Pretending to Be the Lover of an Esper C15

Chapter 15

“Starting now—three minutes again. Keep time.”
Taeon’s voice sounded unmistakably cheerful. He was a little more composed than before, yet the exhilaration in him was impossible to miss.
There was no denying it now: when it came to emotional influence, Lee Taeon was highly susceptible to sensory sharing. The realization gave me a strange feeling.

“Yes, of course—our great Esper, Lee Taeon. I’ll time it down to the exact second, so go ahead.”
Strangely, this time, I didn’t feel irritated or uncomfortable about it.

Half-distracted, half-amused, I listened to the sharp sounds of him mercilessly dismantling the remaining robots. From time to time, out of courtesy, I even peeked up to watch.
Two minutes in—he finished the task one minute faster than he’d claimed he would. All around us, robots lay toppled like discarded junk.

“Impressive.”
For an S-class Esper, it was nothing, really—child’s play—but as a Guide watching from beside him, I couldn’t help being awed. Just experiencing even a fraction of that perception through sensory sharing was dizzying.

“There are four left. What do we do?”
Exactly seven minutes had passed since the training began. That left plenty of room to finish within the nine minutes that sensory sharing usually lasted—or to stretch the session a little longer and test responses to different scenarios.
Would he just clear the rest solo again, like last time? That was my first thought—until he suddenly turned and headed right toward me.

“Guide Ji Yunseong.”
Before I knew it, he was stepping into the same cover position I was using. Alarmed, I nearly pulled back, but his hand caught me mid-motion.

Yes—he grabbed me.

“Wha—”
“Hold still.”
“Hold still?!”

Just like that, Taeon reached out and clasped my waist with one large hand.
He wasn’t squeezing or hurting me, nor pretending only to grab while aiming a punch—but somehow that made it worse, leaving me utterly flustered and mortified.
His hand rested lightly, almost cautiously, against my waist. The only time he tightened his grip was when I instinctively tried to pull away—and then he hauled me back closer.

“Stop fidgeting.”
“Would you be still if I were you? No, seriously, get your hand off me! What’s gotten into you?”
I twisted to free myself while he held fast, tugging me back in—a ridiculous tug-of-war that only left us pressed awkwardly close. He kept murmuring for me to stay still.

At this point, anyone walking in would have thought we were an affectionate couple locked in a private moment. What hurt my pride most was how easily his arm and hand seemed to encircle my entire waist as if it were nothing.
His thick forearm cut diagonally across my back, the pressure of muscle and heat palpable through my thin shirt.

“Mr. Lee Taeon. Listen to me carefully. Your current behavior likely stems from temporary emotional instability—”
“Guide Ji Yunseong.”

He whispered my name lowly—too calm, almost chillingly so. The particular firmness in his tone sent a warning ripple straight down my spine.
Don’t tell me—no.

“Are you insane? You’re not going to throw me again, are you?”
“What? What are you talking about? If I did that here, it’d kill you.”
“Wasn’t that the intention?”
“Do I look insane?”
You do!

“You remember I said something came to mind, right? I’m going to try it.”
That was what grabbing my waist was for? To give me yet another traumatic memory to add to my collection? I almost barked that out—but Taeon was faster.

“…!”
With one hand still firmly around my waist, he pulled me closer against him, raising my rifle’s barrel upward with the other—aiming toward the robots across the arena.

I inhaled sharply and froze. Above me, his quiet, steady breathing brushed against my hair. It was the first time I’d ever heard his breath so close. My palms grew slick with sweat. Half-held as I was, the warmth of his body pressed fully against me—too tangible, too steady.
As that physical sensation ebbed and flowed like a tide, an understanding surfaced within me like wet sand being revealed by receding water. I realized what he meant to attempt.

“Do you think it’ll work?”
“I can’t say for certain…”

All that earlier resistance now felt like something from a distant past. Somehow, I found myself cooperating with his movements, falling into sync. The air between us grew thick with focus.

“This time should yield better results than before.”
A quiet smile curved on his lips. I couldn’t see it, but I could feel it—his self-assured tone carried a trace of laughter.

I steadied the rifle, braced it against my shoulder, held my breath, and followed the faint pressure of his guiding hand as he aimed.
Our target was the leftmost robot of the remaining four—not the vital sensor area, but the broader plating over its thigh and lower back.

“Firing on three.”
I nodded to signal readiness.
“One.”

The sights aligned perfectly with the target. My chest thumped hard; the warmth of his body seemed to pulse with it.
“Two.”
Would it work? The doubt flickered—and vanished.
“Three.”

The moment the word left his lips, my finger moved. A faint tingle raced down it—so brief it couldn’t have lasted a second. It wasn’t pain, nor any physical malfunction. I’d felt this before.

Bang! Bang!
Four rapid shots rang out, then silence.
Tiny sparks flashed in succession as each of the four robots collapsed, one after another, a split second apart—each one splattered not on the sensors but along the clean white casing, smeared with gaudy paint.

It worked.

Without realizing it, I pressed closer, leaning into him. His heartbeat thudded powerfully right beside me, resonating through the thin layers between us—fiber, skin, bone. My own heart matched its rhythm.
A brief silence stretched between us—short, yet seemingly endless.

“Hah…”

As the final siren blared, signaling the end of the session, Taeon let out a soft laugh—contented, tinged with breathy relief. That sound sent a shiver darting down my spine. Beneath its satisfaction was something close to bliss. For that instant, everything felt disarmingly peaceful.

“We did—”
Just then, instinctively, I began to move my arm—to return the touch, maybe even to hug him back—
But sensory sharing ended abruptly.

The spell broke. My mind snapped back into focus. His hand was still on my waist, his grip firming slightly as if tightening unconsciously. My body was gently pulled closer again; the spot under his palm burned with heat.

A dizzy unease rose inside me. I twisted away awkwardly, raising my hand as if surrendering to pry myself free. By sheer luck, the attempt worked—Taeeon didn’t resist or pull me in again. He didn’t look intent on anything at all—just lost, unfocused, like his attention had drifted far away.

Swallowing the strange pang of disappointment, I stepped back. Taeon, meanwhile, was staring at the fallen robots—admiring them with pure satisfaction, lips curved in a proud smile.

I didn’t know why my heart was still pounding.

“Let’s—check the results. I’ll go, or no, we can… I’ll just go check first.”
Before I could lose composure entirely, I forced myself to move, walking briskly—nearly running. Taeon must have snapped out of his daze, because soon his steady, unhurried footsteps echoed softly behind me.

The first robot—our initial target—showed slight scorching at the joints, nothing serious. Not perfect, but far better than before.
The next one—

“The first two are marginal, but the third and fourth were clean hits,” Taeon said right beside me, his voice proud, confidence radiating through the words.
“You’re saying you analyzed each internal circuit between shifting targets and firing, in under a second?”

He only tilted his head in affirmation. I followed his gesture and examined the second unit more closely. The exposed joints between the plates showed little more than faint grime and superficial scratches—no burns, no residue.
Checking further up the plating from the neck toward the head, I widened a seam just enough to glimpse inside; a faint smell of singed wiring lingered.

The third and fourth, however, were flawless. From the surface, there was no visible external damage at all.
Detailed inspection would require removing all plating, but one fact stood sure: as Taeon claimed, the internal circuit lines connecting the sensors had been severed—and nothing else.

His method had evolved—an improvement over his initial experiment. The electrical current he had released followed the trajectory of the bullet, entering the robot’s casing simultaneous with the paint impact, then tunneling inward, acting precisely in accordance with his will.
The first attempt had bordered on failure; the second showed progress; and by the third, he’d achieved perfection.

All of that refined and corrected in under a second between aim and trigger pull—learning, adapting, improving through each failure with mechanical precision.

“I told you it’d get easier with practice.”

Straightening up, I looked at him.
“You seem pleased.”

〈…Yes. I’m disappointed.〉

His expression overlapped for a moment with the image of him intoxicated after the previous sensory sharing—though not to that extent, I still sensed echoes of that same exhilaration. Yet—

“You don’t seem disappointed anymore.”
I couldn’t help pointing it out. His newly serene expression was oddly satisfying to look at.

“…Yes.”

His voice brimmed with quiet fulfillment. The low timbre of it resonated softly in the air, carrying the faint trace of something tender—something almost wistful.
And because of that, I couldn’t bring myself to meet his eyes.