“You remember the day of the attack? I followed you that day. I’d heard you liked that chocolate, so I was going to give you some.”
Now that he mentioned it—when I returned to the center a few days after the incident, Ji-soo had said Yu-geon had something to give me.
That must’ve been the chocolate.
“That day, Han-gyeol hyung told me you were at the Gate Burst site in Zone B. He said ever since then, you’ve avoided people. I figured I’d been bothering you too much, only thinking about myself, so I wanted to apologize with the chocolate.”
I hadn’t imagined that. At the time, it had freaked me out that he’d used a tracking function to follow me, especially since there hadn’t even been a gate alarm nearby.
Even if his intent was to give me chocolate and apologize, tracking me down like that was crossing a line. I didn’t say anything then because I’d just been caught hiding my secret, but I did think it was strange.
And afterward, Yu-geon had blackmailed me into becoming his pair. It wasn’t that long ago, but those events already felt like they’d happened in a distant past.
Probably because so much had happened between Yu-geon and me since then.
“It’s kind of funny when you think about it. You found that chocolate to curb your thirst because of the smell of my blood, and I tried to give you that chocolate and ended up discovering your secret.”
“……”
“I didn’t think things would turn out like this. I just figured you had your reasons. You hated me so much at first.”
Yu-geon’s voice was calm, almost nostalgic, as if recalling distant memories. Listening to him brought back all the times I’d gone out of my way to avoid him.
Covering my nose every time we crossed paths, turning on my heel and pretending not to see him even if we ran into each other on the street, sometimes even running to the emergency stairwell when he chased after me.
Didn’t matter if he was an S-Class Esper with a high matching rate—I was terrified my secret would be exposed.
But maybe those actions, my desperate attempts to avoid him, only made Yu-geon more curious. Maybe that’s why he got involved.
If I’d treated him the same way I treated other teammates, would he have ever come looking for me? Even if I was startled at first, what if I’d kept my cool and brushed it off?
If he’d never learned my secret, maybe we wouldn’t have gotten involved at all.
“…Do you regret it?”
The words slipped out before I realized, and I quickly clamped my mouth shut. Then I asked again.
“Do you regret following me that day?”
I stared straight at Yu-geon as I asked. He met my eyes, unflinching. It was a fair question—even if it was awkward.
Yu-geon had been through a lot since getting involved with me. He’d been drained of blood while still alive, been the subject of gossip for canceling our pairing, and now he was risking disciplinary action, barely skirting the rules to help me chase the culprit.
I couldn’t think of any benefit he’d gained from knowing me—aside from guiding. Sometimes, I’d calculate whether my guiding was worth it for him.
Even if our matching rate was high and his energy was unstable, he could’ve improved with another Guide. Was my guiding really that good? How far was he willing to go for me?
In the end, I always came to the same conclusion: I wasn’t an Esper, so I couldn’t know. For Espers, a Guide with a high match rate was a lifeline. Yu-geon must’ve weighed everything and made his decision.
What I really wanted to know wasn’t if he regretted it—but how far he was willing to help me. If it came out that I was a Cremon… would he still stay? Or pretend not to know me?
But I couldn’t ask that. If it became too much for him, he might stop helping me—and I couldn’t let that happen. I needed Yu-geon now.
And if he gave a negative answer to a hypothetical that hadn’t even happened yet, it would sting—even if it was a reasonable response. At first, I hadn’t wanted him involved, hadn’t wanted him to know my secret. But now… now I relied on him.
“What about you? Do you still hate me?”
Just as I was regretting asking about regret at all, Yu-geon threw the question back at me.
“I asked first.”
“What do you think?”
What was this—twenty questions? I wasn’t a mental-type Esper, how was I supposed to know what someone else was thinking?
“I don’t know. How would I know what you’re thinking?”
I snapped back coldly. I was the one who asked the question, yet somehow I was the one feeling rattled.
When I decided to bring Yu-geon back into my mess, I’d tried to frame it as a simple trade—guiding in exchange for help.
But people don’t work like that. No matter how hard I tried to keep emotion out of it, it never went smoothly. I was starting to sense that Yu-geon’s kindness wasn’t just because of guiding.
For us, guiding was just the guideline—the excuse to stay close. So when he mentioned matching rates or guiding as the reason for helping me, I never corrected him.
It was easier that way. Simpler. It made me feel less guilty. Yu-geon played along with my cowardice.
“That’s kind of touching. First time you’ve asked what I think.”
His words made me shrink inside. Yu-geon always joked that I made him out to be the bad guy, and here I was again, looking like I didn’t respect him at all.
It hit me how little attention I’d paid him. Back then, I was so focused on surviving each day, I didn’t have room for anyone else.
So why now—why was I suddenly curious about what Yu-geon thought? I couldn’t even explain it to myself.
“I don’t regret it.”
At that moment, I felt my jaw unclench—only then realizing how tense I’d been.
“No matter what happens, the last thing I want is to go back to being nothing to you.”
Yu-geon’s words extinguished every lingering ember of fear in an instant—not just for now, but for all the days ahead.
“If anything, I’m grateful. Because knowing your secret let me be part of your life.”
“…You’re so weird.”
I muttered while staring out the window. Saying you don’t regret something while also keeping your distance—that was contradictory.
If I had to choose between the two, maybe it meant he didn’t regret it, but liking me was another matter entirely.
“Remember when I said it should’ve been me as the Esper and you as the Guide?”
That was during our first guiding session together in the capsule. I think I told him to stop with the nonsense and just focus.
“Yeah.”
“When I heard we were imprinted, I was honestly a little happy. I was always the one chasing after you—it felt unfair.”
“Serves you right, huh?”
There it was. The topic I’d tried so hard to avoid—imprinting—finally brought up. I really hadn’t wanted to talk about it, but I’d never felt the meaning of ‘chasing desperately’ so vividly before.
Even now, being stuck in this sealed car with him, the scent of him was overwhelming. Since I wasn’t eating chocolate to stave it off, my mouth felt unbearably dry.
I sucked on my tongue, trying to distract myself, and rolled down the window. The cool scent of summer tickled my nose.
In the distance, insects chirped innocently in the night. I hated summer, but the fresh smell of greenery cleared my mind and oddly lifted my mood.
“No. I just want to ease your anxiety. I want to relieve your thirst.”
Something definitely went wrong with Yu-geon’s awakening. Some say a Guide needs to have love for humanity—if those people heard this, they’d call it a perfect answer.
Sure, I’m human, so when I see an Esper in pain—mentally or physically—I do feel sympathy. A drop of it. For about a second.
But as time passed, guiding just felt like a job. Even that small sympathy had faded.
“What about you? Just touching me helps with the thirst, right? Then why aren’t you guiding today?”
Before I knew we were imprinted, I sometimes held Yu-geon’s hand under the excuse of guiding. But once I realized he knew about the imprint, it started to feel embarrassingly obvious.
“I can manage. I don’t want to use you over something like this.”
The look Yu-geon gave me after that—sharp and heavy—made me wonder if I’d said something wrong.
Sure, when I couldn’t drink blood, the creature-form opened up forcibly—but this, this was a matter of willpower. If I tried, I could endure it.
“What, you want to guide that badly?”
His gaze clung to me, intense enough to burn, and I wondered if there was another reason. Yu-geon let out a short laugh.
Then suddenly, his warmth touched my hand.
“Come here.”
“What for?”
“Just for a second.”
“What are you doing?”
He pulled me toward him—and hugged me tight. My arms hovered awkwardly in midair.
“This helps me sometimes.”
He held me so tightly there was no space left between us. His strong, steady heartbeat pulsed against me.
“Maybe it’s different for Guides, so it won’t help.”
The sweet scent of his skin, his energy, slowly enveloped me. I could feel it—he was right there, with me.
The blood I considered mine, my prey, was within reach—close enough to touch whenever I wanted. That fact alone brought a strange relief.
At the same time, the sound of his pounding heart, the rush of his blood—it made my mouth water.
Just the fact that we were imprinted sparked a ferocious possessiveness over Yu-geon’s blood. I wanted it, now, in my hands, soaking me.
It was mine, so why couldn’t I drink it? Logic and desire clashed violently within me.
“Is this uncomfortable?”
“No—wait.”
When I didn’t respond, Yu-geon started to pull back. Panicked, I placed my hands on his back and pulled him in closer.
“Stay still.”
