HLSEBT - 61

Though his frame was elegant and seemed clean at first glance, upon closer inspection, there were numerous scars that hinted at significant past pain.

She felt oddly embarrassed by her own unblemished palms.

“Why are you hurt here?”

She pointed to a scar that looked like it had bled profusely when he’d first been injured.

“I was extracting sap from a locust tree during a school lab session. I used a knife.”

“That’s a tree you’re supposed to drill with specialized equipment.”

“It happens more often than not that people just use cracks instead of proper tools.”

“What were you trying to make with the kids…?”

Instead of answering, Cheon Geon-young made a gun shape with one hand.

“This kind of thing.”

She found it absurd but also pitied him because she knew he wasn’t lying. As she tapped the calluses on his fingertips, he chuckled softly.

“Are you tickling me?”

“I thought maybe you were hiding some secret technique.”

“No such thing.”

“Then I can look up now, right?”

She leaned back slightly. With his torso upright again, Cheon Geon-young ran his fingers over the area she’d touched moments ago.

For some reason, she felt like she shouldn’t stare too intently at the scene—afraid she might dwell on how beautiful his lowered lashes looked when alone later.

Shifting her gaze to the bookshelf, she said,

“It’s not always visible wounds, is it? Sometimes the pain is internal, but no external scars form... Cases like that.”

“It’s a bit warm. Not painfully so.”

“Do you feel numb to pain?”

“If I prick myself with a needle, it still hurts.”

“Just immunity?”

After hesitating for a moment, she asked,

“Doesn’t offset exist?”

Cheon Geon-young shook his head briefly.

“I’ve thought about how convenient it would be if it did. But no.”

“Only immunity…”

“Is it dangerous?”

His tone didn’t imply concern for his own future; rather, he seemed worried whether this ability could harm her. She didn’t want to lie to him.

“To be honest, I’ve never seen a guide with fire immunity before.”

“…”

“Seriously, never—even unofficial agents included.”

“It’s fortunate Jet isn’t around now.”

Cheon Geon-young understood immediately.

Information about unofficial agents was classified. It wasn’t something casually shared as bait to build rapport between partners.

Yoon Tae-ha had essentially shown him one piece of ARC’s confidential vault—a trade-off equivalent to revealing his fire immunity.

“Is it okay to tell me all this?”

“The fact that one of Chairman Cheon’s grandsons has fire immunity is far more valuable information. You know how to calculate its worth, don’t you?”

Another invisible thread seemed to weave itself between them, equally fatal if discovered—it would cost them both dearly.

A thrill, or perhaps tension, seeped into the spot where she’d touched him. Fearing its departure, Cheon Geon-young clenched his fist even tighter.

________________________________________

Yoon Tae-ha tied her necktie exactly as her partner had taught her.

She usually left it undone or skipped wearing it altogether, but today she needed to follow the school uniform guidelines strictly.

After ironing her blouse, skirt, and new fall blazer ahead of time, she checked herself in the mirror and left the dormitory.

Even the hallway air felt different from usual.

Male students who typically only wore pants as part of their uniforms were impeccably dressed. The girls’ hair gleamed unusually bright.

Perfume wafted regardless of gender. Apologizing silently to her nose, which would suffer greatly today, she hurried toward the classroom.

“Jeong Seong-ha!”

Hong Eun-soo greeted her cheerfully despite her puffy face. Yesterday, Hong Eun-soo had spoken to Kwon Min-gi on the phone for the first time since regaining consciousness.

Yoon Tae-ha hadn’t wanted to know, but she learned anyway after Hong Eun-soo knocked on her dorm room door crying.

“How’s the preparation for our meeting going?”

Dodging the hostile stares of Kang Jin-ho’s gang, Yoon Tae-ha asked.

Kang Jin-ho had tripped her earlier, but she ignored him and kicked his ankle in retaliation. Though she controlled her strength, it must have hurt.

“That guy’s expression looks murderous.”

“He’s committed more attempted murders than we have.”

“Do preemptive strikes matter?”

To this ambiguous question, Yoon Tae-ha winked leisurely.

“Nope.”

Hong Eun-soo noticed Kim Su-chan and Kang Jin-ho whispering behind her and informed her.

The homeroom teacher arrived five minutes before class started. Exhausted, he stared at his once-a-year neatly dressed students with unfamiliar eyes.

With an exasperated expression, he emphasized,

“All of you submitted your partner names through the system, right? I’ve reminded you since the start of the semester—I hope no one forgot. Don’t forget we’re meeting at 3 PM today.”

“Oh crap! I think I forgot!”

“You’ll have to go solo then.”

“Teacher! Can you extend the deadline by one day? Too many guides want me, and I need time to choose!”

“How many candidates?”

“One hundred.”

“Damn, T-class only has less than a hundred students total…”

“They came from other classes too!”

Amidst giggles, the homeroom teacher activated his ability.

Yoon Tae-ha already understood why G-class’s homeroom teacher controlled sound—he couldn’t possibly yell at students every five minutes. This was the best solution.

“I have an important announcement. If I give you all a chance to speak, explaining will take three hours. I don’t have the energy for that…”

The teacher displayed a notice on the screen.

Students quickly scanned the dense text. Hong Eun-soo dove into reading enthusiastically.

Yoon Tae-ha skimmed the content—it matched what the company sent last night.

“We didn’t announce it earlier because we weren’t sure what trouble you’d cause. Even you must admit that’s reasonable?”

As students finished reading, their eyes widened dramatically. They slapped each other’s arms furiously, desperate to vent their shock.

“The evaluation format has changed. It’s already been implemented in the southern region with excellent results. Now it’ll apply to the western region too.”

Kang Jin-ho slammed his desk angrily. When no sound came out, he hit it again out of frustration, but the classroom remained eerily silent.

“An era where 1-on-1 duels are useless has arrived… Coordination between espers and guides is more critical than ever.”

The classroom descended into chaos without a single sound.

“There aren’t many things you can do alone.”

“…”

“From now on, evaluations will be divided into two phases. Group A and Group B are abolished.”

“…”

“You’ve read it all, right? Both Phase 1 and Phase 2 evaluations will involve team battles. Phase 1 is a 2v2 breach mission. Phase 2 is a large-scale multi-person versus multi-person battle.”

Watching his students tear apart their freshly ironed uniforms in frustration, the teacher gazed at them kindly, seemingly close to nirvana.

“You’re meeting your partners soon. Wouldn’t it be better to keep your blazers intact?”

Yoon Tae-ha gently patted Hong Eun-soo’s back as she exhaled heavily. Her seatmate, who should’ve ascended spiritually, stayed grounded to help her instead.

“I’m actually looking forward to it… That said, duel scores won’t disappear. They’ll still factor into your final grade. Only the evaluation format changes. Try not to worry too much.”

Seeing his students transformed into demons, he smiled bitterly and snapped his fingers.

“A temporary lesson in this state wouldn’t be bad…”

Suddenly, an explosive noise erupted. Yoon Tae-ha had pre-covered her ears to protect her eardrums.

________________________________________

“Did you know?”

“If we didn’t, wouldn’t that be a bigger problem?”

Hong Eun-soo grumbled while shoveling tasteless cafeteria food into her mouth. No other students were around them since they’d come late for lunch.

“This is outright student humiliation!”

“They probably didn’t announce it early because they feared we’d threaten innocent guides randomly.”

“Or maybe they just wanted to screw us over?”

Yoon Tae-ha silently ate her fruit pudding. Denying it felt unpersuasive.

“The idea of doing two team battles with someone as useless as a squashed steamed bun on a rice cooker lid…”

Checking that Hwang Seong-bin and his friends weren’t nearby, Hong Eun-soo muttered darkly. She looked ready to poison Hwang Seong-bin’s meal to eliminate him from the preliminaries.

Her conversation with Kwon Min-gi last night seemed to fuel her desires.

The power of love?

She held her tongue, fearing she’d become a target of anger if she misspoke.

“At least I got back at Kang Jin-ho.”

After calming her rage somewhat, Hong Eun-soo peeled open her peach pudding and spoke.

“Do you know who his partner is?”

“T-class Yeo Pil-jun.”

“At least he grabbed a life vest. He’s probably within the top five in his class.”

“But he’s friends with Hwang Seong-bin.”

“Same difference.”

Finishing her pudding, Hong Eun-soo considered whether there was any way to participate in the evaluations without an esper but ultimately accepted reality.

“Since it’s come to this, we might as well gather all the evidence from the bottom.”

There were no classes after lunch.

Everyone in Shelter West was mobilized for assembly by 3 PM. After brushing their teeth thoroughly, the two entered the main stadium with refreshed spirits.

The stadium, nicknamed Petit Dome, resembled a scaled-down baseball dome—immense enough to earn its name.

Yoon Tae-ha reflected momentarily on all those squeezed dry by ARC to build it—including herself—and felt a fleeting sense of gratitude.

G-class and T-class were assigned seats in the central section with the best view of the stage.

“Steamed Bun called me.”

Hong Eun-soo whispered ventriloquist-like, then swiftly changed her expression to smile as she approached Hwang Seong-bin. Pre-assigned partners had to sit together.

Yoon Tae-ha surveyed the interior of the stadium, designed for user convenience akin to a high-end theater, while searching for her seat.

It wasn’t hard. She just needed to find where the girls were clustered.

Choi Anna and her friends from the same class were seated next to Cheon Geon-young. Based on the seating chart, Choi Anna’s spot was hers.

“Such a shame. Next time, let’s pair up.”

Cheon Geon-young wore an unfamiliar expression. Stripped of his social smile, his features appeared sharp and sensitive.

This seemed to ignite an even larger fire within Choi Anna’s heart.