Lee Yeonsu.

He had attracted attention ever since he was a child.

He was one of fewer than ten S-rank Guides in South Korea, and it wasn’t just his grade that was exceptional—he also possessed the rare “empathy ability” to perceive and analyze the form of mana, excelled at guiding skills, and had top academic performance. He was outstanding across multiple domains.

On top of that, with a face as beautiful as a doll’s and a pure, clear aura, he captivated not only Espers but also the general public.

But no matter how outstanding one’s looks or abilities were, he wouldn’t have gained this level of popularity if he had been affiliated with any group.

When he awakened as an S-rank Guide, all kinds of major conglomerates, including the Seonghan Group, rushed to offer him exclusive contracts.

But Lee Yeonsu rejected every one of them.

In the past, both Espers and Guides were managed directly by the state.

Abroad, as soon as one awakened with an ability, they were immediately showered with wealth, but in South Korea, that wasn’t the case for Espers and Guides.

The mere fact of awakening forced them into conscription. Even if they were injured or lost their lives, the government offered only meager compensation and treated them with indifference.

Worse still, Espers were treated like monsters, and Guides were viewed as sexual tools—looked down on and scorned.

There was growing resentment among the ability users, but their voices were dismissed as the rants of monsters, and no one listened.

Then, in 1981, a major incident occurred.

Three S-rank Espers simultaneously acquired Italian citizenship.

The South Korean government, having lost three S-ranks in an instant, lodged a formal protest—but Italy didn’t even bat an eye.

On the contrary, they internationalized the issue of human rights violations against South Korean Espers and Guides.

The government and the public were furious. When it became known that the S-rank Espers who had changed nationalities were being treated as honored guests and living in luxury, the outrage grew even more intense.

People condemned them as traitors who had sold out their country for money.

But Espers and Guides saw things differently, and despite the torrent of criticism, more and more ability users continued to defect.

As even the families of Espers and Guides came under surveillance, some chose to seek asylum out of protest.

The more this happened, the more tightly the government cracked down on ability users.

Entering the 1990s, the shortage of ability users began to cause significant social problems.

Not only were previously awakened individuals defecting, but it also became common for families to secretly confirm their child’s awakening at unregistered facilities and then contact foreign parties to leave the country.

The newly elected government was desperate to find solutions. It wasn’t just about foreign criticism anymore.

Espers and Guides were considered national power. Losing them amounted to a direct loss of national strength. Something had to be done to stop the outflow of ability users.

And the times had changed.

Military dictatorship had given way to democracy, and foreign media had entered the country. Public perception also shifted—Espers and Guides were no longer seen as monsters, but objects of admiration.

Rather than condemning those who defected, the dominant public sentiment turned to blaming the government for creating the situation in the first place.

The government began efforts to improve treatment and provide proper recognition for ability users.

By the mid-1990s, the policy of mandatory conscription for awakened individuals was completely abolished.

Being an ability user no longer meant spending a lifetime in the military.

In the 2000s, a dedicated government department for ability users was established, and centers for Espers and Guides were built. Treatment conditions rapidly improved.

South Korea came to be recognized internationally for its exceptional treatment of ability users, particularly for those of C-rank or below, who received the best benefits in the world.

The problem was that dissatisfaction among high-rank ability users—A-rank and above—persisted.

In other countries, top-tier ability users received astronomical sums of money. It was no exaggeration to say they were walking corporations.

But no matter how much the government wanted to treat them well, it couldn’t afford to pay such sums to individuals.

So in the end, the government reached out to corporations.

Until then, both ability users and gates had been under government control in South Korea. But from that point on, Espers and Guides could join corporations or form their own guilds.

There was significant criticism of this privatization of gate and ability user management, but the law passed on the grounds of following global trends.

Corporations scrambled to recruit ability users and established guilds to raid gates.

Articles on the skyrocketing value of top-tier ability users provoked envy and admiration in equal measure.

Years passed again.

By now, it had become standard practice for private companies to enter the guild business, and the astronomical value of high-rank ability users was no longer surprising.

For A-rank or higher abilities, signing with a major corporation right after awakening had become the expected course.

Nationally operated centers weren’t even considered an option.

Despite trying their hardest to recruit high-rank ability users every year, the centers couldn’t win in a bidding war with conglomerates.

Public opinion on this phenomenon was sharply divided.

Older generations criticized the youth for having no patriotism and chasing only money.

Younger people argued that whatever choice someone made was personal and didn’t deserve criticism.

But either way, those who turned down money and chose to work at the national center were seen with respect.

It was in this context that Lee Yeonsu, an S-rank Guide, made headlines by rejecting a corporate offer.

Not just any offer, but the chance to become the exclusive Guide of Joo Seunghyuk, the youngest son of South Korea’s top conglomerate, Seonghan Group—which he turned down of his own accord.

Lee Yeonsu wasn’t what people called a gold spoon. In fact, he came from a financially struggling household.

Even so, he rejected the promise of massive wealth and a luxurious life, choosing instead to follow his principles.

It was only natural that the public went wild for him.

But with admiration came jealousy and resentment.

Park Jihui was among those who viewed Lee Yeonsu unfavorably.

The high-ranking officials who treated him like a sacred idol, the Espers who fawned over him like a national treasure, the obsessive fans who praised even the tiniest of his actions—everything surrounding him rubbed her the wrong way.

She didn’t like the person Lee Yeonsu himself seemed to be, either.

Turning down a corporate contract looked like posturing or arrogance. Being overly humble despite having everything came off as fake. His seemingly innocent attitude, as if unaware of his own popularity, felt like a manipulative persona.

But when she met Lee Yeonsu as a fellow freshman at the Ability User Military Academy and actually talked with him, all her preconceived notions crumbled.

Aside from his talent and looks, he was just an ordinary young man.

He was far from arrogant or boastful—his personality was cautious and grounded. He didn’t enjoy the attention he got, and in fact found it burdensome. He clearly preferred to keep a low profile.

He was smart, diligent, and had sharp situational awareness—but strangely lacked self-esteem and couldn’t see himself objectively.

There was a calm dignity about him that made him seem unapproachable, yet at the same time, there was a naive innocence that made it impossible to just leave him alone.

In some strange ways, he seemed so out of touch with reality that it made you wonder if he came from another world.

Before she knew it, Park Jihui had grown fond of him like a younger brother. She felt guilty for misjudging him and treated him even better to make up for it.

***

The freshman welcome party at the Academy for Ability Users was entirely organized by the student council.

To be honest, this year’s incoming class was unusually barren. Combining both Espers and Guides, there were only three A-ranks, and the talent pool was so dismal that even F-ranks had been admitted.

Because two S-ranks—Lee Yeonsu and Joo Seunghyuk—had entered last year, this year’s class felt all the more pitiful in comparison.

Graduates had sent in their regrets, declining the invitation with various excuses.

The welcome party was an event funded by alumni donations. Aside from providing the auditorium, the school administration neither intervened nor contributed any budget.

Ever since the Academy had separated from the Ministry of Defense, the welcome party had been a long-standing tradition that had never once been skipped. Realizing this year’s event was doomed to fail, the student council president deployed a trump card.

He invited Lee Yeonsu to the party.

Slapping on some nonsense title like “representative of the student body,” the president dragged in a guy who had made it clear he didn’t want to come.

As soon as the news spread that Lee Yeonsu would be attending, the graduates suddenly changed their tune and said they would show up, pouring out donations as well.

Lee Yeonsu was still an unaffiliated S-rank Guide. Many companies and guilds coveted him, so everyone wanted to use this opportunity to make his acquaintance.

In fact, approaching him for scouting or networking purposes was the more polite end of the spectrum.

“Yeonsu, you should drink the alcohol your senior gives you.”

“Hey, you think you're too good for us just because you’re S-rank? Are B-ranks not even seniors in your eyes anymore?”

As soon as Yeonsu finished his freshman greeting and stepped down from the stage, the Esper seniors swarmed around him and started forcing drinks on him.

The cheap tactic of trying to get him drunk and take advantage of him was disgusting. Normally, they weren’t this trashy, but perhaps because so many people had come just to see Lee Yeonsu, they were being more blatant than usual.

“No discipline these days. Back in our time, if a senior gave you a drink, you knelt down to take it.”

“How old are you to still be yapping about military hierarchy? The Academy’s been independent from the Ministry of Defense for years now. Kim-sunbae, you graduated just last year.”

Unable to hold back any longer, Jihui spoke up, and he scowled.

“Park Jihui, you really don’t know how to read the room.”

Kim-sunbae scrunched his face, making it obvious he wasn’t interested in her and that she should stay out of it.

I’m not interested in you either, asshole! Who’s the one being obnoxious and shameless right now?

Jihui’s irritation flared hot.

As the mood turned cold, Yeonsu stepped forward and gently pushed Jihui behind him, as if shielding her.

“I’ll drink.”

“Of course you will.”

“Yeonsu, no! You’re already really drunk.”

“I’m fine.”

Jihui tried to stop him again, but Yeonsu accepted the drink with a gentle smile.

Far from stopping, the seniors began to pile on, pushing their own drinks toward him and getting even more out of hand.

Yeonsu wasn’t especially weak to alcohol. But with the flood of drinks, he seemed to reach his limit—his slender frame swayed unsteadily.

And then, just as he was about to collapse, a man caught him.

At that moment, it was as if cold water had been dumped over the entire auditorium.

The man was Joo Seunghyuk.

What rotten luck! Of all directions to fall, he had to fall toward Joo Seunghyuk!

Jihui was appalled.

Back in middle school, Lee Yeonsu had refused Joo Seunghyuk’s exclusive Guide contract.

An ordinary boy rejecting an exclusive contract with an S-rank Esper—one who was also the heir of a chaebol—had made explosive headlines.

It was also the incident that had engraved the name Lee Yeonsu into the consciousness of the entire country.

And just as Yeonsu had been widely praised for it, Joo Seunghyuk’s pride had been deeply wounded.

Everyone knew that Lee Yeonsu and Joo Seunghyuk were bitter rivals.

Yeonsu was always elegant and composed, wherever he went. Humble, but never submissive.

Yet when it came to Joo Seunghyuk, he blatantly avoided him and hated being near him.

Within the academic community, there had long been debate [N O V E L I G H T] over which should be prioritized when matching Espers and Guides: rank or matching rate.

Dozens of papers were published each year on the subject, and the debate raged on, but in one area there was no disagreement—anything concerning the Guiding of S-rank Espers.

“If an S-rank Guide exists with a matching rate over 50 percent with an S-rank Esper, then rank always takes precedence.”

As the phrase “if such a person exists” implies, an S-rank Guide was an extremely rare being.

The Academy for Ability Users placed a heavy emphasis on practical combat training, and teams were often formed between Espers and Guides of the same rank.

Currently, the only two S-rank ability users enrolled in the Academy were Joo Seunghyuk and Lee Yeonsu.

Yet the professors never, under any circumstances, assigned them to the same team. They even adjusted class schedules to prevent the two from running into each other.

Joo Seunghyuk was an S-rank Esper, handsome, and a chaebol heir. He lacked for nothing—except, unfortunately, in his personality.

He wasn’t just skilled at killing monsters; it wasn’t uncommon for him to injure other Espers or Guides as well.

So, in the interest of protecting the rare and precious S-rank Guide Lee Yeonsu, the school kept them apart.

Given that even the professors went to such lengths, it was no wonder the entire auditorium fell silent the moment the two faced each other like this.

Is Joo Seunghyuk about to punch Lee Yeonsu?

What if he beats him half to death?

Should we call a professor?

These thoughts flitted through everyone’s minds, but no one dared to act. In the silence, Jihui opened her mouth.

“I’m sorry...!”

She tried to apologize on Yeonsu’s behalf and move to pull him away.

But before she could even finish her sentence, Lee Yeonsu suddenly threw his arms around Joo Seunghyuk’s neck.

“Wow, you’re really handsome.”

“......”

Lee Yeonsu, are you insane?!

Jihui nearly screamed out loud.