Pretending to Be the Lover of an Esper C22

Chapter 22

I deliberately ignored the brief contact, swallowing hard to steady my racing heartbeat.
“So—uh—in other words, if those two conditions aren’t met, neither the Esper nor the Guide would feel any comfort or ease during guiding.”
“And what you’re saying is that I’m an exception to that… is that right?”
“Exactly. Regardless of resonance, you can still feel pleasant reactions even from a first-time Guide—and you hardly place any strain on them. Your affinity is unusually high. Definitely a unique constitution.”

I hadn’t known before today that Taeon possessed such an unusual physiological sensitivity. It wasn’t that he had intentionally hidden it—it simply wasn’t the sort of thing one announced with fanfare.
The Center surely knew, but likely didn’t find it remarkable enough to treat as noteworthy. After all, it wasn’t a problem.

If anything, it was a blessing—an ability rather than a flaw. And judging by his expression, Taeon himself had never given it much thought. I hadn’t either, even though I’d seen how it affected my load rate whenever I guided him.

Still, now, it had become an important variable for both of us.

“In conclusion, our approach to sensory sharing training might’ve been off from the start.”
“How so?”
“Well… think about it. We were trying to reconstruct the same feeling or sensation from that time, right?”

Since we couldn’t clearly recall the energy’s original flow, we’d been using the remembered emotions as a compass—trying to adjust our energy to reproduce those emotions instead. Every attempt had failed. In hindsight, that was inevitable.

“Because with your particular constitution…” I hesitated. “…your receptivity’s so high that everything feels ‘good’ to you no matter what. Like trying to figure out what ingredients are in an omelet, except all you can remember is—it tasted great.”
“…Huh.”

Maybe the metaphor wasn’t ideal. Taeon rubbed his forehead, looking faintly pained, before uttering something that startled me.
“I see. I haven’t really paid attention to that before. That’s my oversight.”
“S-sorry, what?”
“I dismissed it as unimportant, something not worth mentioning. But it could’ve led us to keep making pointless efforts. My apology.”
“Oh—no, it’s fine! Really, that’s not…”

The sudden apology threw me off completely. Yet even as I stammered, he retained that steady, serious tone. I hadn’t expected apology or guilt from him—I’d just wanted quick confirmation of a theory, something I could’ve easily brought up during tomorrow’s session.

“Seriously, it’s no big deal. It’s good we realized it early. I just wanted to make sure we were on the same page since I’d been curious about the low fluctuation in my load rate.”

The self-consciousness made my skin prickle. My hands busied themselves scratching at my arm, then my nose—anywhere.

“So, when you say my constitution’s special, are you suggesting we should take a completely different approach to triggering sensory sharing?”

He shifted the topic smoothly—thankfully. If either of us were more softhearted, we might’ve ended up trapped in an endless apology loop.

Wiping my palms discreetly on my thighs, I answered,
“We’ll have to experiment a bit to see what works best. Since your guiding tolerance is broad, it might require more delicate adjustment—more finesse. Like cooking something truly refined for someone who eats everything without complaint.”
“Someone who eats everything, huh…”
“It’s just a metaphor.”

His gaze narrowed slightly, but I ignored it. It wasn’t an unfair comparison.
“The basic method of guiding is to envelop the Esper broadly with energy. For deeper, more intricate guiding, we adjust that flow once it’s already spread. It’s less physically stressful that way.”

I explained the fundamentals carefully and demonstrated again, letting him feel the difference through a short guiding. Of course, this wasn’t the method we were going to use—it had already proven ineffective.

“Instead, we’ll start differently. Piece by piece, I’ll adjust your psychic wavelength directly—as if assembling a puzzle from the base up.”

That method came with a cost: serious strain on the Guide’s stamina. I’d have to manage my physical condition carefully. Still, as long as we could rediscover the shared rhythm from before, everything else would fall in place.

He listened attentively, occasionally offering his perspective.
And strangely, the exchange felt unfamiliar. Not in a bad way—just oddly new.

At the dorm, we usually stayed tucked away in separate rooms. Even when in shared spaces, we made no effort to interact.
This was the first time we’d sat face-to-face, really talking.

It wasn’t awkward, though—maybe because this too was just work, a continuation of duty. Only the setting had changed.
Honestly, since we only avoided each other at home but worked side by side every day at the branch, the tension between us had begun to fade. A trace of embarrassment and guilt still lingered now and then, but that was manageable—at worst it just led to the occasional head-banging episode in private.

“If your stamina’s fine, let’s try your proposed method this Friday afternoon.”
“Friday… right.”
“There’s joint training that day. Will you manage?”
“Sure. Who knows when our next dispatch will be—better not delay.”
“Understood.”

He nodded, tapping at his phone—probably slotting the session into his calendar.

Maybe the reason I now felt less distance between us was because he’d stopped bristling so sharply in private interactions. That aggressiveness had always felt personal in nature. Or maybe our month of grueling teamwork had just built a kind of hard-earned camaraderie.

At this point, I was seeing Lee Taeon the Esper from Gyeonggi Branch more regularly than Lee Taeon, my former partner’s cousin.

“That’s all I had, actually… so let’s call it a night. Even if the upcoming joint training’s small-scale, I’d rather not overdo it.”

It was ironic to say that after dragging him into a late-night discussion right after work—but sitting still this long after a day’s exertion had allowed the fatigue to finally crash down on me all at once.

“Alright. Then I’ll turn in as well.”

His curt nod made his readiness to leave plain. Watching him stand—so easily, so unflustered, not a trace of tiredness on him—was half impressive, half infuriating.

Strong, resilient, receptive—his body had no weaknesses. I found myself watching him walk past when the words slipped out before I could stop them.

“Mr. Lee, your guiding receptivity’s exceptional, right?”
“…Excuse me?”
“I mean, with a body that efficient, why did you even need a partner Guide? Couldn’t you have stayed solo? Change of heart?”

The question, thoughtlessly spoken, came from old curiosity stirred by something I’d once overheard. It wasn’t exactly prying—just idle wonder surfacing at the wrong time.

He said nothing.
I barely registered the silence before noticing the way his expression cooled, hard enough to stop my breath.

“Ji Yunseong.”

The tone of my name had changed—quieter, heavier. Instantly, blood drained from my face. I’d crossed a line. The realization flashed through me as vividly as the cold.

“Weren’t you the one who said we shouldn’t stick our noses into each other’s private matters? I didn’t expect you to forget that so easily.”
“Ah…”

Right. That was his unspoken boundary.

Just moments ago, I’d been thinking how much easier he was to interact with lately—and now, I wanted the floor to swallow me whole. I’d dug my own grave with a careless question. His frosty, reprimanding stare made my skin crawl with humiliation.

“How was I supposed to know… that counted as personal,” I muttered weakly.

He exhaled sharply through his nose, the sound somewhere between a sigh and a scoff.
“At least you know now.”

The words bit hard, deliberate and unkind. My chest tightened unpleasantly. Then he continued.

“Guide Ji. I’m already doing my best here. Approaching me now, pretending closeness—what exactly do you think will change? Trying your luck with the younger brother since you couldn’t sway the elder?”

“…”

It was a stab—a cruel one. His words hit like splinters under the skin. I inhaled sharply, vision blanching out before colour returned.

I wanted to speak—should’ve—but the first thing I felt wasn’t anger. It was raw, numbing hurt.
My lips parted uncertainly. I wasn’t even sure of my own voice.

“That’s crossing a line. You shouldn’t have said that…”

He stayed silent. My fingertips chilled. Before warmth returned to them, his voice softened marginally.

“…That was out of line. I apologize.”

He sounded regretful, yes—but his tone was still as cold as ice. Meanwhile, heat pricked the corners of my eyes. Clenching down against the ache in my nose, I forced composure back into my voice.

“I understand what you meant. I’ll be careful.”

My voice didn’t tremble, thankfully. I even managed a neutral expression, though I bit my lip hard enough to sting.

He said nothing more.

I just wanted to leave—desperately. That single, overwhelming urge pushed me back to my feet.

“Then… good night, Mr. Lee. I’ll see you tomorrow—at work.”

I emphasized that last word—work. As I glanced once more at the untouched glass of water sitting before him—the same one I’d set there earlier—I turned away.

Our rooms were opposite directions from where we’d sat. At least that meant I didn’t have to face him again on the way back.