IGWKE Episode 10

Episode 10

Heon-ju, his voice light with excitement, eagerly explained the sensation he had experienced.

“When the guiding started coming in, how do I describe it? There was this steady flow, like I knew more was coming in a few seconds, and that was reassuring. Sometimes, even when I get guided, it feels like the energy just dissipates inside me or mixes with my blood and gets diluted. But this time, it felt like my whole body was being filled up from the soles of my feet, like every part of me was being pressed down and packed tight!”

“…Yeah. You really are an S-Class.”

It had been a long time since Yoon-ui had heard such an accurate description of a proper guiding. Feeling a bit proud, he eventually promised Heon-ju that if he came to him before training sessions, he’d provide some guiding whenever he had time. This was undoubtedly a big win for Heon-ju.

However, as soon as Heon-ju left, bowing repeatedly in gratitude, Yoon-ui turned to Joo-min with a stern look.

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

Joo-min, who had been watching Heon-ju leave with a satisfied expression, faltered under Yoon-ui’s sharp questioning.

“Uh, well… it’s been a little over six months.”

“And how’s his progress?”

“He’s been doing solo training, so he’s covered a fair bit…”

“But how is it that a fully grown man still can’t even control his power properly?”

“Controlling the faucet” was a sort of slang for being able to manage one’s powers. It was one of the most basic skills taught in the training of Espers. Given that most Espers began their training around the start of middle school, they typically mastered this basic skill before the end of their first summer vacation.

Yet, here was an almost fully-grown adult, towering and muscular, who couldn’t even manage the basic control that middle schoolers could. It was like seeing a high schooler struggling with elementary arithmetic—a ridiculous sight for someone like Yoon-ui, who had been an elite guide from the start.

Even Joo-min, who wasn’t an Esper but knew all too well about Yoon-ui’s skills and the general speed at which Espers learned through her years of experience, found herself at a loss for words. She could only try to defend Heon-ju, raising her voice and gesturing as she spoke.

“He started his training late! When you’re younger, your brain is more adaptable, and your senses are more developed, so you learn control more easily. He started in college, so of course, his progress is slower.”

“Oh, come on. Whether you’re in your teens or twenties—”

“There’s a difference, you know! Don’t try to apply your standards to everyone.”

Trying to brush off the conversation with an air of annoyance, Joo-min quickly realized she wasn’t off the hook. Both Jung-woo’s puzzled expression and the demanding look in Yoon-ui’s eyes told her she needed to provide a more detailed explanation. Her voice dropped as she continued to explain.

“Look, we don’t even have full control over his training. And… Heon-ju’s abilities, his potential is huge, so he needs more support during training. But as you know, we’re short on experienced guides right now.”

Normally, the Talent Development Team had complete authority over the training curriculum for Espers. However, in Heon-ju’s case, there had been a pushback from the Espers themselves, arguing that they couldn’t trust “administrative staff” to train an S-Class Esper properly, leading to some of that authority being taken away.

But that was only concerning his abilities as an Esper; when it came to guiding, that responsibility lay with them. There was no denying that they hadn’t been able to provide Heon-ju with a guide capable of matching his capacity.

This hesitant admission made Yoon-ui narrow his eyes.

Training an Esper to control their powers with precision requires the guidance of an experienced guide who can help adjust the output. For an A-Class Esper, a few seasoned B-Class guides might suffice, but for a rare S-Class like Heon-ju?

In that case, ideally, an S-Class guide would be necessary, or at the very least, several veteran A-Class guides or numerous seasoned B-Class guides. However, there were no S-Class guides in South Korea, and the few A-Class veterans were all deployed in the field, actively managing crises.

Compared to Espers, who are conscripted immediately upon manifestation, guides have the option to choose their careers, which results in a much thinner active guide workforce. The few who were capable were already out in the field, leaving only relatively inexperienced B-Class guides to handle training. These newer guides, with limited experience and not particularly high capabilities, were not suitable for supporting an S-Class Esper like Heon-ju in his training.

On top of that,

“You could at least ensure he’s fully guided.”

Heon-ju hadn’t even been receiving proper basic guiding. Yoon-ui’s reproach made Joo-min’s face flush, and she raised her voice defensively.

“I told you, his capacity is just too large! And he’s constantly leaking power, so how can you expect B-Class guides to fully replenish him?”

“Then why not request more support….”

Yoon-ui trailed off. It wasn’t his place to interfere with another team’s responsibilities. And considering Heon-ju was a rare S-Class, it was unlikely that Joo-min had simply ignored his low guiding levels without trying to do something about it. She had probably requested additional support multiple times, and the current arrangement was the best they could manage. After all, no one had even approached him, despite working right next door.

The bitter taste lingered in his mouth.

Throughout his shift, thoughts of Heon-ju’s guiding and the insufficient support kept nagging at him, and even as he lay in bed, the issue weighed on his mind. He couldn’t shake the image of Joo-min avoiding eye contact when the topic of guide reinforcements came up, or the sight of the Talent Development Team members suddenly busying themselves to avoid his gaze.

“Ugh, this is so frustrating.”

Yoon-ui kicked off his blanket in frustration, then collapsed back onto the bed, defeated. The fact that they were so short on guides that even an S-Class Esper’s training was under-supported, and yet no one had ordered him to assist, gnawed at him.

He could somewhat understand the Esper team’s reluctance to involve him due to their mistrust, given past events. But learning that even his fellow guides hadn’t considered him for S-Class training stung in a way he hadn’t anticipated.

“…They made it seem like they were on my side.”

The face of Manager Im, who had defended him during the executive meeting, flashed in his mind, bringing with it a fresh wave of betrayal. He pulled the blanket over his head, feeling thoroughly dejected. Despite being known for his “killer” guiding skills, did they really think he was so dangerous that he might even harm an S-Class?

The resentment spiraled, and Yoon-ui tossed and turned in his narrow bed, the mattress creaking under his movements. Fortunately, he had the room to himself; otherwise, he’d have driven a roommate crazy with his constant fidgeting.

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

The guide workforce was small, but only in comparison to the Espers. In absolute numbers, South Korea wasn’t lacking in guides. Including those still active in the Ministry of Defense and those who had retired or moved into civilian life, there were easily over a thousand guides. Among them, Yoon-ui knew he was one of the top-tier when it came to suppression guiding. He was confident—no, certain—that he was unmatched in his ability to block powers, and this was a fact recognized by everyone in the Ministry of Defense.

Yet, despite this objectively superior skill, he was treated like an invisible entity, dismissed because of past incidents and lingering prejudices.

The first emotion that welled up was hurt. Since middle school, he had spent nearly half his life training and working as a guide. He had devoted himself entirely to this organization, making it the core of his existence, and now he was being excluded.

Even now, though he held a less-than-ideal position, he remained loyal and dutiful to the organization’s commands. Yet, simply because his work was out of sight and involved tasks everyone avoided, he wasn’t even considered for the same guide duties as others.

Was he really that useless to this organization? The thought made every moment he had spent here feel utterly meaningless.

“They’re turning me into a fool….”

Since receiving his guide designation, he had lived apart from his parents, spending all his time at the training facility. Up until the incident, he had always been the model student, following the elite path. Had he not been pushed out, he could have even set a record for the youngest guide team leader.

Training and fieldwork were all he knew. He had no hobbies, no friends outside the organization, and even the few relationships he had were entirely within this world. His pride and his entire life were built on the achievements and records he had earned.

“Will I never get to go back to the field….”

He had thought he had accepted this long ago, but there must have been a part of him still hoping he could return to the field someday. It was pathetic. Yoon-ui twisted and turned in bed, frustrated that even after years of being sidelined, he still hadn’t let go of that hope.

But then again, this had been his entire life since he was fourteen. From the moment he received his guide notice, it never occurred to him that he might do anything other than fieldwork. Even after receiving disciplinary action, he hadn’t imagined being taken out of the field completely.

During his suspension, he had only worried about not being able to return to the front lines for a few years, thinking he might be reassigned to the Response Center. Even that thought had depressed him, making him feel like a has-been. So when he was moved to a back-office administrative role, it had been a shock he still remembered vividly. And now, today’s sense of betrayal felt like it would linger just as long. Every time he shifted in the narrow bed, the mattress creaked in complaint, echoing his own frustration.

“Honestly, I’m probably the best fit to work with him.”

What, did they think I’d scratch their precious S-Class?

A flash of jealousy toward the organization’s pampered “S-Class darling” surged within him, but he quickly felt embarrassed for harboring such feelings toward someone so much younger. He was thirty-two, for crying out loud—what was he doing getting worked up over a kid who was twelve years younger?

And then he remembered those eyes—one with a double eyelid, the other with a lighter fold—and how they had looked at him with such sincerity. The thought of taking out his frustration on such an earnest and innocent kid made him feel even more miserable and pathetic.