An Beom couldn’t seem to shut his mouth. To think he’d been running it so carelessly in front of someone this incredible. Dog Poop sunbae wasn’t the kind of person who should be wasting breath chatting with a lowly nobody like him. And yet, the hero who had killed over three hundred Trances just looked bored by the whole thing. If anything, that made him seem even cooler to An Beom.

　　Being a guide was impressive enough, but how insane did his ability have to be to rack up achievements like that? As An Beom continued to marvel, Monan abruptly spoke up.

　　“But… hearing all this doesn’t scare you, huh, An Beom?”

　　“Huh? What do you mean?”

　　“Some of the Trances I killed… used to be my colleagues. A Post becomes a Trance when they overload, after all.”

　　“Oh…”

　　“So, yeah. If you get really unlucky and turn into a Trance someday, I might be the one who comes to kill you.”

　　An Beom swallowed hard at the sudden frost in his voice. Had he overdone the fawning and made sunbae uncomfortable?

　　Rattle—

　　Just then, someone came in, slicing through the chilled air of the first-class car. An Beom and Monan both turned toward the door. The dry, heavy thud of combat boots struck the cabin floor.

　　The man who walked in without permission was so tall he nearly filled the doorway. He had black hair slicked back without a single strand out of place, his hard body wrapped in a uniform worn strictly by the book. He snapped his fingertips to his brow in a rigid salute.

　　“Mu Guwon, esper, Combat Corps Division 2 Team 7. I’m looking for Yoon Monan sunbae.”

　　Eyes as sharp as a hunting hawk’s talons shifted to Monan and his pink hair.

　　Mu Guwon, huh.

　　Monan slowly rolled the name around in his head. On the Peninsula, the land of the Posts, wasn’t everyone with the Mu surname from the Bukhae Mu Clan? The name did ring a bell. And with the generational syllable “won,” he had to be a direct descendant of the Bukhae Mus.

　　“There’s nobody here named Yoon Monan… I think. This gentleman’s name is Dog Poop, and I’m An Beom—”

　　“I’m Yoon Monan.”

　　“Huh?”

　　Monan set the bottle on the folding table, rose from his seat, and faced him. Their eyes were almost level. Since Monan was taller than average, the man was clearly no slouch either. But with Monan looking thoroughly rumpled beside Guwon’s immaculate neatness, the contrast between them was almost ridiculous.

　　Sweeping back the pink hair spilling over his forehead, Monan asked coldly, “Hey. If you come looking for someone, you should probably start with what you want.”

　　“I have a favor to ask. Would you come with me for a moment?”

　　“…I’d rather not follow a complete stranger without a reason.”

　　His tone was neither casual nor polite, needling in just the right way to grate on a person’s nerves. Guwon’s already severe face tightened further into a frown.

　　“You’ll understand once you come. It’s a matter I can’t disclose in front of an unrelated outsider, so please bear with me.”

　　Monan narrowed his eyes for a moment, brows drawing together. Honestly, the Bukhae Mus and every last person born into one of this country’s great power clans were arrogant as hell. Even his own clan, the Namgyeong Yoons, wouldn’t lower themselves to mingle with ordinary people from humble backgrounds.

　　In this country, surname and clan translated directly into power. The Peninsula was governed by a council made up of five clans, so it was inevitable that their members monopolized authority in a grotesquely lopsided way.

　　Among them, Guwon’s clan, the Bukhae Mus, had layered religion on top of political power, making them a house of formidable influence. It wasn’t that no one else believed in Cheongyeong, the Peninsula’s state religion, but the sheer number of religious fundamentalists from Bukhae was overwhelming. They were a closed-off cult of fanatics, so insular they called everyone on the Peninsula outside Bukhae “outsiders.”

　　“And how’d you know I was on this train?”

　　Guwon remained silent.

　　“You call me sunbae all politely, and now you’re ignoring me.”

　　“This way, please.”

　　The relationship between the Namgyeong Yoons and the Bukhae Mus wasn’t bloody enough to spark an actual feud, but by the very nature of power, keeping each other in check was business as usual. And a Mu had come asking for help. Monan looked at the man planted outside the door, unease settling under his skin.

　　Judging by Guwon’s bullheaded manner, he wasn’t going to back down until Monan went with him. Monan lifted the bottle from the table, took a swig, then tapped his fingertips against Guwon’s hard chest.

　　“If this turns out to be nothing, you die by my hand.”

　　Guwon didn’t react at all. In Monan’s experience, the Mus were, as a rule, a stiff and tasteless bunch, and this one was clearly another humorless, inflexible block of wood. Out of everyone with the Mu surname, he’d only ever met one who could crack a joke.

　　Guwon led him to a cabin at the end of the long first-class corridor. When they reached the door, a low, monotone murmur came from inside. Pausing before he opened it, Guwon turned back and spoke abruptly.

　　“Please keep this quiet.”

　　“Keep what quiet?”

　　“What you’re about to see.”

　　“So what exactly is—”

　　When the door slid open, the four-berth train cabin was packed with grim-faced men. Every one of them knelt facing the man seated by the window, both hands clasped together.

　　“Mother Goddess, watch over the child before us in their suffering—”

　　“Everyone out.”

　　Monan was still bewildered by the unexpected prayer meeting when the man by the window immediately gave the order. At once, the fanatical espers of the Mu clan filed out of the cabin with the precise, flawless motions of wind-up dolls.

　　“Monani, it’s been a while.”

　　Monan immediately understood why he’d been summoned. No wonder the name Mu Guwon had felt familiar. He was Mu Jeongwon’s younger brother. And just as Jeongwon said, it really had been a long time since Monan had seen him.

　　When Jeongwon’s ash-gray eyes curved into a gentle smile, Monan let his guard drop and smiled too.

　　“I already heard you were coming back. I asked my little brother to bring you to me. I hope it didn’t put you off. I was worried, since there’s no way Guwon explained anything kindly or step by step.”

　　“No, not at all. It’s good to see you, Hyung. But I had no idea you had another younger brother.”

　　“My other brothers are holed up in Bukhae with no intention of coming out. He’s the only one serving in the Agency. Here, sit.”

　　The moment Monan sat across from him at his gesture, pain stabbed through his chest like a knife. Jeongwon’s energy waves were anything but normal. So this was why the Mu fanatics had been holding his hand and repeating prayers over him again and again.

　　“Hyung, your waves are—”

　　“I went to Bukhae on clan business, and I’m on my way back, but for some reason, the waves won’t settle. And we still have four hours before we reach Seogok. It’s gotten a little awkward. With security being what it is, I’d rather not call another guide.”

　　Jeongwon kept a smile on his face, but the pain was clearly no small thing, and he didn’t look remotely comfortable. Even if it wasn’t enough to turn him into a Trance, it was still dangerous if his waves weren’t brought under control.

　　So this was why Guwon hadn’t explained anything in front of An Beom, huh. No good could come from word getting out that Jeongwon, the principal heir of the Bukhae Mus, was in this kind of state.

　　Post espers always fought by pushing past their own limits. Yet, ironically, their enemies were espers in a state of overload—Trances. It was an esper’s fate to spend a lifetime guarding against becoming one of those monsters themselves, using the creatures as a grim reminder.

　　So An Beom had been partly right. Guides really could be called the guardians of espers. After all, they were the only ones who could quiet an esper’s waves.

　　“Monan, will you fix me up?”

　　But the guide, that supposedly mighty guardian, looked hesitant.

　　It had been three years since he’d guided anyone. Sitting there on the shuddering train, something deep in Monan’s chest trembled with unease. It’s fine. There’s a reason you came back. Even the doctors at the mental health care center said your condition was manageable now.

　　Even as he fed himself that reassurance, Monan looked at the man across from him with anxious eyes. The two brothers watched his hesitation in silence. One waited calmly. From the other, from Guwon’s gaze, he could feel an awl-sharp edge.

　　His brother’s fate was hanging in the balance, and here Monan was, dragging his feet. Of course Guwon was frustrated.

　　But Monan had no intention of turning his back on the man in front of him either. Especially not when that man was Jeongwon. Before joining the Agency, Jeongwon had attended training school alongside the Yoon brothers and often visited their hometown of Namgyeong. He was someone who had treated Monan, five years his junior, like a real little brother.

　　“Hyung, for the past three years, I’ve—”

　　“I know. This is your first guiding since your recovery, right? Sorry to spring it on you.”

　　“…So it might not go well.”

　　“Just try. Even a stopgap is fine.”

　　Monan steeled himself and nodded. He reached out with both hands, cradled the back of Jeongwon’s neck, and pressed their foreheads together. The straight bridges of their noses rested lightly against each other.

　　Biting down hard on his bone-dry lower lip, Monan focused. A faint energy stirred beneath the skin of Jeongwon’s forehead, damp with cold sweat. An esper’s energy waves could be suppressed by following them through the bloodstream, so a guide’s ability was, in essence, the power to read the flow of that energy.

　　The more delicately and keenly a guide could feel the waves coursing through the body, the easier they were to control. Pouring his whole mind into it, Monan finally managed to read the sharp sensation of energy flowing with the blood through Jeongwon’s arteries.

　　“Haah, so it’s not going well after three years, huh?”