I am a Guide Who Killed an Esper.

Hyeonju enthusiastically explained her impressions in a bright, excited voice.

“When I walked in, how should I put it? It felt like there was this steady flow of assurance, like, ‘This will keep coming in even a few seconds from now.’ That was really nice. Sometimes, even when I receive guidance, it just feels like it disperses faintly inside me or gets diluted as if mixing with my blood. But this time, it felt like I was being firmly filled up from the soles of my feet!”

“…I see. You really are an S-rank.”

It had been a while since Yoonui had heard such a clear and vivid review of proper guidance. Feeling triumphant, she eventually promised Hyeonju that, whenever possible, she would provide brief guidance sessions before Hyeonju’s training sessions. Naturally, this was a significant gain for Hyeonju as well.

However, as soon as Hyeonju left after bowing repeatedly in gratitude, Yoonui turned to Joomin with a stern expression.

“Hey. How long has she been in training?”

Joomin, who had been smiling as he bid Hyeonju farewell, hesitated at Yoonui’s sharp question and stammered his reply.

“Uh, well… a little over six months?”

“What’s her progress?”

“She’s been on a solo training regimen, so the pace has been decent, but…”

“Then why can’t a fully grown adult even manage to turn off the faucet?”

The phrase “turning off the faucet” was a metaphor for controlling the activation of abilities. This control was one of the most fundamental parts of training for ability users. Given that most ability users were identified upon entering middle school, this basic skill was usually mastered before the summer break of their first year.

Yet seeing a grown adult with her height and build struggle with what even middle schoolers could manage felt akin to watching a high schooler fail to recite the multiplication table. To Yoonui, who had been an elite guide from birth, it was utterly ridiculous.

Even Joomin, who wasn’t an ability user but had years of experience working in the field and was well aware of both Yoonui’s skills and the general learning curve of ability users, could only offer feeble excuses. He raised his voice, pointing and gesturing in Hyeonju’s defense.

“She started training late! Normally, kids learn control easily because their brains are more adaptable and their senses are sharper when they’re younger. But she started in college, so her progress is naturally slower.”

“Oh, come on. There’s no difference between teens and twenties.”

“There is a difference, damn it! Stop judging everything by your own standards.”

Joomin, who was trying to brush off Yoonui’s irritation, found himself trapped under Jungwoo’s curious gaze and Yoonui’s expectant eyes, silently demanding a more thorough explanation. He had no choice but to continue in a quieter tone.

“Look, the thing is… we don’t have full authority over her training in the first place. And Hyeonju’s capacity, her potential, is just so huge that she needs more support for her training. But as you know, we’re short on experienced guides these days.”

Normally, ability users’ education was entirely overseen by the Talent Division. However, in Hyeonju’s case, her training had been partially taken over by espers who refused to entrust the training of an S-rank to mere administrative staff, leaving the division with limited authority.

That said, this applied only to her esper training. As for supplementary guidance, it was still under their jurisdiction. Unfortunately, they had indeed failed to assign enough qualified guides to match Hyeonju’s potential.

Faced with Joomin’s grudging acknowledgment, Yoonui narrowed her eyes.

To learn how to activate her abilities at will and control the amount of power released, Hyeonju needed an experienced guide who could monitor and adjust her output.

For A-rank abilities, several seasoned B-rank guides would suffice. But for the rare S-rank? Ideally, an S-rank guide was required. If that wasn’t possible, senior A-rank guides or a team of seasoned B-ranks were necessary. Yet, in South Korea, there were currently no S-rank guides, and the few A-rank seniors were all tied up with fieldwork at the center.

Unlike espers, who were forcibly conscripted upon manifestation, guides had the freedom to choose their roles, leading to a shortage of active personnel. Those who could handle the job were already deployed in the field, leaving only junior B-rank guides with limited experience and moderate skills to assist in training. For them, supporting an S-rank was a monumental challenge.

On top of that…

“At the very least, her guidance sessions should be fully covered.”

Even the most basic guidance Hyeonju needed wasn’t being provided adequately. At Yoonui’s rebuke, Joomin’s face flushed, and he raised his voice in defense.

“Look, I’m telling you, her capacity is enormous! And even when she’s just standing still, her energy keeps leaking. How do you expect B-ranks to completely fill her?”

“Then you should’ve requested additional support for the guidance…”

Yoonui stopped speaking mid-sentence. It wasn’t her place to interfere with another team’s affairs. Besides, this was the first S-rank to emerge in years. Joomin wouldn’t have just stood idly by, ignoring Hyeonju’s low guidance stats. He must have requested reinforcements for guidance multiple times, and the current arrangement was likely the best they could manage. Although… no such request had been directed her way, despite working right next door.

Her mouth felt dry.

Even during her shift, thoughts about Hyeonju’s guidance state and the inadequate guide assignments had consumed her. And when she lay in bed after work, those thoughts continued to linger. The look on Joomin’s face when he awkwardly averted his eyes after the topic of guidance reinforcements came up… The way the Talent Development team members suddenly buried themselves in work, pretending not to hear…

“Ugh. This is so frustrating.”

Throwing off her blanket in irritation, Yoonui sat up abruptly, only to flop back down again in defeat. There weren’t enough guides to properly support the training of an S-rank, and yet, the higher-ups hadn’t issued her any orders to assist.

She could somewhat understand why the espers might distrust her and refuse her help; it wasn’t entirely unjustified. But learning that even the guide team had no intention of assigning her to Hyeonju’s training—now that hurt. No matter how much Yoonui tried to brush it off, she couldn’t help but feel a little wounded.

“…They sure talk like they’re on my side.”

The face of Manager Lim, who had defended her during the staff meeting, popped into her mind. The sudden sense of betrayal made Yoonui pull the blanket over her head. She felt awful. Sure, her specialty might be eliminating threats, but did they really think she’d take out an S-rank guide candidate? Was that it?

Frustration boiled over, and she alternated between yanking the blanket off and throwing it back on, over and over again. She was grateful her dorm was a single-occupancy room.

“Still, why let personal feelings interfere with work?”

The number of active guides might be low compared to the espers, but the absolute number of guides in South Korea wasn’t small. Including those affiliated with the Ministry of Defense and discharged civilians, there were easily over a thousand. And among them, Yoonui was confident she ranked at the top when it came to controlling abilities.

Even if she wasn’t assigned to replenishment guidance—which she also excelled at—her expertise in containment was unmatched. It was a skill everyone in the Defense Ministry acknowledged. Yet, despite her objectively outstanding abilities, she was being sidelined because of past incidents and lingering biases, as though she didn’t even exist.

The first emotion that welled up was disappointment. Since entering middle school, nearly half of her life had been devoted to training as a guide and living as one. She had poured everything into this organization, which had become her entire world. And yet, they could so easily cast her aside like this?

Even now, in her current post, she worked loyally without complaints. But just because her duties were invisible and undesirable, they excluded her from even participating in the main guidance tasks.

“Am I really that useless to this organization?”

The thought left her feeling hollow, as though every moment she had spent here was meaningless.

“They’re making me feel like an idiot…”

From the moment she was declared a guide, she had been separated from her parents and lived entirely in training facilities. Until that incident, Yoonui had always been a top student, taking the elite path. If she had survived a few more years in the field, she might have even broken the record for the youngest guide team leader.

Her life had been nothing but training and fieldwork. She had no hobbies, no friends outside of the organization, and even her few human connections were all within it. She had staked everything on this place. Her achievements and records were her pride, her entire identity.

“Will I never return to the field…?”

It was a thought she had long come to terms with—or so she believed. Yet, somewhere deep down, a part of her still clung to the hope that she might one day return. It was pathetic. She tossed and turned in bed. Years had passed since her reassignment, and yet, she still hadn’t let go of that hope.

How could she, when it had been her reality since she was fourteen? Ever since receiving her guide assignment notice, the thought of doing anything other than fieldwork had never crossed her mind. Even after her disciplinary action, she hadn’t considered leaving the field. She thought, at most, she’d spend a few years in secondary posts, working in response centers. And even that felt devastatingly like being past her prime.

But when the reassignment orders came, it wasn’t a secondary post or a response center. It was the back office, an administrative dead-end.

The shock she felt upon receiving that notice was still vivid. And now, this betrayal seemed like it would linger just as long. Every time she turned on the narrow bed, the mattress creaked under her weight, almost as if it were groaning in protest on her behalf.

“I’m the only one qualified to guide her.”

What, did they think she’d leave some unsightly scar on their precious S-rank?

The thought of the organization favoring their “precious S-rank” stirred a brief, petty jealousy in her heart. But then, remembering Hyeonju’s slightly mismatched eyes—one with a double eyelid, the other with a softer crease—brought her back to reality. That innocent and vibrant face reminded her how ridiculous it was to harbor resentment toward someone so much younger. She felt pathetic for letting her emotions get the better of her.

Worse, she hated herself for taking out her anger on such a good kid, even in her thoughts.