr. Taehun, don’t worry, okay? Everything will be fine.”
“Y-yes…”

Even as the guide tried to reassure him, a sharp noise like nails scraping against bone emanated from the training grounds. Hearing it, Choi Taehun clenched his fists tightly. At that moment, someone approached, leading a formation of Espers in tight formation. It was Oh Jinwoo, with his slightly pallid expression.

After Ji Gwanyeong effortlessly dismantled the prison where he had been confined, Oh Jinwoo was relocated to a training facility turned into an impromptu prison. Fearing the battle’s potential impact might reach that place, they had no choice but to bring him out.

Despite the rough transfer, Jinwoo showed no signs of resistance. As his gaze met Taehun’s pale face, his eyes widened slightly before he bowed politely.

“Hello.”

In the middle of a tense, ice-thin situation, his calm greeting felt bizarrely out of place. Only then did Choi Taehun realize for the first time that this man shared the same “unmeasurable” status as his lover. That composed and unconcerned demeanor, even in such a heavy and dire situation, was something he had only seen in Ji Gwanyeong.

Taehun’s answer slipped out, sounding anything but fine.
“…Hello.”

“I thought I heard something. It must be Mr. Ji Gwanyeong.”
“Do you… can you see him? How is it in there?”

The guide rushed toward Jinwoo with wide eyes. Although other researchers surrounded Jinwoo, preventing full contact, it was the closest Taehun could get. Since Ji Gwanyeong began using his powers, even Espers with clairvoyance had difficulty seeing inside. Taehun paced anxiously, unable to discern the situation.

But Jinwoo’s utterly casual tone unsettled everyone. The researchers swallowed hard, nervous at his every word. Tilting his head slightly at their reactions, Jinwoo answered in a faintly admiring tone.
“His control is incredible. He seems to be dismantling and isolating the entire training ground to turn it into a prison.”
“That’s not what I’m asking! Ji Gwanyeong—how is he right now?”
“…”
“I mean, is he injured or… something like that?”

A heavy silence descended. Jinwoo simply stared at Taehun’s desperate face, making the researchers hold their breath nervously. Finally, for the first time, Jinwoo’s previously expressionless face broke into a faint but clear smile.

Taehun endured several agonizing seconds, unable to grasp the meaning of that smile.

“There’s no way he would be injured.”

Jinwoo’s voice was gentle, as if to soothe the guide’s anxious expression. Someone let out a faint, incredulous laugh, almost like a sigh. It was, honestly, absurd. While they were tense and rigid with nerves, these two “unmeasurable” individuals seemed utterly unaffected.

And then it happened.

A deafening crash sounded from the training ground, followed by the noise of something splitting apart. The walls of the facility began cracking as though being divided into units, spreading fractures like veins across the structure.

“Ah, ah!”

The enormous chunks of debris, tilting as if they might collapse onto the people below, elicited startled cries from all directions. For Espers, such a danger could be evaded in a blink, but guides were different. Without the intangible force of their Espers to support them, they were as vulnerable as any ordinary human.

Some researchers hurriedly began evacuating the guides, but the walls crumbled faster than they could act. Taehun squeezed his eyes shut at the sound of twisting metal, bracing himself for the inevitable crash. Yet, even after several seconds passed, the horrifying impact he feared never came.

Instead, an eerie stillness filled the air. The shattering noises from the training ground stopped, and even the blaring sirens were silenced. Slowly, Taehun opened his eyes, his face drained of color.

At the center of his view was Oh Jinwoo, restrained by special metallic shackles. Despite being bound, Jinwoo casually extended a hand, his fingers moving as though conducting an orchestra. As if responding to his gesture, the half-collapsed wall groaned and shifted, reversing its fall.

Moments later, with a solid thud, the massive wall settled gracefully in the opposite direction.

Taehun could only stare blankly at Jinwoo, who had resolved the situation so effortlessly.

Interpreting the look on Taehun’s face, Jinwoo quickly spoke.
“There was no one on the other side.”

The silence among the others deepened as no one dared to speak. Finally, it was broken by a single voice, slicing through the tension.

“…What the hell?”
“Gwanyeong!”

It was Ji Gwanyeong, his handsome face clearly revealing his displeasure. The single raised eyebrow was undeniable evidence that he was quite angry. He looked exactly the same as before entering, not a speck of dust on his clothes.

“Didn’t I say Choi Taehun was to be ‘protected at the center’?”

“…I’m sorry. I just stepped out for a moment.”

Oh Jinwoo apologized first, on behalf of the other researchers.

However, the Esper didn’t seem satisfied with even that. He immediately moved toward his pair, pulling his lithe body into an abrupt embrace. Despite his surprise and the rapid pounding of his heart, Choi Taehun was relieved that his lover was unharmed.

“The woman fainted, and… the guide is next to her.”

“We owe you a great deal, Ji Gwanyeong,” Director Kwon Dahee said. Ji Gwanyeong shrugged indifferently, as if inconvenienced.

Her gaze shifted to Oh Jinwoo. Unlike her earlier words of gratitude, there was a brief but palpable silence. Oh Jinwoo, indirectly involved in the various incidents caused by Teacher and Lee Hansol, still bore the stigma of a criminal. He nodded, understanding the unspoken reproach in her eyes.

As the tension eased, Choi Taehun unconsciously turned toward the training room. Inside, now quiet, was Kim Gwonseok. With the immediate physical threats gone, rational questions began to surface in his mind. His eyes reddened, and he bit his lip tightly.

Suicide? Why on earth would Brother Gwonseok…?

Taehun struggled not to cry, recalling the man who had once laughed and proudly shown him the engagement ring he planned to propose with. The Esper lightly patted his guide’s back.

“Is everything… resolved now?”

Director Kwon Dahee spoke in a low voice, almost as if sighing.

The researchers, grouped into teams, cautiously entered the training area, while the debris of the damaged building was swiftly being cleared. Yet her face, still unable to shake off the memories of the past, appeared slightly pale.

“No, Director.”

The voice, though carrying a negative answer, was warm and unhurried. Kwon Dahee turned her head toward the man who had spoken. Standing there was a middle-aged man, his eyes crinkled in a faint smile.

“Which department are you with?”

“I’m with the Guide Mental Care Division. I was also responsible for the late Kim Gwonsuk.”

He was a crucial witness in the current situation. The Director stepped closer to the man, her voice slightly startled as she asked, “Did anything unusual come up during counseling? Any warning signs?”

“No, none at all. He even talked about his engagement plans.”

“…Oh, my goodness.”

Her sigh of pity echoed softly. The man frowned slightly, his expression ambiguous between sympathy and sorrow.

Lee Miyeon, busy managing the situation, noticed the familiar figure and quickly approached. The man was also responsible for caring for her guide, which is why Lee Miyeon had trusted and recommended him as Choi Taehun’s mental care officer.

“Director, is something the matter?”

“This gentleman was in charge of the guide’s mental care. There were no prior warning signs.”

A sigh escaped Miyeon’s lips.

Kim Gwonseok was someone Miyeon had seen from afar, interacting with Taehun. Though a guide, Gwonsuk hadn’t found a properly matched partner for a long time. After pairing, he became Taehun’s first companion of a similar type, someone who didn’t avoid him despite his pair’s fame. Mihyeon had secretly been grateful to him, even without ever speaking to him, imagining a future where they remained close.

A small sob broke the silence.

The researchers and staff mourned the death of their colleague. Both Kim Gwonseok and his partner, Yoo Jinyoung, were members of the center. Just hours ago, they had been among those present.

The teacher took in the somber atmosphere at a leisurely pace, pulling out the glasses he had kept in his coat pocket. As he polished the lenses with a soft cloth, he spoke.
“Why is it that people live without seeing even an inch ahead of them?”

His low voice somehow carried through the commotion of the cleanup and the faint sound of sobbing. Center Director Kwon Dahee and Miyeon turned their gazes toward the middle-aged man. Perhaps what made his voice feel so out of place was its calmness, stark against the tension and unease that gripped everyone else.

“He proudly showed off his engagement ring, oblivious to the fact that he’d take his own life shortly after leaving the counseling room…”

The teacher held his glasses up to the light, inspecting them meticulously for fingerprints before putting them on. The gleaming lenses obscured the emotions in his eyes.

“And now, amidst their worry for their own Guides, they’re mourning the death of someone else’s. It’s peculiar, isn’t it?”

Miyeon tilted her head slightly, her brow twitching without her realizing it. She felt an inexplicable sense of discomfort emanating from the familiar middle-aged man standing before her. Ever since her abilities as an Esper awakened at age 14, she had been through countless experiences, but never had she felt this strange unease—a chilling sensation creeping up her nape. It wasn’t fear, but something different, something she couldn’t quite name.

Meanwhile, Director Kwon Dahee, uncharacteristically dazed, stared at him. She knew that voice—the lilting cadence of his words. It was one of the things she had buried deep in the recesses of her mind, a haunting relic of her past she never wanted to recall.

“Miyeon’s Guide is still in university, isn’t he? Just finished his military service and now in his senior year?”

The man clicked his tongue in a show of mock regret.
“Dating an older woman while preparing for a job must be quite stressful for our friend.”

“What… what are you talking about, Teacher?”

The director instinctively took a step back. A horrifying realization connected the word Miyeon had just spoken with the unfamiliar face in front of her.

“I’d hate to see a young man with so much potential get snuffed out so early.”

“What are you saying?!”

Miyeon’s voice rose, drawing the attention of everyone nearby. Even Ji Gwanyeong, who had been consoling his shaken Guide, Taehun, looked over. Gwanyeong frowned slightly, focusing on the commotion.

Standing amidst the group was the director, Miyeon, and… the man who claimed to be Taehun’s counselor. Gwanyeong’s sharp eyes quickly assessed the middle-aged man. His physique and muscle tone were unmistakable: he was an Esper.

Though not as exceptionally developed as someone in the physical discipline, he resembled a cognitive-type Esper like Oh Yeon. Yet, it was strange that Taehun believed this man to be a Guide. There was something off about him, like a faint veil masking his presence.

The teacher turned his gaze from the glaring Imihyun to the dazed director. He read her confusion effortlessly. He had taught Kwon Dahee during her early days as a rookie researcher.

“Dahee, haven’t I always told you?”

“What…?”

“Don’t take everything you see at face value.”

The director suddenly remembered a voice that had haunted her nightmares. In her dreams, the voice came from a different face and a different tone, but it had always spoken to her with the same unsettling familiarity, calling her name in that gentle, almost affectionate manner.

“You’ve got a sharp mind, but you’ve always lacked the ruthlessness. That’s why you make these kinds of foolish mistakes.”

“No… this can’t be…”