Pretending to Be the Lover of an Esper C13

Chapter 13

I walked toward the two armchairs facing the glass wall. My muddled thoughts began to unwind the moment I inhaled the faint scent of the leather that comfortably supported my back.
The view outside wasn’t much different from that of the dormitory: a stretch of mountains neither high nor low extended far into the distance, unbroken by any other buildings to obstruct the sightline.
I idly fiddled with my phone as I sat, killing time.

“How strange.”
After spacing out for a few minutes, boredom set in, and I began checking through my previous records.
Nothing stood out as unusual—except the remarkably narrow range of fluctuation in my guiding load rate.
That rate typically varied widely depending on a Guide’s stamina, frequency and duration of guiding, and the Esper’s power output levels.
Since I had been guiding Lee Taeon every single day, my load rate should have risen by at least ten points, probably more.
The schedule didn’t make sense otherwise: training all morning, barely catching my breath for an hour or two, and then guiding immediately afterward. It was an odd set of numbers.

“Maybe because of the resonance rate.”
That was the only factor that came to mind—and it might as well have explained everything. Resonance efficiency practically solved all variables. Naturally, the higher the resonance, the lower the load rate, but I hadn’t expected the efficiency to be this good.
Still, a low load rate was a good thing. Nothing was wrong with my body, after all, so there was no real concern.
I closed the records and sank deeper into the chair, enjoying my quiet time.

Beep.
Before long, the card reader chirped as someone unlocked the door to the guiding room. I didn’t need to look to know it was Taeon.
The steady, heavy rhythm of footsteps, the long stride—he reached me in just a few paces. Out of reflex, I lifted my gaze to look at him, then turned it away again.
As he sat down, a faint trace of body wash with a green, grassy scent reached me.

No greeting like “You’re early” or “How are you feeling?”—just his habitual dryness. Not that I minded; we weren’t on those terms anyway.
…Of course, that warm, relaxed demeanor he had shown back then had proven that he wasn’t always like this by nature—but no, no, stop it.
I forced down the memory threatening to surface again. If Taeon hadn’t been beside me, I probably would’ve slapped my forehead red.

“Ten minutes again this time,” I said, as though reporting to him, and powered on the stat reader. A short whirring sound hummed to life. After confirming it was fully operational, I attached the electrode pad to my forearm.
Taeon rolled up his sleeve and pressed one to his own arm in turn. Once I confirmed the connection, I began channeling guiding energy. His forearms are absurdly muscular.

It was standard procedure for newly paired teams to conduct daily guiding sessions for a set period—anywhere from five to over thirty minutes depending on condition and schedule.
The goal was to accustom both parties to the process. After all, guiding was, at its core, a form of mental interference.
That was why Espers trained themselves, much like Guides underwent combat preparedness, to subconsciously accept being guided instead of rejecting it.
If an Esper resisted, the backlash rebounded directly onto the Guide.

Human survival instincts weren’t limited to physical danger. Espers, whose abilities drew on mental faculties, tended to be hypersensitive to psychic stimuli.
The repercussions for a Guide when guiding was rejected ranged from headaches, nausea, or discomfort to more severe effects—exhaustion or a spike in load rate. It wasn’t life-threatening or permanently damaging, but emotionally and psychologically taxing all the same.

Beep, beep, beep.
Admittedly, it was unpleasant business. Regardless of personal relations, being mentally linked so closely and feeling rejection through that connection… that sensation wasn’t easily ignored. Though, thankfully, Taeon had never deliberately rejected my guiding.

Once the signal marking the five-minute point chimed, I glanced sidelong at him. Arms crossed, reclining comfortably, his head tilted slightly. Was he asleep? Even from this angle, the sharp line of his nose stood out clearly.
“What are you staring at?”

Ah, hell—he startled me.
Without even moving, Taeon spoke abruptly. His voice, lower than usual, carried an edge that sounded dangerously calm.
“Can’t I just look?”
“It annoys me. So no.”
“Oh, pardon me. Wouldn’t want to wear out your precious face by daring to look upon it.”

I snapped back and averted my eyes. I hadn’t even meant to stare, but telling him that would’ve only earned silent mockery.
Still, it annoys me—that phrase stuck for some reason. Not out of humiliation, but from genuine curiosity, which any Guide might share.
What did Taeon actually feel when he was being guided by me?

With high resonance rates, Espers typically experienced comfort during guiding—almost all did. I wondered if the same was true for him, but his expression rarely matched that picture. Maybe it was because of our lack of communication, or perhaps the tension between us left its residue even in guiding.
But during the sensory sharing, he had clearly…

“Ah.” God, Ji Yunseong, seriously—
“What is it this time?”
“I’m engaged in deep reflection on the past, so please refrain from interrupting.”
“…”

A sigh followed, one that seemed to say you’re hopeless. That wasn’t the issue though. I resisted the urge to slap my own forehead again and instead pressed a finger between my brows.
“Haa…”

Maybe letting my thoughts roam freely wasn’t such a bad idea after all.
Yes, let them flow; the current of consciousness isn’t shameful.
Anyway, that day, Taeon had looked genuinely pleased—more than that, almost like a different person. Calmly at ease with me and not even aware of it.

I wasn’t an Esper, so I couldn’t know exactly how guiding energy interacted with their bodies during sensory sharing.
What I did know was that during such moments, the Guide’s own senses dulled while the Esper’s sharpened immensely—reaction speed, awareness, all enhanced severalfold. Along with it came a surge of elation and satisfaction.
What Taeon experienced must have been twice that—no, more.
The kind of exhilaration that blurs reason—a euphoric state akin to… legal intoxication, perhaps?

All things considered, sensory sharing with Taeon was well worth the time and effort to master.
It lasted almost ten minutes, and if his resulting mood counted as a positive side effect, then maybe it wasn’t such a bad thing after all—
Beep, beep, beep.

Another alarm snapped me back to attention—the final five minutes were up. I quickly tapped the screen to power down the reader.
Across from me, Taeon rolled his stiff neck from side to side as he blinked awake. He’d definitely dozed off.

“Let’s see.”
I peeled the pad off my arm and checked today’s data: guiding load rate, resonance, wave stability, overload risk, hourly guiding efficiency…
Everything was normal. In fact, above average. No anomalies at all—except one.

“12.4 percent…”
Twelve-point-four. Exceptionally low. Considering I’d just spent half a day exhausting my body, it should’ve been at least sixteen, maybe twenty percent. But it was almost unchanged from the past few days.
I reviewed previous logs again. Each day was nearly identical, the largest variation being only about four percent.

“Is something wrong?” Taeon asked at last. I must have been staring too intently at the numbers.
“Well…”
“Mr. Ji Yunseong?”
“It’s nothing.”

I’d thought about telling him, but decided against it. He’d probably just say something like, So what, low load rate’s a good thing, or Do you actually want to raise it?
And besides, these records were accessible to him too. If he found the data strange, he’d have mentioned it himself by now.

“If it’s nothing, fine. Don’t forget tomorrow’s outdoor training.”
“Understood. I’ll handle the cleanup—you can go.”

He wasn’t wrong: a low load rate was good. The high resonance had to be what made it possible. Almost certainly.
Satisfied with my half-hearted reply, he didn’t press further. His expression showed no real curiosity either. That was simply where we stood.

After seeing him out, I stayed behind, letting my fingers glide over the armchair’s leather surface, savoring the texture.
After such heavy exercise, a long hot shower, and now sitting still for so long, lethargy began settling into my limbs.
Little by little, all the thoughts that had been weighing on me sank down, out of reach.

When instinct stirred me again, more than ten minutes had passed. My still-groggy mind flickered briefly with curiosity over one fleeting thought—what did he really think of our sensory sharing? Just for a moment.