IGWKE Episode 2

Episode 2

“There’s a saying that when you start seeing too many unfamiliar faces, it means the organization’s water is stagnating.”

Joo-min, who was passing by, joined in on the conversation. Yoon-ui let out a hearty laugh.

“Well, I’m not just stagnant water—I’m probably rotten water by now.”

“Can’t argue with that.”

It’s been nearly 20 years since Yoon-ui was registered at the headquarters after receiving an A-grade guide assessment during his middle school aptitude test. He received his first field assignment at the age of 19, so purely based on years of service, he’s already clocked in 12 years. That’s a full zodiac cycle—enough to be considered a veteran in the Central Crisis Management Headquarters, where the average tenure is quite short.

If he had continued working in the field, he might have died, quit, or for some other reason, wouldn’t have been around long enough to become stagnant. However, due to certain circumstances, he was reassigned to administrative duties in the back office, allowing him to accumulate his years of service in peace. Yoon-ui counted on his fingers, calculating his work tenure.

“I’ve hit 10 years now, so that means I qualify for a pension, right?”

“Why, you thinking of leaving?”

“Who knows? If another Esper dies on my watch in the field, I might not have a choice but to leave.”

Joo-min’s face hardened at Yoon-ui’s sudden, dark humor. A glance across the room showed that Woo-joo also wasn’t sure whether to laugh or stay serious, his face struggling to find an appropriate expression. It was meant to be a joke, after all. Though he regretted his failed attempt at humor, there was no taking back what he’d said.

“…I guess I should get to work.”

Joo-min, failing to lighten the mood, awkwardly returned to her desk.

It was now 8:58 AM. With two minutes left before the official start of the workday, Jung-woo, another blue lanyard, walked in with a bright and eager expression. Oh. Yoon-ui whistled inwardly. He had been feeling a bit down since the morning, so seeing someone as cheerful and diligent as Jung-woo was a welcome sight.

“Let’s do our best today.”

“Yes, sir. Hopefully, we can get through the day without any deployments.”

“Yeah, that would be nice.”

But as he looked at the list of Espers on the monitor—those few familiar names—all of them were people he’d rather not deal with.

Two of them had double-digit counts of unauthorized absences. Could they really get through today without a single deployment? Yoon-ui downed the rest of his now lukewarm coffee and slumped back into his chair.

“Please, just check in before 10 AM, you damn brats…”

As the clock passed the official start time, the faint sounds of the megaphone outside disappeared, as if they had been nothing more than a hallucination. The protestors would be back again next Thursday.

[Demanding the Truth Behind the Missing Espers!]

The voices of the protestors echoed in Yoon-ui’s ears one last time before fading away, leaving him to focus solely on the list of absentees in front of him.

Missing Personnel and Absent Personnel.

Although they sound similar, the “absentees” that the Talent Management Team handles are different from the “missing personnel” that the protestors are referring to. Missing personnel are those who have gone into battle and failed to return. Those who come back as bodies are not counted as missing. In contrast, those who enter a gate and fail to return in any form are classified as missing in the system.

On the other hand, absent personnel are a much more manageable issue. These are simply individuals who have gone AWOL from their designated areas or barracks after taking leave, with a promise to return by a certain time, but have failed to do so. It’s just a polite administrative term for those who haven’t returned as expected.

Yoon-ui had long argued that the term “absent personnel” was too mild, and that it should be called “mentally lost idiots” (정빠새, a play on words meaning “mentally lost bastards”). However, due to the harshness of the term, it never caught on.

“Some people think we show up on time because we’ve got energy to spare…”

While it might be expected that more absentees would occur during night shifts, in reality, the daytime shifts were when return rates were the lowest. The majority of absentees were Espers, who often overslept or procrastinated in the morning due to their lack of mental discipline.

The real problem, however, was that the higher-ups tolerated this kind of behavior.

A few years ago, Espers’ leave was strictly controlled, only granted for a few days after they had entered a gate. But nowadays, they could almost go out every week, even without being on a mission, as long as they applied for leave. As a result, the number of absentees had skyrocketed compared to the past. How could these guys develop any discipline when they treated leave as casually as eating a meal?

Thirty minutes before the scheduled return time, Yoon-ui refreshed the list. The obedient ones had already shown up as returned, but about ten were still marked as absent, with a glaring red indicator next to their names.

“Jung-woo, we need to start calling them now.”

“Yes, sir.”

As Jung-woo began contacting the Espers, requesting them to return, Yoon-ui started calling the guides listed on his screen, prioritizing the ones he knew by name and had a history with.

“Hey, Kang Yun-yeong. You overslept, didn’t you?”

― Oh, Sunbae, I swear I’ll be there in 15 minutes! I really mean it!

“You know that if you’re late again today, your leave will be restricted for a month, right?”

― Sunbae! I really will be there in 15 minutes! Promise!

“I’m giving you exactly 15 minutes. If you’re not checked in by then, I’ll come get you myself. Understand?”

― Don’t worry! I’ll be there for real!

The call ended abruptly, without even a goodbye, likely because Yun-yeong was running. Yoon-ui clicked his tongue at the impolite response and moved on to the next guide.

After going through the ones he knew, only the newer, cleaner records with names he didn’t recognize were left. Changing his tone to be softer, Yoon-ui made the next call.

“Ms. Jang Seo-young, this is Administrative Officer Yoon-ui from the Talent Management Team. You’re scheduled to return from leave by 10 AM today, but you haven’t checked in yet, so I’m just giving you a courtesy call.”

― Oh, yes! I’m on my way back now! I’m in a taxi!

“Great, please make sure to return by 10 AM.”

― I will!

The last round of calls to the guides ended smoothly, without any friction.

Guides, even if they occasionally showed up late, generally tried to adhere to their return times and were polite when contacted. This was likely because they knew they might end up in an administrative role themselves one day, and didn’t want to antagonize the Talent Department.

But Espers were a different story altogether.

“Yes, Sunbae Kwon Taehyuk. This is Park Jung-woo from the Talent Management Team.”

― You little bastard! Do you think I don’t know how to read a clock? How dare a greenhorn like you call and demand a check-in from your Sunbae! I’ll get back when I’m damn well ready!

“I understand, sir. We just have to follow our routine procedures….”

― What class are you in?

“Pardon? I’m from the 21st class….”

― I had everything under control before you even got your ID! Do you think we couldn’t take leave before all this bureaucratic nonsense?

With that, the call abruptly ended without any mention of when he would return. Yoon-ui clicked his tongue in disapproval.

“Why’d you even bother answering all that?”

“He asked….”

“Such a dutiful junior you are.”

Espers who primarily worked in the field and rarely interacted with the Talent Management Team were often hypersensitive to calls from the department.

It was almost a trademark of their job—being irritable and difficult. They carried a strange sense of victimhood and arrogant superiority, as if they were the only ones risking their lives for the country, while the administrative staff were just pushing papers and scheming their way up the ladder.

This misplaced sense of entitlement and victimhood led them to look down on management teams like Yoon-ui’s, even though they were all part of the same Ministry of Defense. They treated routine calls as if they were gross impositions, a chronic attitude problem that seemed incurable. Yoon-ui tried to console Jung-woo.

“Don’t worry about it. Espers are all crazy, every last one of them.”

“I’m an Esper too….”

“Yeah, and you’re crazy too.”

“Yes….”

Seeing Jung-woo’s spirits droop, Yoon-ui gave him a reassuring pat on the shoulder before checking the list of absent personnel one last time.

It was now 9:55 AM. Jang Seo-young returned at 9:55 AM. Park Gangho returned at 9:57 AM. Kang Yun-yeong returned at 9:58 AM. And finally, Kwon “Bastard” returned at 9:59 AM. (Just missed the deadline, shame.)

However, there were still two names marked in red, indicating their failure to return. As soon as the clock struck 10:00 AM, Yoon-ui mercilessly selected all and pressed the button to report them as absentees. He wasn’t about to give these Espers even a second of leniency. He had already geared up and was ready for deployment five minutes earlier.

“Alright, Jung-woo. Let’s head out.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Take care.”

Woo-joo waved a lethargic hand over the partition. With a lively response, “We’ll be back,” Yoon-ui hooked his arm with Jung-woo’s.

Jung-woo was one of the few Espers with teleportation abilities. A white light began to trace the outline of Jung-woo’s body as he activated his power. The light extended along the path of their linked arms, enveloping both of them. Once the ability was fully charged, Yoon-ui called out their mission and coordinates.

“Talent Management Team, Yoon-ui and Park Jung-woo. Deploying to secure the missing Esper. Target 1. Coordinates, 36. 255. 28. 4.”

“Coordinates confirmed: 36 255 28 4.”

“Move.”

“Move.”

Jung-woo’s power activated.

The destination was a bar in Seoul. As soon as they arrived on the scene, Yoon-ui identified the Esper’s location and pulled out a pair of handcuffs.

This particular Esper had double-digit instances of unauthorized absences. They had encountered each other multiple times before, so there was no need for greetings or explanations. Without bothering to listen to any excuses, Yoon-ui cuffed the wrist of the Esper slumped over the table.

“Esper 3657. You are under arrest for unauthorized absence as per military law.”

“…Fuck. Not you again, Yoon-ui.”

The Esper’s speech was slurred, and his face was flushed, indicating he had been drinking heavily until morning and had likely passed out right there. Embarrassed by his Sunbae’s drunken state, Jung-woo placed his hand on the cuffs. A white light surrounded the cuffs and the drunken Esper, signaling the activation of his power. The Esper was then directly teleported to the military detention center.