I am a Guide Who Killed an Esper.

Back at the office, Jeong Yoonui handed out copies of the meeting materials and delivered the updates with little enthusiasm.

“Here’s the executive meeting summary. First, Operations: the push to upgrade the headquarters to ministry status is ongoing. Be cautious not to give the media any ammunition. Focus on improving performance and uncovering positive stories. Next, Support: rising cases of addiction and nervous exhaustion among Espers, with an increase in high-risk incidents. And as for Response, I don’t know—Manager Park came in, yelled for a bit, and left.”

His skeletal summary, stripped down to only the core points, was met with half-hearted nods. It was obvious no one cared much about executive trends or organizational updates.

In this team, these “summary meetings” were nothing more than an excuse for coffee breaks where the team could chat freely without judgment. Everyone in the room had long been pushed off the promotion track, relegated to the organization’s outskirts. What happened in the main office hardly mattered to them.

Holding cups of instant coffee, the men indulged in a mix of small talk and light work discussions. But as the clock neared the end of the workday, they promptly began packing up.

“It’s 6 o’clock. Let’s call it a day. Jungwoo, you finish drafting the data handover reports. I’ll do one last round through the detention center before heading home,” Yoonui said.

By 5:59 PM, every monitor in the office was already turned off—a model of efficient workplace behavior. Not that Yoonui had any plans to overwork himself, so he left the office briskly, heading to check on the day’s absentees—all Espers, of course.

The detention center was lined with single cells separated by reinforced glass walls along one side. The design allowed for immediate observation of any incidents inside, but it also meant the detained Espers had a clear view of the passing staff—especially of Yoonui as he strolled by with his usual indifferent expression.

“―XX!”

Some Espers hurled curses at him as he passed. But Yoonui, having been cursed at by Espers countless times before, wasn’t fazed. His personality was hardly the type to be wounded by such petty insults.

However, his expression shifted ever so slightly when he reached the specialized care unit at the far end of the hallway.

Unlike the other cells, this one wasn’t entirely transparent. A larger, half-frosted glass pane offered a partial view of the room beyond. Standing in front of it, Yoonui peered inside. The on-duty guide noticed his presence and gave him a polite nod, which he returned before glancing at the Esper on the bed.

The patient seemed conscious, though their physical injuries remained far from healed.

Many civilians, unfamiliar with Espers and guides, believed that no matter how badly an Esper was damaged, proper guiding could restore them perfectly.

But even Espers, with their extraordinary abilities, were still mortal. They were merely fragile human bodies carrying powers far beyond what they were built to handle. And guides were no different—their healing abilities were not omnipotent. In the end, both Espers and guides were just people.

True, perfect healing—resetting every wound to zero—did not exist. It was like a car that had been in an accident: no matter how many repairs it underwent, it could never be truly restored to its original state.

100% became 99.9%, then 95.7%, then 88%… until, eventually, it was no longer worth repairing and was discarded as scrap.

When will Lee Hyeonju reach her breaking point?

He didn’t know, but if her rampages continued to grow more frequent…

“…Who am I to worry about her?”

A washed-up guide, relegated to desk duty, worrying about an active Esper? It was laughable. Feeling a wave of exhaustion, Yoonui rubbed his face with both hands. The harsh fluorescent light that filtered through his fingers only added to his irritation.

“Ugh. I want to quit.”

“What would you do if you quit?”

Jungwoo, who had just returned from pouring hot water into a cup of instant noodles, asked the question with genuine curiosity. The clock was ticking toward 7:30 AM, the hardest stretch of the night shift. Yoonui grabbed his own cup of noodles and chopsticks, casting Jungwoo a sidelong glance.

“You make it sound like I’d starve to death without this job.”

“Well… what would you do if you quit?”

“I don’t know… maybe open a guiding center?”

It had been 20 years since Espers were first discovered. Many had retired from official service, and there were still plenty of young, unaffiliated Espers with unstable abilities who hadn’t joined the Ministry of Defense. Private guiding centers, which offered paid guiding services, had become a popular business among retired guides.

Frankly, there weren’t many retired guides as capable and reliable as Yoonui, at least when it came to pure guiding skills—assuming his “history” didn’t come up. Judging by Jungwoo’s serious expression as he split his chopsticks, it seemed he was thinking about that very issue.

“Uh… I don’t think that’d go very well,” Jungwoo said, hesitating slightly.

Even without saying it outright, his expression betrayed the rest of his thoughts. Whether or not he was trying to hide it was unclear.

Yoonui gave a bitter smile.

“You’re awfully blunt sometimes, you know that?”

“Yeah… I’m not good at lying.”

“Well, you’re not going to climb the ladder with that attitude.”

Stirring his still-firm noodles, Yoonui muttered curses under his breath. Jungwoo, however, remained unfazed, shoving mouthfuls of instant noodles into his mouth as he casually responded.

“Does it even matter? I’m stuck off the field anyway. No chance of getting promoted anytime soon. I’ll just keep at this for 40 years and take early retirement when the time comes.”

His tone was calm and resigned, as if discussing something inevitable, like the eventuality of death. But Yoonui froze, lowering his chopsticks. Jungwoo, who looked like he was trying to eat an entire cup of ramen in one bite, glanced up, puzzled.

“What?”

“…Nothing.”

Yoonui picked up his chopsticks again but found he’d lost his appetite. By all rights, Jungwoo’s position was one that teleportation Espers rotated through every two years. He should have returned to the Field Response Center three years ago to resume dungeon missions. Instead, he had spent years stuck in administrative limbo alongside Yoonui, an unspoken form of punishment by association.

Another missing returnee.

That’s what Yoonui sometimes called Jungwoo in his mind. Even though Jungwoo had made it out of the gate alive, he hadn’t been able to return to his rightful place. It was a nickname born of guilt—pitying Jungwoo for being unable to go back to the field because of Yoonui’s decision.

On that day, the day Yoonui left the S-class Esper behind in the gate, Jungwoo had been there as teleportation support for the retreat. The battle had been fierce, and in those final moments, when everyone else had exhausted their abilities and collapsed, Yoonui had chosen to guide Jungwoo out of the gate instead of staying for the S-class Esper.

They survived. But in the eyes of the organization, they might as well have been dead. Yoonui had made his choice willingly, but Jungwoo had simply been chosen—a victim of circumstance. Feeling the weight of his actions, Yoonui hesitated before speaking.

“You still regret not being able to return to the field, don’t you?”

But even this rare moment of tenderness from Yoonui was met with Jungwoo’s usual lightheartedness.

“Eh? Not at all! I love this position.”

It seemed Jungwoo didn’t need any comforting. In fact, Yoonui wasn’t even sure if he’d been paying attention to him. Having finished his ramen in just three bites, Jungwoo, still chewing, began eyeing Yoonui’s portion. Without much thought, Yoonui handed over his barely touched bowl. Jungwoo accepted it without hesitation or even a token refusal, grinning as he dug in.

“I’m not greedy. Anyway, we’re non-combat personnel in our line of work, so we’re already at a disadvantage for promotions. We don’t even have much of a voice in the union. So why risk going into the field? I’d rather just stay here, live a long life, and retire peacefully.”

“…Well, you’re not wrong.”

“Plus, my parents prefer me working here. They think it’s safer. With all the noise lately about missing Espers…”

The words missing Esper made Yoonui’s heart skip a beat.

Missing returnees. Those who entered a mission but never returned. People like the S-class Esper Yoonui had left behind in the gate.

No one knew what truly happened to them. Did they die inside the dungeon? Were they still alive when the dungeon closed? Where did those dungeons that “swallowed” people disappear to? And if a dungeon vanished, did it mean everything inside it ceased to exist? Or was it still out there somewhere, in some unreachable corner of the universe?

Families of the missing continued to search, clinging to hope. They demanded answers to questions no one could provide, waiting endlessly for their children, siblings, and loved ones to return. The desperation in their voices, amplified through loudspeakers during protests, echoed in Yoonui’s mind.

Unable to even confirm their loved ones’ deaths, these families couldn’t fully grieve, forever trapped in the limbo of unresolved loss.

Yoonui clutched his chest as an unfamiliar ache settled there.

But it wasn’t out of empathy for those families. Yoonui wasn’t the type to be sentimental. Nor was it a pang of guilt resurfacing after all this time.

“Looks like you’ve got a call,” Jungwoo said, pointing with his chopsticks to the blinking blue light near Yoonui’s chest.

A faint vibration accompanied the flashing light from the guide ID tucked into Yoonui’s shirt pocket. It was an emergency call for guides on duty within headquarters.

“Someone’s rampaging,” Yoonui muttered as he reached into his pocket to dismiss the call. The vibration stopped. He was too exhausted to care whether an Esper was rampaging or throwing a tantrum.

But the peace didn’t last long. The guide ID began vibrating again, insistent this time. Clearly, no one had answered the first call. Not surprising—there was still an hour and a half before official working hours began. Any guides who weren’t on night duty wouldn’t be at the center this early.