Pretending to Be the Lover of an Esper C21

Chapter 21

The guide safety training session took longer than expected, so I ended up getting back late.
When I arrived at the dorm, Taeon was already home.
Passing by his neatly placed shoes, I headed straight toward his private room. Sure enough, light seeped faintly through the crack under the closed door.

“Mr. Lee Taeon.”

I hadn’t often initiated conversation with him in the dorm, so there was a touch of tension in the hand that knocked on his door.
Two short taps. The wait didn’t last long.

“What is it?”

The door opened, and a tall figure filled the frame, his height nearly matching the doorway itself. I briefly wondered whether he had to stoop when riding the subway—did he just bend his neck? Has he ever hit his head on anything…?

My needless train of thought was promptly severed by his cold voice.
“I asked what it is.”
“Ah. Yes. I just wanted to talk for a moment.”

“Talk?” His brows inched together with clear suspicion. Even today, his mood radiated low pressure.
Not wanting him to get the wrong idea, I spoke quickly.
“It’s nothing serious—just something regarding guiding. Should we talk in the living room?”

The faint shift in his expression suggested he was relieved to hear it was work-related, though he still looked like he’d rather be anywhere else. He strode ahead briskly, leaving me trailing behind in an awkward chase.

After switching on the living room light, he hesitated briefly before heading for the two-seater dining table tucked in the corner. I took the seat across from him and got straight to the point.

“First, please don’t take this the wrong way. I’m not badmouthing you behind your back or anything—but your name came up in conversation today.”
“My name?”
“It wasn’t anything major. We were talking about the Wave periods, and someone happened to mention you—said that about four years ago, you fought alone on the west coast for nearly an hour straight.”

A story about a remarkable colleague’s performance—nothing more. I made sure to project that I meant no ill intent as I watched his reaction. Luckily, he seemed only vaguely curious as to why I’d brought it up, not offended.
“Yes, that happened.”

He thought for a moment before answering. Encouraged by his tone, I continued,
“I also heard that your Guide back then didn’t show any signs of exhaustion or fatigue afterward. Is that true? Do you remember?”

He paused again, longer this time, but not long enough to test my patience.
“Yes.”

A brief, clear answer—enough to satisfy.
“Then what’s the reason for revisiting the past?”
“I think I might’ve overlooked something. Or maybe remembered something useful because of that story.”

Rubbing the back of my neck, I met his gaze. I didn’t particularly want to, but the time had finally come to ask the question that’d been resting heavy in the back of my mind.
“When you’re being guided, what does it feel like?”

“What it feels like…?”
“Yes. How does it feel when I guide you? Or before me, with any other Guides—what was it like then? You don’t need extreme detail, just whether it feels relaxing or neutral.”
“Feels, huh.”

He leaned back in the chair, his voice dropping low, as if debating whether it was even worth describing.
“…If you can’t really recall, we can just try now—would that be fine?”

Still reclined, I asked. His gaze lowered briefly before he nodded once.
Resting both hands neatly on the table, I began channeling guiding energy. Even while doing so, my eyes stayed fixed on him.

His sharply defined features drew the gaze whether I wanted them to or not; under the overhead light, shadows framed his jaw and brows with sculptural precision.
Annoyingly handsome, as always.

Then, unbidden, I remembered the flush on his cheeks the first time—when he’d been slightly dazed, breathing unevenly, lips curved in that strange, half-delirious smile—
Oh, for god’s sake. I waved my hand sharply, chasing away the image.

Finally, the real Taeon spoke.
“It doesn’t make me giddy or anything, but it is… calm. Relaxing. Maybe because of your resonance rate, your guiding feels a little… stronger, somehow.”

He clearly disliked using words like “relaxing” in reference to me. That brief hesitation made sense now. But there was no time to be flustered; I pulled back the energy and pressed forward.

“So, that’s regardless of the Guide’s rank or resonance? You’d feel the same even with a stranger guiding?”
“Generally, yes.”
“I see.”
“Is that important?”
“It can be—especially for Guides. And in relation to sensory sharing, too.”

My theory was slotting neatly into place. The sluggish puzzle finally had a pattern forming; excitement flickered beneath my calm tone.

“From what I can tell, you’re unusually receptive to guiding—no matter who provides it.”
“…My body is naturally very responsive.”
“Yes, your body is—wait, what?”

Had I heard that right?

“I mean physiologically. Compared to most Espers, my system accepts and registers guiding energy more broadly and sensitively. My mental stamina depletes slowly and restores quickly, so it usually puts less strain on the Guide as well.”
“Ah. Right. Physiology. Yes.”

Of course. That’s what he meant. Obviously.

Despite suddenly feeling like the dirt underneath society’s shoes, I reassured myself it was very much a misunderstanding. Still—that word choice, really? You had to say it that way?

Anyway.

“As you probably know, not every Esper feels comfortable during guiding. Solo Espers, for example, who rotate between available resident Guides, often experience no mood change at all—at best, a faint sense of relief. You’re aware that guiding can also hurt sometimes, right?”
“When the overload risk exceeds thirty percent?”

His tone dipped instantly—serious, focused. Understandable. For an Esper, it was a deeply personal subject.

“Exactly. Guiding restores damaged mental energy, after all—it can’t be entirely painless. Like disinfecting a wound. They say below thirty percent there’s no risk, but… it applies to Guides too. If a Guide’s load rate exceeds fifty percent, we’re just as likely to feel pain.”

In truth, such cases were rare—not due to luck, but regulation. The system itself was designed to prevent them.

Espers were required to receive guiding before their overload risk topped thirty percent, and Guides had to cease guiding once their load exceeded fifty. It wasn’t a suggestion—it was a rule, enforced strictly by the Center with potential disciplinary action for violations.

“But there’s another case where a Guide can still feel pain even when under fifty.”

I raised an index finger, meeting his gaze.
He stared first into my eyes, then at my upraised hand.

“First—when guiding an Esper with an extremely high overload rate.”

I unfurled my middle finger.
“Second—when the Esper, even without high overload, has burned through massive mental energy in a short time.”

Recognition dawned in his face.
“You see what I mean? That means your Guide, the one from four years ago, should have shown some trace of exhaustion.”

In normal circumstances, at least.

“The way guiding energy affects an Esper’s emotions is simple—it depends on resonance and empathy. The higher both are, the greater the volume of energy the Esper can take in, and the smoother its flow.”

It was like the difference between inviting a polite stranger into your home versus hosting a dear friend—awkward silence versus effortless harmony.

“In theory,” I went on, “if a Guide could precisely manipulate each thread of guiding energy, they could even sway an Esper’s emotional state back and forth.”

Of course, that was purely hypothetical. To pull it off, you’d need dozens of brains and billions more neurons—and an Esper with essentially zero mental resistance.

Even then, it was impossible if the Esper consciously resisted the guiding.

I noticed Taeon frowning faintly, so I waved my hand dismissively.
“Purely academic. Only achievable if some multi-brained Guide met a brain-dead Esper, basically.”

All that talking dried out my throat. I excused myself briefly, fetched some cold water, and hesitated before setting a second cup in front of him.

As I did, my fingertips brushed lightly against the back of his hand—just for an instant.
The spot burned as if touched by fire.