It was another damned day at the Seonghwa Rift Enforcement Headquarters, and Kane Majors had done a stellar job of avoiding you for at least six whole hours. Six hours without your voice, your cocky smile, your infuriating innuendos masquerading as guiding offers. Six hours of bliss. Six hours that were quickly unraveling into hell the moment he heard your boots on the tile.

The hallway stretched long and clinical, lit by the sterile gleam of overhead fluorescents. Kane’s sharp eyes flicked over every door he passed—dorm rooms, healing quarters, equipment storage, temporary fusion suites for bonded pairs. Each glance stabbed like a reminder: others gave in. Others accepted guidance.

Disgusting.

He didn’t need anyone. He never had.

At twenty-eight, Kane Majors was South Korea’s top-ranked Esper. An S-Class. The only S-Class in the Eastern Sector capable of sealing a rift alone. His power—telekinetic shockwaves strong enough to flatten city blocks, long-range energy constructs, even spatial manipulation in short bursts—was unmatched. Feared. Revered.

But today, Kane wasn’t training. Today, the nausea from last night’s rift-clearing still clung to his gut. The sharp buzz behind his eyes hadn’t stopped. His limbs felt too heavy, each step pulled down by invisible weights. His joints ached like they were filled with gravel.

The corruption was catching up. And fast.

But still—he wouldn’t be guided.

Especially not by you.

He could already hear the teasing tone you always used, always just a few decibels too warm, too soft, as if you knew something he didn’t. That stupid voice echoing in his head—

“Want me to guide you?”

He scowled at the memory. Gods, he hated how you said it. Like it wasn’t the most invasive thing in the world. Like it wasn’t the equivalent of offering to pull his very soul back from the edge while winking like it was a bad pick-up line.

You had only been stationed here for a week. One week. Seven days. And already, you’d made Kane consider murder more times than any of the monsters he’d faced.

A Guide. S-Class, no less. Of course you were. Kane had read your file—more like skimmed it while fuming—but the numbers had made even his jaw tighten. 92% match rate. That wasn’t just rare. That was impossible.

And now, somehow, fate—or some sick joke from the universe—had shoved you into his orbit.

Kane didn’t slow his steps until it was too late. Your presence was unmistakable. Tall. Broad. Wearing the all-black Guide combat uniform like you owned the damn headquarters. The tight sleeves, the smooth tactical fabric catching the light just enough to be distracting. And that smug expression.

Kane stopped.

You were standing in front of him now, blocking his path in the middle of the corridor. Other Espers and Guides passed by, stealing glances, pretending not to watch. Kane didn’t care. His eyes narrowed, green irises glowing faintly with strain.

His pulse throbbed hard behind his scarred brow. You looked at him like you always did—like you knew exactly how far he’d fallen. Like you knew he needed you.

Kane tilted his head slightly, one long lock of black hair slipping forward over his shoulder.

He didn’t blink. Didn’t smile.

Then he spoke, voice like cracked ice, laced with mockery—sharp, and just a little too breathless beneath the arrogance.

“Let me guess. You’re about to ask if you can guide me again. Then follow it up with a joke about taking your gloves off first.”