Three years ago, when Yoon Monan returned alive and alone after losing both his brothers in battle, his parents turned their backs on him. Unlike them, he was born out of wedlock. He hadn’t been born from love.

　　His father, head of the Namgyeong Yoon Clan, had mated with a nameless woman as if breeding, all to produce superior stock—and thus had fathered him. A clan that had produced nothing but espers for generations needed a guide.

　　“Ticket and ID, please?”

　　A station attendant stopped him briefly as he made his slow way onto the platform, bag in hand. What followed was routine: checking the paper ticket, stamped in black ink with the date and seat number, against his ID.

　　“A guide, I see. Heading back to duty?”

　　“Yes. Which way is my seat?”

　　“First class is right this way.”

　　Monan took back his ID, slipped it into his pocket, and pushed back his heavy hood. Pink-dyed hair spilled over his sharp brows. His warm breath met the winter wind and scattered into white mist.

　　Everyone boarding the train bound for Seogok had the same destination. The area had no civilian residential district, only Seogok Center, the National Esper Agency facility. It was Monan’s destination, too.

　　Exhaling steam just before departure, the train was packed car by car with people in black uniforms. The station was loud, likely because new recruits headed to the Center made up more than half the passengers.

　　Stepping into the corridor lined with private compartments, Monan shrugged off his heavy coat. The air inside the train was warm, and the winter chill began to lift quickly.

　　[Car 3 – B3]

　　After undoing the gold uniform buttons cinched tight at his throat, he headed toward the first-class section. He slid open a compartment door and stepped inside. No one occupied the four-seat cabin.

　　Thank God. He wanted to get to the Center as quietly as possible.

　　The moment he set his bag and coat on the rack above seat B3, he pulled a small flask from an inside pocket. Within moments, the uniform jacket felt stifling too, so he took it off and hung it beside him. When that still didn’t ease the tightness in his chest, he undid a few more buttons on his shirt.

　　Pale skin, hidden beneath the uniform’s severe, austere cut, was finally exposed. A silver chain slid over his firm chest—pale as if sheathed in a white shell—and clinked faintly.

　　Freed from his restraints, Monan sat down and tossed back several swallows of the high-proof amber liquor. Heat seeped slowly through him. His skin, numbed raw by the cold, gradually regained its color, as if life were returning by degrees.

　　“Thank you so much! Seriously, upgrading my seat like this—!”

　　Just before the train pulled out, someone shoved open the compartment door, giddy voice preceding them. Monan, who had been cooling his head against the window, cracked his eyes open. A tuft of brown hair appeared, hovering lower than the doorframe. Beside it stood the station attendant who had checked his ticket earlier.

　　“Thanks to you, I’m riding first class, which is way above my pay grade. Thank you.”

　　“The double-booking was our mistake. If you need anything else, please call us again. Thank you.”

　　“Will do! Take care.”

　　The newly arrived young man kept up a useless parade of thank-yous with the attendant. Once the employee left, the short passenger scurried inside, set his bag on the rack, and gave a quick little bow.

　　“Hello. My name’s An Beom! Are you headed to the induction ceremony too?”

　　“No. I’m—”

　　“Oh, then you must be a sunbae. Heading back to duty?”

　　“Something like that. Yeah.”

　　An overly friendly, painfully cheerful kid. Caught off guard when Beom thrust out his hand, Monan offered his own. The kid pumped their clasped hands up and down like he was shaking out a feather duster.

　　“The trip won’t be boring now. You know what? I got so lucky. My seat just happened to get double-booked, so I got an upgrade. Bwahahaha!”

　　“Ah. Got it.”

　　Fatigue settled over Monan fast. This An Beom was like a cheap windup squirrel toy with fresh batteries jammed inside. In short, a racket.

　　The young man still had baby fat rounding his flushed cheeks, radiating innocence, as thrilled as if he’d just come up to the city from the countryside. For someone who wanted silence, he was the worst possible company.

　　“Can I call you sunbae? Where are you from? What’s your unit? How many years have you been in?”

　　Monan remained silent.

　　He was like a vending machine that spat out questions every time you pressed a button.

　　“Ah! Oh boy, how rude of me. I should’ve asked your name first, sunbae.”

　　As if his name were the problem. For someone firing off questions like he was one breath away from asking for Monan’s home address, the kid sure cared about manners. Monan’s head swam. He’d gotten on a train, thrown back strong liquor on an empty stomach, and now had an obnoxiously loud squirrel toy sitting across from him. His vision tilted.

　　My name, my ass…

　　“Your name, sunbae…?”

　　“Ah… it’s… Dog… Poop.”

　　“Ah… Dog… Poop… sunbae.”

　　Beom, for his part, simply couldn’t connect the man in front of him with a name like Dog Poop. If his name really was Dog Poop, wasn’t that outrageously unfair on a cosmic level?

　　The man was strikingly handsome. Tall, well above average, with a firm, long-limbed body balanced almost too perfectly. Delicate features sat within those sharp lines, giving his face a fierce, chilly beauty.

　　He was good-looking enough to steal the air from a room, but the overall vibe was edgy and melancholy. What softened him a little was his slightly wavy pink hair, probably because the messy strands fell over his dark brows.

　　Beom was privately impressed and privately horrified. Why had this handsome man’s parents saddled him with a name like Dog Poop? And how had everyone around him called him that without batting an eye? Still, making fun of a precious name someone’s parents had given them wasn’t decent.

　　Maybe Dog Poop held some hidden, noble meaning. He’d heard that in the old days, people sometimes gave sickly children deliberately lowly names.

　　“That’s a great name!”

　　“A name like Dog Poop is great…?”

　　“Yeah. It’s a name you never forget once you’ve heard it, right? Who would dare forget a name like Dog Poop? It’s the kind of name that’ll go down in history for generations.”

　　Monan’s malicious little wordplay had passed through the squirrel toy’s excessively positive brain and come out the other side as something bizarre. His plan to make Beom shut up had veered wildly off course.

　　“But is your family name Dog and your given name Poop?”

　　“Haa…”

　　Monan let out a deep sigh before he could stop himself. That annoying toy simply would not power down. Thoroughly fed up, he decided to drain the half-empty flask in one go and try to get some sleep. He tipped it back all at once. But even after a generous swallow burned down his throat, the liquor showed no sign of decreasing. When he checked the bottle with a puzzled look, Beom cut in from across the way as if he’d been waiting for exactly that.

　　“To commemorate meeting you, Dog Poop sunbae, I put my humble little ability to use.”

　　“Your ability is status quo preservation?”

　　“Oh, you got it right away. Bwahahaha, yes, that’s right.”

　　Monan silently studied Beom’s clear eyes, then looked away. A moment later, as if something had just come to him, a small smile touched his mouth for the first time. He’s even better-looking when he smiles, Beom thought.

　　“Strange coincidence. My hyung’s ability was status quo preservation, too.”

　　“Huh, really? What a coincidence! What unit is your hyung in?”

　　“Combat Corps… he was.”

　　“Wow, a status quo preservation type in the Combat Corps? That’s amazing. I always figured my ability was pretty useless for combat.”

　　“It is rare for a Combat Corps esper. Are you hoping for the Combat Corps too?”

　　Since he hadn’t gone through his induction ceremony yet, Beom hadn’t received an assignment. At Monan’s question, he shook his head hard and waved both hands for emphasis.

　　“Ugh, no way. I’m way too much of a weakling for the Combat Corps. My ability’s range is tiny, too. I want to go to the Recovery and Rescue Corps. Being a Rescue Corps esper has been my dream since I was a kid.”

　　“That’s a really good dream.”

　　At that, Beom laughed, bright and open. That spotless laugh was Monan’s undoing. Honestly, the kid was irritating, but he didn’t seem bad at heart. On top of that, he had the same ability as Monan’s second hyung. Monan didn’t believe in fate, but the kid had definitely caught his interest. He also rather liked that Beom had used his ability to keep the liquor from running out.

　　“So what’s your ability, sunbae? Are you in the Combat Corps like your hyung?”

　　“I’m a guide in the Combat Corps.”

　　“Oh, whoa! A guide? Really? This is my first time meeting one. No joke, seriously. There weren’t any guides around me. Wow… So you’re a guide. That’s incredible.”

　　Beom let out an awed sound, his eyes shining. Monan was already used to being looked at with that kind of admiration.

　　The new humans, the “Posts,” each possessed different special abilities, but they were generally called “espers.” Yet even among those same Posts, a separate class of ability-holders known as “guides” existed, and as their classification suggests, they were treated as rare. They were a tiny minority, and the meaning they carried was something else entirely.

　　“Do you know how badly I wanted to be a guide when I was little? It’s seriously so cool, right? When I read those stories in textbooks about guides fighting in the Great Holy War, my heart would pound like crazy. My history teacher said guides are the guardians of the Posts. That they stop espers from becoming Trances, and that someday they’ll be the great ones who end this war…”

　　Trance. That was the one and only reason guides were treated as special compared to espers.

　　“An Beom, your voice is too loud.”

　　“Ah, sorry. I got too excited. So if you’re in the Combat Corps, do you kill Trances yourself?”

　　“Yes.”

　　“Whoa… how many Trances have you killed so far?”

　　“Around three hundred… heads.”