Pretending to Be the Lover of an Esper C40

Chapter 40

I only learned this later, after I’d recovered some strength, but the Grade 3 sea toad we’d found crouched beneath the ocean wasn’t male at all — it was a juvenile female.

Due to their biology, sea toads that have only recently grown out of their tadpole stage are notoriously hard to sex without inspecting their reproductive organs, so even the monitoring staff and research team hadn’t been able to confirm it. If even specialists couldn’t tell, there was no reason to blame Taeon or me for assuming it was male.

What was stranger, though, was that despite still being young, the female had already spawned — and had died from exhaustion right after.

So, the theory had been right. She’d been still because she was drained. Whether that was a good thing or not, I wasn’t sure.

To make matters worse, the poor creature had been partially eaten by her own offspring. The unseen side in the photo showed her flank shredded open into long, torn scars — the unmistakable signature of a gray sea toad tadpole’s bite.

Apparently, when the pictures were taken, she’d still been barely alive, but by the time Taeon tried to provoke her with electricity, she was already dead. He’d mentioned later that no matter how much current he sent, there’d been no reaction.

Cannibalism among sea monsters wasn’t unusual, and its reasons varied. But in this case, it came down to hunger.

The tadpoles developed fast — from hatching to sprouting three pairs of legs took only a few days — so they consumed absurd amounts of energy and nutrients. Unfortunately, the reef offered almost no available prey. Some, maybe, but not nearly enough.

Too weak to venture out to deeper waters, they had turned on their dying mother, feeding on her until they could hunt their siblings instead. After consuming and being consumed in turn, only a handful survived. One of those survivors had crawled up onto the reef, detected fresh prey nearby—me—and lunged. That single, miserable chain of logic explained everything.

No wonder it came at me like that.

Just thinking of those wet, rustling footsteps made the fine hair on my arms rise. Of all the field missions I’d been on, that had been among the closest calls.

If I hadn’t followed instinct and bolted when I did, I’d have been gutted alive. Taeon’s shouted warning had helped me regain focus just in time.

That tadpole had been at least two or three times the size of a basketball—enormous for its kind, which meant it was an adept predator. Its feeding reflex, faster and sharper than the rest, would’ve made it lethal.

If it had gotten me… my body would’ve been unrecognizable.

My leg was wrecked, sure, but at least I’d lived. Luck, plain and simple. If the cut had been any higher—neck, head, or a major artery—well, I wouldn’t have survived to complain.

At least that’s something.

Modern medical treatments had advanced enough that even deep trauma like mine could heal without lasting damage. Sure, it might ache during bad weather, but I wouldn’t limp or lose the ability to run. That, at least, was a comfort.

“That said, I’m starting to feel stiff.”

That was all good for the future. The problem now was—my body itched to move.

Not from poor hygiene, but from sheer inactivity.

My leg had kept me stuck in bed for two weeks, barely walking at all. My new daily routine consisted entirely of eating and lying down, and my body was beginning to riot in protest.

I’d managed a few trips outside in a wheelchair, but it wasn’t enough. Crutches, though—not practical. Walking even twenty minutes drained all my strength.

“I just want to walk normally again. On my own two feet.”

I grumbled at no one in particular, sitting on the edge of the bed and slipping into my slippers.

“Okay. A quick shower, then maybe a short walk around the hall.”

The doctor had said I could start walking short distances as long as I was careful about weight distribution—crutches optional. A cautious test run would be fine, and I figured I might as well get used to it before physical therapy began in a few weeks.

Knock, knock.

As I slowly hobbled toward the bathroom, a soft knock tapped at the door.

“Who’s…?”
“Guide Ji, are you awake?”

“…!”

That voice. Taeon.

I froze mid-step, staring at the door. Taeon? Here? Why?! A visit? Was this a visit—from him?

Impossible. Or maybe not impossible—we were partners, after all. But still, the last time he’d been here had been a week ago, just to handle post-operation reporting. Why now?

“Ah!”

Lost in thought, I accidentally leaned on my injured leg, tipping sideways. Thunk! My palm smacked the wall—a sound like hitting someone’s skull.

“Guide Ji?”

Slide!

The door opened fast. A figure stepped in—of course, it was him. And in both hands, he carried a fruit basket and a juice set.

“…What are you doing?”

His tone was flat with disbelief. We locked eyes—me still awkwardly half-crouched. My cheeks burned. His expression said it all: Didn’t expect to walk in on this. Hell, I hadn’t expected it either.

“I, uh—almost fell…”
“Why not use your crutch?”
“They said I could start walking today. Anyway, uh, what brings you here…?”

My eyes flicked between the fruit basket and the juice like an idiot. Seeing physical proof of a get-well visit in his hands made me feel both skeptical and weirdly unsettled.

“Ah.” He cleared his throat softly and stepped closer, looking a bit stiff.
“The teammates wanted me to deliver these.”
“Right. Of course.”

Figures. Relief and faint disappointment mixed uncomfortably in my chest. I pretended not to notice.

While I stood there, he busied himself unpacking—juice into the mini-fridge, fruit basket on the table—recounting messages in that calm, level voice.

“They said flowers aren’t good for patients, so they skipped those. And they weren’t sure what fruits you liked, so they just picked an assorted box.”

The names of our colleagues filtered in familiarly from his soft baritone. I couldn’t see his face with his back turned, but I imagined it matched his tone—steady, impersonal.

“So you came just to drop those off?”

My question came out sharper than intended—like I was telling him to leave. Maybe he’d take it as the opposite, maybe not. Either way, it didn’t matter.

“Should you really be standing like that, injured?”

He turned then—calm, mild, concerned. His gaze dropped to my leg. For one awful moment, it genuinely sounded like he was worried. Probably just my imagination. I hoped it was.

“I was just heading to the bathroom.”
“Then I’ll wait.”
“Wait—you’ll wait? I’m going to shower.”

His eyes narrowed slightly, measuring. The pause stretched, his look unreadable. Then realization flicked, like he’d misunderstood something—specifically, what kind of help I might be implying.

“Not—! Not help, obviously,” I blurted out, mortified. “I just meant it’ll take time since I have to soak my ankle too.”

No matter how close a pair was, showering together or helping someone wash crossed a line—unless you were lovers or married. Which, of course, we weren’t.

He nodded quickly, expression softening into understanding. Of course not. I wasn’t thinking that, his face said, and heat rose up my neck again anyway.

“Take your time,” he said simply. “I’m not in a rush.”
“Is… there something important you need to talk about?”
“In a way, yes. It’s not something brief, so I’ll wait until you’re done to explain.”

My stomach clenched. That not something brief sounded ominous.

“Is it serious?”
“Not especially.”

Short answer. Not reassuring.

I glanced at him, uncertain. “Truly not?”
“Truly,” he confirmed.

Resigned, I shuffled off toward the bathroom.

Something about his phrasing lingered, though—a strange undercurrent slinking through the words. I couldn’t pinpoint why. Still, I sighed, peeled off my clothes, and started running the bath.

Then it hit me.

I could hear the water filling—and that meant he could too.

…Oh God.