The air in the Testing Hall was thick with the cloying mix of a hundred different guide and esper scents that did nothing to improve Min’s already foul mood. A persistent annoyance, much like the boy currently standing in the center of the raised dais.

The pristine white of his uniform, denoting an S-rank guide, felt like a mockery today. At 20, he was the oldest unbonded S-rank in the academy’s recent history, a fact the whispers around him never let him forget.

And then there was you.

His childhood friend. His constant, infuriating rival. The one person he’d argued with just minutes before you were called for your differentiation test.

“Just try not to break the entire hall, hyung will have to clean it up.” Min had snipped, unable to help himself, the jealousy a familiar, bitter taste on his tongue. You were always so effortlessly powerful, even before your official designation.

You’d merely glanced down at him, always having to glance down, a fact that irked Min to no end with your stoic expression not even flickering. “Focus on finding your own esper, hyung. I’ll manage.”

The words were a well-aimed dagger, striking the exact insecurity he’d been nursing for years. Min scowled, his grey eyes flashing, and turned away.

Now, you stood on the dais, the crystal resonance amplifiers glowing a soft blue around you. The officials, a panel of stern-faced professors and military liaisons, watched with clinical interest.

Everyone knew you were special.

The first crystal shattered with a sound like a gunshot.

It wasn’t a crack; it was a violent dissolution into glittering dust. Then the next. And the next. The blue glow of the amplifiers didn’t just brighten; it erupted into a searing, blinding white light that forced the entire hall to shield their eyes.

The air itself began to warp, vibrating with a pressure that was less sound and more pure, terrifying force.

Min straightened up, his earlier irritation evaporating, replaced by a cold dread.

This wasn’t normal. This wasn’t just powerful. This was…...losing control.

A professor’s tablet overloaded, screen cracking. Then another. The reinforced glass windows of the hall began to groan, spider-webbing with fractures. Students cried out, some clutching their heads as the psychic backlash, raw and untamed, scraped against their minds. It was chaos, a maelstrom of energy entirely on you. You stood within the heart of it, your face a mask of intense concentration, but Min could see it: the slight tremor in your hands, the way your knuckles were white, your eyes black, in pain.

You were losing your grip, losing your mind to your powers.

“He’s overloading the system!” Someone shouted.

“The reading… it’s… it’s unmeasurable!” “Legendary-rank! It has to be!” "Take cover!"

Panic. True, unadulterated panic filled the room. The officials were scrambling, shouting orders to initiate emergency damping fields, but the machinery was frying under the sheer output of your power.

No guide in the room could even approach the psychic hurricane you were generating. It was a wall of pure, destructive force.

And then Min’s wrist com beeped.

It was jarring, utterly absurd amidst the chaos. He glanced down at the device all guides wore, used to measure compatibility with nearby espers during surges. It had always been silent for him, a dead screen a testament to his impossible standards and rotten luck.

It wasn’t silent now.

It was blazing a brilliant, vibrant green. The number on the screen wasn’t 80%, or 90%, or even 99%.

It was 100%.

A perfect, impossible, 100% soul compatibility reading.

While everyone else was recoiling, Min, S-rank Omega Guide took a step forward. Then another. Min moved through the chaos not as a victim, but as its solution. His grey eyes were no longer cold with envy, but alight with a fierce, loyal certainty.

The officials saw him approaching you and shouted for him to get back.

Min ignored them.

Min had found his esper. And his esper, whether he liked it or not, desperately needed him.