HLSEBT - 43

43. Unofficial Work 3

He spoke in a tone as if he were confronting the teacher who had given him incorrect information. 

“I was told that as long as you build a little rapport, you can guide however you want.” 

A little rapport and a positive mindset on the Guide’s part—those were the points emphasized in the class Cheon Geonyoung had attended that day. 

If guiding wasn’t working, they said to reflect on the emotional distance between yourself and your partner—or consider whether either of you might be unwilling to guide. 

The latter wasn’t the case. He wanted to guide Yoon Taeha. That meant it was the former—a gap that remained unbridgeable no matter how often their palms touched. 

“Is it because my manifestation was late? Because I didn’t start training when I was younger?” 

“You’re looking for answers from the wrong person.” 

Her voice was unusually light as she spoke. 

“The problem is me, not you.” 

Two days earlier, rain had washed the rooftop clean. She walked over to the railing and called out to him without a trace of fear as she perched herself atop it. 

“Guide-nim, come here.” 

She had removed her slippers and placed them to her right, so Cheon Geonyoung mirrored her, removing his own and sitting beside her. Two pairs of white socks dangled side by side into the vast emptiness below. 

Yoon Taeha gazed silently at the nearby fitness center, central athletic field, and practice rooms. The moonlight draped a soft veil over her face. 

“Our work doesn’t seem much different from what thieves do. Surveillance, espionage…” 

“Breathing techniques are important even for thievery.” 

“At this rate, we’re a good match. Unless you’re planning to break into a top-security facility, this level of coordination is plenty.” 

“Did you learn flattery in the North too?” 

“Yeah.” 

His incredulous look made her grin like a mischievous little demon casting a spell before running away. 

“It’s true. When I was young, researchers caught me and taught me all sorts of things.” 

“You mean persuasion.” 

“We tend to be overly direct.” 

“I’ve never thought of myself as direct.” 

“That’s because they taught us not to say things like that. I was considered a person of interest back then. I don’t have the right to criticize these kids.” 

Cheon Geonyoung tried to imagine Yoon Taeha wearing a similar uniform, strutting around Shelter with ambition burning in her eyes. 

A teenage Yoon Taeha, full of desire and determined to impose her will—somehow, the image didn’t take shape. She must have had the influence, just not the drive. 

“Don’t bother imagining it.” 

She waved her hand briefly in front of his face. With swift precision, he snatched it. It was an unexpected ambush. She hesitated when he immediately looked hurt after she tried to pull away. 

“Touching me won’t change anything.” 

As she hesitated, he took her hand again. Trapping four of her fingers in his palm, they wriggled briefly before going still. 

“Why do you think the problem lies with you?” 

“…It’s always been like that since I was young.” 

With one hand reluctantly surrendered, she began to explain. 

“No one knows why. My body just isn’t suited for guiding well.” 

“Everyone?” 

“Even the so-called sages among guiding specialists threw up their hands. And it’s not like I particularly disliked those teachers.” 

Sensing his probing gaze, she preemptively defended herself. 

“They liked me, those teachers.” 

“I didn’t say anything.” 

“I think they did. Though it might just be my imagination.” 

“They probably did.” 

His response carried surprising sincerity. The man who could speak such embarrassingly earnest words while maintaining a calm demeanor gently tightened his grip on her captured fingers. She glanced at him, seemingly bothered, but didn’t withdraw her hand. 

“Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn’t. Same with the other person—it works occasionally, then fails randomly. So both the company and I gave up.” 

Her voice settled quietly, resonating pleasantly in the deserted school grounds. 

“To find the reason would require experiments that haven’t been safety-tested. But I’m sure you can guess—I’m more expensive than I look.” 

At the mention of unsafe experiments, Cheon Geonyoung’s expression hardened. 

Far away, she followed the twinkling movement of an airplane without noticing his reaction. 

“People die, so the company has to be cautious. I don’t want to end my life in a lab either—plugged into wires, having medications swapped daily, while others record the results.” 

“…” 

“It’s kind of… pitiful.” 

Perhaps it was the cool, soft sensation of the night air that made her overshare slightly. She quickly wrapped up her story. 

When she turned her head, Cheon Geonyoung was watching her with an unreadable expression. Beneath his straight nose, his lips parted slowly. 

He wasn’t one to rush his words, which often left her impatient. 

“A lab ending wouldn’t be ideal.” 

“It doesn’t sound nice, does it?” 

“It sounds like something that’d get you sued.” 

“But rich people can afford expensive lawyers. As long as they claim it’s for the future of Espers’ rights, it’s over.” 

“If necessary, I’ll get you a lawyer.” 

“One of Chairman Cheon’s lawyers? The ones who can turn a devil fallen into hell into a saint?” 

Chairman Cheon’s people were known to be worth every penny. 

It was a famous saying. Diligent workers who fulfilled their duties without hesitation—even if those duties strayed far beyond legal boundaries, which was often cited as their downside. 

“If they’re still alive by then.” 

His skill at pushing the endpoint far into the vague future was impressive. 

Yoon Taeha smiled faintly. 

The seven-year deadline hadn’t yet been conveyed to Cheon Geonyoung. 

Telling him carelessly would be madness. 

Besides, it wasn’t information she could disclose unilaterally. She figured it didn’t matter much anyway, since all contracts would terminate before then. 

Looking down at her captured hand, she spoke soothingly, as if comforting a child. 

“Are you still trying?” 

“It’s not working.” 

“You don’t need to rush. We have plenty of time left.” 

She pulled her hand back as she spoke, aware of his lingering, reluctant gaze. Rising abruptly to her feet, she stood. 

One step forward was a cliff where falling would leave nothing to recover. One step to the side was a man who could save her. 

Why did the former feel so much less frightening? It was a mystery even she couldn’t unravel. 

---

Hong Eunsoo had a wide network. 

Having served on the student council until last year, she seemed to know every Esper and Guide there was. Thanks to trailing her, Yoon Taeha felt as though she had already met about a third of the current students. 

“Everyone’s busy chasing honey these days.” 

The two had stopped by the main auditorium to check the types of Cracks Breakthrough scenarios that would appear in the upcoming evaluation.

The vast auditorium, spacious enough to accommodate a sports field, was bustling with students. 

At first glance, the scene resembled an art exhibition. On screens mounted like frames along the walls, videos of dungeon solutions that current students had mastered were being played back. 

Some depicted real agents clearing dungeons, while others featured simulations with virtual characters. 

“If this one comes up, I’m forfeiting.” 

“Forfeiting means the lowest score though…” 

“Then would you tackle the Beast Forest? Hey, there was a kid who went insane doing this and got carried out. They say it’s terrifying. Do you want to fight centipedes with human faces?” 

The students huddled in small groups, comparing videos. It looked like slow-moving conveyor belt sushi. Hong Eunsoo linked arms with Yoon Taeha and joined the flow of students. 

“You’ve done Cracks Breakthrough before, right? Surely?” 

She spoke as if worried about transfer students. 

“I’ve done it in the East.” 

“Thank goodness. That’s really fortunate.” 

“Is the ‘Me’ category really that difficult? Everyone seems more worried about it than one-on-one sparring.” 

“It’s a tournament-style duel, you know… We’ve been doing it since we were thirteen. Once you hear the opponent’s name, you can roughly calculate your chances.” 

“What kind of calculation?” 

Hong Eunsoo frowned at the sight of a forest made of trees that continuously emitted bats, muttering, “I hate rats.” 

Staring at what she hated as if hypnotized, she snapped out of it only when students behind her signaled it was time to move on. 

“…Whether I’ll win or not. For the ‘Ga’ category, the calculations are pretty clear.” 

“It’s because of all the accumulated data.” 

“Yeah. Experience and information gathered from getting hit myself.” 

Hong Eunsoo replied in a much darker tone than before. 

“Buy some pain-relief patches and bruise medicine before starting the ‘Ga’ category. And a good air freshener too—unless you want your dorm room smelling like patches.” 

With a sigh, the two moved toward the screen where the largest crowd of students had gathered. There were noticeably more students clustered here. 

“What’s causing such a commotion?” 

Using her height, Hong Eunsoo pushed through the crowd. Thanks to her, Yoon Taeha, sticking close behind, was able to get near the screen as well. 

Recognizing the familiar dungeon layout, Yoon Taeha’s eyes widened. The surrounding students murmured, hoping they wouldn’t encounter this particular dungeon. 

“It’s a new dungeon… Didn’t they clear it earlier this year?” 

Hong Eunsoo asked a friend of hers standing near the screen. An Esper from Class B turned around with a weary expression and answered. 

“Yeah, it was cleared early this year.” 

“They’re already updating it?” 

“I know, right? They said they’d change the evaluation format this year, but adding new types like this is something else.” 

Yoon Taeha watched the video of the dungeon she herself had cleared earlier this year with great seriousness. 

All the characters in the video were computer-generated graphics. Naturally so, since the Espers deployed in that dungeon were kept entirely confidential. 

“The ones who get this will have to prepare for underwater combat.” 

At Hong Eunsoo’s words, the smell of seaweed and oil floating on the ocean’s surface came to mind. 

Yoon Taeha asked an Esper from Class B, whom she was meeting for the first time: 

“What’s the difficulty level like?” 

The dungeon she had cleared was rated A-class. She thought it was far too difficult to present directly to students without adjustments—though perhaps manageable in the North, it would need tweaking in the West. 

The Esper glanced alternately at Hong Eunsoo and Yoon Taeha before answering with a flushed face. Seeing this, Hong Eunsoo laughed, finding something amusing about it. 

“It was adjusted to B-class before being added.” 

“I see.” 

“Are you a transfer student? A new student in G Class?” 

When Yoon Taeha nodded, the male student whispered something into Hong Eunsoo’s ear and disappeared. Yoon Taeha returned her focus to the video. 

After hearing her friend’s explanation, Hong Eunsoo giggled and playfully poked Yoon Taeha in the side.