Pretending to Be the Lover of an Esper C10

Chapter 10

“Ah.”

The guiding session had barely begun when an inexplicable sense of dissonance settled over me.

It was as if another layer of skin lay atop my own—a strange sensation of fusion.

My step forward faltered, pausing momentarily. Reflexively, I glanced at the back of Lee Taeon’s head.

He, too, stiffened visibly, his shoulders tightening so notably it was plain to see.

I knew he felt it as I did. An instinctive sense.

He turned to face me.

His expression was filled with subtle bewilderment, languor, and a hint of excitement. Excitement? He flickered a faint smile, barely there. Then, he turned away.

“Good heavens.”

At the swift passage of Lee Taeon’s fleeting emotion, I realized the source of the unease—not solely from his expression.

It was as if I had been overwhelmed by the comforting warmth of lukewarm water.

Added to that was a profound sense of shared identity, as if two nerve bundles were tightly entwined.

I had glimpsed this once or twice before with Tae-young hyung when partnering.

Sensory sharing.

Though the precise cause remains unknown, this rare phenomenon occurs during guiding, arising from high resonance rates and deep empathy between partners—hence its intuitive name.

“Alright!”

But there was no time for sentimental delight.

Suddenly, the opposite door swung open, releasing dozens of target objects—specifically, insectoid quadrupedal robots equipped with sensors.

Before I could shake off my thoughts, I moved instinctively in the same direction as Lee Taeon. It happened before my mind could register the command.

This unconscious reaction stemmed from a momentary fusion with Lee Taeon’s own thought—to evade the incoming robots.

My heart thundered unexpectedly. Excitement. Now I understood the cause of the fluttering feeling Lee Taeon had briefly shown.

“Left, eleven o’clock!”

Lee Taeon shouted, having disabled a robot’s sensor at close range. But my body was already moving before he finished. Again, I sensed the alert he had caught with remarkable sharpness.

Bam! The paintball I fired struck the sensor dead on—the creature charging from the direction Lee Taeon indicated.

The disabled robot collapsed, scraping and sliding along the floor before coming to rest.

Without hesitation, I swivelled the barrel toward another robot rushing in from the right, straight at Lee Taeon.

He surely knew my movements and thoughts—I could tell he did. Indeed, he ignored that right flank entirely, simultaneously fending off two robots attacking from front and rear.

The second paintball I fired did not miss.

I glanced absently at the electronic timer on the ceiling. Only a little over three minutes had passed.

I inhaled deeply. Three minutes—and our sensory sharing persisted without flicker or interruption.

A sudden tickle rose in a corner of my heart. Perhaps it was a thrill.

The elation of perfectly harmonized steps, neither lost nor confused, moving as if one body, hands and feet flowing seamlessly.

“This is insane…”

The muttered exclamation slipped out, sounding like an excited marvel. My heart pounded.

Sensory sharing was a rare occurrence.

By some luck, I had experienced it with Tae-young hyung, but that was only ever for short bursts, never exceeding two minutes, and with intermittent weakening signals.

To sustain it for over three minutes with a partner I’d known less than a month and shared limited rapport with was unheard of.

…That is, until three minutes ago.

“A gangster’s resonance rate…”

The cause was clear. Nothing else explained it.

Recalling what I knew of sensory sharing, I ducked behind cover and shielded Lee Taeon.

His sensations were clearer than mine—an unfamiliar feeling.

“Looks like this might be doable.”

Until the “switch” is found, sensory sharing cannot be summoned at will. It all hinges on luck.

Finding the switch demands time and energy, yet results are modest.

It’s like digging a hole for ten minutes with a trowel instead of an excavator. Though even converting a trowel to an excavator takes tremendous effort.

“Two on the left, taken care of.”

Thus, I had not seriously tried to use sensory sharing with Tae-young hyung, finding other training more beneficial for the time. But…

“Guide Ji Yunseong. Move right in five seconds.”

With Lee Taeon, sensory sharing was unmistakably different.

Not just in duration, but its density was firmer and heavier than what I’d felt with Tae-young hyung.

Despite our mutual dislike, a profound, instinctive trust lingered between us, almost unconscious.

I chuckled—a hollow laugh not from conflicting emotions but because, despite sensing this, I felt no resentment or confusion. Rather…

Yes, excitement. The peculiar buoyancy resembled excitement, the very feeling Lee Taeon had hinted at amidst his own confusion.

“We’ll finish this in less than ten minutes, let alone thirty.”

Joking while covering for Lee Taeon, I noted that I had taken down one robot and he two more. Heavy metal limbs crashed noisily across the floor.

“Seems likely.”

I expected silence, but he surprisingly replied sincerely. My gaze followed his low voice. His thin lips curved faintly in a subtle smile as he lightly painted a zigzagging robot and then glanced back at me.

“Given this, I’m sure…”

He muttered, barely audible, like a languid sigh.

His face was unusually relaxed, an expression I had never seen before—awkwardly so.

“Two o’clock.”

Finding no better response, I indicated the target’s orientation. The moment I spoke, or perhaps just before, Lee Taeon spun and forcefully kicked a charging robot.

“Whoa.”

The heavy impact sent a slight electric tingling to my fingertips—less than a second. A strange sensation, but no sign of physical harm.

I knew what it was: a sign that Lee Taeon used his ability.

Electric shock, current, lightning strikes. As expected of one who wields electricity, a faint tingling flickered from my fingertips upward.

Instantly, the fallen robot’s sensor cracked with a sizzling sound. That must’ve cost a lot.

A faint smell of burnt plastic suggested Lee Taeon’s electricity had incinerated the sensor entirely.

I rushed to him and looked at the disabled robot.

“Why didn’t you shoot it like before?”
“I was testing.”

Lee Taeon clicked his tongue softly, seemingly surprised by his own action and wearing a somewhat pouty expression.

“Testing?”
“Yes…”

He sparked lightly at the robot, which soon quieted as he examined it.

Following his gaze downward, I saw not only the sensor but the joints were darkened and dead—its entire internal circuitry appeared charred.

“A complete charcoal lump.”

Without answering, Lee Taeon raised his arm and aimed the trigger toward my side.

“Oh.”

Though sudden, I wasn’t startled—after all, I was still sharing senses with him. Almost six… seven minutes now. This was something to be truly amazed by.

Looking up, a robot swayed to a halt, coated in green paint, toppled to the floor.

“Looks like the fine control isn’t quite there yet.”

“Did you mean to just burn the sensor?”
“No, I was trying to nudge the wire connecting the main circuit to the sensor.”
“How can you do that without seeing inside?”
“I tried sending current through it like a neural network. But as I said, precise control is still difficult.”

Lee Taeon rubbed his chin in mild frustration, clicking his tongue as he nudged the robot with his boot.

He intended to trace the internal wiring and sever just the one leading to the sensor while kicking the robot—a feat demanding extraordinary focus and finesse beyond most abilities.

Though the preliminary tinkering went awry, the attempt was impressive.

“To clarify, hitting a single sensor with ease is no challenge.”
“Ah, yes…”
“But delving blindly into the unseen interior, navigating tangled circuits, and cutting just one target wire is definitely difficult. Though by now, I think I could pull it off.”

Unlike his earlier boast about handling visible sensors easily, his tone was calm and tinged with wistfulness, as if he barely sounded annoyed.

He wasn’t embarrassed by failure.

“Ah, that’s right. I’d probably just be more sensitive than usual.”