Still, I couldn’t figure out where Guk-hyeon had heard that I was tracking the culprit. He clearly hadn’t given the evidence to Han-gyeol because he was waiting for me to approach him…
If I hadn’t been digging into this case, he probably would’ve handed the evidence to Han-gyeol. If Han-gyeol had it, would catching the culprit have been easier?
“Why are you getting all down on yourself? That’s not like you.”
“…I’m not down.”
“Aren’t you worried about what the culprit might say if my brother catches him first?”
“That can’t happen.”
I couldn’t let that happen, no matter what. Even now, Han-gyeol probably knew a lot about this case thanks to the information Guk-hyeon had given him.
Why the culprit was targeting Guides, why the cores were shrinking, the fact that the culprit was a mental-type Esper and a researcher who disappeared during the Gate Burst in Zone B…
Han-gyeol might have already figured out that the culprit was waiting for something—and that something could be whether or not I’m a Cremon.
If Han-gyeol caught the culprit first, I had a terrible feeling they’d reveal that I might be a Cremon. Just the thought of it sent chills down my spine.
“This is bad. Han-gyeol sounded like he’s onto something. What if he finds the culprit before we do?”
“Then let’s work harder and find them first. If it comes to it, we could ask him to stop by your place and snoop around while he’s there.”
“Let’s not be too obvious. Catching the culprit is important, but the most important thing is keeping my secret.”
If Yu-geon got caught doing something like that, Han-gyeol would definitely start to suspect something. He’d probably think Yu-geon was aware of the danger I was in and was acting accordingly.
Even during the meeting earlier, Han-gyeol had eyed Yu-geon with a hint of suspicion.
Since Han-gyeol had known me for a long time, it’d be hard for him to imagine I might be a Cremon. Still, as a Guide with physical abilities close to a regular human, I needed to avoid doing anything that might seem out of character.
If I rushed in carelessly, it’d only risk exposing myself. Besides, Yu-geon was already helping me—there was no reason to drag him into anything more dangerous.
“Guide Gu Sa-weol, you don’t seem to feel much urgency.”
“What’s that supposed to mean? I’m worried about you right now.”
“Oh? It’s not that you don’t want to get on Han-gyeol’s bad side?”
“Why would I care about getting on his bad side?”
I knew Han-gyeol worried about me just as much as Yu-geon did. The reason he was trying to stop me was because he was concerned about my safety.
There’s no way he’d hate me just for going against him or stepping out of line. That wasn’t arrogance—it was a conclusion drawn from how Han-gyeol had treated me all this time.
If anything, he’d probably slap me with disciplinary action or keep tabs on my every move. When I first became a Cremon and was going through a chaotic period, I’d refused to do any guiding, using trauma from the Gate accident as an excuse—and he’d pulled me from duty without saying a word.
A Guide who couldn’t guide was basically useless, yet he gave me six months of leeway. Back then, I wasn’t even high-ranking or a well-known S-Class Guide.
Even so, higher-ups or other awakened ones must have grumbled. Sure, I went to therapy in case of PTSD, but both my mental and physical evaluations came back normal.
Even then, Han-gyeol didn’t press me about the accident or dig deeper. If I seemed down, he simply stayed by my side. There’s no way he’d hate me—unless I wasn’t human.
“And why are you poking at me like this today? I’m already on edge, and you just keep picking at me.”
I snapped. Yu-geon’s sarcastic tone was grating on my nerves.
I’d already been lectured over something minor, and now he was talking about urgency and whether I was worried about being disliked. It was nonsense.
“There’s the usual Sa-weol. You always talk to me without holding back.”
Yu-geon looked smug, like he’d deliberately provoked me. I stared at him, and he added more.
“You speak your mind to everyone else at the center too. But with Han-gyeol, you’re different. It’s like you’re holding back, even when you want to say something.”
“That’s because he’s the Captain.”
“He started talking casually first so you wouldn’t worry about rank.”
I knew that was Han-gyeol’s intention. That’s why I’d let myself be a little petty, using that excuse to show my frustration. It was the kind of conversation you could never have between a captain and team member.
Still, I couldn’t respond when Han-gyeol brought up losing me because of the Cremons. Yu-geon was right—I had a soft spot when it came to Han-gyeol.
“Maybe because he’s someone I… like. I guess I want to look good in front of him…”
“What was that?”
Yu-geon muttered something under his breath. Too quiet to hear clearly.
“No, wait. Before Han-gyeol showed up, you said you had another idea. What was it?”
Yu-geon hurriedly changed the subject. It didn’t seem all that important, so I didn’t press him about it again.
“Well…”
* * *
What I’d originally planned to suggest to Yu-geon was using bait to lure the culprit, like Ian had mentioned before.
But then I realized that while trying to draw the culprit out, Han-gyeol might get caught up in it instead. So I decided to go with a much more traditional, textbook method.
That method? Stake out the suspect’s residence for a week. If it was a typical Cremon, they’d likely go out to feed one to three times a week.
Even if Han-gyeol noticed, it’d be hard for him to call us out for it. On the surface, it’d just look like Yu-geon and I were spending time together in a car.
The only hitch was that Yu-geon had secretly attached a tracking and recording device—small enough to fit under a fingernail—on the back of the suspect’s neck.
Still, even if we were caught, this was the safest method we’d used so far.
As usual, we clocked out early and met up. Since both of our cars were too recognizable, we’d borrowed one from one of Yu-geon’s friends for the stakeout.
Snoring filled the recording device. Other Espers went out with friends, exercised, or met with lovers.
This one just came home and immediately passed out. He hadn’t moved a muscle from that one spot, making it incredibly boring.
Is working at the center really that exhausting?
I checked his profile. He’d been at the center for less than six months—a rookie Esper.
No wonder he’s sleeping like this.
It was still an adjustment period. Plus, mental-type Espers were known for accumulating mental fatigue quickly, so they slept a lot.
A-rank mental-type Esper Guk-hyeon supposedly suffered from chronic fatigue too. Thinking back to how worn out he looked last time, the rumors were likely true.
Listening to the steady snoring, I felt myself drifting off. I shook my head, trying to stay awake, and Yu-geon chuckled at the sight.
“If you’re sleepy, just nap. I’ll keep watch.”
“No, I’m not sleepy.”
“Sure, you’re not.”
Lately, I’d been having insomnia from withdrawal symptoms and hadn’t been able to sleep well. I’d told him I’d stay up all night for the stakeout.
Checking the time, it wasn’t even midnight yet. I was dying of sleepiness.
Yawning, eyes bloodshot, I rummaged through my bag and pulled out the chocolate I’d packed to help curb the withdrawal cravings.
It was the handmade chocolate sold near Branch A—the one that smelled the most like Yu-geon’s blood. Wrapped in glossy packaging, the round chocolate inside was intensely bitter and sweet, filled with concentrated fruit extract.
I popped one into my mouth, bit it into pieces, and let it melt. Then, I heard a faint laugh from beside me.
“What.”
“Nothing…”
Yu-geon covered his mouth, wiping the grin from his face like he hadn’t just laughed. It was suspicious.
“What’s so funny?”
When I went to eat another, he laughed out loud this time—pfft. I shot him a glare, and he turned his head fully toward the window.
“…Don’t tell me… I mentioned this too?”
“……”
Yu-geon didn’t respond. But his body was shaking with suppressed laughter, making it impossible to hide.
I wrapped the chocolate back in its foil and stuffed it in my bag. Damn alcohol. How the hell had I ended up talking about chocolate too?
I’d already suspected I might’ve told him about the imprint that night I blacked out. It was one of the things tormenting me lately, and the shock of realizing it had hit me hard. But judging by his reaction, I must’ve said a lot more than just that. My face flushed with embarrassment.
If I’d talked about chocolate, there was no doubt I’d confessed about the imprint too. My throat felt dry, and even swallowing was frustrating.
The sound of me putting the chocolate away made Yu-geon glance back at me.
“Just eat it. It’s hard to hold back.”
“I’m fine.”
“Then give me one. I wanna know what it tastes like.”
“No way. Go buy your own.”
I yanked the bag close to the passenger side door, out of his reach. He leaned over, flailed a few times, then gave up with a sigh and straightened up.
“You’re so stingy.”
He didn’t seem upset, still wearing that mischievous grin.
“I’ve got that chocolate at home too. Three whole sets.”
The chocolate was well-known for being good, but hoarding three sets wasn’t exactly normal.
For a moment, a ridiculous thought crossed my mind—what if he’d eaten so much of it that his blood ended up tasting and smelling like that?
But then, if he liked it so much, why pretend he didn’t know what it tasted like?
“You’re not gonna ask why?”
I stared at Yu-geon. I’d been avoiding any questions that might let him tease me about that embarrassing night.
But this was driving me crazy. Of course, it was impossible, but if eating a lot of chocolate caused that kind of taste and smell in his blood… then maybe eating less would tone it down?
“…Why?”
I asked cautiously, more than ever before. Yu-geon’s lips curled up into a wicked grin. He looked at me like he’d caught me in the act, and I swallowed nervously.
