I am a Guide Who Killed an Esper.

The lingering scent of alcohol was overwhelming, even after they left the bar. Jeong Yoonui waved his hand in front of his nose in irritation.

“Why am I getting cursed out when they’re the one who didn’t return on time?”

“Right? That makes no sense…”

“Let’s move on. Target 2, coordinates 36.257.44.68.”

“Coordinates confirmed, 36.257.44.68.”

“Teleport.”

“Teleporting.”

Once again, their bodies shimmered with light as they teleported.

The next location was also within Seoul, but this time they landed in front of a typical residential house. Seeing the mundane setting, Jungwoo let out a brief sigh. Cases where an Esper failed to return while resting at home rarely ended well.

Inside, there was an unsettling shift in the atmosphere. Somewhere in the house, an Esper’s ability was leaking, causing the surrounding energy to ripple. Though the Esper wasn’t visible, Jeong Yoonui instinctively pushed Jungwoo behind him and sent out guiding energy in all directions.

As the energy surged outward, it was noticeably drawn toward a single area—the closed door of a room. Increasing the intensity, Yoonui heard faint groaning from beyond the door.

He approached slowly, amplifying his guiding energy. The unstable flow of the Esper’s power behind the door was palpable, radiating turbulence that sent chills down his spine.

“…Ahhh…”

It was the worst-case scenario for absentee Espers: a full-blown rampage. Jeong Yoonui recalled the Esper’s information from memory.

Lee Hyeonju. Age: 22. Female. Class: Physical B. Close-range combat specialist. 43 missions completed. Average performance: B-. Unauthorized absences: 12. Rampage incidents: 35.

Today marked her 36th.

“If I get too close, I’ll probably end up dead…”

Crouching low, Yoonui moved carefully. Espers in a rampage state were hypersensitive, and any sudden movement or approach could trigger an attack. They might even mistake allies for threats.

Step by step, he eased the door open. The air inside the room writhed with tension, making it hard to breathe. Lee Hyeonju wasn’t in his line of sight, but judging from the direction of the energy, she was likely lying on the bed.

“Lee Hyeonju,” Yoonui called softly, his voice gentle and coaxing, as though squeezing it from the depths of his diaphragm. Her groans grew louder, as if responding to his voice. She still had some awareness. Yoonui cautiously peeked inside.

Fortunately, the room was mostly intact. Despite being in a rampage state, she seemed to be holding on to her last thread of sanity, preventing her abilities from causing further destruction. Since no civilians were injured, nor any property damaged, this could potentially be resolved quietly. Assessing the situation, Yoonui began releasing his guiding energy softly, inching forward on his stomach to approach her.

“Lee Hyeonju. Let’s return now, okay?”

“Ugh… Ah…”

“I’ll guide you.”

Lee Hyeonju’s ability was rated B, and even considering her rampage, Yoonui’s higher rank meant he could handle it. After a brief warning, he released his power in a single, decisive burst, forcibly suppressing her raging abilities.

She let out a short, painful scream, but the overwhelming difference in strength made resistance brief. Gradually, her energy began to stabilize, and her groans subsided.

“Lee Hyeonju, can you hear my voice?”

“…Ugh…”

“Good. That’s a relief.”

Although his tone remained gentle to avoid further agitation, Yoonui’s face showed no signs of relief. If anything, he looked grim as he approached the bed to check on her condition.

Lee Hyeonju’s appearance was a mess. Her limbs were twisted unnaturally due to the strain of the rampage, her face drenched in sweat, and her pajamas torn to shreds by the power surging from her body. Yoonui immediately turned his back and yelled.

“Jungwoo! Call the resident care team!”

Jungwoo quickly summoned a resident care worker, who entered the scene and swiftly took over. They cleaned Lee Hyeonju up, changed her clothes, and prepared her for transport. While her muscles and ligaments had suffered some tears, she at least looked presentable by the time she was sent to detention.

Of course, her destination wasn’t the same as the one for drunken absentees. Lee Hyeonju was placed in a private emergency recovery cell with a dedicated guide. The intensive care offered there was almost on par with what battlefield returnees received. Even so, it would take at least three days for her to recover fully.

Looking over the preliminary rampage report, Woojoo let out a deep sigh.

“Lee Hyeonju’s rampages are getting more frequent.”

“She’s still so young.”

“It feels like younger Espers are rampaging more often lately. Any idea why?”

Woojoo frowned, reviewing the data again, his expression growing more serious with each glance. The numbers didn’t add up. He checked the report several times, visibly troubled, while Yoonui casually responded.

“Kids these days are too spoiled, that’s why.”

It was a stereotypical old-school remark. Woojoo grimaced and turned to him with exasperation.

“Seriously, Yoonui. You’re younger than me, yet everything you say sounds so old-fashioned.”

“Rotten water, remember?”

Yoonui’s joking reply brought a faint smile, but his eyes stayed locked on the monitor. The data on the screen mirrored the report Woojoo was holding: Lee Hyeonju’s rampage history.

Despite his flippant remarks, Yoonui wasn’t taking the situation lightly.

‘There wasn’t any gate that would’ve pushed her this far…’

Her simulator performance was decent, but her field performance was unremarkable. That didn’t mean she had failed any missions—she always completed them, even if it took extra time. None of the gates she had been deployed to had high-risk levels, and there were no recorded cases of casualties or missing operatives.

Although she initially took leave at regular intervals, the frequency had significantly increased since her rampages began. Recently, she even took a week-long sick leave citing a rampage episode as the reason.

“Joomin, has Lee Hyeonju ever had a rampage during training?”

“Not during training, as far as I know. If she had, I would’ve heard about it immediately.”

Joomin answered firmly. If the Talent Development Team said it didn’t happen, it didn’t happen. Besides, if she’d experienced a rampage during training, she wouldn’t have been placed in the field to begin with. Yoonui turned back to the report.

“There weren’t any anomalies in her aptitude test either.”

“Well, she had just graduated elementary school at the time. What anomalies could there have been? Maybe that she spilled too much food while eating or still wet the bed,” Joomin said dryly.

The group chuckled at her blunt remark. Indeed, having a rampage at that age would be akin to being a walking biological bomb.

Most Espers and guides are identified during their first year of middle school through physical and aptitude tests, part of an annual program conducted by the Talent Development Team in cooperation with the Ministry of Education.

Children who show Esper or guide potential are registered with the Talent Development Team and subjected to further testing. Only selected candidates, with parental consent, are sent for training. However, for Espers, there was no choice in the matter—unlike guides, they became state property the moment their abilities manifested.

Lee Hyeonju followed this standard process. She began training after demonstrating Esper potential in her aptitude test upon entering middle school.

Her personnel records were unremarkable, neither outstanding nor subpar. She had the typical profile of a B-class Esper: her abilities developed as expected based on her potential scores, and she passed the physical and psychological evaluations required for field assignments. Upon reaching adulthood, she was transferred to the Ministry of Defense and began working at the Field Response Center.

At Yoonui’s request, Joomin handed him a printed document summarizing her career path and added, “There’s no record of rampages during her early development or her simulator training after transferring to the Ministry of Defense.”

“Then why has her rampaging become so frequent all of a sudden?”

Team Leader Kim Heesoo, who had been listening from a distance, chimed in.

“Maybe her boyfriend dumped her?”

Kim laughed at his own joke, even though no one else found it worth responding to.

They should throw him into the field and let him become a missing operative, Yoonui thought bitterly, glaring at Kim. But others simply ignored him as if he weren’t even there.

Pointing to her spotless record before adulthood, Joomin insisted that the Talent Development Team bore no responsibility for Lee Hyeonju’s rampages. Woojoo seemed to agree. Joomin sighed in frustration.

“The moment they enter the Ministry of Defense, perfectly fine kids start falling apart. Is that place secretly running a madhouse?”

Her sweeping criticism made Woojoo and Jungwoo exchange uneasy glances. It seemed Joomin had momentarily forgotten that everyone she was talking to, including the Talent Management Team staff, were Ministry of Defense affiliates. Before Jungwoo could sulk further, Yoonui interjected.

“Yeah, I was perfectly normal before I joined the Ministry of Defense too.”

“……”

His dark sense of humor wasn’t particularly effective at lightening the mood. Joomin realized her mistake and immediately clamped her mouth shut. But she wasn’t the only one who went silent. The entire office, even Team Leader Kim, fell quiet after hearing Yoonui’s comment.

Realizing he’d overdone it, Yoonui smacked Jungwoo on the back with his pale hand, producing a loud thwap.

“Laugh.”

“Yes, sir. Ha… ha…”

Jungwoo’s exaggerated fake laughter finally broke the tension. The conversation shifted to playful remarks about Jungwoo’s personality and social skills. Inevitably, it turned into a discussion about how Yoonui was even worse in that department. Soon, his failed joke was all but forgotten.

“Anyway,” Woojoo said, “there’s been a noticeable increase in Esper rampages recently. I’ve sent over some analysis on the recent Q2 data for absentee Espers, including cases where rampages were the cause. You can bring it up during the executive meeting later.”

“Oh, right. It’s Thursday—there’s an executive meeting today,” Yoonui sighed.

Having been demoted after causing a major incident, he wasn’t in a position to complain about work-life balance. But handling endless field assignments while also covering for the long-vacant deputy team leader role was wearing him down physically and mentally.