Pretending to Be the Lover of an Esper C34

Chapter 34

We went quiet for a while. The moment between starting the guiding and the onset of sensory sharing lasted only a few seconds—but it felt like years.

We’d succeeded. A rush of wild, ecstatic relief coursed through me; I wanted to leap in place like an idiot. Even Taeon’s eyes, watching me steadily, seemed almost adorable.

Finally, we’d done it—

“What’s happening? What do we do?”

Seongwoo’s voice yanked us both back to ourselves. He had no idea what had just occurred. We turned sharply in unison.

There wasn’t even time to be embarrassed by the fleeting thought that had just crossed my mind. The roaring ocean wind returned to awareness, stinging my cheeks and ears.

“It worked. Let’s begin!”

No time to hesitate. Slinging my rifle forward, I took aim and shouted. Seongwoo blinked once, startled, then exchanged one incredulous glance between me and Taeon before moving briskly into position.

“Damn, I really thought this one would fail!”
“If you’d said something encouraging earlier, maybe it wouldn’t have.”
“You little punk.”

He clicked his tongue, grinning faintly as he secured his spot to my left, watching the flyingfish swarm below. To my right—slightly behind—stood Taeon, close enough that I could feel his body heat even through fabric.

Like another time, long ago.
But this time, my waist felt strangely empty. Maybe because his arm wasn’t there. Maybe… because it should’ve been.

The memory of those strong forearms flashed vividly, and realizing he wasn’t touching me now brought an unexpected pang of disappointment. My pulse hammered; I tried to breathe it away, slow and steady.

No stray thoughts. No useless thoughts…

“First shot.”

Bang! The crack of the rifle split the air. A small splash flickered far off across the water.

“You see the trajectory? Stay or adjust?”
“Shift right a little.”

Following Seongwoo’s instruction, I turned the barrel slightly and fired again. Another shot, another splash.

“…Good. That’s about right.”

This wasn’t pointless target practice. What we were doing was testing coordination—using my fired bullet as a carrier for Seongwoo’s telekinesis to propel it beyond its natural range, launching it precisely into the center of the swarm. Once there, the bullet—charged through contact with Taeon’s electricity—would distribute current directly through the cluster’s bodies.

Lightning embedded in metal. Doubly conductive through seawater. We didn’t need many hits—just one good connection.

“Ready.”

At my voice, Taeon stepped even closer. His hand brushed against the muzzle. His touch made my spine go rigid, but nothing more came of it.

When I finally managed to breathe again, it was barely audible even to myself.

“What if it explodes when it hits?” Seongwoo asked.
“As long as you don’t launch it too hard, it’s fine.”
“Well, nice to be trusted for once.”
“Please—just keep it gentle, like you’re delivering the bullet, not firing it. Once it connects, Mr. Lee will handle the rest. You ready?”
“…Just get on with it.”

“Firing,” I murmured and pulled the trigger. Thanks to his steadying hand, the recoil was softer. But the bullet still splashed short, sinking just before reaching the swarm.

“One more.”

Reload. Fire. The shot landed closer this time—but still no solid hit.

The more time we wasted, the worse our odds. We couldn’t risk Taeon using lightning directly—it’d destroy the monsters but also damage the valuable corpses, which were worth money. My nerves frayed. Briefly, I considered ignoring the rules altogether—claim “emergency conditions” and unleash an all-out strike.

“This is harder than I thought,” Seongwoo muttered. “You holding up, Yunseong? The wind’s stronger than I expected… want me to handle the shooting instead?”
“You? You can’t shoot for crap. Besides, better to keep our roles divided—focus on one task each. Firing again.”

Because his process—detonating a telekinetic pulse at the exact moment I fired—required enormous precision and mental stamina. Far easier to divide duties.

Eyes locked forward, I ignored everything except the horizon. The ocean still churned violently where the flyingfish gathered, white foam bubbling like a boiling cauldron as they prepared for flight.

How much time did we have? I squinted and squeezed the trigger again.

Bang! Another shot. Another miss—but this time, Seongwoo’s tone shifted slightly.

“Now—right now, fire again!”

No hesitation.

Click.

Bang.

As I squeezed the trigger again, static bit my palms—a spark flickered across the edge of the barrel, arcing sideways in a quick streak of light.

The bullet flew with a visible tail of electricity, a streak stretching toward the sea.

Seconds later, a single flash erupted within the swarm, shooting skyward like a brief lightning bolt.

All of us froze, eyes fixed on the spot.

“…”
“…”
“…Did it… work?”

Everything was still. Only Seongwoo’s uncertain whisper broke the silence.

The bullet had hit, spreading its current outward like crawling roots. We felt it—through the shared link, I could sense it too. The collective convulsion of bodies struck by voltage.

But not all.

I turned to Taeon instinctively. His brows were furrowed minutely. My expression must’ve matched. We’d succeeded—but not completely.

Back over the sea, part of the once-roiling patch now shimmered with pale bellies.

“Not all of them,” he muttered, voice tinged with irritation—his pride wounded by the partial result.

Before I could reply, Seongwoo shouted suddenly, voice sharp.

“The wind!”

My stomach lurched.
The air that had been streaming steadily off the ocean stopped.
Even up here—on one of the tallest points—the shift was painfully obvious. The wind was changing.

Panic spiked. I swung the rifle back into place—but Taeon’s hand shot out.

“No. Too late.”

Through our shared hearing, a terrible sound reached me—deep splashes, rhythmic, deliberate. Not sinking—rising.

The realization hit just as the gale roared back, this time reversed.

“Shit!”

The wind slammed us full force, strong enough to stagger our footing. It was coming the other direction now—from sea toward the lake.

My knees buckled under the gust; I lost balance—

I’m falling.

But before I could plunge over the barrier, an arm caught me hard around the waist. My upper body jerked upright mid-air, steadied by a grip I recognized instantly.

“…!”

Our eyes met.
For a heartbeat—or a century—it was the only thing that existed. Heat rushed to my face; I tore my gaze away, breath stumbling in my throat.

He held me a second longer than necessary—at least I thought so—before setting me firmly back on my feet.

“Both of you, get down to ground level!”

“Hey, wait—!”

Before Seongwoo could finish, Taeon vaulted cleanly over the chest-high wall. In one motion, he leapt outward and down, sliding along the glass façade of the observation tower.

“God, Lee Taeon!”
“Taeon—!”

I sprinted to the ledge without thinking. That’s a twenty-fifth-floor drop, you idiot! I didn’t scream it only because his body, instead of splattering on the pavement, landed light as air—thanks to Seongwoo’s telekinetic control.

“Damn reckless… scared the crap out of me,” Seongwoo muttered, clutching his chest. My heart was thundering just as loud.

“Sir—help me too!”
“Ji Yunseong! Are you insane? Take the elevator!”
“Jumping’s faster!”

Grumbling incredulously, he still grabbed me by the arm and vaulted the wall. The next second we plunged together, wind tearing past until we touched down safely beside Taeon.

“Here they come,” Taeon said quietly.

We followed his gaze toward the sea—and my breath hitched.

It was a sight so magnificent and horrific it defied language.

From the ocean’s surface, the toxic flyingfish surged upward en masse, unfolding massive fins twice the length of their bodies—riding the wind straight across the levee, toward the inland lake.

“…We’re screwed,” Seongwoo muttered grimly behind me, and no one disagreed.