IGWKE Episode 6

Episode 6

Yoon-ui returned to the office, handed out copies of the meeting materials, and delivered the content half-heartedly.

“I’ll relay the details of the executive meeting. First, the Operations Department: riding the wave of the headquarters’ promotion. Be cautious not to give the media anything to chew on. Focus on improving performance and uncovering good stories. Next, the Support Department: there’s been a surge in cases of Espers suffering from addiction and nervous breakdowns. An alarming increase in dangerous incidents. And as for the Response Department, I don’t know. Manager Park came in, yelled, and left.”

Even though Yoon-ui only delivered the bare-bones summary, everyone just nodded along, pretending to listen. It was clear that no one was genuinely interested in the dynamics among the executives or the state of the organization.

In this team, meetings were merely an excuse to enjoy coffee time without worrying about prying eyes. After all, everyone here had long been sidelined from the path to success, so they had little concern for the affairs of the organization’s mainstream.

As the men, holding their instant coffee, engaged in half-work, half-chit-chat, they swiftly got up from their seats as quitting time approached.

“It’s 6 o’clock now; let’s call it a day. Jung-woo, finish up the data transfer report, and I’ll do a round at the detention center before heading home.”

By 5:59 PM, all the monitors in the office were already off. It was the perfect example of a model employee’s work ethic. Yoon-ui, not intending to work any harder than necessary, also hurried out of the office to check on today’s absentees—100% Espers, of course.

The Military Detention Center was a series of solitary cells with one side made of reinforced glass, separated by a corridor. The design allowed for immediate observation of any sudden incidents inside, but it also meant that the Espers confined within could easily see Yoon-ui’s bored expression as he passed by.

“―XX!”

Some Espers cursed loudly as Yoon-ui walked by. However, the one being cursed at couldn’t care less. He’d been cursed at by Espers countless times, and it wasn’t in his nature to be hurt by such low-level insults.

But Yoon-ui’s expression did change slightly when he reached the Intensive Care Unit at the end of the solitary cells.

Unlike the other cells, this one had a larger window that only showed part of the room beyond the wall. As he stood there and looked inside, the guide on duty noticed his presence and gave him a slight nod. Yoon-ui responded with a nod of his own and checked the condition of the Esper lying in bed. It seemed that the Esper had regained consciousness, but their physical injuries were still unresolved.

People who don’t know much about Espers often believe that no matter how much they go berserk or break down, a guide can fully heal them if they just do their job right.

But even an Esper with special abilities is still a mortal being. They’re just humans with extraordinary powers that their bodies weren’t designed to handle. Guides are no different. The healing powers they possess are far from omnipotent. In the end, everyone is just a human being, not a god.

There is no perfect healing that returns every wound to zero. Just like a car involved in an accident, once an Esper’s body and mind are damaged, no matter how much you repair it, it’s impossible to return it to its original state.

After 100% comes 99.9%, then 95.7%, and next 88%… After repeated repairs, eventually, they become junk, no longer worth fixing, and are discarded.

When will the discard point for Esper Lee Hyun-ji come?

I don’t know when, but if the intervals between these rampages continue to shorten…

“…Who am I to worry about anyone?”

It’s absurd for a washed-up guide, who’s been pushed out of the field, to worry about an Esper who’s still active. Suddenly overwhelmed by fatigue, Yoon-ui buried his face in his hands. The bright fluorescent light sneaking through the gaps in his fingers was irritating.

“Ah, I really want to quit.”

“What would you do if you quit?”

Jung-woo asked with genuine curiosity as he returned with hot water for his instant noodles. The clock ticked on, showing 7:30 AM. It was the hardest time during a night shift. Yoon-ui, picking up his own cup of instant noodles along with chopsticks, glanced at Jung-woo.

“Your tone makes it sound like I’d starve to death because I’d have nothing else to do if I left.”

“Hmm… well… so what would you do if you quit?”

“Me? I guess I’d start something like a guiding center?”

It’s been 20 years since Espers with special abilities were first discovered. Many people have left the field, and there are still quite a few Espers with ambiguous abilities or young Espers who haven’t formally joined the Ministry of Defense yet. Private guiding centers, which provide stable guiding services for a fee, have become a popular business for retired guides.

Honestly, if it weren’t for that infamous record, who could offer more stable and reliable guiding services than Yoon-ui? But the problem was indeed “that record.” Jung-woo, perhaps worried about the same thing, snapped his chopsticks with a serious expression.

“Umm… I don’t think it would do well…”

Even without saying more, Jung-woo’s expression clearly conveyed what he wanted to say. Or maybe he wasn’t even trying to hide it. Yoon-ui gave a bitter smile.

“You’re surprisingly honest sometimes, you know?”

“Yeah… I’m not good at lying.”

“Well… then you won’t get far in life.”

Despite the harsh words, Jung-woo remained unfazed, swirling the undercooked noodles in his cup before stuffing them into his mouth.

“How could I get far? I can’t even work in the field, and I can’t even get promoted on schedule. I’ll probably just work here for 40 years and then take early retirement.”

He spoke in the same calm tone one might use to say, “People die someday.” But Yoon-ui found himself at a loss for words and set his chopsticks down. Jung-woo, who had been shoveling noodles into his mouth as if he could finish an entire cup in one bite, gave him a puzzled look.

“No, it’s nothing…”

Though he picked up his chopsticks again, he had lost his appetite. The position Jung-woo held was originally intended for Espers with teleportation abilities to rotate every two years. According to the rules, he should have returned to the Field Response Center three years ago and gone back to the dungeons. However, for several years now, he had been unable to return to his original post and was stuck in an administrative role alongside Yoon-ui. It was a kind of collateral damage.

Another “non-returner.” That’s what Yoon-ui sometimes called Jung-woo in his mind. He pitied Jung-woo, who had come out of the gate but couldn’t return to his original place, so he secretly used that nickname.

On the day they abandoned an S-Class Esper in the gate, Jung-woo had also been there, supporting the retreat with his teleportation. The battle was fierce, and in the final moment when everyone had exhausted their powers and lay collapsed, Yoon-ui gave up on the S-Class Esper and guided Jung-woo out of the gate.

That’s how the two of them survived. But in the end, within the organization, it was as if they had died. For Yoon-ui, it was the result of his own choice, but Jung-woo had simply been the one chosen, making him the true victim. Feeling guilty as the cause of everything, Yoon-ui cautiously tried to console Jung-woo.

“Do you regret not being able to work in the field?”

However, even this rare, tender attempt at consolation was met with nothing but cheerful indifference from Jung-woo.

“Huh? No, I really like it here.”

It seemed Jung-woo truly didn’t need any comforting. In fact, Yoon-ui wondered if he was even listening. After finishing his cup noodles in just three bites, Jung-woo, still hungry, began to chew on his chopsticks, eyeing Yoon-ui’s untouched noodles. Since he had lost his appetite, Yoon-ui offered the nearly cold noodles to Jung-woo, who accepted them without even a pretense of politeness, grinning as he did.

“I’m not greedy. Our line of work, as non-combat personnel, gets sidelined even among Espers. We have no voice in the union either. Instead of risking our lives in the field, I’d rather just stay here, going slow and steady.”

“…Well, that’s true.”

“And my parents also prefer that I work here. They think it’s safer. You know, with all the talk about non-returning Espers these days.”

The mention of non-returning Espers from Jung-woo’s lips made Yoon-ui’s heart skip a beat.

Non-returners. Those who go out on missions but fail to return—those who disappear after entering the gate. Like the S-Class Esper he left behind in the gate.

No one knows what happens to these non-returning Espers. Did they die inside the dungeon? Were they trapped alive when the dungeon closed? When a dungeon swallows someone up, where does it go? Does everything inside just vanish, or are they still alive somewhere in this universe?

Families still search for those who never returned. They continue to demand answers to the unanswerable, waiting for their sons, daughters, brothers, and sisters. As Yoon-ui thought about the desperate voices coming from the loudspeakers, his heart ached.

They couldn’t even confirm the bodies, and those poor souls couldn’t bring themselves to believe that their loved ones had completely vanished from this world. Yoon-ui clutched his trembling chest.

But it wasn’t because he was thinking about them. Jung Yoon-ui wasn’t that sentimental. Nor was it a sudden pang of conscience. As Jung-woo sipped his broth, he pointed his chopsticks at Yoon-ui’s chest.

“You’re getting a call.”

Something flashed blue beneath his eyes, and then a vibration buzzed from the guide badge stuffed in his chest pocket, along with a blinking light. It was an emergency call for guides on duty within the headquarters.

“Someone’s probably going berserk.”

Yoon-ui reached into his pocket and silenced the call. The vibration in his chest ceased. He was already exhausted, and whatever Esper might be raging or throwing a tantrum at the center wasn’t his concern.

However, the guide badge, which had momentarily gone quiet, began to buzz again. It seemed that no guides had responded to the first call. It made sense; after all, there was still an hour and a half until the official start of the workday. Unless they were on duty, there was no reason for any guides to be at the center.