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Chapter Text

Kim Dokja hated mornings.

Not because of the sun; he could ignore that with curtains and spite, not because of Han Sooyoung’s phone alarm, which screamed like a kettle and then kept screaming while she stared at it, daring it to keep going. No—mornings were hateful because they came with forms, lines, rules, and damp envelopes that smelled like a filing cabinet.

He sat cross-legged on the tatami mat he insisted on keeping despite Sooyoung’s protests that it “clashed with their brand.” A chipped mug steamed against his palm. On the TV, the morning news flashed repeatedly, emergency red: MANDATORY REGISTRATION FOR UNASSIGNED GUIDES. NATIONAL SAFETY PRIORITY.

Yoo Sangah’s polite voice tried to soften the words. “They’re starting immediate enforcement. It says… ‘voluntary compliance encouraged for the next two weeks. After that, detainment and forced evaluation.’”

Han Sooyoung slid down the couch like a contented lizard. “Detainment. Such a strong word for ‘Welcome to your government spa day.’”

Dokja sipped, deadpan. “I hear the mud masks are just recycled paperwork.”

Sooyoung tossed a throw pillow at him without looking. “You’re allergic to signatures.”

“I’m allergic to being categorized.”

“That’s a longer word for the same disease,” she chirped.

Sangah muted the TV. “They’ve doubled the overload incidents this quarter. There was an explosion in Mapo. The Bureau’s panicking.”

“I’m sympathetic to explosions,” Dokja said. “They’re very relatable.”

Sooyoung perked up. “See, that’s why you’d be great in detainment. You can coach the exploding espers. ‘Tell me when your trauma started on a scale from one to bureaucracy.’”

Sangah aimed a soft look at him—the kind she used right before shepherding him into a terrible decision. “We should go today. If we wait, it will be crowded, and the officers get… less flexible.”

He stared at the frozen news anchor’s smile, at the bold red crawl, at the poise of institutions that expected compliance like gravity. “If we go,” he said, “I’m not writing anything true on any line that says ‘optional.’”

“Of course not,” Sooyoung said. “You’ll lie on the mandatory ones, too.”

Sangah pressed a hand to her chest, scandalized. “We’ll… keep it accurate where it matters.”

“So, Lies,” Sooyoung concluded.

Biyoo—a small, round, white menace with glass-marble eyes—popped its head out of a grocery bag and made a questioning chirp.

Dokja rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Fine. We’ll go. But if they ask me for a spirit animal, I’m writing ‘tax audit.’”

~✾~~⋇⋆✦⋆⋇~~✾~

It took thirty minutes to wrangle Sooyoung out of pajamas (“Society is an outfit,” she declared, tying her hair with a USB cable), and ten more for Sangah to assemble what she called a “pleasantly compliant” folder: old contracts, a forged receipt, two letters of recommendation, and a peppermint candy to calm frazzled clerks. She gave the candy to Dokja. “For you.”

“For bribery?”

“For kindness,” she said. “Which is its own kind of bribe.”

The Bureau sat in a steel-and-glass block that tried to look friendly by curving one corner. It still looked like a courthouse that had eaten a hospital. Inside, the line curled through retractable belts like a domesticated serpent. A poster read Espers & Guides: Better Together over a stock photo of two grinning people who had never once screamed at each other during sync.

Sooyoung swept her phone camera across the lobby. “Today I’ll be documenting the rare migration of the Free-Range Guide as he’s herded into captivity.”

“Phones away,” a security officer said.

Sooyoung clicked the screen off without shame. “Of course. I’ll just remember everything and write a scathing essay later.”

They reached the registration desk. The clerk had hair that moved as a single unit and eyes that begged for mercy. He adjusted his tie like it was a choke collar. “Name?”

“Kim Dokja.”

The clerk typed. Paused. Typed slower. “You… aren’t in the system.”

“That’s a feature,” said Dokja.

Sangah leaned in, all warmth and competence. “He’s here to fix that. We’d love to begin the preliminary evaluation as soon as possible.”

The clerk brightened in the way of a man who had found a script to hide inside. “Wonderful. We’ll need baseline metrics. Height?”

“Average,” said Dokja.

The clerk blinked at him. “In centimeters.”

“Socially average,” Dokja clarified.

Sooyoung clapped. “He’s a comedy guide. You’ll need a special form.”

Sangah sighed and produced a tape measure from her bag like a magician producing doves. “One seventy-eight.”

The clerk typed, relieved. “Any notable medical conditions?”

“Bureaucria,” said Dokja.

The clerk looked up. “Is that… a blood disorder?”

“It’s terminal in democracies,” Sooyoung stage-whispered.

Sangah pinched both their sleeves at once and smiled at the clerk. “No conditions. Healthy as a complaint letter.”

“Excellent,” the clerk said, and then his eyes slid toward the monitor’s following prompt. His voice picked up with dread. “By current regulation, all unassigned Guides must complete a compatibility trial. You’ll be paired with an Esper currently flagged for priority.”

Dokja felt his stomach do a quiet, traitorous drop. “Define ‘priority.’”

The clerk’s screen flashed a list. His lips moved until they caught on a particular line. He swallowed. “Ah. You’ve been… selected. Congratulations.”

“That sounded like a condolence,” Sooyoung observed.

The clerk pasted on a smile. “Esper Yoo Joonghyuk.”

There was a moment where everything in Dokja went very still. Quiet recognition, like hearing a storm name you. He kept his face blank. “He’s famous.”

“Infamous,” the clerk corrected before catching himself. “I mean—renowned.”

“For chewing through guides,” Sooyoung said gleefully. “He’s like a paper shredder with legs.”

Sangah touched Dokja’s sleeve. “We can ask for a different match.”

The clerk winced. “I’m afraid the algorithm has already—”

“—chosen your soulmate,” Sooyoung finished, wiggling her eyebrows. “Say ‘thank you,’ Dokja.”

“Thank you,” he said gravely, “for your crimes.”

The clerk pressed a button, as if it might end his shift early. “Testing chamber four.”

~✾~~⋇⋆✦⋆⋇~~✾~

Chamber four was white, much like teeth in toothpaste ads. Hidden machinery hummed like an anxious chorus. Behind safety glass, two observers waited: a tech and a woman in a neat blazer with eyes that took notes without moving. Her badge read Senior Evaluator Lee Seolhwa.

Sooyoung pressed her palms to the glass. “Hello, surveillance state, it’s me, your problem.”

Seolhwa glanced up, gave a professional smile, and then looked at Dokja with a brief, searching interest—as if she were measuring the air around him, not just the man. He filed it away: she noticed too much.

The door hissed open.

The room grew smaller by temperament alone. Yoo Joonghyuk stepped in like a walking verdict: tall, straight-backed, shoulders squared under a black training jacket, the kind of face sculpted by stubbornness. He didn’t look at the glass. He didn’t look at the ceiling. He looked at Dokja last, and it felt like a sword choosing where to hang.

“You,” Joonghyuk said, as if the pronoun were an insult.

“Me,” Dokja agreed. “Regretfully.”

The intercom crackled with the tech’s best attempt at cheer. “Welcome! Baseline compatibility will begin with a trust exercise.”

Sooyoung cupped her mouth against the glass. “Kiss!”

Sangah dragged her back by the collar.

Joonghyuk didn’t look away from Dokja. “If you slow me down, I’ll walk out.”

“Perfect,” said Dokja. “I love short relationships.”

Seolhwa’s voice, crisp and calm, replaced the tech’s. “Mr. Yoo, Mr. Kim, the trust exercise is standardized. The guide falls backward. Esper catches. Ready?”

“Never,” said Dokja, stepping into position.

“Always,” said Joonghyuk, not moving his arms.

Seolhwa’s gaze flicked between them. “On three. One… two—”

Dokja leaned into gravity on two just to make a point. He met the ground with a thud that vibrated up his bones. The silence after was ceremonial.

“Fascinating,” Sooyoung said. “A duet.”

Sangah covered her face. “Oh no.”

Joonghyuk looked down with cool disdain. “If you require me to catch you, you are not a guide, you are luggage.”

Dokja sat up, dusted his palms, and arched an eyebrow. “If you require me to pamper your ego, you are not an esper, you are a blog.”

“Again,” Seolhwa said, unruffled. “Properly.”

“Must we?” Dokja asked the ceiling.

“Yes,” said Seolhwa and Joonghyuk together.

The second attempt was a choreographed disaster. Joonghyuk stepped a fraction too far back; Dokja stepped a fraction too far forward; physics took it personally. He hit the mat again. The tech made a high keening sound, reminiscent of a kettle. Biyoo, smuggled under Sooyoung’s jacket, let out an indignant peep that fogged the glass.

Seolhwa marked something on a tablet. “Noted. Moving on. Resonance.”

If the first test measured the body, the second measured everything else. They stood a half-pace apart, palms hovering, energy fields unwinding into the air like two temperatures meeting. Most espers’ fields felt like weather: some sunny, some windy, some with a chance of thunder.

Joonghyuk’s felt like a fault line.

The moment Dokja brushed the edge of it, pressure snapped around his wrist, invisible teeth testing the bone. He kept his face neutral and softened his own field—quieting the burr, thinning noise, making open water where there had been chop.

Joonghyuk’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t touch.”

“Then stop throwing knives at the air,” Dokja murmured. “I’m shaving them down so you don’t cut yourself.”

“I don’t cut myself.”

“Congratulations,” said Dokja. “You cut everyone else.”

Their fields clashed—sparks skittered along the space between their fingers like static that had found religion. The tech yelped, “Containment at ninety percent!” and smacked a switch. A soft barrier shimmered up around them.

Seolhwa’s voice stayed even. “Mr. Yoo, if you resist, the Guide can’t regulate your outflow.”

Joonghyuk didn’t look away from Dokja. “If he were a real guide, I’d feel calmer, not… provoked.”

There was a small, traitorous beat—because Dokja was provoked, too. Not only by the arrogance but by the honesty cloaked inside it, the way a stubborn truth sometimes wore the costume of insult.

He smiled, thin as a knife. “If you were a real leader, you wouldn’t be afraid of being helped.”

“I am not afraid.”

“Then prove it.” Dokja nudged the field again, this time letting a sliver of his own strange current show through—a thinner, quieter hum that didn’t buzz like most Guides’ discipline. It shaped itself, almost Esper-like, around the edges of Joonghyuk’s outflow, not smothering it but bracing it like scaffolding.

Seolhwa’s head tilted, eyes narrowing a degree, attention sharpening on Dokja’s hands. He didn’t have to see her note to know what she wrote: anomalous modulation.

Joonghyuk felt it. His rigidity shifted from outright refusal to… wariness. “What are you doing?”

“Letting you keep your shape,” Dokja said softly. “Not the one the Bureau likes. Yours.”

For a breath, the pressure evened out—like a door cracked in a sealed room.

Then Joonghyuk jerked back, the field snapping shut. “Don’t.”

The barrier lights went from orange to red. The tech swore. “Resonance destabilizing!”

The hum rose into a shriek—machines complaining, air prickling like a storm’s palm. A hairline crack spread along the far wall, because of course Chamber Four had a dramatic streak. Seolhwa hit another switch. The hum died to a tolerable ache.

“You two,” Sooyoung announced, fogging the glass with laughter, “are going to be terrible together. I can’t wait.”

Sangah knocked on the glass with her knuckle, brow furrowed. “Are you okay?”

Dokja flexed his hand to hide the tremor. “Never better.”

Joonghyuk glared at the barrier like he could intimidate physics. “We’re done.”

Seolhwa’s voice had a note in it now—something like interest layered with intention. “That was only baseline. The Bureau has authorized a thirty-day compatibility study for this pairing.”

“Forced dating,” Sooyoung sang.

Joonghyuk’s mouth flattened. “I decline.”

“You can’t,” Seolhwa said mildly. “You’re flagged as a national asset. You are obligated to pursue stabilization options. Mr. Kim, as an unregistered Guide, you’re obligated to participate in the evaluation. Failure to comply will result in detainment.”

Dokja stared at the glass, at his reflection layered over theirs, at how neat Sangah’s hands looked folded over her file, at how bright Sooyoung’s grin glinted like cutlery. He found the camera and smiled like a man at his own gallows.

“Thirty days,” he repeated. “And then what?”

Seolhwa’s eyes didn’t leave him. “Then the Bureau makes a recommendation regarding registration and assignment. It’s not binding.”

He wondered how many ways “not binding” could be made to bind. “Of course.”

Joonghyuk stood very still. “I don’t need a guide.”

“Great,” Dokja said. “You won’t notice me.”

“Impossible,” Joonghyuk said, as if stating a weather report.

Sooyoung clutched her heart. “Chemistry! Negative chemistry, but it counts.”

Biyoo head-butted the glass, left a tiny smudge, and chirped something like: feed me the state.

~✾~~⋇⋆✦⋆⋇~~✾~

They gave him a bracelet on the way out—temporary clearance, printed barcodes blinking like an anklet for the wrist. The lobby looked the same except for the way it felt heavier, like time had decided to camp on his shoulders.

Sangah walked beside him, quiet. “You didn’t have to provoke him.”

“I didn’t,” Dokja said. “He arrived pre-provoked.”

Sooyoung skipped a step to keep up. “But you did something. The little static? The weird not-guide guide thing? The evaluator noticed.”

“I breathed,” Dokja said.

“Liar.” She grinned, delighted. “You breathed in italics.”

Sangah touched his sleeve. “They’ll push registration harder now. Be careful.”

He made a show of inspecting the bracelet. “I am cautious.”

Sooyoung looked at the bracelet like a prophecy. “Thirty days. What’s the over/under on you eloping with the landmine?”

“We’ll split custody of the crater,” he said.

Outside, the city exhaled. Buses wheezed. Somewhere, a street vendor banged a lid. People flowed around them with the incoherence of a school of fish that had agreed to pretend it was a river. The sky did its best impression of a good mood.

They walked in companionable argument to the subway. Sooyoung talked with her hands, narrating a future documentary: “He hates you because he hates needing anyone, which is the funniest way to be alive. You hate him because he’s a mirror with arms. And Sangah will gently force you both to hydrate.”

Sangah nodded solemnly. “Have you considered lemon water?”

“I have considered death,” Dokja said.

~✾~~⋇⋆✦⋆⋇~~✾~

Back at the apartment, Biyoo sprint-waddled from the grocery bag to the couch and belly-flopped onto a cushion, victorious. Sooyoung collapsed next to it and started posting. “Uploading our enemies-to-co-workers origin story.”

“Please don’t,” Sangah said, which Sooyoung interpreted as ‘please do, with flair.’

Dokja retreated to the kitchen, ran water over his wrists until the tremble cooled into ordinary fatigue. He had pushed a little too hard in the chamber, just enough to taste the edge of something he didn’t use in public. He stared at the flow from the tap like it might rearrange into an answer.

From the living room, Sooyoung’s voice: “Comment section is vibing. Top reply: ‘Yoo Joonghyuk’s love language is property damage.’”

Sangah cleared her throat. “Let’s not antagonize a national asset.”

Biyoo rolled over and exposed its belly. Dokja dried his hands and obliged, rubbing tiny circles until it purred with a sound halfway between an aquarium pump and a cat with opinions.=

“You did stabilize him,” Sangah said quietly from the doorway.

He didn’t turn. “He stabilized himself to spite me.”

“You did something,” she insisted. “It was gentler than you pretend.”

Sooyoung leaned over the back of the couch, smirking. “It was also hot.”

Sangah blushed, then rallied. “It was effective.”

“Those are cousins,” Sooyoung said wisely.

Dokja opened the fridge. It contained a dignified bottle of water, a less dignified jar of pickles, and a bowl labeled DO NOT EAT (HAN SOOYOUNG), which, based on history, contained something inedible that Sooyoung would later blame him for stealing. He closed the fridge and leaned his head against the door.

“What if I don’t register?” he asked the magnets shaped like discount coupons.

Sangah’s voice softened. “Then they detain you. And they will not be kind.”

“On the bright side,” Sooyoung said, “prison uniforms are slimming.”

He pictured the bracelet as a dotted line across his skin. He pictured thirty days measured by checklists and clipboards. He pictured Joonghyuk’s field, the way it had cracked like a door, the way refusal had slammed it shut again. He pictured the look in Seolhwa’s eyes: curiosity without malice, but also the hunger of a system that fed on solved problems.

He turned, found Sooyoung’s grin and Sangah’s worry looking back like two halves of a coin he carried everywhere. “Fine,” he said. “I will participate. With grace.”

“So never,” Sooyoung translated.

Sangah exhaled. “We’ll help.”

“Obviously,” said Sooyoung. “I’m going to buy a whistle. For drills. And a spray bottle, for when he postures.”

“Which he?” Sangah asked.

“Yes,” said Sooyoung.

The apartment door knocked politely, then less politely. Sangah glanced at the peephole. “Oh. It’s… a courier?”

Sooyoung opened the door because she liked the plot. A Bureau courier stood there holding a tablet like a shield.

“Delivery for Mr. Kim. Orientation packet. Daily schedule for the first week. And…” He produced a second, more menacing envelope. “A non-binding consent form.”

“Those are the most binding,” Dokja said, signing the tablet with a flourish that was neither his name nor his handwriting.

The courier fled, yearning for quieter recipients.

They spread the schedule on the coffee table. It read like a sitcom pitch written by an authoritarian: 0800 Meditation; 0900 Physical Synchronization; 1100 Sparring; 1300 Debrief; 1400 Civil Conduct Module; 1600 Guided Meal.

Sooyoung pointed. “Guided meal. Are they going to put two forks in your hands and make you eat in sync?”

“Probably,” said Dokja. “We will achieve chewing resonance.”

Sangah traced the line with her finger. “Civil Conduct Module. I can help you practice being civil.”

“I can help him practice conduct,” Sooyoung said. “By making him commit mischief.”

Biyoo crawled onto the paper and sat on “Sparring,” as if volunteering its body as a shield for violence.

The knock sounded again. Louder. This time, it was the kind of knock that came from someone for whom doors were suggestions.

Sooyoung peered through the peephole and hissed. “Oh, this is even better. Captain Grudge is here.”

Yoo Joonghyuk stood in the hallway like a doorframe had annoyed him. He wore the same black jacket, a different scowl, and the patient fury of a man who didn’t like being told “later.”

Sooyoung opened the door and leaned on it like a talk show host. “Welcome! We were just defaming you.”

“Mr. Yoo,” Sangah said, already bowing, already exemplary.

Joonghyuk’s eyes flicked over each of them and landed on Dokja. “Tomorrow. 0800. Do not be late.”

“I’m not registered for punctuality,” Dokja said.

“You’re registered for nothing,” Joonghyuk replied.

“Poetry,” Sooyoung breathed.

Joonghyuk’s gaze cut to her. “No filming.”

Sooyoung smiled with all her teeth. “No promises.”

“Make one,” he said.

“Fine,” she said sweetly. “I promise to film with discretion.”

“That isn’t a promise,” he said.

“It’s the most honest kind,” she said.

Sangah stepped between them, palms up. “We’re all on the same side.”

“Which side is that?” Dokja asked.

“The side that doesn’t explode,” she said.

Joonghyuk held out an envelope. “Your clearance badge for Bureau facilities. Don’t lose it.”

Biyoo reached out from the coffee table, delicately took the envelope in its mouth, and scuttled under the couch. Joonghyuk stared at the disappearing envelope as if considering whether to flip the couch.

“Biyoo,” Dokja said, “return stolen federal property.”

Biyoo stuck its head out with the corner of the envelope, chirped contrition, and dropped it at Joonghyuk’s boot.

Something microscopic in Joonghyuk’s expression shifted. Not softening, exactly. More like confusion being forced to stand politely in the foyer.

He looked back at Dokja. “You pushed my field.”

“You shoved first,” Dokja said.

“Don’t do it again without warning.”

“Consider this your warning.”

A pause stretched. The hallway light hummed. Someone down the corridor laughed at a joke that didn’t belong to them.

Joonghyuk said, “If you waste my time, I will request reassignment.”

“So will I,” said Dokja. “I’m very desirable.”

“By whom?” Joonghyuk asked, genuinely curious, like taking tallies for an audit.

Sooyoung raised her hand. “Me. For science.”

“Me,” Sangah said quickly, “for… scheduling.”

Biyoo chirped. “Beeyoo.”

Joonghyuk looked at the creature like it had signed a contract. “Be punctual,” he said again, and turned to go.

“Wait,” Dokja said before he could find out what the back of that jacket looked like in indignation. Joonghyuk paused. “Why us?”

Joonghyuk didn’t turn. “They said you were the best kind of problem.”

The door clicked shut behind him.

Sooyoung flopped backward onto the couch, cackling into a cushion. “He complimented you. In his dialect.”

Sangah pressed the schedule smooth again with careful hands. “We start at eight.”

Dokja stared at the door, at the dent the conversation had left in the air. “Tomorrow,” he said, because he liked to say a thing once as if that made it less inevitable. He breathed out. “Okay.”

Sooyoung tossed him the peppermint candy from the morning. “For bravery.”

He unwrapped it. It cracked between his teeth, sweet and sharp, the kind of sugar that made the tongue ache.

“Thirty days,” he said.

Sangah smiled gently. “One at a time.”

Biyoo clawed its way into his lap, turned in a circle, and anchored itself like a paperweight on a stack of unfiled feelings.

He scratched its head. “We’re going to be very civilized,” he told it.

Biyoo chirped solemnly.

On the TV, the news anchor smiled with the relentless optimism of a person who always believes in solutions. The crawl moved on to weather. The city prepared for a warm front. Somewhere, a schedule printer coughed out another plan for someone else’s day.

“Tomorrow,” Dokja repeated more quietly, to the peppermint, to the room, to the version of himself who kept signing up for situations he would later mock.

Sooyoung wagged her phone. “Sleep early. We report at dawn.”

“I don’t sleep,” Dokja said, and then, because the day had been long and the peppermint had melted, he did.

Chapter Text

The Bureau’s schedule was printed in neat, military font:

0800 Meditation

0900 Physical Synchronization

1100 Sparring Drill

1300 Debrief

1400 Civil Conduct Module

1600 Guided Meal

Kim Dokja stared at the paper like it had personally insulted him. “Civil Conduct Module? Are they going to teach us how to walk in lines?”

Han Sooyoung peered over his shoulder, smirking. “Maybe they’ll show you how to smile. Revolutionary.”

Yoo Sangah gently tapped the line with her pen. “It probably means a session on cooperation, Dokja. Like… conflict resolution.”

“I resolve conflict by leaving,” Dokja said.

“It’s your only skill,” Sooyoung agreed.

Biyoo chirped from the couch, floating towards them to land on the word Sparring as if volunteering to represent them both.

~✾~~⋇⋆✦⋆⋇~~✾~

08:00 – Meditation

The Bureau meditation room looked like someone had seen a yoga studio in a brochure and decided it would cure warfare. Neutral mats, too much white, an air purifier humming judgmentally.

Espers sat in a semi-circle: Lee Hyunsung straight-backed, Lee Jihye sprawled like she’d been dragged, Kim Namwoon already vibrating like a faulty outlet. Yoo Joonghyuk sat at the center, eyes closed, posture perfect, like he was about to fight enlightenment itself.

Dokja took the mat farthest from him.

The Bureau instructor, a thin man with a voice like chamomile tea, clapped his hands. “Espers and Guides, today we’ll focus on resonance through mindful breathing. Breathe in, expand your field gently, and let your guide ease the turbulence.”

Namwoon immediately laughed. “Ease me? Who the hell could ease me?”

“Not me,” Jihye muttered.

Hyunsung gave a patient sigh. “Try, Namwoon.”

Dokja closed his eyes and pretended to meditate. Sooyoung’s voice whispered from two mats down: “Bet you five bucks Captain Stoneface breaks first.”

Dokja whispered back, “Bet you ten he stabs enlightenment.”

“Silence in the circle,” the instructor said serenely, which meant he’d already lost control.

Then Joonghyuk’s field expanded.

It wasn’t subtle. It never was. Where other Espers’ energy trickled or pulsed, Joonghyuk’s roared out like a tide determined to drown the shoreline. The room felt heavier; the mats seemed thinner; even the purifier stuttered once.

Dokja cracked an eye open. Everyone else was sweating.

The instructor stammered. “G-Guides, now would be a good time to—”

Sangah was already leaning toward Hyunsung, gentle and steady. Other guides reached out to assist the other two. Sooyoung had put her feet up, muttering something that made Jihye snort. Seolhwa, observing through the glass again, scribbled notes.

And Joonghyuk’s turbulence whipped across the room toward Dokja like a dare.

Dokja sighed, reached out with a thread of his own field, and nudged it.

Not smothering. Not softening. Just a thin line of scaffolding, a frame to brace against.

Joonghyuk’s eyes snapped open. His field stilled—not gone, not controlled, but momentarily balanced, like a storm that had agreed to hover instead of break.

He stared at Dokja.

Dokja stared back, expression flat. “Congratulations. You’ve reached Level One of breathing.”

The instructor sagged with relief. “Excellent! Excellent regulation.”

Sooyoung leaned over to Sangah. “He’s flirting.”

“I am not,” Dokja said without moving his lips.

Joonghyuk didn’t blink. “…What did you just do?”

“Kept you from exploding into a cautionary tale,” Dokja said. “You’re welcome.”

Seolhwa scribbled faster behind the glass.

~✾~~⋇⋆✦⋆⋇~~✾~

09:00 – Physical Synchronization

If meditation was awkward, physical synchronization was worse.

“Partners stand side by side,” the instructor chirped, “and move in perfect unison. Begin with walking. Left foot, right foot, in rhythm—”

Joonghyuk immediately lengthened his stride into something fit for a military parade. Dokja shuffled like a man going to the fridge at 3 a.m.

“Unison,” the instructor reminded.

“We are,” Dokja said.

“We’re not,” Joonghyuk said, flat as granite.

“Exactly,” Dokja replied.

Sooyoung laughed so hard she had to lean on Sangah’s shoulder.

The exercise escalated into synchronized sparring, characterized by simple, mirrored strikes followed by blocks. Joonghyuk moved like a blade. Dokja moved like a man who hated cardio. Their “synchronization score” flatlined on the monitor.

“Your left hand,” Joonghyuk barked.

“It’s attached,” Dokja said, deflecting lazily.

“You’re late.”

“I’m alive.”

Jihye yelled from the sidelines, “Just kiss already!”

Hyunsung scolded, Namwoon wheezed laughter, and Biyoo escaped Sooyoung’s jacket to toddle across the mats, chirping in time with their mismatched steps.

When the exercise ended, the instructor looked pale. “We… will record that as ‘partial success.’”

“Generous,” Dokja said.

Joonghyuk’s eyes didn’t leave him. “You’re hiding something.”

Dokja met the stare evenly. “Yes. My deep admiration for Bureau-sanctioned exercise routines.”

~✾~~⋇⋆✦⋆⋇~~✾~

11:00 – Sparring Drill

They were supposed to spar with each other, moderated by guides.

The moment it began, Namwoon went feral. He lunged at Jihye, who shrieked back, sparks flying. Hyunsung tried to corral them. The instructor begged the universe for patience.

And Joonghyuk advanced on Dokja.

“You,” he said.

“Me again,” Dokja sighed.

Joonghyuk’s energy surged—not an attack, but close, his resonance brushing against Dokja’s with deliberate pressure. Testing. Probing.

Dokja felt the snap in his veins, the familiar ache when he held too much. For a flicker, he let his field answer—thin, Esper-like, curling around Joonghyuk’s surge.

The pressure equalized. For a second, their fields held steady. Balanced.

Joonghyuk’s eyes sharpened. “That. That’s not guiding.”

Dokja pulled back with a shrug. “Call it customer service.”

Seolhwa’s pen scratched furiously against her clipboard.

Sooyoung cupped her mouth. “Hot customer service.”

Sangah muttered, “Please stop saying that in front of evaluators.”

~✾~~⋇⋆✦⋆⋇~~✾~

13:00 – Debrief

They sat in a conference room. The instructor beamed hollowly. “Today’s exercises revealed… areas of growth.”

“Such as?” Joonghyuk asked.

“Mutual patience.”

Dokja raised a hand. “I was patient. I didn’t leave.”

Sooyoung snorted. “Gold star.”

Seolhwa looked at Dokja for a long moment. “You stabilized Mr. Yoo effectively during meditation. That method was… unusual.”

“Unusual is my brand,” Dokja said.

“Your readings were atypical,” she pressed. “Not purely guide-pattern.”

He smiled thinly. “Maybe the machine’s broken.”

Joonghyuk’s gaze pinned him. “Or maybe you are.”

~✾~~⋇⋆✦⋆⋇~~✾~

14:00 – Civil Conduct Module

They were given worksheets. Actual worksheets. Scenarios like ‘If your partner is upset, how do you respond?’

Dokja filled his in with gems such as:

• ‘Offer them tax advice.’
• ‘Encourage them to explode farther from civilians.’
• ‘Bake a cake.’

Sooyoung leaned over, reading upside down. “Oh, my god. You’re going to fail charm school.”

“I was born failing charm school,” Dokja said.

Joonghyuk’s worksheet was blank. When asked why, he said, “None of these apply.”

The instructor sighed into his hands.

~✾~~⋇⋆✦⋆⋇~~✾~

16:00 – Guided Meal

The cafeteria had been rearranged with two-seat tables, creating a forced date night atmosphere with poor lighting. Each Esper sat across from their guide.

Joonghyuk glared at his plate of standardized Bureau curry. Dokja prodded his rice with chopsticks.

“So,” Dokja said. “Civil conduct. Conversation. Weather?”

Joonghyuk didn’t answer.

“Fine. Let’s discuss nutrition. This curry has the texture of regret.”

“You talk too much,” Joonghyuk said at last.

“Compensation,” Dokja said, “for your lifelong vow of silence.”

Something sparked in Joonghyuk’s gaze—irritation, yes, but something else beneath. He didn’t look away.

Across the cafeteria, Sooyoung raised her phone like a paparazzi. Sangah swatted it down.

Biyoo climbed onto the table and stole a piece of carrot from Joonghyuk’s plate. For once, Joonghyuk didn’t push it away.

~✾~~⋇⋆✦⋆⋇~~✾~

18:00 – Home

Back at the apartment, Dokja collapsed onto the couch. Biyoo curled up on his stomach.

Sooyoung leaned against the armrest, scrolling her phone. “Comment section says your chemistry score with Joonghyuk is negative twenty.”

“Good,” Dokja muttered.

“Bad,” she corrected. “Because now they want a sequel.”

Sangah returned with tea. “You did well today, Dokja.”

He opened his eyes, half-smiling. “Define ‘well.’”

“You didn’t explode,” she said softly.

Biyoo chirped in agreement.

And Dokja, staring at the ceiling, thought about Joonghyuk’s eyes narrowing when he felt that flicker— that wasn’t guiding.

Tomorrow would be worse.

Chapter Text

The Bureau bus had a motivational slogan stenciled on the side: CAMP HARMONY. Someone had added (in permanent marker) [MANDATORY].

Inside, the seating arrangement resembled chaos disguised as upholstery. Lee Jihye sprawled across two seats like a ruler claiming territory, while Kim Namwoon had his boots propped up and was listening to a playlist that included the word "kill" too often. Lee Hyunsung sat upright with perfect posture, as if his demeanor alone could smooth out any discord. Meanwhile, Yoo Mia played on her game console in complete silence, somehow making the bus feel quieter within a three-seat radius.

Han Sooyoung filmed all of it with the solemnity of a nature documentary. "Observe," she whispered to her phone, "the endangered government morale in its native habitat."

Yoo Sangah, saintly and prepared, handed out sunscreen. "Reapply every two hours. Don't forget your ears."

"Tell that to Namwoon," Jihye said. "His ears burn with sin."

Namwoon grinned, unbothered. "Sin is SPF-100."

Behind a sheet of glass, Evaluator Lee Seolhwa stood next to the driver, holding a clipboard like a polite executioner. Her eyes, calm and observant, scanned the room before settling on Dokja, reflecting the patient curiosity of someone who enjoyed solving puzzles.

Kim Dokja slouched one row behind Yoo Joonghyuk. Biyoo was a small contraband bump under his jacket. Shin Yoosung and Lee Gilyoung had wedged themselves on either side of him like seatbelt accessories.

"Hyung," Gilyoung said, tugging his sleeve. "There are beetles in the forest here. Blue ones."

"Excellent," Dokja murmured. "We'll unionize them."

Yoosung quietly pushed a snack pack at him. "In case the Bureau rations are bad."

Sooyoung peered over the seat, eyes bright. "What are we hoping to achieve today, team?"

"Survival," Dokja said.

"Structure," Hyunsung said.

"Chaos," Jihye said.

"Lunch," Namwoon said.

"Efficiency," Joonghyuk said, not turning around.

Sangah smiled. "Harmony."

"Propaganda," Sooyoung added.

The bus juddered into a forest that tried to look friendly but had a career in hiding things. The camp clearing contained a pavilion with a banner (WELCOME, TEAMS!) and, below it, a secondary line (THIS IS NOT OPTIONAL). A Bureau staffer in a bright vest waved as if signaling a plane.

"Welcome!" he chirped. "Today's agenda: tent setup, trust walk, cooperative cooking, and a campfire acknowledgment circle—"

Namwoon whooped. "Fire!"

"—with supervision," the staffer finished, paling.

Joonghyuk disembarked like a verdict, taking in the terrain with tactical eyes. "Prevailing wind from the southwest. The ground is slightly uneven. We'll pitch on the rise."

"I will be pitching myself into the lake when this is over," Sooyoung said, already filming the sign from three angles.

Seolhwa raised her voice just enough to carry. "Teams will set up in designated lanes. Mr. Yoo's team, you have lane A. Mr. Kim, you'll be with evaluators and overflow."

"I overflow," Dokja agreed.

"Overflow these," Sooyoung muttered, and Sangah gently placed a hand over her phone.

~✾~~⋇⋆✦⋆⋇~~✾~

Tent Setup: A Love Story Between Man and Cordage

Joonghyuk moved with the brisk assurance of a person who had slept in worse. The stakes were driven in at perfect angles, while the guy lines were pulled tight with careful precision. Hyunsung followed suit with quiet competence, and Mia adjusted the knots with nimble fingers. Jihye transported supplies like a little gremlin foreman, and Namwoon held the poles, struggling to resist the urge to joust with them.

Dokja stood by his assigned tent and stared at the pile of fabric as if it had insulted his family. "What if we slept under philosophical objection?"

"Philosophy is not waterproof," Sangah said, already unfolding the rainfly.

Sooyoung sat cross-legged near the chaos, filming. "On your left, a military-grade shelter. On your right, performance art about the futility of canvas."

"Sir," the vest-staff called, "the pole goes through the sleeve—"

"I know how to assemble despair," Dokja said. He threaded the wrong sleeve on purpose. The tent bulged like a crime.

Seolhwa watched him without intervening. Her smile said, 'Show me the trick.'

Biyoo popped out of the jacket, gave the tent a ceremonial head-butt, and vanished under it with a chirp of ownership.

Joonghyuk's structure went up in record time. He looked over, took in Dokja's attempt, and walked over with a judgment that reached the grass first.

"You did that wrong," he said.

"I did it my way," Dokja said.

"Your way collapses in the wind."

"Then I'll enjoy the breeze."

Joonghyuk crouched without being asked and corrected the mistake in three efficient motions. His hands were steady, blister-proof. "The ridge line needs bracing," he said, already tying a secondary support.

"Is this flirting," Sooyoung asked, "or foreplay for storm preparedness?"

"Same in his dialect," Dokja said.

Joonghyuk's look suggested he could hear dialect jokes and would remember them for enemies' funerals.

He returned to his lane. When his back was turned, Dokja redid the stakes—just slightly—angling two for drainage and loosening one to flex under gust. Quiet fixes, subtle. Mia, carrying a coil of rope past, paused and watched his fingers. Their eyes met briefly. She said nothing. He nodded once. She nodded back. Witnessed.

Yoosung passed by with a bundle of kindling bigger than her. "Hyung, can we… um… can Gilyoung and I… maybe, if it's okay—"

"No," Dokja said. "You two are with your team."

Gilyoung appeared with a jar of blue beetles like treasure. "But your tent is funny."

"That's exactly why," Dokja said. "It's a cautionary tale."

~✾~~⋇⋆✦⋆⋇~~✾~

Trust Walk: Blindfolds and Insults

The staffer produced blindfolds like party favors. "Partners will guide each other through the obstacle course!"

Jihye groaned. "If anyone lets Namwoon lead me blindfolded, I will sue the camp."

"I would be so good," Namwoon said.

"You would run me into a tree for laughs," she said.

He spread his hands. "For science."

Hyunsung coughed. "I'll lead Jihye. Namwoon, you can follow my voice."

Mia tied on a blindfold without comment and stood calmly with her hands at her sides. Joonghyuk put on his and became a statue that wished to fight.

"Mr. Kim," Seolhwa said, offering a blindfold gently.

"I already walk blind in life," Dokja said, taking it.

"A poetic way to say 'no,'" Sooyoung observed.

He tied it on. The world narrowed to sound: leaves gossiping, Namwoon's delighted swears, the staffer's dangerously optimistic encouragement. A hand touched Dokja's elbow—warm, firm, careful.

"Step left," Joonghyuk's voice said, close. "Root ahead."

"Oh," Dokja said. "We're doing the trusting."

"Don't argue. Left."

He went left. The world tilted; herded by voice, he moved through air that pretended to be empty and was not.

"Three small steps," Joonghyuk said. "Stop. Listen." His hand tightened under Dokja's elbow. "Duck."

Dokja ducked. A branch whispered overhead, leaf tips brushing his hair. He smiled despite himself. "Efficient."

"Again. Two steps. There's a rock. Lift your foot higher."

"So bossy," he said.

"So incompetent," Joonghyuk said.

At the end of the course, Joonghyuk untied the blindfold with a snap like breaking a seal. Sunlight hit. The course unfurled behind them: tires, logs, a low line of rope, the kind of hazards found by people who love clipboards.

"I didn't die," Dokja said.

"You tried to," Joonghyuk said.

Sooyoung, blindfolded and guided by Sangah, deliberately veered off course. "Hyah! I move by satire."

"You move by chaos," Sangah said, gently steering her back between the cones.

Namwoon, blindfolded, sprinted and leapt like a retriever. Jihye screamed from the sidelines. "Stop! The cones aren't enemies!"

"They are now!" Namwoon yelled, kicking one gleefully.

Hyunsung collected him mid-leap like an offended parent. "We don't kick cones."

"Camp says cooperate," Namwoon said. "I cooperate with my instincts."

~✾~~⋇⋆✦⋆⋇~~✾~

Cooperative Cooking: A Controlled Disaster

The pavilion became a field kitchen. Ingredients were distributed: rice, vegetables, a ration of protein, and a mystery sauce in Bureau gray. Piles of cookware clanged like cheap cymbals. The rules were simple: make something edible together.

"Team," Joonghyuk said, "stew. Jihye, chop. Namwoon, fuel. Hyunsung, water. Mia, season."

Jihye saluted with a knife. "Aye aye, Captain Cuisine."

Namwoon swaggered toward the fuel pile. "Fire is my domain."

Sangah rolled up her sleeves in Dokja's lane. "What shall we make?"

"Regret," Dokja said. He lit the stove with the affronted dignity of a man being watched by a pamphlet.

Sooyoung sniffed the gray sauce. "This was invented by a committee."

"Everything here was," Dokja said, tipping rice into a pot with more care than he announced. He set the flame low. He liked things that simmered.

On the other side, Joonghyuk's operation ran like a drill. Hyunsung measured water with a glance and got it right; Mia moved her wrist very slightly and shook out precisely the right amount of salt; Jihye chopped vegetables so fast that the board applauded.

Namwoon stacked fuel.

"I said controlled burn," Joonghyuk said.

"I am in control," Namwoon said, striking a match with theatrical cruelty.

It was going fine until Namwoon, bored by the pace of reality, splashed a little oil like a magician, adding drama. The flame obligingly shot six inches higher, tasted oxygen, and decided it liked extravagance.

"Namwoon," Hyunsung said.

"It's fine," Namwoon said, eyes bright.

The flame climbed. The edge of a paper towel blackened and flared. The pavilion murmured Oh, very softly.

Jihye yelped. "Fire! We are camping, not reenacting a disaster!"

The staffer ran in a circle looking for a fire extinguisher that had been placed directly behind him.

Dokja moved without thinking. "Hyunsung, lid. Mia, water—but not on the oil. Damp cloth only. Jihye, kill oxygen, not the pan. Namwoon, step back.”

It came out like he'd done it a thousand times. It came out like a command, not a suggestion.

Joonghyuk didn't ask questions. He grabbed a lid, slammed it down, and starved the flame. Mia had a damp cloth there before the pan could complain. Hyunsung turned off the burner. Jihye shooed the smoke away with a cutting board while cursing bureaucrats and physics in equal measure.

The flame died sulkily.

For a second, the team stood around the pot with the intimacy of people who had almost committed a crime together.

Namwoon rubbed the back of his neck. "That was cool."

"It was not," three people said.

Joonghyuk's gaze cut to Dokja, sharp as glass. They were standing too close in the aftermath, their fields brushing against each other like words that were almost touching. "You," he said, low. "Don't issue commands to my team."

"Would you prefer arson?" Dokja said. His own voice sounded too calm. His pulse argued.

"I prefer competence."

"Then stop delegating fire to a man who names it."

"Hey," Namwoon said, offended, "Fire likes me."

"Fire likes oxygen," Dokja said. "And invitations."

Yoosung tugged his sleeve, eyes wide. "Hyung… your field felt… different. Like when bugs calm down before it rains."

Gilyoung nodded, a jar of blue beetles bobbing. "It got quiet. Right before."

Dokja smoothed his face. "It got quiet because we put a lid on it."

Sooyoung had filmed none of it—she'd been helping Sangah yank a water tub within reach—but now she turned the camera back on and fixed it squarely on Dokja. Her grin said, 'I saw the way you moved.' Later, I will be unbearable about it.

Seolhwa, at the edge of the pavilion, made a note with the taste of satisfied hypothesis.

The stew turned out edible. Dokja's own pot of regret became… actually decent. Low heat, slow patience. He ladled it out without announcement. Joonghyuk's team ate and didn't make a ceremony of it, which in their dialect was a compliment.

Biyoo stole a carrot and looked like it had won a prize.

~✾~~⋇⋆✦⋆⋇~~✾~

Campfire: The Acknowledgment Circle (or, Feelings Under Duress)

Dusk pulled the color out of the clearing. The firepit's stones glowed. The staffer handed out marshmallows with a haunted look, as if recalling an earlier memory.

"Circle up," he said. "We'll share acknowledgments. One thing you appreciated about a teammate today."

Groans ricocheted around. Even Hyunsung looked like he wished to be elsewhere.

Jihye went first, because she liked to set the tone. "I appreciate that when Namwoon did something stupid, we didn't all die."

Namwoon shoved her shoulder, grinning. "You love me."

"In a laboratory capacity," she said.

Hyunsung cleared his throat. "I appreciate Yoo Mia's precision with seasoning."

Mia nodded once. "I appreciate Hyunsung-oppa's steadiness."

Namwoon kicked a stick into the fire. "I appreciate that the Bureau gave us matches."

"That's not a teammate," the staffer said weakly.

"I appreciate the concept of matches," Namwoon amended.

Yoosung hugged her knees. "I appreciate… um… that Dokja-ahjussi keeps snacks in his pockets."

Gilyoung held up his jar. "I appreciate that he promised not to freak out about the beetles."

"I did not promise," Dokja said. "I surrendered."

Sooyoung grinned. "I appreciate that Captain Grudge caught a lid like a ballerina."

"I appreciate that Han Sooyoung is physically incapable of sincerity," Joonghyuk said.

Sangah smiled, unbothered. "I appreciate that Yoo Joonghyuk-ssi does not waste time."

All eyes slid to Dokja. He poked the fire with a stick, as if it owed him money. "I appreciate… quietness."

"That isn't a teammate," the staffer said, more faintly.

"It is tonight," Dokja said.

Joonghyuk watched him across the flames, eyes reflecting a private heat. "I appreciate that Kim Dokja didn't run."

Sooyoung made a muffled noise like a ship sinking. Jihye kicked her gently. "Shut up, it's a moment."

The fire wore the silence until it fit.

Biyoo crawled into Dokja's lap and fell asleep like a fluffy sentence.

~✾~~⋇⋆✦⋆⋇~~✾~

Night: Wind, Ropes, Two Stubborn Men, Three Stowaways

The wind rose after midnight, the kind that finds every careless knot.

In lane A, Joonghyuk's tent held a recommendation letter. In the overflow lane, the Bureau-issue tent shook off a gust with a shiver—then settled, the slack guy-line quietly flexing where Dokja had shifted it. He listened to the canvas breathe like a sleeping animal and felt something in him do the same.

Something poked his calf. He peered down. Two silhouettes, small as conspiracies, crouched at the flap.

"Hyung," Yoosung whispered. "We can't sleep."

Gilyoung held up the beetle jar like a legal precedent. "They need warmth."

"Beetles are ectothermic," Dokja whispered back, because he was that kind of adult. "They don't need—fine. Get in."

They tunneled into sleeping bags with the desperate grace of children at a sleepover. Biyoo made a pleased circle and installed itself at the foot like a vigilant potato.

The wind shouldered the tent. The pole bowed and recovered.

A shadow fell across the flap. "Kim Dokja," Joonghyuk's voice said, not loud, but carrying.

Dokja poked his head out into the cold air. Joonghyuk stood there with a blanket over his arm, his hair ruffled by the wind, his expression the same as during the day but with its edges softened by darkness.

"You moved your stakes," he said.

"Don't report me," Dokja said.

"For now," Joonghyuk said. He looked past him, where two small heads had risen like prairie dogs. "You're harboring minors."

"They defected," Dokja said. "I respect sovereignty."

"Return them."

"They're asleep."

"They are not," Joonghyuk said, because he was Joonghyuk.

Yoosung popped up, embarrassed. "We'll go back, Captain."

Gilyoung hugged the beetle jar. "The beetles can stay."

"No," three adults said.

A gust hit harder. The front corner of the tent yanked, stake slipping. The pole lurched.

Joonghyuk moved at the exact second as Dokja. One grabbed the pole, the other the guy line. Their hands crossed; their shoulders met through canvas. The tent shuddered—and held.

For a breath, their fields met in the strain: Joonghyuk's pressure like a current trying to muscle through rock, Dokja's thin brace slipping around it, catching, holding. Balance, accidental and exact.

The pole steadied. The fabric sighed back into place.

They didn't let go immediately. The wind tested and failed, jealous.

Joonghyuk looked at him in the shifting dark. "What are you doing?"

"Keeping you from sleeping in the open," Dokja said. His voice came out quietly.

"That's not what I mean."

"I know."

They stepped back at the same time. The guy line hummed like a plucked string.

"Blanket," Joonghyuk said, thrusting it into his hands abruptly, as if throwing civility could hurt less than handing it over. "For the minors."

Yoosung's eyes shone. "Thank you, Captain."

Gilyoung nodded seriously. "The beetles also say thanks."

"They didn't," Joonghyuk said. He turned to go, then hesitated. "0800. Trail run."

"It's night," Dokja said.

"Tomorrow," Joonghyuk said, because he liked to say a thing once to make it law. He disappeared into the wind and discipline.

Inside, the kids settled back under the blanket with the relief of people who believed in competent adults. Biyoo snorted in contentment. Dokja lay on his side and listened to the ropes sing. He could feel, like a phantom limb, the angle of Joonghyuk's lines in lane A—pulled just so, symmetrical, precise.

"Ahjussi," Yoosung whispered, teetering on sleep. "Today, when the fire got big… You felt like rain."

Gilyoung mumbled, "Not like other guides."

"Don't tell the beetles," Dokja murmured.

He closed his eyes. He dreamed of lids coming down on bright things, not to smother them this time, but to teach them how to breathe.

Dawn came gray and damp and annoyingly on time. Someone—probably a staffer, possibly a bureaucratic ghost—hung a new banner over the pavilion: HARMONY ACHIEVED.

"False advertising," Sooyoung said, her hair haloed by humidity. She panned her phone to capture two intact tents, ropes neatly arranged, with a captain and a rogue conducting simultaneous morning inspections without speaking to each other.

Sangah handed out instant coffee. "Did you sleep?"

"Briefly," Dokja said.

"Not at all," Joonghyuk said, from three meters away.

They glanced at each other. The look said: We held a pole in a storm and did not discuss it.

Seolhwa's clipboard already had a new page. Her eyes were brighter than they had been yesterday, which meant that somewhere, a hypothesis had survived the night.

"Today," she said, "we'll hike to the ridge. Partner pace."

"Are you going to hold hands?" Sooyoung asked, "Or would that violate a treaty?"

Joonghyuk adjusted his pack straps. "Keep up."

"Make me," Dokja said.

He would, and he'd announce it as an annoyance. Dokja tucked Biyoo into Sangah's arms and fell into step, half a pace to the left, where he knew Joonghyuk's stride liked to own the ground.

The trail lingered, feigning innocence as the day commenced.

Chapter Text

The ridge trail wound upward like a bureaucrat’s logic: unnecessarily steep, punctuated by gravel, decorated with “safety railings” that were clearly ornamental. The Bureau staff in the fluorescent vest marched ahead, whistling cheerfully like he wasn’t leading a pack of espers with homicide potential.

“Today,” the staffer announced, “is about pace, cooperation, and shared achievement!”

“Today,” Han Sooyoung announced to her camera, “is about lies.”

Yoo Sangah tapped her shoulder. “No recordings—”

“Memory is a recording,” Sooyoung said wisely.

Kim Dokja adjusted his pack straps with the weary air of someone already regretting his life choices. Behind him, Shin Yoosung trailed like a quiet shadow while Lee Gilyoung narrated beetle facts to anyone who wouldn’t bite him for it. Ahead, Joonghyuk strode in perfect formation with gravity itself, long steps like punctuation marks.

“Hyung,” Gilyoung asked, tugging Dokja’s sleeve, “do you think beetles get tired climbing ridges?”

“Yes,” Dokja said. “That’s why they invented wings.”

Yoosung tilted her head. “Do guides get tired?”

“Constantly,” Dokja said.

“You don’t look tired.”

“That,” Dokja said, “is my power.”

Sooyoung peered back, grinning. “Your power is sarcasm. It has passive regeneration.”

Namwoon, somewhere near the front, shouted, “Race you to the top!” and immediately sprinted up the trail.

“Namwoon!” Hyunsung barked, lumbering after him like a parent chasing a misbehaving golden retriever. “Stay with the group!”

Jihye sighed. “He’s going to trip, break a leg, and call it training.”

Joonghyuk didn’t look back. “Then he will learn not to break a leg.”

~✾~~⋇⋆✦⋆⋇~~✾~

The staff blew his whistle. “Pair up! Espers and guides must match strides. Since there are fewer guides than espers, it's ok for espers to pair with each other. Feel each other’s rhythm, flow as one!”

“Flow as one,” Sooyoung repeated solemnly, latching onto Sangah’s arm. “We will flow directly into disaster.”

Sangah smiled patiently. “Then at least we’ll do it together.”

Hyunsung and Jihye ended up side by side, Jihye chattering at double speed while Hyunsung nodded with saintly endurance. Namwoon kept trying to pair with Mia until she stared him into compliance three meters behind.

That left Dokja and Joonghyuk.

“Stride,” Joonghyuk said.

“I am,” Dokja said, walking half a beat late on purpose.

“You’re not.”

“On the contrary. You’re early.”

Joonghyuk glared sideways. His glare carried gravitational force. “Fix it.”

“Fine,” Dokja said, and slowed even more.

The staff clapped his hands nervously. “Remember, the goal is synchronization—”

“Goal achieved,” Dokja said.

“You’re not in step,” Joonghyuk snapped.

“Exactly,” Dokja said.

Sooyoung’s laughter echoed off the trees.

But when the slope tilted sharper, when the gravel started to slip under boots, when Yoosung stumbled just a little behind them—Dokja adjusted, almost without thinking. His stride lengthened, pace steady, timing sliding into Joonghyuk’s until the path became easier to hold.

For a brief moment, their steps fell into perfect sync. Two sets of boots find the same rhythm, the same ground.

Joonghyuk noticed. Of course, he noticed. His eyes cut sideways, suspicion and something else tangled inside.

Dokja pretended not to see, kept his face bland. “Congratulations. We’re walking.”

~✾~~⋇⋆✦⋆⋇~~✾~

The trail narrowed into a rope bridge slung across a ravine that had no business being this dramatic. The boards looked like they’d failed safety inspections in three different decades.

“Single file!” the staffer called, already halfway across.

Namwoon immediately stomped onto the planks, bouncing them on purpose. “Hell yeah!”

Jihye screamed. “Stop testing gravity!”

Hyunsung grabbed the ropes like his sheer moral weight could stabilize physics. “Namwoon, stop moving.”

Mia crossed with quiet grace, balanced as if the ropes bent for her.

Then it was Joonghyuk’s turn. He stepped onto the boards like they were stone. The bridge didn’t dare creak.

Dokja followed, boots deliberate, grip loose on the rope. Halfway across, the wind gusted—sharp, sudden. The bridge swayed. Yoosung gasped behind him.

The rope snapped on one side with an awful twang.

The bridge tilted. The staff screamed. Namwoon cheered.

Joonghyuk shifted immediately, grabbing the main rope and stabilizing. But the field pressure surged—his control flaring too sharp, too fast. The boards buckled.

Dokja’s hand shot out before he thought. His field laced around Joonghyuk’s, not dampening but catching, sliding under like scaffolding under weight.

The sway evened. The ropes steadied. The bridge calmed like a beast recognizing an old handler.

For a heartbeat, the world was balanced between them.

Joonghyuk’s eyes flicked to him, sharp, startled. “You—”

“Walk,” Dokja said. His voice was steady. His pulse was not.

They crossed the rest in silence. The kids scampered behind, Gilyoung whispering something about beetles with wings who catch each other midair.

Seolhwa, on the far side with her clipboard, didn’t write anything immediately. She just watched.

~✾~~⋇⋆✦⋆⋇~~✾~

The ridge clearing overlooked the forest like a painting pretending to be serene. The Bureau staff announced, “Congratulations! Shared rations for lunch.”

The rations were identical packs of nutrient bars.

Sooyoung bit into hers with the grimace of someone chewing legal paperwork. “Delicious. Tastes like Bureau.”

Yoosung offered hers to Dokja shyly. “You can have half.”

“Keep it,” Dokja said. He slipped one from his pocket and held it out instead. “Mine’s chocolate.”

Her eyes widened. “Ahjusshi—”

Gilyoung leaned in. “Trade beetles for chocolate.”

“No,” Dokja said.

“Yes,” Sooyoung said.

Namwoon tore open three bars at once. “This is fuel!”

“It’s sawdust,” Jihye said, gagging.

Hyunsung ate his calmly. Mia chewed without expression.

Joonghyuk sat slightly apart, eating with the mechanical precision of a man who believed nutrition was a form of warfare. But his gaze flicked once, twice toward Dokja, as if replaying the rope bridge in his head.

Sooyoung nudged Dokja with her elbow. “Your boyfriend is staring.”

“Which one?” Dokja asked.

Sangah sighed. “Please stop teasing during evaluations.”

Seolhwa, across the clearing, was definitely writing again.

~✾~~⋇⋆✦⋆⋇~~✾~

The way down was easier on the legs, harder on patience. Namwoon tried to race squirrels. Jihye threw pinecones at him. Hyunsung confiscated both activities.

Mia walked quietly beside Sangah, asking about guide training with genuine curiosity. Sooyoung kept filming, narrating, “Day three in captivity: the espers have accepted us as one of their own.”

And Joonghyuk stayed just close enough to Dokja to be deliberate.

At one point, the path narrowed again. Dokja brushed against Joonghyuk’s field, subtly. The pressure steadied. Joonghyuk looked at him, unreadable.

“Stop doing that,” he said.

“Doing what?” Dokja said.

“Whatever that is. It’s not guiding.”

Dokja smiled faintly. “Then you imagined it.”

Joonghyuk’s eyes were sharp enough to peel stone. “No. I don’t imagine.”

Seolhwa’s gaze, further down the line, lingered on them both.

Back at camp, dusk settled in. The staff announced the day as a “great success.” Namwoon tried to light a torch without permission. Biyoo stole another carrot from someone’s bowl.

Dokja sat by the fire, staring at the sparks rising into the night.

Yoosung leaned against him, drowsy. Gilyoung fell asleep mid-beetle fact. Sangah offered tea. Sooyoung scrolled through comments on her uploads.

And across the flames, Joonghyuk’s eyes found his again.

For once, Joonghyuk didn’t look angry. Just… intent.

Dokja looked back, face blank, heart too loud.

He thought of the rope bridge. Of hands-on guy lines last night. Of fields meeting like fault lines that somehow didn’t break.

He looked away first.