HLSEBT - 4

Cheon Geun-young was focused on his shooting. 

Though he wasn’t putting particular effort into each shot, the bullets consistently landed dead center in the target. After emptying one magazine, he picked up a new one. 

After smoothly reloading, just as he was about to resume firing, the door opened, and familiar faces appeared. 

He glanced at the uninvited guests but paid them no mind, resuming his shooting without hesitation. 

The deafening roar of the gun made several men wince. 

It was a high-recoil rifle designed for taking down massive monsters, but in his hands, the otherwise ferocious weapon behaved as docilely as a tamed beast. 

The guest, who had arrived with an entourage including his secretary, stood with his arms crossed, watching the spectacle. As soon as Cheon Geun-young picked up a fresh magazine, the man began clapping. 

His entourage, picking up on the cue, followed suit, filling the space with applause. 

“I heard you got a job, Geun-young.” 

The one who broke the peace was his cousin, Cheon Sang-heon. 

Ten years older than Cheon Geun-young, he was the eldest son of the vice chairman of CH Group. With a warm smile, he approached. 

“I haven’t heard anything about passing yet. You’re too early.” 

“What company in the world would fail the top graduate of the Agent Academy? You’re too modest for your own good.” 

“Wasn’t it you who practically threatened me not to go?” 

“Hey, I only said that because I didn’t want my little brother getting hurt! Can’t you understand my feelings?” 

The Agent Academy was established after the advent of the Rift Era. 

It was a specialized institution for training personnel to deal with Rifts and the monsters that poured out of them. Its program was a year shorter than other military academies, with the intent of graduating cadets as quickly as possible to deploy them in real combat. Because of this, the academy only had a single month-long summer break. 

It was notorious for the fact that 20% of enrollees dropped out within the first month. 

It wasn’t a place for nurturing individuals capable of killing monsters—it was a filtering system designed to leave only those who were already such beings. 

Cheon Geun-young had ranked first throughout his entire three years there. 

This meant he was exactly the kind of talent that companies specializing in hunting monsters and cleaning up Rifts coveted most. 

“How does it feel to be a Guide? Do you feel some kind of power surging through you? Do pretty Espers give you their numbers when you walk around?” 

“You’ve been watching too many movies.” 

“But I’m curious! It’s not common for someone to awaken after turning twenty…” 

Cheon Sang-heon feigned excitement, though it was clear he was stalling. 

“You’re busy with your company—what brings you all the way here?” 

“Don’t I have time to visit my little brother’s face?” 

By now, the cross-shaped bullseye at the center of the target board had completely disappeared due to the earlier shots. Cheon Sang-heon squinted at the target and clicked his tongue. 

“If you hadn’t become a soldier, you should’ve gone to the Olympics.” 

“What’s the real reason you’re buttering me up?” 

“You’re sharp, huh? Well…” 

He mentioned the names of a few cadets who had graduated alongside Cheon Geun-young this year, explaining that they were newly joining his company and asking for personal evaluations. 

“All three are decent.” 

“They may have lost the top spot to you, but they’re still usable, right?” 

“If you judge them by my standard, you’ll be disappointed.”

Cheon Sang-heon burst into a hollow laugh at the matter-of-fact statement from his cousin, whose expression hadn’t changed in the slightest. This was just the kind of person Cheon Geun-young was.

He appeared flexible enough to walk the straight and narrow, yet he remained polite even in situations where his privileged background might have allowed him to act arrogantly. 

People often said he resembled his late father, Cheon Seo-wan, in the way he skillfully navigated others with smooth words. That was why he had once been the apple of Chairman Cheon’s eye. 

Cheon Sang-heon patted his cousin on the shoulder. 

“You really don’t want to join our company? You know we just climbed to fifth place in the guild rankings, right?” 

“I’ve already submitted my application to Yeouido.” 

“Can’t you cancel it?” 

“No intention of doing so.” 

“What if I meet your conditions? I’ll adjust whatever you need.” 

To this persistent persuasion, Cheon Geun-young responded in a voice devoid of any personal interest. 

“If you hand over the entire guild, I might consider it.” 

It was clearly a joke, but Cheon Sang-heon, known for having dozens of sly snakes in his belly, found himself momentarily speechless at the icy tone. 

As Cheon Geun-young prepared to resume shooting, he smoothly raised the corners of his lips and said, 

“Are you trying to pass it off to me? Should I start reporting to the CEO’s office tomorrow?” 

“...Brat, you’re getting good at jokes now.” 

“A family business is too much pressure. And the reputation of parachuting in a cousin wouldn’t be good for you either.” 

Cheon Sang-heon retreated, genuinely regretful. Once a decision was made, it was impossible to retract—stubbornness like that ran in the family. Hadn’t Cheon Geun-young’s insistence been evident when he entered the Agent Academy, where one had to sign a waiver for bodily injury? 

“If you change your mind, contact me. I’ll always keep a spot open for you.” 

After the unwelcome guest left, he picked up the gun again. 

The bullseye of the already tattered target. He aimed the barrel at the non-existent mark. Just as he was about to pull the trigger, the awaited call came in, forcing him to set the weapon down. 

Picking up his phone, he answered Secretary Kang’s call in an even more relaxed tone than before. 

“Perfect timing. I was just about to get scouted by another company.” 

After ending the call, Cheon Geun-young picked up the weapon capable of killing monsters once more. 

* * * 

After being scolded by Lee Haegyeong, Yoon Taeha was granted paid leave. Was this giving her poison and then the antidote? Lee Haegyeong prescribed three weeks of paid leave with one condition attached: 

〈Find a dedicated Guide within three weeks.〉 

〈How am I supposed to find one in three weeks when I couldn’t in five years?〉 

〈It doesn’t matter if the match rate is low. We just need to avoid the worst-case scenario.〉 

The term “match rate” was a scientific-sounding euphemism for compatibility between an Esper and a Guide. 

They took factors like upbringing, personality, occupation, interests, and even biometric data, threw them all into a metaphorical blender, and paired humans with the most similar profiles. 

Typically, a decent match rate between an Esper and a Guide was considered to be around 70 percent—a passing grade. A very good match would be around 80 percent. 

Unless they were twins, achieving a match rate above 90 percent was rare. 

A high match rate didn’t guarantee a destined partnership. 

It was, after all, just a probability. 

No matter how similarly two people grew up, meeting a Guide or an Esper ultimately required two different individuals to align their lives.

The thought of going through that tedious and labor-intensive process again made Yoon Taeha’s vision blur. She had never failed at work before. But interpersonal relationships with Guides were an entirely different dimension of problems.

*

“You can’t just sit there and wait to die, you know.”

Dr. Moon So-eun, the center’s physician, interjected sharply after listening to Yoon Taeha’s complaints.

Two weeks had passed since her paid leave began. Every day, Yoon Taeha spent her time sifting through the flood of resumes from potential Guide candidates.

Today was the day for the mandatory psychological counseling and health checkup before meeting a dedicated Guide.

After finishing the blood draw, Dr. Moon handed Yoon Taeha a jar of candy that always sat on her desk. Taeha picked out a plum-flavored candy, one she always enjoyed, and popped it into her mouth. But almost immediately, her expression turned gloomy.

“…It doesn’t taste sweet at all.”

“Did they change the type of candy? It’s because your body’s in bad shape. When Espers’ health deteriorates, their sense of taste and pain are the first things to go.”

“But I love eating…”

“And yet you let yourself get to this state without securing a Guide?”

“I couldn’t find one, okay…!”

Her voice trailed off weakly, uncharacteristic of her usual self. Dr. Moon had been Taeha’s attending physician since she was young. Now, after numerous promotions, she was in charge of major research projects at ARK.

She was one of the few ordinary people who could freely throw sharp words at Yoon Taeha, who bore the terrifying rank of S-Class Esper.

“A young person like you goes all the way to Hawaii—you should’ve come back with a Guide on each arm. One handsome, one cute.”

“These days, saying things like that gets you reported for dehumanizing Guides.”

“All the directors who handle those cases are my friends.”

Dr. Moon shifted her gaze to the computer screen displaying the detailed report sent from headquarters.

The report explained things in various ways, but the gist was simple:

If things continued as they were, Yoon Taeha would die before turning thirty.

Whether from an outburst or illness, she would push those around her into suffering before disappearing from the world herself.

Dr. Moon interrogated her.

“The most recent guiding session you received?”

“At the Hawaii branch, six months ago. It was radiative guiding. My roommate had a good personality.”

All acts of treatment performed by a Guide on an Esper were referred to as “guiding.” There were two types of guiding: radiative guiding and contact guiding.

Contact guiding involved physical touch, while radiative guiding was performed without direct contact.

Hearing this, Dr. Moon clicked her pen nervously.

“The match rate was 45%... At that rate, it’s practically useless whether you receive guiding or not.”

“It was probably 32% before. That’s progress, right?”

“No way. For lower-ranked Espers, combining medication and guiding can cover the gaps, but it won’t work for you.”

“Director Lee said the same thing.”

“Our dear Haegyeong seems to be losing a lot of sleep over you...”

Yoon Taeha bowed her head like a guilty criminal. She hated causing pain to those around her over issues she couldn’t control.

Dr. Moon glanced at the woman who still looked like a teenager in her school uniform. Then, in a casual tone, she asked,

“Is it because of him? The reason you haven’t settled on a Guide.”

Yoon Taeha’s shoulders twitched slightly.

“Bingo. That’s why Director Lee came here, tiptoeing around you. And he’s a busy man.”

“…”

“Time flies, doesn’t it? It’s already been five years.”

Yoon Taeha’s fist, lightly clenched on her lap, tightened with tension. Dr. Moon continued speaking in a tone brimming with certainty.

“Taking on only the hardest, most dangerous missions overseas—it’s all because of them, isn’t it? To deceive those who need to be deceived.”

“It’s not... entirely like that.”

“Then are you just going to let those bastards live? Are you giving up on revenge?”

Yoon Taeha, who had been acting as if she were facing a monster capable of turning people to stone with a single glance, suddenly snapped her head up.