Pretending to Be the Lover of an Esper C14

Chapter 14

“My back aches…”
I lightly tapped my tingling lower back and limbs. The faint medicinal smell of pain relief patches pricked my nose.
It wasn’t an injury, just muscle pain—and that was entirely Lee Taeon’s fault. That brute strength of his…

Thinking of him made irritation bubble up on its own, and I clenched my fist with intent. Hitting the sore spot like that brought slight relief.

“Still whining?”
“What? Whining? Whi~ning?”

Taeon had just returned after finishing the training ground setup. Whining?
You’re the one who tossed me like garbage yesterday!

“I mean, what were you thinking, throwing your Guide instead of carrying me properly? What is this, baseball? Did you want to be a pitcher? You hurl a person and expect their whole body not to ache?”
“There’s no rule that says we must stick to the prescribed method. In real situations, not every factor will be under control as it is in training. There will be times you have to rely solely on improvisation.”
“Even so, to throw a person like that—”
“And yet I made sure you landed safely on the air mat, didn’t I?”

True. His aim had been so precise that I hit the exact center of the puffed-up inflatable safety mat, feeling like an arrow striking the bullseye. Damn bastard—he even seemed like he’d be good at archery.

“And you assumed the proper posture for impact. Do you really think what I did was pointless, then? Honestly, I think you were groaning more from exhaustion than from being thrown.”
“Why do you keep bringing stamina into this? …You know what, forget it. Point is, in a real situation I’d be dead. I just want you to acknowledge that.”
“In a real situation, I’d have used another method.”
“Hey.”
“Check the setup and let me know if you need changes.”

Completely ignoring my protest, Taeon walked off with an indifferent tone, likely to collect his weapon. Dumbfounded by his brazen attitude, I let out a faint scoff before dragging myself over to check the configurations.

A month of training was now in its final stages. Starting today—the last week—we were back indoors.
The second and third weeks had been outdoor training, focused less on combat and more on escape and defense. For an S-class Esper, it might not have been strictly necessary, but it was like regular safety drills.

Scenarios included: when an Esper’s movements were restricted; when a Guide was dragged away or trapped in a pit dug by monsters; or when an Esper had to protect their Guide while retreating.

The throwing incident had happened during the very last outdoor drill.
The conditions were simple: reach the safe zone with your Guide within the time limit, avoiding as many obstacles as possible along the way.
All the Esper had to do was carry the Guide and run—but…
…This was an established, officially taught method even in the Center’s basic esper training, whether the goal was flight or distraction.

Of course, exceptions existed—like during the situation at Mt. Gwanak last year, when nearby civilians or significant collateral damage made it essential to hold out and wait for reinforcements.
The memory left a bitter taste, recalling both the urgency of that day and the chain of events it had set off.

“I could use… an axe…”¹
I longed for that magical item that could erase every thought—and every ounce of frustration—with a single tap.

Anyway, instead of carrying me in that drill like a normal person, Taeon had—at the moment the siren signaled the start—snatched me by the back of the neck. Not even tucking me under his arm. Not that I’d expected to be carried gently, but still—

〈What exactly are you—?〉
〈Guide Ji Yunseong, relax your body. You remember the posture for impact, right?〉
〈Of course I do, but—No, what are you doing?!〉
〈Throwing you on the count of three.〉
〈Throwing me?! Hey!〉
〈One.〉

He actually threw me. Without the slightest hesitation.

I knew S-class Espers possessed the raw physical capability to juggle people if they wanted—but I had never wanted to experience that firsthand. What a rare, unforgettable gift. Thanks so much, Lee Taeon.

“Finished checking?”
He returned, of course carrying only a handgun—as usual—without even pretending to consider other weapons. He wore his standard fitted black turtleneck and plain military pants.
“Yes. No changes needed, so we can just run it as is.”

Not that he wore the same clothes every day, but his style never varied much—slightly tight tops, well-fitted bottoms.
When he reached back to slot the handgun into its holster at his waist, the already form-fitting fabric stretched tighter, outlining every trace of muscle underneath.

If it showed this clearly under entirely black fabric, how much more in reality—
“No, I’m not thinking anything weird—objectively speaking—”
“…Guide Ji Yunseong?”
“Let’s start.”
“…?”

I nearly said my thoughts aloud. All because of those envy-inducing muscles.
I slapped my cheeks lightly, loosening my wrists and ankles. Today I was carrying only a rifle—my plan was to stay back and cover Taeon as in a real suppression mission, instead of running all over the place.

Although he’d agreed to it, I doubted he’d let it go without making some snide remark later—probably about my stamina or pretending I was overreacting.

—“Training will begin shortly. All non-participating personnel, please move beyond the safety barrier. 10… 9… 8…”

The familiar announcement played as the heavy barricades lowered.
Right on cue, I began steadily channeling guiding energy toward Taeon.
Like water filling a pool, the energy seeped smoothly into his body and quickly spread, enveloping him completely—

“Oh.”
“…!”

In that moment, a strange, unfamiliar sensation struck me.
Before I realized it, we were looking directly at each other. First, my eyes caught the slight widening of his own, rounded in mild surprise. Next, the faint parting of his lips.

“Heh.”

A small breath of laughter left him. It might have sounded like a weary exhale tinged with resignation, but it wasn’t that. It was something else entirely.

Impossible. There was no way this same coincidence was happening twice. Yet here it was—blatant fact.

“What do you think? Move?” I asked urgently before the countdown ended, meaning: should we switch from the plan to active hunting like last time?
After a brief pause, Taeon shook his head, a drowsy smile ghosting at his lips.
“I have an idea. Stick to the plan for now.”

The countdown hit zero, and quadrupedal robots began pouring out from the opposite side.

What were the odds of sensory sharing occurring without even trying to trigger it? I’d never checked the stats, but it had to be a lot lower than I guessed.

“11 o’clock down. Four o’clock too…”
I darted between cover, supporting Taeon with gunfire. With one burst, I cut off a robot lunging from the left, then swung my rifle to drop another trying to sneak in from behind.

“That’s done.”
My trigger finger had no hesitation, my aim tracking targets with precision like it was pre-programmed.
This time, unlike the first, I had a solid grasp on how to make use of the shared senses. My body and mind felt so much lighter.

Admittedly, I still felt Taeon’s guiding energy flow and perception more vividly than my own—but that didn’t bother me.

“Four minutes elapsed.”
He glanced briefly at the scoreboard above, his voice crackling through the in-ear mic. I gave a casual acknowledgment as I slid fast toward the next piece of cover.

“How long to cut them down to half?”
Poking my head out for a quick peek, I spotted a lone robot at the fringe. It hadn’t seen Taeon yet—but it spotted me and let out a sharp cry—pre-recorded, of course.
Reacting instantly, I fired three or four shots, dropping it mid-charge.

“A minute’s more than enough. To get them to a quarter? Three minutes.”
“Ha, shall we time it?”
“Suit yourself.”

Then Taeon was off in a blur. Without sensory sharing, I wouldn’t even have been able to follow his footsteps, but now—I could clearly anticipate exactly where he would go and how he’d break their formation.

The dull, rapid pops of paint rounds echoed as his shots struck sensor points dead-on, one after another.
I followed with two shots of my own toward the two robots he’d deliberately left for me, confident I’d handle them.

“Ha, your aim’s dead-on.”
The robots, now halved in number, began edging back, wary of us.
And the scoreboard timer confirmed it: exactly one minute later.

¹ Axe — slang/metaphor here referring to a “stress-relief means,” jokingly implying a desire to smash away frustration and stray thoughts.