Pretending to Be the Lover of an Esper C23

Chapter 23

“Son of a bitch. The nerve of that guy.”

Once I’d stepped inside my room and shut the inner bedroom door, I wiped my eyes. Thankfully, they weren’t wet.
Gripping my trembling hands tightly, I slid down against the wall, knees drawn up, head buried. For a long time, I just focused on breathing—slow, deep.

By the time the shaking subsided, the pounding of my heartbeat had mellowed too. Only then could I think clearly again.
Taeon’s words from earlier had been blunt in his usual way, but there’d been something sharper buried inside them—a density of irritation that wasn’t typical of him.

It hadn’t just been coldness. It was anger.
The kind of warning you get from a wild creature baring its teeth: cross this line and you’ll regret it.

It wasn’t the first time, either. I was pretty sure something similar had happened when we first met.
“Does he have… bad memories or something?”

Whenever he reacted like that—too sensitively for no obvious reason—that was the first thought that jumped to mind. But maybe it wasn’t that. Maybe his aversion to personal questions came from something worse.

“No. Stop it. Don’t be curious.”
That was just speculation, and any step further would cross into unwanted intrusion.
Someone else’s life isn’t a subject for passing interest.
I repeated that thought while lightly slapping my cheeks with both hands.

His reaction had been completely rational.
Who in their right mind enjoys having their private life examined—especially by someone they openly disliked?

Right. Disliked person.
“Oh, Ji Yunseong…”

That was the problem—my chronic flaw.
Even if relationships started off rocky, I had the terrible habit of softening the moment the other person treated me a little kindly.

〈You just like people too much. Even when you know better, you still get attached easily. That’s your problem.〉

A friend had once said that to me. They weren’t wrong. I was sentimental, and I couldn’t keep disliking someone forever. That was just my nature… though there were a few exceptions.

Anyway, it was the same with Taeon.
He’d shown the barest hint of leniency, and I’d taken that as something more—let myself forget the past and repeat the mistake of assuming peace. Complete arrogance on my part.

Our goal wasn’t reconciliation or friendship.
Taeon and I were merely stuck enduring each other for a year. Nothing more.
“I told him we didn’t have to get along.”

And he was keeping that promise faithfully.
He had never once forgotten what I’d done.

I thumped my head lightly and dragged myself toward the bathroom.
The wave of embarrassment that hit was almost physical—though maybe it wasn’t embarrassment at all, maybe it was disappointment. Either way, I hoped it wasn’t the latter.

Bang! Bang!

Gunfire split the thick air.
A flock of birds scattered from the treetops with a cacophony of wings. After a brief commotion, silence settled again. That must’ve been one of the other teams’ fighting drills.

I scanned the forest through the window, alert despite the lazy sway of summer leaves. The heavy, humid heat made even breathing feel stifling.

“…It’s up.”
That came from Jiwoo, who was peering through binoculars.

Out on the far right, past the safety zone where we’d been hiding, a green flag fluttered above a prefab structure labeled Safe Area. The last checkpoint.

The others passed the binoculars around, confirming it in turns before breathing out with visible relief. I wiped the sweat from my forehead and smiled faintly.

Ding-ding-ding!
The chime rang through the woods moments later—bright, cheerful, the definitive signal that training was complete.

“Nice job, everyone!”
“Good work.”
“God, that breeze feels amazing!”

We didn’t wait around; half-running, we made our way out of the forest. Our whole team had made it—no dropouts.

The waiting room near the entrance greeted us with a shock of cold air. A collective groan of bliss filled the room. Judging by the emptiness, we were the first team back.

“Ugh, I’m drenched. I need a shower.”
“Anyone know who got dropped?”
“This training’d be fine if it weren’t for the paranoia. Never knowing what’s about to jump out next really eats at your nerves.”

As we loosened gear and kneaded sore shoulders, everyone traded small noises of complaint and laughter.

“The Espers keep getting more extreme every round. Half of them act like they’re auditioning to be ghosts in a haunted house.”

That earned a round of laughter. Jaegyeong, still fanning herself after removing her gloves, grinned.
“You saw that rock trap earlier? That double-layer setup was unreal!”
Her comment reignited the chatter, our exhaustion momentarily forgotten.

The bimonthly joint training for Team 1 was primarily for Partner Guides.
It simulated separation during field missions—teaching Guides how to survive and return safely if split from their Espers.

Guides operated in groups, hiding in multiple forest “safe zones.” Training only ended once every team managed to raise their flag.

Espers took on the role of “monsters,” interfering with the Guides.
Naturally, there were limits—otherwise, one Esper could easily eliminate every Guide in minutes. They weren’t allowed to use psychic powers or deviate from assigned patrol patterns.

Each Guide and Esper wore sensors and trackers at the neck and waist.
If an Esper captured a Guide’s tracker, that Guide was “eliminated.”
If a Guide shot an Esper’s sensor with paint rounds, the Esper was “neutralized” and had to stay put like a corpse.

It was a slightly more brutal version of a survival game.
And, as Jaegyeong put it, the Espers kept getting more inventive every round, keeping the tension close to that of real combat.

It was my first joint training since transferring to the Gyeonggi branch—not that it felt much different from Seoul’s.

“Ah, Team 3’s already here!”

Ten minutes later, other teams began returning one by one, drenched in sweat and heat.
The last to arrive were, of course, the Espers. They must’ve stayed behind to dismantle the traps and reset the grounds.

Among the clusters of Guides reuniting with their partners, one notably tall, striking man entered with them.
Lee Taeon.

“…”
“…”

My seat faced the doorway, which meant our eyes met immediately.

Where I was still panting and dripping from exertion, he looked completely unbothered—as if the sweltering sun hadn’t touched him. The sheer unfairness of it drew a quiet sigh from me.
I managed a stiff, awkward nod.

Or rather, I did. Alone.
Because while I was busy trying to be civil, Taeon simply turned away with perfect composure and strode off toward the break area without a glance.

“What’s his deal?”

For a second, I wondered if this was about two nights ago—when I’d asked that question about his switch from solo work. Maybe he’d taken it harder than I thought. But no…

The next morning at work, he’d acted entirely professional, even taking the initiative to apologize again for his outburst that night.

Whatever grudge he might’ve held, he buried it under flawless professionalism. The man could probably write a manual on compartmentalization.

“Yunseong, your face is still red.”
“Wha—ah!”

Coolness brushed my cheek unexpectedly, making me flinch and turn. Yoonhwa stood there holding two grape-flavored soda cans and an ice pack.

“Oh, I startled you! Is it too cold?”
“No, just… surprised. Am I still red?”
“Better than earlier, but yeah—your cheeks and neck are still flushed. You overheat easily, don’t you?”
“Probably. I tend to stay feverish for a while when it happens.”

I wasn’t the sickly type, but when I did fall ill, I stayed that way longer than most.
What others shook off in two days lingered four or five for me.

“Here, keep this on your head for now. Works wonders, trust me.”
She plopped the ice pack gently atop my hair and pressed a chilled can into my hand. I instinctively raised it to my burning cheek.

“Eunchae said the afternoon session might be moved indoors—it’s too hot out. They’ll confirm once the team leader gets here.”
“Yeah, figures. It’s been suddenly scorching lately.”

We joked about how the country seemed stuck between four seasons in name only—really more like early-summer/summer and early-winter/winter.

Tilting my head to focus on her words made the ice pack start slipping. I was just reaching to fix it when a large shape appeared across from me.

“Huh…?”

A chilled bottle landed in front of me with a dull clunk.
The hand holding it was big enough that the 500ml bottle looked tiny by comparison. My eyes followed it upward—rough veins on his forearm, muscle taut beneath his skin—

Thud. The ice pack slid from my head to the floor.

“Cool yourself down.”

With that curt, almost rough motion, Taeon set the bottle down and walked away.