IGWKE Episode 29

Episode 29

Of course, things didn’t go smoothly. After flipping through the papers multiple times, the director finally looked up at Yoon-ui and asked, “So, you want to transfer to an administrative position?”

“Yes.”

“You know there’s no administrative role for your current position, right?”

It was a question he had expected. Meeting the director’s gaze, Yoon-ui nodded firmly.

“Yes, I understand.”

The next question, too, was predictable.

“Then who will handle your duties?”

Someone will figure it out, for crying out loud. If he hadn’t felt obligated to maintain some level of professionalism, Yoon-ui might have said those exact words. Instead, he gritted his teeth, forcing an awkward smile that likely looked bizarre to the director.

The director, silently studying Yoon-ui’s strained expression, eventually handed the papers back to him.

“Isn’t guide-related personnel approval under Manager Im’s authority?”

“Yes… I already discussed this with Manager Im.”

“Oh? And what did she say? I heard we’re short on field guides these days. Did she approve it?”

“Well…”

Unable to lie outright, Yoon-ui hesitated, trailing off awkwardly. Picking up on the situation, the director shrugged and returned the papers.

“Get Manager Im’s approval first, and I’ll sign it after that.”

With that, the director clasped his hands behind his back and strolled off toward his office as if the conversation had never happened.

Standing there, watching his retreating figure, Yoon-ui cursed himself for being born a guide. If I were an Esper, you wouldn’t be so quick to turn your back on me. He clenched his fists, trembling with frustration. Being a guide without any real connections made everything infinitely harder.

If he’d been a physical-type Esper, he could’ve resolved most of his problems with a single punch. Instead, here he was, powerless, glaring at the director’s smugly departing back.

Back in the office, Yoon-ui slumped over his desk, fuming. His colleagues, noticing his rising and falling shoulders as he tried to contain his anger, wisely kept their distance. Even Joo-min refrained from asking how it went—his body language already answered the question.

The only person foolish enough to approach him in this state was none other than Heon-ju, blissfully unaware of the earlier events. Near the end of the day, Heon-ju poked his head through the office door, grinning as he called out cheerfully.

“I’m here!”

Joo-min waved her hand, an ambiguous gesture that could’ve meant either come in or don’t come in. Misinterpreting it as a welcome, Heon-ju strode in, beaming.

“Hey, everyone!”

It took less than a minute for him to realize he’d misjudged the mood. Joo-min’s expression had stiffened, and when he glanced at Jung-woo, the latter silently pointed toward Yoon-ui’s desk.

Rising slightly on his toes, Heon-ju peered over the partition to see Yoon-ui’s hunched back and tension radiating from him like heat. Knowing it was too late to back out, he awkwardly tiptoed closer.

“I’m here…” he whispered cautiously.

Though his voice was quieter than usual, speaking directly into Yoon-ui’s ear ensured he was heard. Slowly, Yoon-ui straightened, brushing his disheveled bangs back into place before glancing at Heon-ju.

“If your training ended at this hour, you should’ve gone straight home. Why are you here?”

The scolding tone was typical, but hearing it caused an audible sigh of relief from behind. The exaggerated exhale likely came from Joo-min, but the entire office seemed to relax in unison.

Feeling slightly guilty for making everyone so tense, Yoon-ui playfully tapped Heon-ju’s arm.

“Are you skipping training just to hang around?”

“No way! I already told you earlier—I had training this afternoon and evening. We talked about it over coffee, remember?”

“Did we?”

“You’re so mean! Why don’t you ever pay attention to me?”

The teasing complaint made Yoon-ui roll his eyes, though a faint smile tugged at the corner of his lips. At least Heon-ju’s enthusiasm managed to ease some of his lingering frustration.

Before Yoon-ui had a chance to collect himself, Heon-ju managed to make the situation even more awkward. His comment left Yoon-ui with his mouth agape, instinctively scanning the room. Judging by how quickly everyone lowered their heads, they had all heard it. He even caught the sound of Joo-min’s barely suppressed laughter.

Even though everyone likely knew about Heon-ju’s “Esper first love” situation, it didn’t make it any less embarrassing for Yoon-ui. Worried that Heon-ju might say something even more dangerous, he dragged him into the break room before he could utter another word.

Once inside, Heon-ju, now comfortable as if it were his own space, poured a cup of coffee and offered it to Yoon-ui before taking a seat across from him. Accepting the cup, still flustered, Yoon-ui glanced at Heon-ju’s sulky face and scolded lightly.

“Hey. How am I supposed to keep track of you too? You’re not even a junior guide, and I’m busy enough just trying to survive.”

“But I care about you, even when I’m busy.”

“Don’t you have better things to care about?”

Flustered by Heon-ju’s unabashed response, Yoon-ui resorted to scolding to mask his embarrassment, though he couldn’t suppress the flush creeping up his face. The thought of Joo-min, Woo-joo, and Jung-woo overhearing this made cold sweat run down his back. It wasn’t a direct confession, but Heon-ju was expressing his feelings with nearly everything else. Dragging him into the break room had definitely been the right call.

Ignoring the reprimand, Heon-ju sipped his coffee and grumbled.

“When you told me in Seoul that you had something to say, I kept wondering what it was. I thought you’d bring it up while treating me to something nice today. But instead, you treated Hyun-ji noona to coffee.”

“Why are you acting like I only treated Hyun-ji? I treated you both.”

“I thought it’d just be the two of us.”

That hit a nerve. Yoon-ui fell silent, knowing he was partly to blame for giving that impression. He’d initially intended for it to be just the two of them, so Heon-ju’s expectations weren’t unfounded. Still, promising a solo meal now would only encourage him further, and Yoon-ui couldn’t risk that.

So, as usual, he dodged by launching into a tirade.

“You’re so focused on eating and hanging out that your training isn’t progressing.”

“That’s not true!”

“Oh, really? Then why did the director bring you up in today’s executive meeting, asking why you went to Busan if you weren’t going to make any progress?”

Dragging the executive meeting into his scolding seemed to hit a sore spot.

“That’s not fair! I did make progress by the last day! I had full guiding during training that day, and things improved a lot!”

“Oh?”

Surprised, Yoon-ui raised an eyebrow. Full guiding for an entire day of training? That was no small feat. With the limited number of guides at the Busan branch, finding someone available—let alone qualified—was a challenge.

“They must really value you. Did all the guides at the branch team up or something?”

“Well, they brought in reinforcements midway, and an A-rank guide joined on the last day.”

“An A-rank guide in Busan? Really?”

At the mention of an A-rank guide, the taste of coffee soured in Yoon-ui’s mouth. Unaware of the shift in his mood, Heon-ju excitedly recalled the guide’s name.

“Uh… Song Ki-heon, I think? I heard he used to be stationed in Seoul.”

“Oh… him.”

Hearing the name of his long-forgotten junior felt like drinking the stale coffee served at the center café. Although Yoon-ui managed to suppress a grimace, Heon-ju seemed to catch on to his dislike of Song Ki-heon and fell silent, observing him carefully.

“He came in just for your last day?”

“Yeah. He was on standby, but they switched his schedule so he could guide me.”

“Ah… I see.”

Yoon-ui forced a smile, his lips twitching slightly. Typical Song Ki-heon. He was always sniffing out opportunities to climb the ranks. No doubt he volunteered to guide an S-class Esper to catch the attention of the higher-ups.

If the upper management were to visit a gate site, Song Ki-heon would be the first to fetch their coffee instead of joining the operation. He was, in essence, the embodiment of social ambition—something Yoon-ui sorely lacked.

That wasn’t to say they were entirely dissimilar. Once, Yoon-ui himself had been on track to become the youngest administrative guide. Back then, he believed skill alone was enough to succeed. Reality, however, had proven otherwise. His lack of social finesse had ultimately sidelined him, while Song Ki-heon had claimed the title of “youngest administrative guide candidate.”

Feigning nonchalance, Yoon-ui steadied his voice and asked, “Did he talk to you much?”