IDESGI Chapter 8

Chapter 8

To the Espers of Zone 3 who didn’t know Ihan well, the sight of him unleashing rapid bursts of flames probably just looked impressive.

But to Yushin, who knew him inside and out, it was a bizarre sight.

‘Yoo Ihan always maximizes efficiency with minimal effort.’

And for good reason. Against monsters of this caliber, there was no need for such an excessive display of power.

Right now, Yoo Ihan was just wasting his energy in the most reckless way possible.

What the hell was that lunatic thinking?

Just then, a burning, severed monster leg came hurtling toward Yushin.

Caught up in his thoughts, he failed to react in time and was about to get hit—when, in the blink of an eye, Ihan appeared and sent a blast of fire to sweep the debris away.

“Are your damn eyes shut?! Move your ass when something’s flying at you!”

Cursing at him, Ihan immediately returned to the frontlines.

Yushin simply shrugged and muttered to the Guide next to him,

“As you can see, he has zero manners.”

“Well… I mean, people curse when they’re in the heat of battle, right?”

“Hey, you idiots! If you’ve got time to chat, get your asses over here and work! Why am I the only one busting my ass?! You all wanna die?!”

At Ihan’s deafening roar, the Espers on the ground scrambled to receive guiding before launching into the air.

Meanwhile, Ihan continued to bark orders at the top of his lungs, ruthlessly slamming anyone who made a mistake straight into the ground.

The admiration that had once shone in the Guide’s eyes slowly flickered.

Stealing hesitant glances at Yushin, she struggled to find the right words.

“Uh… Is Esper Yoo Ihan always… like that?”

Yushin awkwardly scratched the side of his face, letting out a sheepish laugh.

“He’s a terrible person… but damn good at his job.”

“You call that good…?”

“Are you all brain-dead?! Are the Espers of Zone 3 collectively stupid?!”

…His level of terrible was just exceptional, that’s all.

With his face practically pressed against the computer screen, Yeoul was once again buried under a mountain of paperwork.

‘Am I a Guide or an office worker?’

For someone with the title of Guide, he sure wasn’t being assigned to any Espers. Instead, they just kept piling administrative work on him.

‘It’s not like I can’t do Guiding just because I Imprinted.’

Unlike Espers, whose match rate with other Guides plummeted below 20% the moment they Imprinted, Guides didn’t experience such extreme changes.

At worst, their match rate dropped by about 30% from the original value.

Which meant that even if a Guide had a perfect 100% match with an Esper before Imprinting, their compatibility would still remain at 70% afterward.

For Espers, the only real advantage of Imprinting was the ability to vaguely sense each other’s strongest emotions at any given moment.

And yet, they still fought to Imprint with Guides.

Because they wanted to claim them entirely as their own.

That desire to possess a Guide was something all Espers shared.

‘I should never have Imprinted with Ihan.’

Every day. Every moment. He regretted it.

If he hadn’t accepted the Imprint.

If he hadn’t given in to the desire for a deeper bond.

Then you wouldn’t have died.

There was no point in regretting it now.

He didn’t know how or why it happened, but the fact that he had returned to a time before Ihan’s death was already a miracle in itself.

Still, he couldn’t help but curse the heavens—if he was going to regress, why not send him back to before the Imprint?

But that, too, was pointless.

What mattered now was making Ihan hate him as much as possible.

In the short time he had left, he had to push Ihan away—until Ihan was willing to kill him.

That meant minimizing contact at all costs.

Especially Guiding.

No matter what, he had to avoid it.

Because the moment his emotions slipped through, Ihan would realize that he still loved him.

And then, Yoo Ihan would never let him go.

“Let’s take a break.”

His head throbbed from the storm of thoughts swirling inside it, making it difficult to focus on the monitor.

He rubbed at his temples and leaned back against the headrest of his chair, allowing himself a brief moment of rest.

But just as he was about to drift off—

His pager beeped.

Yeoul shot up from his seat.

A Yellow Code alert—it was the signal sent to a Guide when their assigned Esper showed signs of going berserk.

In other words—

“That idiot, Yoo Ihan!”

It meant that Ihan’s rampage level was spiking at a dangerous rate.

---

“Where the hell is Esper Yoo Ihan’s Guide? Call again!”

The leader of the Zone 3 Esper team supported Ihan, whose breath came in ragged gasps.

His pale-colored eyes flickered dangerously, gold swirling in their depths.

Leaning Ihan against a collapsed concrete wall, the team leader turned to the call team, barking at them impatiently.

“When is his Guide getting here?”

“Well…”

A member of the call team hesitated.

The leader, already on edge, snapped in frustration.

“What?! Why the hell isn’t he here yet?! We called ages ago!”

“Esper Yoo Ihan’s assigned Guide… has refused the call.”

“…What?”

The leader blinked in disbelief.

He demanded again, his face twisting with confusion.

“That doesn’t make any sense. If he’s the assigned Guide, that means he’s Imprinted. And you’re telling me he’s just going to let his Esper die?”

“Yes. They’re doing their best to convince him, but the Guide is adamantly refusing.”

“Hah, what the hell…”

The leader let out a stunned laugh, glancing down at Ihan.

‘What kind of Guide just lets their own Esper die?’

Once an Esper’s rampage level passed a certain threshold, there was no turning back.

At that point, the only option left was termination.

A deep crease formed between the leader’s brows as he considered the situation.

After a long moment, he turned to the team member and gave a sharp nod.

“Check Esper Yoo Ihan’s rampage level.”

“It’s at 90%. Estimated time until it reaches 95% is roughly three hours.”

At 90%, an Esper’s rampage level begins rising even without using energy.

And once it passes 95%, it only takes an hour to hit 99%.

If it reaches 97%, standard protocol is immediate termination.

At 90%, they were still in Yellow status.

“Upgrade the code and call again. Mark it as Red-195.”

“What? But that’s—”

“Just do it! We need to keep Esper Yoo Ihan alive!”

The team leader looked down at Ihan, whose labored breathing and contorted expression spoke volumes of his suffering.

If he still doesn’t come even after we issue a Red alert…

“Also, call in all available A-Class Guides. If Yoo Ihan’s assigned Guide refuses to come, shove them into the Guiding Room.”

“Understood.”

If you don’t want to watch your Esper entangled with another Guide, then you’ll have no choice but to show up.

The team leader pressed his lips together and lifted his head to the sky.

Dark gray clouds were rolling in, blanketing the sky.

The sunlight dimmed, and heavy shadows fell over them.

“I’m not going.”

“Guide Han Yeoul! Are you out of your mind? Do you not realize that once his rampage level surpasses 90%, his energy waves will spiral out of control? Are you really going to let Esper Yoo Ihan die?”

The Center Director bellowed, his eyes locked onto Yeoul in fury.

But Yeoul remained expressionless as he repeated the same answer.

“No matter how many times you ask, my answer will not change. I’m not going.”

“If you keep being stubborn, we’ll have no choice but to assign another Guide to Yoo Ihan. You do know what that means, right? We’re not talking about something as innocent as radiation exposure or simple hand-guiding.”

“I know.”

“And you’re okay with that?”

“It doesn’t matter to me.”

The Center Director’s gaze turned ice-cold as he gritted his teeth.

No matter how much Yeoul’s feelings had changed, after everything Ihan had done for him, how could he be this heartless?

The director’s twisted lips parted, his voice dropping to an unnerving chill.

“Esper Yoo Ihan is truly pitiful. To have Imprinted with a Guide like you.”

Even as the words cut deep with their blatant condemnation, Yeoul didn’t so much as flinch.

Because, in truth, he was the one most on edge in that room.

‘What if Ihan refuses to be guided by anyone else?’

Guiding was a mutual interaction between an Esper and a Guide. It could never be a one-sided process.

If an Esper rejected it, no matter how much energy a Guide poured into them, it would have no effect.

That was why Yeoul couldn’t back down now.

If he yielded even once, Ihan would continue refusing guidance from other Guides.

And if Ihan realized that Yeoul wasn’t coming even when his life was in danger, he would lose all remaining attachment to him.

The thought alone tore Yeoul apart.

But Ihan’s life was more important than his own pain.

So, he crushed his emotions with all his might.

“Another call has come in! Red-195! He’s entering 95%!”

“What?! Already?!”

The Center Director, who had instinctively turned to glance at Yeoul, was momentarily stunned.

The ice-cold expression on Yeoul’s face had shattered, collapsing like a melting glacier.

Despair twisted his features.

The Director couldn’t help but wonder—Why is Guide Han Yeoul refusing Ihan?

He was so shaken the moment he heard Ihan was in danger.

Sensing an opportunity, the Director pressed again.

“You still won’t go?”

“Another… Guide…”

“If Esper Yoo Ihan continues to refuse, we’ll miss the golden window. You need to decide now.”

Yeoul clenched his eyes shut.

His lips refused to part—but eventually, they did.

“…I’ll go.”

His heart crumbled.

Arriving in Zone 3, Yeoul frantically searched for Ihan.

The moment he spotted him slumped against a wall, struggling to breathe, his whole body trembled.

Yoo Ihan—ah… Ihan.

“You must not love me. Do you understand?”

The image of Ihan gasping for air overlapped with the dying Ihan from before.

“No. Ihan, no. You can’t die.”

His mind went blank.

Collapsing to his knees, Yeoul barely noticed the sharp stones digging into them as he crawled toward Ihan.

“Ihan, open your eyes. Don’t die!”

He pressed his lips against Ihan’s, desperately breathing into him.

The moment their lips touched, his Guiding energy surged, flowing into Ihan.

‘It’s still working. It’s still working. It’s okay. I can save him.’

It had only been two months since their Imprint.

Kiss-guiding was still effective.

As the energy seeped into him, Ihan’s eyes fluttered open—

And a faint, familiar smile crossed his lips.

“Ah… my Yeoul is here.”

한동안 천막의 출입구는 열리지 않았다.
ChatGPT said:
Ihan’s eyes curved gently, his golden irises shimmering like a sunlit wheat field—so mesmerizing it was almost hypnotic.

But Yeoul’s heart dropped.

He might die again.

The image of Ihan growing cold in his arms resurfaced with cruel clarity.

His body, ice-cold.

His silent, still heart.

The breath that never came again.

The memory wasn’t just a thought—it was a feeling, one that clawed its way through his body, constricting his chest.

His breathing turned erratic.

“Haa… haah…”

“Yeoul! What’s wrong?!”

Even though Ihan was the one suffering from his skyrocketing rampage level, he was still worried about him.

Yeoul bit his lips harshly.

Three times is too much.

I can’t let him die again.

Because worse than dying—was surviving alone.

That day, when Ihan died and time seemed to freeze—when he was left completely, utterly alone—that was what Yeoul feared most.

Paradoxically, it was precisely because he was so selfish that he had chosen to die for Ihan.

Because he was too weak to endure it again.

The team leader interrupted his spiraling thoughts.

“Take him to the temporary Guiding Room. His rampage level needs to be lowered immediately.”

A roundabout way of saying—you need to try sex-guiding.

Yeoul gave a small nod.

Without hesitation, he lifted Ihan to his feet and supported him.

Step by step, he guided him toward the temporary tent set up nearby.

The entrance to the tent closed behind them.

For a long time—

It did not open.