Chapter 9: The Vanishing Guide

Days turned into weeks, then a little over a month had passed when an urgent situation erupted in Zone 2, plunging the area into a state of high alert.

Creatures were categorized by their attack patterns, and among these, the airborne Air Tensors posed the most formidable challenge. Their aerial domain was one factor, but their blistering speed made them exceptionally difficult to engage. Adding to the peril, their appearances were erratic, making prediction impossible. Unlike most creatures that typically surfaced under the cover of night, Air Tensors had no consistent schedule, often materializing abruptly even in broad daylight, which demanded our constant presence on standby.

While other Espers typically rotated between day and night shifts, or stood by every other day, I, however, could not afford to leave my post for an entire day. This wasn’t solely because of my high level, but primarily due to my unique abilities that granted me a distinct advantage against airborne creatures.

I could only steal fleeting glances of Jaeseong, and even those were limited to seeing him asleep. Despite my relentless schedule, any chance I found to slip away to the hospital meant arriving late at night, when every room in the children’s ward was already dark. Today was no different; I had barely managed to create a window, only to find the precious moments I had were agonizingly brief.

“Is visiting allowed now?”

“Oh, you’re here?”

The new nurse, having grown entirely familiar with my face, recognized me instantly and, without prompting, added my name to the visitor’s list.

“You’ve been coming late these days.”

“I apologize for the late hour.”

“Oh, no, it’s not a reprimand. It’s just that Jaeseong might feel a bit disheartened. He was waiting for you, you know, and only just drifted off to sleep… If only you could have arrived a little sooner.”

‘He waited? For me?’

“He’s been pacing back and forth by the door ever since dinner. He’s been doing it for days now.”

I stepped directly into the room. In the dim light, a pale face lay peacefully asleep. Jaeseong’s cheeks, once puffy, had receded, and the bruises had vanished, leaving behind a surprisingly cute countenance. His hair, having grown longer, now curled gently, partially veiling his eyes.

‘Does he even know who I am?’

An inexplicable dichotomy of desires bloomed within me: I yearned for Jaeseong to open his eyes, yet simultaneously wished he would remain asleep. Though it felt like only days since I had last gazed into those dark eyes, seeing him so peacefully slumbering ignited an unbidden sense of longing.

I settled into a corner, watching his sleeping face, and eventually checked the time. Though it felt as if I had only just sat down, a full thirty minutes had already slipped by. I longed to stay longer, but time was a luxury I couldn’t afford. Fearing that a sudden call might rouse Jaeseong, I deliberately rose early. Before exiting the room, I drew closer for one last look at his face, and then—

A flicker.

“……”

“……”

Jaeseong’s eyes fluttered open. He blinked a few times, still heavy with sleep, before recognizing me and widening his gaze even more.

Though I hadn’t come clandestinely, an unwarranted sense of wrongdoing crept over me. As I began to move, intending to leave before he grew more uncomfortable, Jaeseong stirred, rustling as he started to sit up.

‘Why?’

I wanted to speak, to utter something, but when I tried, my voice failed me.

“……”

“……”

Both Jaeseong and I remained silent, neither of us uttering a sound.

How many seconds ticked by in that silence? As I made to move, intending to leave once more, Jaeseong’s small hand suddenly reached out, clutching the lapel of my uniform. He seemed unfazed by my dark, imposing attire, holding on for a prolonged moment. Yet, the instant our eyes met, he quickly averted his gaze.

“……”

“……”

The silence persisted.

‘If he wasn’t going to say anything, why did he grab me?’

Still seated, I gently pressed on Jaeseong’s shoulder as he blinked his sleepy eyes. When I carefully eased him back, he autonomously stretched out his legs and settled down. Within mere minutes, the soft, rhythmic sound of his breathing filled the nearby air. That day, despite numerous attempts to depart, I ultimately failed, only managing to return to the center around sunrise after receiving an urgent call.

And the very next day,

“Junseo, you should go in and rest. How many days has it been now? Go straight home today.”

“Is it alright?”

“Yeah. It seems almost finished, and the incoming team will handle the rest. You’ve worked hard.”

After a full day on standby, clearing the final zone, reinforcements finally arrived. Handing the baton over to the next team, I returned to my capsule, noting the time had already passed 10 PM. I stepped into the shower, peeling off my uniform, which was caked with creature blood, and cleansed myself. It had been such an extended period since I’d worn anything other than my uniform that my civilian clothes felt almost alien.

An overwhelming fatigue enveloped me, compelling me to close my eyes right then and there. Even for me, battling creatures for nights on end was an arduous ordeal. Yet, despite my profound exhaustion, the thought of returning home never surfaced. Instead, as weariness claimed me, the first image that materialized in my mind was that face at the hospital.

‘This is crazy. I’m not an idiot.’

‘To think that sleep isn’t humanity’s strongest desire.’

While I had never openly scorned Espers who found themselves utterly beholden to their Guides, neither had I ever truly understood their plight. I harbored no desire to dictate how others lived, but I adamantly wished not to succumb to such a fate myself.

Yet, here I was, no different from them. And the object of my nascent fixation was a mere ten-year-old child. I desperately sought any other excuse to quell the wave of self-disappointment. ‘Guide and Esper,’ I reasoned, clinging to the belief that it wasn’t *just* for that. Surely, somewhere amidst these burgeoning emotions, there lay genuine compassion or pity for a child. This was how I rationalized my bewildering state.

As I headed to the parking lot, intending to go to the hospital as usual,

*Thump.*

*Thump.*

*Thump.*

My heart hammered, a painful, frantic rhythm against my ribs. An irrational terror suddenly seized me, a sensation more vivid and chilling than anything I had ever known. This inexplicable unease, though familiar from a past encounter, had never been this profound. Instantly, I pulled out my phone.

*Ring— Ring— Ring— Click.*

– Oh, Junseo.

“Are you at the hospital, by any chance?”

– Yeah. There’s an emergency surgery today.

The voice on the other end of the line was remarkably quiet, devoid of any background noise.

“Is anyone, by any chance, in the hospital room?”

– Huh? Well, he was alone during rounds earlier, but I went into surgery after that, so I don’t really know.

A wave of dread washed over me. I tried to convince myself it was merely a fleeting bad feeling, but my attempts were futile.

– Why? Is something wrong with Jaeseong? Should I go check?

“I would appreciate it.”

– Alright, I’ll go and call you back.

I scrambled into my car, slamming my foot on the accelerator. As I wrenched the steering wheel towards the hospital, a mechanical voice chimed from the car’s Bluetooth connection.

– You have 1 unread message. –

*Beep—*

[The victim finally agreed to a settlement. They kept refusing, but then suddenly called today. They said 8 million won was paid as compensation. Anyway, it’s resolved, so I thought you should know.]

‘That insane bastard.’

I had, to some extent, anticipated this. I knew, without needing to witness it, precisely how a drug addict would squander 100 million won. I had fully expected him to reappear once a significant portion of the money was gone, at which point I intended to simply hand him more cash and send him on his way.

But he had already agreed to a settlement. This implied he intended to take Jaeseong without collecting the remaining funds.

‘That man would give up 100 million won?’

It was utterly inconceivable. No matter how I twisted the facts, there was zero possibility the man would ever choose a child over money.

‘Then why would the man give up the money and take Jaeseong?’

‘Heh heh, even if he looks like that, he’s a Guide, you know. He could be worth money someday.’

The man’s gravelly voice echoed in my mind, igniting a furious surge of rage. He was undeniably planning to sell Jaeseong to *that* place—the very one I had silently dreaded.

“Damn it!”

The moment my car screeched to a halt at the hospital, a call from the doctor immediately came through.

– Junseo. Jaeseong…

He was gone. The child who should have been in his hospital room. The child who should have been waiting for me was nowhere to be found.

Jaeseong… had vanished.

****

Sleep eluded me. I had managed to soothe the anxious child to sleep, but I, myself, couldn’t find proper rest.

I dreamt of losing Jaeseong, a haunting echo of ‘that day’ when he vanished with the man.

When Jaeseong vanished before the theater, the sensation was identical: my blood ran cold, just as it had on that fateful day. The first time, a child I hadn’t yet truly known disappeared; the second, a child right before my eyes was gone. These were the moments that seared into me the true meaning of fear.

The gnawing anxiety that Jaeseong might, one day, simply vanish—perhaps that, I realized, was the true, underlying reason I had brought him into my life.

On the morning Jaeseong was to attend school, an alarm chimed from his room, swiftly followed by the sound of running water.

*Click.*

I sat at the dining table, and soon Jaeseong emerged, having completed all his preparations.

“Ah, good morning.”

‘What exactly does one say in a situation like this?’ From a handful of potential greetings, I selected what seemed the most appropriate.

“Morning.”

Jaeseong scratched the back of his neck, a slight flush of shyness coloring his cheeks.

“Come quickly and eat.”

“Yes.”

Jaeseong settled into his chair, his gaze fixed on the plate before him. The day before yesterday, he had eaten half a pancake and a tenth of an omelet; yesterday, a single waffle and half a fried egg. Though I had urged him to gradually increase his portions, watching him eat always filled me with a simmering anxiety.

Today, Jaeseong’s choice was toast dusted with white sugar. He tentatively sampled a triangular slice, then, as if the taste wasn’t quite what he’d anticipated, took a single bite and subtly cast a glance my way.

“What is it?”

“……”

“Don’t want to eat it?”

He nodded.

White crumbs drifted from the tip of the fork Jaeseong held.

“Ah—”

“……?”

“Give it to me. If you’re not going to eat it.”

I pulled Jaeseong’s arm, his face frozen in an expression that suggested he’d witnessed something utterly scandalous, and then I unceremoniously shoved the fork into my mouth. The toast was neither particularly palatable nor entirely unpleasant.

I handed Jaeseong the pancakes he had eaten well before, then subtly pointed to the sausage nearby.

“This too.”

Jaeseong suddenly adopted an indifferent expression. I gestured again, but he deliberately avoided my gaze.

I speared a well-cooked sausage with my fork and placed it in his hand.

“Try it.”

“……”

“It’s delicious.”

“……”

Jaeseong shook his head. He didn’t say he disliked it, but then silently extended the fork toward my mouth. He waited until I opened my mouth with an ‘Ah—’.

For the first time, I felt as though I had lost a battle.