Pretending to Be the Lover of an Esper C32

Chapter 32

There was something off about Lee Taeon.

Not simply because we were in the same room—though that alone would have been enough to make anyone uncomfortable. We’d received orders that morning stating that paired teams should remain together until deployment, so that explained our proximity.

Nor was it the fact that he was sitting there, dead serious, reading a book titled Beginner’s Gardening for Recovering Serial Killers. What he did with his free time wasn’t really my business. In fact, the idea that he was trying to cultivate some self-awareness and improvement was almost commendable.

Why do you keep confusing me?

If the relationship between us were anything close to normal, that was what I would have said aloud.

Because the truth was simple: he was behaving uncharacteristically soft toward me.

He probably thought he was being subtle, but after all this time, I knew his rhythms. It was impossible not to notice the change.

In short—he was reacting to me with the same calm tone and gentler demeanor he’d shown during sensory-sharing training. Not nearly as intense, but enough of a resemblance to make me uneasy.

이태언 에스퍼, 여기 있던 가위 못 봤어요?
그걸 왜 나한…… 그거라면 아마 두 번째 서랍에 있을 겁니다. 거기 없다면 백업 팀한테 빌리세요.
—When I asked him something, his replies were unexpectedly mild, his tone softened.

지윤성 씨. 근처에 잠깐 나갔다 올 건데 뭐 필요한 거 있습니까?
—Occasionally, he even started conversations first.

• 연쇄 살식마를 위한 왕초보 가드닝 — Literally “Beginner’s Gardening for a Serial Killer,” the humorous title of Taeon’s self-help book. 
• 맹독 날치 — “Toxic Flyingfish,” a marine-type monster species known for its poisonous fins capable of gliding long distances using sea winds. 

As someone who could no longer find it in himself to hate him, the entire thing was maddening.

The unease prickled at me until it bloomed into guilt—guilt that tangled together for both him and Taeyoung-hyung.

At this rate, someday I might actually end up on my knees begging them both for forgiveness.

But I didn’t have the courage to ask him why he was acting this way. That, in itself, was pathetic.

So I stayed where I was, lying on my bunk, drowning quietly in my own mess of conflicted emotions—while across the room, Taeon sat motionless, fighting his own private war to “escape the serial killer mindset” through quiet study.

It was a scene stripped of soundtracks or dialogue. Just silence.

For a moment, I considered playing the puzzle game Han Seongwoo had been hooked on earlier, but dismissed that idea almost immediately. That kid’s game was far too bubbly and cutesy—it would have been like throwing confetti into a funeral. The awkwardness would kill me.

So there we sat, listening to nothing but the rhythm of breathing and the soft shhk of pages turning.

Had we ever shared space like this before, simply… existing together? The thought was oddly unfamiliar.

Sure, we’d sat in silence during guiding sessions, but that was work. As for at the dorms—well, we may have technically lived under one roof, but that didn’t mean we really shared space. Being here, able to turn my head and actually see him at any moment, was something else entirely.

Surprisingly, though, the stillness wasn’t unpleasant. Strange, yes—but not bad. I even caught myself wondering how long this quiet might last. A few hours more wouldn’t hurt.

The thought had barely crossed my mind when something sharp shattered it—an ear-splitting alarm from our communicators.

Both our heads snapped up at once.

[“Class 1 marine-type — Red-spotted Toxic Flyingfish swarm detected off Daebudo coast. Possible landfall. All nearby agents mobilize immediately.”]

The rapidly broadcast message left no room for doubt. The Wave had begun.

We were the closest agents to Daebudo—me, Taeon, and Esper Han Seongwoo. Within minutes we’d reported in and boarded the standby helicopter bound for the site. Our destination: the Sihwa Tidal Power Plant, specifically the rest area beside it.

The flight took less than twenty minutes.

The power plant complex doubled as a tourist spot, complete with exhibition halls, lookouts, and roadside cafés—which meant there’d likely been civilians nearby only moments ago. Evacuation was crucial.

By the time we arrived, though, the situation seemed under control. The enormous parking lot was deserted, and the coastal road along the seawall nearly empty.

“They surfaced closer to the levee,” explained a monitoring officer, handing us a stack of black-and-white photos. The images showed frothing patches on the water—dense clusters of flyingfish moving toward the seawall frame by frame.

Even without the photos, we could now see them ourselves from the observation deck. Tiny glints flickered far out on the sea, still distant—but not by much.

“Spawning season?”
“Given the timing, that’s most likely,” replied the officer.

Through the glass, Taeon’s eyes followed the glimmering mass.
“Problem is, they’ve stopped moving entirely—for about ten minutes now. Can’t guess what they’re thinking,” the man added grimly.

Indeed, where moments before the swarm had been surging steadily shoreward, it now lingered eerily still, white froth piling where fins flickered near the surface.

“We can’t risk provoking them either,” I said. “They could rush us all at once.”

“Especially with a power plant right here.”

That earned a unanimous nod from the room. The stakes were too high—one wrong move and the damage could cripple the entire facility.
If this were any other location, both Taeon and Seongwoo could have unleashed their full firepower. But here, with the bridge connecting the island to the mainland right beside the largest tidal plant in the country—recklessness wasn’t an option.

“How many are we talking?”
“Estimated at least three thousand.”
“Mm, tricky. Can’t exactly blow them up over open water, huh.”

Each toxic flyingfish averaged about a meter long—not huge individually, but dangerous in numbers.

Hundreds we could handle easily—but thousands? Impossible to destroy without environmental fallout. Their venom dissolved rapidly in water, but in sufficient concentration, it became exponentially stronger. One stray wound among them could start a deadly chain reaction—their sharp fins could even slice their own kind.

“If they rupture out there, they’ll poison the whole lake,” Seongwoo muttered, scowling.

I tried to lighten the tension. “So you levitate them one by one, and Mr. Lee fries them midair, yeah? Good old-fashioned manual labor.”
“Not happening.”
“Can’t take a joke, huh?”

We both laughed quietly—the absurdity was its own comic relief. Seongwoo’s psychokinesis might be powerful, but not enough to individually lift thousands of thrashing sea monsters. Not without them retaliating anyway.

So we did what we could—waited, arms folded, brows furrowed.

“If only they’d make a move,” I muttered. “At least we could respond.”

“They’re waiting,” said Taeon suddenly.

“Waiting?” I glanced up.

His eyes had narrowed toward the distant seafoam. “For wind.”

A chill crept in. Wind? He couldn’t mean—

Oh.
The realization struck me at once. Across from me, Seongwoo straightened too, catching on instantly.

We both leaned toward the window in tandem.

“Sea winds are fickle,” Taeon continued, “but there’ll always be a brief surge. From sea to lagoon.”

“Which way’s the wind now?”
“Hard to tell from here. Should we step outside?”

From this height, the subtler signs—the sway of grass or leaves—were invisible. There might be only the faintest coastal current moving below.

“Know how far those things can glide?” he asked.
“Not exactly. We’d need older data…”

“Six years ago,” the officer interjected, “a swarm in the Atlantic was recorded gliding nearly a hundred kilometers without touching water.” His face was pale but certain. “If they catch the wind right, the levee’s nothing to them.”

A heavy silence fell, cold and taut as wire. The uneasy truth was plain on every face.

“And if they start gliding inland midair—?” Seongwoo began.
“I could intercept them,” Taeon said, “but hitting them midair at that altitude would risk flash impact near the plant. The heat discharge alone could damage the turbines.”

“Damn.” Seongwoo let out a slow exhale.
“I can’t grab them all one by one either. Should we call for reinforcements?”
“This wave hit first. Others will follow elsewhere—no one can spare support right now.”

“So we’re just waiting for them to fly into our laps, great.”

“Before the wind changes,” I murmured, “we have to do something. But right now, I don’t see—oh.”

A half-formed thought broke loose, sudden and sharp as lightning—an old memory flashing alive.