HLSEBT - 5

Her dark eyes brimmed with injustice, an expression that made anyone want to help her—an expression she never wore under normal circumstances.

“Doctor.”

“It was just a joke.”

“If you make jokes like that...”

“Shouldn’t I? If not me, then who? I’m the only family that kid has left.”

Yoon Taeha bit her lip as if her deepest secret had been exposed. Was this why Lee Haegyeong had suggested she meet with Dr. Moon? She knew it was a necessary pain to endure before securing a dedicated Guide.

She had known—but still.

“It was an accident.”

No matter how gentle Dr. Moon’s voice sounded, it pricked at her like thorns.

“No one expected there to be an ambush there. Not even the great heart of the Ark could foresee it. Am I criticizing artificial intelligence right now?”

“...”

“If it weren’t for you, we wouldn’t have even been able to recover the bodies.”

By now, the lump of sugar in her mouth had lost all its flavor.

“Let it go.”

“...”

“I don’t think he’d hold any grudges.”

Unwanted memories began to seep out little by little.

Her first Guide had died because of anti-government forces who believed Espers should rule over humans. It happened when Yoon Taeha was eighteen.

They hadn’t detected the trap in time.

Her Guide, weaker than her, had gotten caught up in it.

The Guide died, and Yoon Taeha, half out of her mind, devastated everything around her. But no matter how much she destroyed, the dead couldn’t come back to life.

Standing before Dr. Moon made it easy to recall the worst moments of her life.

That soft voice, the teardrop-shaped mole, the way his eyes crinkled when he smiled—they all overlapped in her mind.

“If your life gets ruined because of revenge, how will I face my nephew after I’m gone?”

Yoon Taeha’s first Guide, who had disappeared from the world.

Because that child’s family had been Dr. Moon.

“Still, I say this because I believe I have the third most influence after Lee Haegyeong and Seo Do-jin.”

Dr. Moon placed her dry, birch-like hand on Yoon Taeha’s clasped hands, which were held together like someone confessing their sins.

It was a hand that didn’t feel quite human—thin and brittle. Yoon Taeha couldn’t pull away or look aside; she stiffened under its touch.

“Don’t carry guilt. Be kind to your new Guide.”

“Yes.”

That was the only answer she could give.

*

Yoon Taeha received a call from HR and went upstairs. Left alone in the lab, Dr. Moon silently reviewed the documents in front of her before letting out a short sigh.

A little while later, a subordinate knocked and entered, cautiously observing her expression before asking,

“Is her condition really that bad?”

“She has a pretty name too. Professor Yoon personally gave it to her.”

“It’s just something I’ve gotten used to saying.”

Seeing her expression, which showed no intention of changing, Dr. Moon shook her head slightly and replied,

“Not good. It’s serious.”

“I wish she’d stop being so stubborn... Her attitude is too defensive.”

Not many people knew that Yoon Taeha’s first Guide had died in an accident.

It had been a classified mission.

And Yoon Taeha was the kind of person who would rather continue to be misunderstood than reveal a fact that could be seen as a weakness.

“Whoever is feeling desperate should be the one to make the first move, don’t you think?”

“Dr. Kim, do you realize what kind of pain an Esper at her level deals with on a daily basis?”

There was a program—though only a simulation—that allowed people to experience the weight of reality Espers carried.

The intensity was set at one-tenth of the physical and mental pain a C-Class Esper might endure in extreme situations.

Even so, healthy men who swaggered in before entering the simulation were known to come out vomiting.

“Hmm, well, I did go in at a B-Class level for the sake of research spirit. I lasted three minutes.”

“When has she ever been B-Class?”

“Dr. Moon, you really do love keeping things confidential, don’t you?”

In his eyes, there was no reason for Dr. Moon to like Yoon Taeha.

She constantly caused trouble over guiding issues and didn’t actively cooperate with research.

The only benefit? At least there was no worry about her dying anytime soon. To most researchers, that was all a Confidential Esper meant.

“Still, be careful.”

He lowered his voice, seeming genuinely concerned for Dr. Moon.

“Careful about what?”

“...You seem to be getting too attached.”

“Do I?”

“Unless a miracle happens, she won’t live long. Isn’t that what you always say? Don’t get too attached to the Espers coming in and out of the lab.”

A faint smile formed on her lips.

“Go back to work. Stop gossiping about our most valuable asset.”

*

After the grim meeting with Dr. Moon, Yoon Taeha spent time reviewing countless resumes with the HR manager. Since the HR manager was a regular civilian with a family, they hurriedly sent them home to their loved ones.

The remaining resumes were entirely her responsibility.

No one would say anything if she took them home to review, but she didn’t want to drag work into her personal space. So she stayed at the office.

The one consolation was that she had comrades by her side.

“Your acting skills are seriously no joke, huh?”

“Quiet.”

“Why are you telling me to be quiet... I’m your fan, after all.”

The lounge area for employees with security clearance level 3 or higher at ARK’s Korean office.

It was a place where exhausted workers gathered to rest—or where they escaped to with their laptops to avoid their bosses.

The tiered seating, resembling an ancient Greek amphitheater, was densely arranged with blue beanbags and thick cushions.

Yoon Taeha, lounging in a beanbag and staring at the large screen, turned to the Esper sitting next to her as soon as the drama ended to share her thoughts.

The woman who had been crying on the screen just moments ago was now sitting beside her—Han Gyewol, the lead actress of the currently hottest drama.

The actress, sporting a chic bob cut, gave Yoon Taeha a stern warning.

“If you tease me, I’ll kill you.”

So you’ll die after I tease you one more time? With a wistful gaze, Yoon Taeha mimicked the male lead’s lines from the drama.

“Let’s run away together. As long as you’re with me—” Cough! “Ow, ow! That actually hurts!”

“I said if you tease me, you’ll die, didn’t I?”

After experiencing the sharp slap that the male lead had delivered in the drama, Yoon Taeha immediately backed down, her tail metaphorically tucked between her legs. Her arm was now burning hot.

“My hand is so sore. You should get retested, sis. E-Class doesn’t make sense. Look, my arm’s all red!”

“Don’t be such a baby.”

Deflated, Yoon Taeha sucked on the last dregs of her iced Americano. It was just ice cubes rattling around at this point. She made no effort to hide her disappointment when another drink suddenly appeared beside her.

“Ease up on the coffee, will you?”

“Only you’ve got my back, Winter.”

Pleased, she even started speaking with a lisp, which earned her a pitying look from Han Gyewol.

“How can you drink coffee when your death clock is ticking?”

Yoon Taeha glanced around at the blunt choice of words.

Almost everyone who could enter this lounge already knew who she was and that her health was deteriorating due to a lack of proper guiding. Still, you never know.

After confirming that all the faces around her were familiar, she lowered her voice slightly.

“That’s supposed to be a secret.”

“Secret, my foot. Haven’t you heard? The Director’s been in such a sour mood lately that two watchdogs have been assigned inside the building.”

Han Gyewol furrowed her brow as she accepted two parcels of sandwiches from someone distributing late-night snacks among the beanbags.

Sensing the mood, Yoon Taeha took the chicken sandwich with both hands. Han Gyewol roughly tore open the wrapper of her bulgogi cheese sandwich.

“There are only two reasons for the Director to be this low-energy. One: the Audit Department is being a pain. Two: something’s gone wrong with your health.”

“The ambassador for polite language is using swear words like punctuation now?”

“If you’ve got a problem, go report me upstairs. I’m done filming public service announcements anyway.”

It had already been five years since Han Gyewol wandered around shaking hands with random strangers like a politician on a campaign trail while wearing her uniform. Back then, she was only twenty.

The advertisement, which might have horrified the Disease Control Headquarters, became a massive topic of discussion.

Han Gyewol, who had been a low-level employee at ARK’s Korean office at the time, skyrocketed to stardom because of it.

[Together, our joined hands create safety.]

Her fresh face and captivating voice were major assets.

Han Gyewol received an unprecedented two-rank promotion for her significant contribution to improving public perception of Espers.

She was transferred from rear support to media strategy. Now, she was under contract with a collaborating entertainment agency and appeared on broadcasts regularly.

With her healthy and clean image, she was also shooting many commercials these days.

Han Gyewol was one of the prime examples of an Esper successfully integrating into human society—albeit as a low-risk E-Class.

“Sis, you’ve got this raw charm that really works for you, and this drama highlights it perfectly. The ratings keep climbing too.”

Halfway through her sandwich, Yoon Taeha randomly threw out the comment. Han Gyewol gave her an incredulous look.

“Are you really in any position to give feedback to others right now?”

“I’m your number one fan. I think I’m allowed to say at least that much.”

“This is why the Director’s in such a bad mood. Does it make sense for frost to form on the building windows in this weather? If this keeps up, icicles will start forming soon.”

“The boss doesn’t blur the lines between work and personal matters like that.”

“You’re the only one who thinks so.”

“This sandwich is delicious.”

Yoon Taeha casually changed the subject, eating anything late-night with relish. It was hard to believe she had recently received a terminal diagnosis.

“They say I’m going to die soon. Have you heard about it, sis?”

Her voice was as light as someone contemplating whether to renew their streaming service subscription.

“I don’t have anything I urgently want to watch right now, but I’d feel a little sad if I didn’t renew it. What should I do?” That was the tone she used.

“No, we’re talking about your lifespan here! You’re twenty-three!”

Even Han Gyewol, an outsider to the situation, had raised her voice in frustration.

“How’s the search for a Guide going?”

“It’s going horribly.”

“Is your health deteriorating solely because you haven’t been receiving guiding?”

“Of course. If you don’t want to get sick, you either stop using your powers entirely or find a proper Guide.”

“And…?”

“I can’t do either.”

Yoon Taeha knew well enough that she couldn’t live as a wealthy grandma, moving into a high-tech senior living facility with her friends.