There was this documentary that national TV adored, and once again, it was on the screen.
He had almost memorized it by heart; with the classical tune in the background, he was mumbling not the words, but the melody tonight.
"Everything started with a massive portal appearing, and monsters crawling out of it. Then, around the world, thousands—millions—more portals appeared."
The most well-known CCTV scenes flashed on the screen. Screams interrupted his melody, and for a second, he flinched uncomfortably, accidentally watering his flower pot too much.
"Ah, come on... As if you're hearing it for the first time," he muttered. The documentary continued.
"Humanity was tested, so evolution came up with special people: espers. Espers had extraordinary powers—powers of many kinds, levels, and strengths. But for three whole years, espers were used constantly in battles. More of them were born by the second, while others died or went into rampage at the same time. A rampage was worse—a dying esper with madness and unreleased tension in them caused the deaths of themselves and many innocent people..."
This was his favorite part, so he joined in, laughing at himself awkwardly.
"Something was amiss. That was a guide."
"After three years of nightmare, the first guides appeared. They were healers—one touch, and the energy flowing from them meant peace for an esper. With this reciprocal relationship, rampages were stopped, and espers became more consistent. Gradually, our world became used to these portals. Not sound, maybe, but safe."
He put down his watering cup among the flower pots, now looking at his various plants with fondness.
It was his stretch time. Starting with his neck, he rotated his head, relaxing his muscles. As he closed his eyes for a second, he thought the TV had turned off—the screen had gone black for a moment and stopped. No, it was still on.
"I'm exhausted," he mumbled to himself. He swung and shook his arms as he watched.
"Nearly two years ago, an esper was discovered. He appeared normal, but the guiding energy in him was a miracle."
"The highest level a guide could reach was A-level. An A-level guide could soothe you completely in an hour—faster with physical contact. But this specific guide was something more. He could hold your hand and, within two or three minutes, guide you to an ecstatic state—effortlessly. They called him many things: miracle, angel... even god. He was also an alpha."
And then came his least favorite part.
"They found him in a backstreet high school—not in an upper-class circle. An orphan. Since then, his face has been everywhere. They now call him the Treasure of the Country. The most suitable name for his existence."
He scoffed. Treasure of the Country. That was him.
With sore muscles, tired eyes, and in endless agony. Even retirement was out of the question. He would do what he did until the day he died—if they let him die.
"The treasure of our own…" the documentary continued as he muttered, "I already had a name. Moon Le An. Why..." He could never get used to that name.
He turned off the TV and stared at the blank screen for a moment. The room was quiet. The world was quiet now. His thoughts lingered—an orphan, in a backstreet high school...
He turned back to switch off the lights. Also an alpha... His mind wasn't ready to meditate. "How will I sleep in this condition?" His steps ended as he slowly began to regulate the energy within himself, placing his auto-control over the overflowing guiding energy. He put his finger on the socket—click—the room darkened, only his bedside lamp remained on.
Then he felt a breath on his back. Thud!
Something—someone—grabbed him by the neck, covering his mouth. Before he could resist, another hand slammed him against the wall. Le An stopped breathing.
He had a tendency to question everything before acting, but this time, fear petrified him. He couldn't think or react. The next instinct was to kick or make noise with his legs, but just then, the man behind him spoke—almost into his ear, into his brain.
"Don't even think about moving. I know what you really are. Your second gender."
As he heard the man's voice and those words, Le An's body went cold.
He thought: He cannot kill me. If he wanted to, he already would have.
He gathered all his breath, but an overwhelming force rushed over him.
Esper oppression.
Le An's knees buckled. The hand on his mouth shifted to his arms, which were forced behind his back with alarming strength. Only a whisper managed to escape his lips.
"W-who are you?"
The voice continued, calm but chilling.
"I'm the esper you're going to guide now. Don't bother trying to scream. It'll only exhaust you. And we wouldn't want any fellow espers downstairs to die, right? I counted them before coming in."
His voice cracked. It barely made a sound. "Help! Theo—"
"Your house, I must say… isn't very secure. For your safety, of course. And none of your private espers can detect me."
He laughed—low and cruel. Le An froze. "How did you get in? How—"
He abruptly stopped. He felt something—his guiding senses had picked up on it now that they were in physical contact.
One thing was certain: the man behind him was a ticking time bomb—dangerously close to a rampage.
"How do you know I'm…"
He didn't dare finish. The man did it for him. "…an omega? Of course you'd be curious about that."
Was he stronger than Theo? Le An tried to glance back but failed. The man was taller, stronger—an alpha. An esper.
How did he even get in?
His esper level—could it be S-class?
But there hadn't been any espers close to rampaging reported recently. If there were, he would have been informed.
A foreigner?
No… He spoke the language natively.
There was no pheromone scent in the air—only oppression. He tried to resist it, but fear overwhelmed him again. Espers naturally exuded pressure toward humans and guides, but this was on another level. He tried to move again, but his body wouldn't respond.
"Guide me. Now."
"…"
"What part of that didn't you understand?"
"No."
"No?"
Pain shot through Le An's body. He flinched violently; his eyes felt like they were about to burst. The oppression became skull-splitting. He couldn't breathe.
Survival instinct kicked in.
He focused, letting out a small, cautious flow of energy. The man caught it instantly.
So he gave more.
A deep inhale followed from behind.
"That's right… Give it to me."
The pain and pressure on his back, shoulders, and wrists intensified. Especially his wrists and neck—where physical contact was maintained—were burning with strain.
The last time he had guided someone out of fear was a nightmare. The energy had gushed out of him so violently, it left him sick for days. That same nausea rose in his chest again.
"More," came the voice.
Le An trembled as he released more guiding energy.
The man behind him noticed. Even though the energy trembled with fear, its strength was overwhelming. He scoffed inwardly.
This much power, despite oppression?Unconsciously, his grip loosened. Then he tightened it again.
Le An hissed in pain. "My neck!" His voice barely made it out.
The man didn't hear—or didn't care. He pressed harder.
It was a sensation he hadn't felt in months—his mind and body beginning to relax, to clear.
This was the night he'd been waiting for—before the rampage claimed him.
He began to absorb the guiding more aggressively. He even shook Le An and slammed him into the wall, as if trying to extract every last drop.
He stared at the so-called Treasure of the Country.
From TV or afar, he'd looked tall. But up close, Le An was more slender than he seemed—yet athletic, yes—but powerless.
An omega in disguise.
He absorbed more, though his stance didn't change. The guide seemed detached, indifferent.
Even while doing what forty—maybe fifty—A-rank guides couldn't. And he wasn't even giving his full.
Minutes passed.
The man suddenly noticed that the more he exerted pressure, the more the guide's energy clouded his mind. Time to end it.
He checked his watch. Seven minutes.
He would come again. Every night, from now on. This treasure was in his palm now—in every way.
"Is that your fastest guiding?" The man asked him.
"Yes." Le An replied quickly.
He felt the man's gaze on his neck. "You're lying." He squeezed tighter. Le An gasped, eyes squeezed shut.
"Yes—I lied."
"Why?"
"Because you'd ask for more."
A faint laugh—cold and detached—slipped out from behind. "Everybody asks for more."
Le An still couldn't move. He waited for the guiding to end—and as the demand finally slowed, the question loomed:
What now? Is it over? Will he take me?
If that was his goal, he would've done so before asking for a guide.
He's… strategic. Lost in thought, Le An began trembling again as the energy flow ceased.
The voice returned—after a long, satisfied exhale. "Starting today, if you don't want your little secret revealed, you will guide me every night."
Le An didn't hesitate. "I'll find you."
"Now we're talking. But how exactly will you do that?"
"I'll find you somehow—ah!"
The oppressive air tightened around him again. He couldn't lift his head. It felt like something was pressing down on his neck.
"You'll need help, right?" the voice echoed in his skull.
"If you even think of asking for help, the next thing on the news will be the truth about your secondary gender. I don't want a miracle from you. Just guiding. I didn't ask you to spread your legs, for instance."
The body under his grip froze. He whispered again, just to seal it:
"Not yet."
"Once I find out who you are, you're done. Even before you talk about my gend—"
"You're not afraid for your life. You think you're too valuable. But you've never experienced real fear. No one's shown you true pain, either I guess. But you should be afraid—for others.
"Should I make myself more clear?"
"…"
"Should I threaten others? Should I kill someone close to you—just to prove I'm serious?"
"…"
"Then we're settled." The grip loosened and finally broke, but Le An still couldn't move. The oppression lingered in the air. The voice behind him continued.
"If I were you, I'd cooperate. Make it easier for both of us. Think of me as just another esper.
"Just… a bit more greedy." A pause. "Tomorrow. Midnight. Be ready."
The pressure faded.
Le An turned—but the man was gone. He gasped for breath. Panic gripped him as he collapsed to his knees.
He was gone.