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32. Grade B is too strong 4
32. Grade B is too strong 4
“Our prison sentences were capped at two months. Here, it’s one month. If I rack up demerits quickly, I can join that friend in spiritual training, share secrets…”
“Threats and persuasion too.”
“Do we really need to get rough with kids? Conversations should suffice.”
Her tolerance toward children just three years her junior seemed surprisingly deep.
“How’s the guide class?”
“It’s ordinary. Aside from their extensive knowledge of weapons, they’re no different from the students at the schools I attended.”
Cheon Geon-young recounted how the students had passionately debated during break time whether CH Defense’s automatic pistol was superior or the one produced by Next Co., which sponsored Ark.
“Your ears must have been tingling.”
“It’s market research. Even if it itches, you endure.”
She gave a faint smile, seemingly agreeing.
Cheon Geon-young didn’t mention that the espers in question had joked about wanting to shoot those pistols first—but Yoon Tae-ha seemed to grasp the gist of the situation anyway.
“It’d be nice if everyone could get along.”
After finishing their respective updates, Yoon Tae-ha rose to leave. Cheon Geon-young followed suit. He suddenly noticed she wasn’t wearing her glasses now.
“Is wearing glasses that uncomfortable?”
“I only need them when I’m working. Even I need breaks sometimes.”
Before stepping out onto the balcony, Yoon Tae-ha gestured with her eyes toward the lollipop on the desk.
“That candy is exclusive to the shelter’s store. It’s delicious—super strong cola flavor.”
“Not sold outside?”
“No. The kids did whisper among themselves, wondering if it had any drugs in it, like sedatives.”
For someone presenting a conspiracy theory, her face was disarmingly innocent. Indeed, there was something subtly agitated about her since arriving at the shelter.
“Sedatives for espers—the kind where unapproved use is illegal?”
“Bingo.”
Cheon Geon-young stared at the lollipop. She seemed to interpret his gaze as suspicion about its ingredients, so she quickly added:
“It’s not drugged. I commissioned it from the research lab before graduating—it’s just candy.”
“I’ll enjoy it.”
She left without warning, just as she had arrived, leaving behind the message to contact him immediately if anything suspicious happened. After stepping onto the balcony and scanning the area, he found no trace of her.
Once again, he felt the unease of an ordinary person encountering an esper with extraordinary abilities.
Sitting back down on the bed, Cheon Geon-young engaged in a brief staring contest with the lollipop. Then, he grabbed it impulsively. The white stick spun between his fingers, and the cola scent was already potent.
Come to think of it, maybe the lollipop had been the main point all along. Slowly unwrapping it, he placed the lollipop in his mouth.
It was quite sweet.
---
Cheon Geon-young, who had enrolled in Guide T-class, became a topic of conversation among the students on his very first day, much like Yoon Tae-ha.
His imposing physique that stood out even from afar, an excessively handsome face, and an intriguing rumor from the South Shelter preceded him.
“Gwon Hee-seong, did you really bribe someone to sabotage an esper’s evaluation?”
One classmate approached him, having heard the rumors. Others turned their heads, glancing at him with interest.
The boy wearing a name tag that read “Gwon Hee-seong” answered in a cold tone:
“He was being arrogant.”
“…”
“I just sent him where he belonged.”
Though his words were highly antisocial, the students seemed to like this side of the transfer student.
There was a strange satisfaction in hearing mocking remarks from someone with such a dazzling exterior.
“This guy’s a total psycho.”
“That kid can’t go on missions anymore, right? An esper who can’t work in the field is just trash—can’t even be recycled.”
The louder students in the class praised his misdeeds as if they were grand trophies.
“Why’d you send him away?”
From a distance, he confirmed that his targets of surveillance had turned their attention toward him. Cheon Geon-young quoted a line the vice president used to say frequently:
“Espers who rely on their powers need to learn how to survive without them.”
A boy perched on the desk next to him clutched his chest dramatically.
“Hey, let’s make that our class motto. That’s going to be my family motto from now on.”
“Tell your grandkids to carve that on your tombstone.”
“Damn. I need to get married first to have grandkids.”
“What about that esper who keeps chasing people around? The one in Class C.”
“Shut your mouths...”
Most of the students had low fieldwork scores—their lives depended on their esper partners. Cheon Geon-young took note of the level of hostility in the remarks coming from T-class, known for its model students.
“Those guys are all brawn and no brain—just muscleheads.”
“Is it really that great? If everything’s fine, at least we get eye candy... I don’t get why so many idiots think all that bulk is pure muscle.”
“Who said becoming a guide guarantees you a job? After graduation, you’ll be partnered with one of those dumb beasts! It’s horrifying...”
The shelter discouraged matchings between current students. While tactical pairings were rotated during classes to practice teamwork, there was no encouragement to form permanent partnerships.
It could interfere with their future partners once they entered society, and there was concern that two immature individuals might cause even bigger problems together.
Esper students received guidance from professional, full-time guides stationed at the school. There was no shortage of guidance here.
This was why espers weren’t particularly valued within the school.
“At least dogs recognize their masters... Isn’t it true that espers in a rampage can’t even recognize their own guides?”
“Remember that time I got knocked out by the bat my partner carried during that 5-on-5 tactical exercise?!”
“Are the aftereffects still bad?”
“Of course! Just seeing his face makes me grind my teeth. Did he even apologize? He just mumbled something about dizziness from insufficient guiding...”
“What nerve. If you’re dizzy, just crawl into a coffin and stay there.”
Not all guides rejected espers. Some shared bonds akin to friendship and maintained small but meaningful exchanges.
However, the mainstream group with influence among the students loudly rejected espers.
At the center of this group were two individuals to watch: Woo Joo-han and Hwang Sung-bin.
According to earlier investigations, one of these two was highly likely to be the broker.
They frequently crossed paths with espers they weren’t close to, and many of the espers connected to them were suspected users.
There was no way fully grown twenty-year-olds would transfer payment for transactions through bank accounts. The prevailing theory was that cash and amplifiers were being exchanged secretly somewhere.
Cheon Geon-young’s task was to uncover which of the two was the broker.
To do that, he needed to get closer to them.
Few methods brought people together faster than sharing dislikes. Since both candidates exhibited a tendency to reject espers, Cheon Geon-young had to act the same way.
Only by appearing as one of them would his targets willingly come to him.
“Hee-seong, have you picked a club yet?”
Hwang Sung-bin, the vice class president, perched himself on Cheon Geon-young’s desk and asked. With his droopy eyes and gentle demeanor, Hwang Sung-bin resembled a laid-back sloth.
“Shooting or combat simulation. Aren’t the club options the same here?”
“Yeah. All three are available. Are you decent at shooting?”
“More or less.”
Though his answer wasn’t exaggerated, Hwang Sung-bin seemed to sense a marksman’s aura in the transfer student and spoke with conviction.
“Then join the shooting club. Other clubs besides shooting, field research, and combat simulation are useless garbage.”
A few students registered in other clubs shot annoyed glares at Hwang Sung-bin.
He flipped them off and ignored their complaints. With a hint of pride, he added:
“There’s a membership cap, but I’ll make sure someone like you gets in. I’m the club president, after all.”
“Interested in guns?”
Cheon Geon-young waited for this moment before replying.
“Ever heard of CH Defense?”
“Half the guides use their guns.”
“My uncle works there. I’ve handled every gun they make since I was a kid.”
Cheon Geon-young listened calmly to information he already knew.
Seeing the transfer student show interest, Hwang Sung-bin grew excited and started talking faster. He regaled the tale of his uncle—a story he’d repeated hundreds of times to his classmates—as if it were an epic hero’s journey.
Stories of sneaking out guns to test-fire them in closed rifts, and so on.
He had a deep interest in expensive weapon collections, a family member working at CH Defense, and he himself was Candidate #1 for being the broker.
Perfect conditions to manipulate.
“Tell me more about your uncle.”
---
Meanwhile, Yoon Tae-ha found herself face-to-face with the second broker candidate by chance. As she carried a stack of books toward the personal lockers right outside the classroom, someone approached her.
Balancing the books in one hand, she entered her locker combination with the other when a shadow fell over her head, prompting her to look up.
It was a familiar face.
“G-class, right? I just came from there.”
“…So what?”
“The evaluation match schedule is out. Pass it along to the others.”
He waved an A4 sheet of paper in the air. His expression made it clear he had no intention of entering the classroom himself.
There was no need to print the schedule separately—it should’ve already been distributed.
She checked his name tag. He matched one of the students she’d identified during her investigation. Uncharacteristically for Yoon Tae-ha, she asked:
“…Evaluation matches?”
“Why are you acting like you don’t know? It’s something we do every season.”
His name tag read “Woo Joo-han.”
This is one of the broker candidates? Handling the broker investigation is Cheon Geon-young’s part. Should I approach him first? If I stray too far from the script, it could cause problems.
She delayed her response slightly but decided to buy time with a line that would fit an ordinary transfer student.
“I just transferred here. I’m not familiar with it.”
At the mention of transferring, Woo Joo-han’s eyebrows twitched. He seemed to mentally sift through the faces of the espers in G-class, recalling them one by one. Narrowing his eyes, he soon arrived at the correct conclusion.
“You’re Jeon Sung-ha?”
She shifted the books slightly to reveal her name tag. Upon confirming her identity, Woo Joo-han immediately rattled off details about her recent activities over the past few days.
“The crazy esper who racked up 40 demerit points right after transferring?”
“Actually, it’s 52 points.”
Yoon Tae-ha corrected him, and he stared at her as if she were utterly absurd.
“Why does this place only get crazy transfers…?”
“Isn’t that a bit harsh to say to my face?”
“This isn’t a waste disposal site.”
Woo Joo-han irritably ran his fingers through his hair, revealing a scar near his hairline. It was long and thin, shaped like a boomerang.
He stared at Yoon Tae-ha, who wore an expression of feigned confusion. Was he trying to start a staring contest? Yoon Tae-ha, who had no interest in such tedious power struggles, deliberately blinked a few times.
Woo Joo-han quickly turned his head away.
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