Pretending to Be the Lover of an Esper C35

Chapter 35

“At least a hundred of them left, right?”
“More like two or three hundred,” Taeon answered grimly.

The surviving swarm of flyingfish were the ones outside the range of his earlier strikes—creatures that had eluded his recalculated trajectory by sheer speed.

“Can you handle them?”

The sensory link between us was still active, but there wasn’t enough time to repeat our last method. The fish had already left the sea behind—Plan B was no longer usable.

“Guess we should’ve come up with a Plan C.”
“There’s still a way.”

The swarm had begun gliding. With the wind this strong, they’d reach us within minutes. I thought he meant to intercept them midair, but Taeon’s response surprised me.

“I’ll bring them down. Onto land.”
“Land? Here? You mean here?”
“Esper Han Seongwoo, can you create a barrier? Like a wall?”
“I can manage that much, but… my ability’s more for moving objects than large structures. The widest I can cover is maybe twenty meters.”
“If I reinforce it with my energy, how long will it last?”
“If your power’s strong enough to fry those fish… it’ll hold a minute, tops.”
“That’ll be enough.”

Calm and certain, his voice carried that same measured confidence he always showed in training.

“Guide Ji Yunseong, please step back.”

I didn’t argue—stepped back twice, then twice more for good measure.

What he was about to create was, essentially, a high-voltage electrical fence. It was the smartest way to keep the tidal power plant unharmed—and if poison leaked, better for the ground to corrode than for the sea to become toxic.

From my distance, I watched them both prepare. What had seemed like distant dots in the sky were fast turning into a wave of bodies close enough for me to hear their grotesque screeches.

“Now!”

They were so near I could clearly see the mottled red blotches along their slick, silver bodies when Taeon shouted. A shiver passed through the air at our level, vibrating against my skin.

Seongwoo’s invisible telekinetic barrier spread out tight across the open space, and in the very next heartbeat, a web of crackling current surged over its surface.

“Ugh!”

Even from far back, the current burned faintly against my skin—it was that powerful. Then, one after another, deafening bursts of static exploded in rapid succession.

Flyingfish crashed against the barrier, electrocuted almost faster than they could scream.

Splatter.
Their bodies hit the ground, wet and heavy.

Then shadows passed overhead. I looked up just in time to see a single fish convulsing midair, wings twitching violently before it fell limp—a near miss taken out by Taeon. I stole a glance back at him.

The air quivered again as lightning repeated, flashing several times around him. He was pursuing the remaining stragglers.

“Mr. Lee!”

But before Seongwoo could even finish shouting, the barrier shattered with a crack like breaking glass. The tension in the air snapped loose—Taeon’s residual energy scattering like sparks before fading to nothing.

He moved his arm—just barely. Without our sensory sharing, I might’ve missed it entirely. But I knew that motion.

I knew exactly what he was about to do. And that realization sent me sprinting at full speed toward cover beneath the observation deck.

Breath tore out of my lungs as I skidded beneath the awning.

“Of course, now of all times—!”

The sensory link snapped right then.
And in the same instant—or maybe exactly the same instant—the world behind me erupted in blinding light.

There was no time for fear.

The hundred or so flyingfish that had dodged both the barrier and Taeon’s pursuit suddenly dropped from the heavens, charred black from within, raining down like ash.

Thud. Thud. Thud. Heavy bodies smashed into the ground like cannonballs.
Thankfully, none leaked toxin.

Bits of singed fins scattered everywhere, fluttering in the coastal wind like black leaves. I let out a shaky, incredulous laugh.

The building overhead spared me from being crushed by falling corpses—but Seongwoo…

“Ahh! Gah—shit!”

He yelped, ducking and stumbling under the barrage. I couldn’t help but laugh—but instinctively, my eyes found Taeon’s back again.

From here, I couldn’t see his face. The link was gone; I couldn’t feel what he felt either.

I wanted to know. I wanted to see. A reckless urge burned in me to pull him apart just to understand.

Was it battle high? The echo of sensory sharing? Or simply… pure curiosity—because I couldn’t stop thinking about him.

The noises faded quickly.
Electrocuted, blackened bodies carpeted the ground—none had made it past the levee, not a single one, even including the dead.

Taeon still didn’t turn. Unlike Seongwoo, who immediately called out to me, he stood utterly motionless, saying nothing.

Even as I answered Seongwoo’s “You okay?” my eyes stayed locked on him. I couldn’t help it. Every part of me was focused on him.

Say something. Anything. My heartbeat clanged in my chest, restless.

And then—

“Guide Ji.”

He finally turned. His voice was faint, distant, nearly lost to the wind—but I could make out his lips perfectly. Calm, deliberate.

“Perfect timing.”

And he smiled.

A bright, dazzling curve that lifted his eyes, lighting up his whole face. For a moment I thought I imagined it—but even after blinking several times, the sight remained. Clearer, brighter.

It was nothing like the restrained faces I’d seen before, not even during sensory sharing. It was radiant—wholly new.

And in that moment, my heart dropped like a stone.

I was screwed.

Just like the first line of that famous Mars survival novel—yeah, that’s how it felt.

I was completely, utterly screwed.

Maybe this was how the stranded astronaut had felt after a doomed dust storm separated him from his crew.
That helpless certainty that you couldn’t fix the situation you were in. That was me.

How did this even happen? What am I supposed to do now? What the hell am I going to do next?

“Ji Yunseong. Have you lost your mind?”

Any way I thought about it, only one conclusion fit: Ji Yunseong was the world’s dumbest fool.

“Are you insane? Seriously? Are you in your right mind right now?”

The angry voice berating me was my own. I slammed my forehead repeatedly against the bathroom wall, slapped my own cheek, then buried my face in my palms and screamed silently.

And still, the idiot in question—me—stayed hopelessly beyond rescue.

“Of all people… him? You fell for Lee Taeon? After barely a month?”

Technically a month and a half—but semantics aside, what did it matter? Or maybe… it did matter. Did it?

“It’s just the suspension bridge effect. That’s all. I was scared—fish were raining from the sky, huge, terrifying—and my heart freaked out, confusing excitement for attraction. Simple biology. And he just happened to be there.”

Yes. Logical explanation. My pulse had mistaken adrenaline for emotion. That was it. It had to be.

“God, that’s pathetic.”

But even as I said it, I knew it wasn’t true.

The mirror reflected a man on the verge of tears—and he looked absurd. I almost punched it but refrained; it would only hurt.

“My parents, who ditched me without a word—look at your son now. Grew up into a complete embarrassment, huh?”

I whispered the line at the ceiling like an accusation.
No divine voice answered. No mirror cracked. And the blinding memory of his smile—the one that set all of this off—refused to fade from my mind.

Only one conclusion remained.

The shameless fool that was Ji Yunseong… liked Lee Taeon.

Not just a fleeting flutter. Not temporary fascination. But a steady, growing, present-tense feeling.

And not simple admiration either. I knew the difference.

I’d dated enough times to understand my own heartbeat—never love at first sight, but enough to recognize the signs. When my pulse raced and refused to calm even hours later, I didn’t need a medical certificate to know what it meant.

“Ah… fuck.”

There was no denying it anymore.

Against all reason, all sense, I’d fallen for Lee Taeon.

Completely. Hopelessly. Because of that unfair, breathtaking smile.