I am a Guide Who Killed an Esper.

However, it had been a long time since Yoonui had felt such intense energy. It was too powerful a stimulus to simply brush off as just another fleeting moment in his monotonous, desolate routine. The sensation of wrapping his guiding energy around the massive, gray, ashen body that stood frozen, almost as if it feared being entirely consumed by flames. The acrid smell that filled the air, the raw pain in his throat and lungs from the smoke, the prickling heat that stung his skin like needles, and the harsh odor of something toxic burning—it was unforgettable. The moment he unleashed all his pent-up guiding energy in the heart of that chaos, where every second felt like it was shaving off pieces of his life, was deeply ingrained in his memory.

It was a refreshing, exhilarating release—a powerful surge of energy that had been bottled up inside him for far too long.

Beneath the blanket, Yoonui clenched and opened his hands repeatedly. Over and over again. Like a newborn slowly recognizing the strange appendages attached to their body, he recalled the process of discovering, drawing out, and releasing the abilities hidden within himself.

Was it really impossible to return to the field ever again?

He thought of Hyeonju’s gray eyelashes, the way they looked at him amidst the blazing inferno. The eyes beneath them, slowly regaining the light of life as he came back to his senses and spotted Yoonui there.

Would Hyeonju have felt relieved to see me? Did he really feel grateful? Did he think it was fortunate that I was there?

Questions he couldn’t bring himself to ask—questions too tied to his pride—lingered in his mind as Yoonui thought of Hyeonju. His pale face, white as charred ash, the soot-covered firefighter’s uniform, the way he shyly smiled, making one eye slightly smaller than the other. And beyond his face, there were so many other things. Yoonui just kept thinking about Hyeonju.

If someone overheard, they might ask if he’d fallen for him, but that wasn’t it. He couldn’t stop thinking about him, no matter how much he tried. Why? Because that person kept showing up in front of him all the time.

“Why aren’t you heading to training?”

When Yoonui strolled into the office late due to his night shift, the first thing that caught his eye was the broad gray back of a firefighter’s uniform, seated across from Jungwoo. It was Hyeonju’s. Feeling slightly amused but mostly annoyed, Yoonui threw a remark at his back. Hyeonju startled at the sound of his voice, his spine stiffening. Before he even turned around, a flare of heat seemed to travel up his back like a sudden burst of fire.

“At this rate, you’re really going to cause an actual fire someday.”

Scolding Hyeonju’s clumsy control, Yoonui released his suppressive guiding energy. The flames clinging to his back flickered and rushed to his face. Hyeonju spun around, his face flushed as if a real fire had erupted, and gave a polite bow instead of a verbal greeting.

“Thank you.”

After seeing each other almost every day for a month, Yoonui thought they had grown accustomed to each other. He had even lowered his tone and casually patted Hyeonju’s shoulder a few times. Yet, unlike Yoonui, who had become comfortable, Hyeonju still panicked and blushed furiously whenever Yoonui spoke to him first.

At least, the upside was that everyone had developed a tolerance to the sudden outbursts of fire. In the beginning, people used to scream every time Hyeonju accidentally set something ablaze. Now, no one batted an eye. They had even prepared backless chairs specifically for him. This gray volcano had become an accepted part of the department’s daily life.

“Enough of that. Give me your hand.”

Though Yoonui considered himself fairly reserved, Hyeonju was on another level. For someone with such an imposing physique, he was absurdly shy. Clicking his tongue, Yoonui gestured for Hyeonju to approach.

Despite being embarrassingly bashful, Hyeonju was obedient. Before Yoonui had even finished speaking, Hyeonju dragged his chair closer and sat beside him. Like a well-trained puppy, he placed his hand cautiously onto Yoonui’s open palm.

It was almost a routine now. Though Yoonui had promised to provide guiding sessions before training, strictly speaking, it wasn’t his job. As someone not stationed at the center, he wasn’t obligated to guide Hyeonju.

“I did say if I had time,” Yoonui muttered internally.

But watching this junior Esper, who suffered from chronic guiding deficiency, show up every day stirred a faint sense of pity even in someone as stoic as Yoonui.

His hands are huge.

Every time he held Hyeonju’s hand, he couldn’t help but think it. Hyeonju was tall, with large feet and hands. His entire build was thick and sturdy. When Yoonui placed his hand over Hyeonju’s, his smaller hand completely disappeared beneath it, and even his wrist was obscured by Hyeonju’s forearm.

Was his size the reason it was so hard to fill his guiding needs? Of course, his energy leakage probably played a role… And there it was again. Without even looking, Yoonui could feel the warmth against his side—Hyeonju had caught fire again.

“It’s leaking. Tighten the faucet.”

“Yes.”

With one hand still clasped by Hyeonju, Yoonui used the other to turn on his computer and type in his password. As a precaution, he made Hyeonju close his eyes during password entry.

As he opened the handover notes and prepared for his night shift, Yoonui casually channeled concentrated energy through his palm into Hyeonju’s body. This level of contact guiding required no real effort on his part.

Next to him, Jungwoo complained, “Man, you’re so stingy. Only S-classes get guiding? Share some with us!”

Ignoring the grumbling, Yoonui focused on Hyeonju, who needed the care more urgently, given his impending training.

Hyeonju, aware of the special treatment he was receiving, sat quietly, waiting for the session to end.

“This should hold you through training today.”

Even so, Yoonui couldn’t afford to fully replenish an S-class energy reserve purely out of goodwill. After guiding just enough to sustain him, Yoonui abruptly pulled his hand away. Hyeonju lightly grazed his palm in a silent plea for more, but Yoonui didn’t budge.

“I’ve got my own work to do. Off you go now.”

“Can I stay a little longer before heading out? I don’t think the guides have all arrived at the training center yet.”

“Hey. Do you skip training just because there’s no guide? You’re an S-class, for crying out loud. I filled you up with guiding energy so you can train. Now go.”

“…Okay.”

The large gray back slumped as it left the room, looking so much like a sulking child that it was almost endearing.

As the door shut, Yoonui was about to turn back to his monitor when Jumin, who had been getting ready to leave, gave him a hard slap on the shoulder.

“Why do you always send him off so harshly? Would it kill you to say something nice like, ‘Hey, I’ve got work to do, but good luck with training, Hyeonju! Fighting!’? How hard is that?”

“Ugh.”

“Seriously.”

Another punch landed, leaving Yoonui rubbing his stinging shoulder with a glare.

“Look, I’m already anxious about my own future. Do I really have to worry about pandering to some S-class’s feelings at my age?”

“You’re not pandering. Also, why are you anxious? What, did you kill an Esper behind Manager Park’s back again?”

“It’s not that.”

Yoonui leaned back in his chair, letting his weight rest on the backrest. The ceiling above was the same dull gray as Hyeonju’s firefighter uniform. For some, it might be a reassuring, safe color, but for others, it felt stifling, like the sky could cave in at any moment. Yoonui sighed.

“It’s just… I’ve been feeling a bit disillusioned.”

“Out of nowhere?”

“It’s not exactly sudden…”

It was rare for someone like Yoonui to voice his inner doubts. Jumin’s eyebrows shot up in surprise, and the conversation caught the attention of Jungwoo and Wooju, who dragged their chairs over to join the discussion.

“What’s going on? What happened?”

“Yoonui, is something bothering you?”

“Why are you all suddenly so interested?”

Yoonui, flustered, tried to brush it off, but the moment the famously stoic Yoonui let slip a vulnerable thought, all three were laser-focused on him. While he appreciated their concern, the intensity of their attention was overwhelming. Sensing his discomfort, Wooju glanced at the clock and smirked.

“We’ve got 30 minutes until the next shift starts. Why don’t you spill your story for 15 minutes, and we’ll prep afterward?”

“There’s not 15 minutes’ worth to talk about…”

Even as he tried to deflect, Yoonui couldn’t hold back. He was only human, after all. For over a week, he’d been grappling with these thoughts alone, and now his colleagues were giving him their full attention. It was impossible not to talk.

In the end, the four of them stayed behind in the empty office after everyone else had left, listening to Yoonui half-vent, half-confide his concerns.

“So, basically, I’m questioning whether I still have a place in this organization. Like, have I outlived my usefulness here?”

“And?”

“And… I’ve been thinking about it over the past few days.”

With all three of them staring at him expectantly, Yoonui cautiously shared his conclusion.

“I’m thinking about leaving the service.”

Silence fell over the room. The reactions—or lack thereof—made it clear to Yoonui that his plan wasn’t sitting well with them.

It was Jumin who broke the silence first, her voice uncharacteristically serious.

“What would you do after you leave?”

“Well… maybe a private guiding center?”

The silence returned, stretching even longer this time. Finally, Wooju spoke up, but instead of addressing Yoonui, he turned to Jungwoo with an exaggeratedly grave expression.

“Look at this, Jungwoo. This is exactly how public servants, especially inexperienced Espers, end up getting scammed after leaving the service. They blow through their severance and pension and are left with nothing. Let this be a cautionary tale.”

“I’m planning to stick it out here as long as I can,” Jungwoo replied.

“That’s the spirit.”

“Wow, is it really necessary to roast someone who’s seriously talking about their life plans?” Yoonui grumbled, half-joking but not entirely surprised.

After all, he’d seen this reaction coming. He’d joined the organization when he was barely out of middle school. His entire life had revolved around it, with no meaningful relationships or experiences outside of its confines. As an adult, he’d never lived among civilians or mingled with the world beyond his job.