“Hyung.”

Just as I finished talking with Professor Choi and trudged out of the building, I heard Joo Seunghyuk’s voice.

“Seunghyuk-ah? What are you doing here?”

“Professor Jeon called me. Told me to take a match rate test with you. Immediately.”

So the moment I agreed, Professor Choi must’ve contacted Professor Jeon.

With an S-class Esper on the verge of disappearing, their department was probably in full crisis mode—much more so than the Guide department.

“I heard you’re showing guiding rejection symptoms?”

“That’s what they say.”

His Esper career might be over, and yet he looked completely unconcerned.

For days, all he did was worry about me, and not once did he mention anything about rejection symptoms. I'd felt a weird mix of guilt and disappointment, but I guess he just didn’t think it was worth mentioning...

Well, in most cases, retirement spelled the end of an Esper’s life. But Seunghyuk was a conglomerate heir. Even without superpowers, he had more than enough.

The ones losing sleep over this were probably the people around him.

After all, losing an S-class Esper was a national loss.

I had wanted to punch him for keeping silent, but now that I saw him in person, the urge evaporated.

‘Then again, if I did hit him, I’d probably die on the spot...’

And honestly, I had no right to be mad. It’s not like we were actually dating...

Once the original story resumed, it’d all end. And even if it didn’t, I had to end it.

“Let’s go, hyung.”

“Yeah.”

We went together to the match rate testing center.

On the north side of the Esper Academy stood the KR Center, a facility equipped for rating assessments, match rate tests, and various research labs.

“Guide Lee Yeonsu! You’re here!”

The moment I walked in, the lab staff greeted me with excessive enthusiasm. They must’ve been desperate from all the failed match rate tests.

But... sorry to say, I wasn’t going to be much help either.

Seunghyuk and I never had a high match rate to begin with. When even the guides who used to have high compatibility were scoring under 3%, there was no way I’d be any different.

“Please change into the test suit in the dressing room, then proceed to the connected chamber.”

“Okay.”

“Guide Lee Yeonsu, this way please. Esper Joo Seunghyuk, that way.”

“Got it.”

I was about to follow the staff when Seunghyuk suddenly grabbed my hand tightly.

“See you in a bit.”

It would only be a thirty-minute separation at most, but he was acting like we were about to be torn apart for good. Unnecessarily sentimental. But would he still look at me the same way once the match results came out?

“...Yeah.”

I went into the changing room, took off all my clothes, and put on the white testing suit.

Opening the door inside the dressing room led to a small chamber. In the center of the empty space stood a massive spherical test machine.

“If you’re ready, please step inside.”

A voice came through the intercom as the spherical device opened.

I took a deep breath, then walked in.

“We’re closing the door.”

“Okay.”

At my response, the door slowly creaked shut at a snail’s pace, like a turtle tucking into its shell.

I really hated these match rate tests. Every time, it felt like being locked in a sterile white solitary cell. Claustrophobic and suffocating.

“Please grasp the white handles on either side.”

I followed the researcher’s instructions. I’d done this more than a few times, so it was nothing new.

Soon, the machine started humming. Maybe to offset the noise, it played 8-bit chiptune music over the speakers.

As always, the retro game-style ding ding background music clashed horribly with the low mechanical drone of the machine. The worst possible pairing.

I always thought they’d be better off cutting the music altogether. But I’d never said it out loud.

What was Seunghyuk doing right now? The type of guy he was, he’d ❖ Nоvеl𝚒ght ❖ (Exclusive on Nоvеl𝚒ght) probably demand they turn off the damn music.

The match rate testing machine was made by Seonghan Group. When it came to mana measurement devices and Esper tech, Seonghan was number one worldwide.

Their products were used in ISAs, centers, even overseas.

So if Seunghyuk really insisted, they could probably change the settings. But maybe he liked this music...?

I listened carefully to the 8-bit melody again, wondering if it matched his taste.

Still hated it.

This was my second time doing a 1-on-1 match test with Joo Seunghyuk. We hadn’t done it once since middle school.

Normally, when two S-classes entered the academy, they were immediately tested against each other. But the school had made an exception for us.

Just a month ago, we barely even made eye contact. How did it come to this...?

Anyway, this would really be the last time I had anything to do with Joo Seunghyuk.

The test wasn’t even finished, but the outcome felt obvious. Even the guides with originally high compatibility scored under 3%. There was no way I’d be any different.

If the rejection symptoms continued, Seunghyuk wouldn’t be able to stay an Esper. He’d have to drop out of the Academy, too.

And if that happened, I wouldn’t have to face him anymore—regardless of the original plot.

I’d finally be free of the obsessive yandere seme.

It was a good thing. So why did it sit so heavily on my chest?

Some part of me felt like Seunghyuk ended up like this because of me.

If only there were some way to treat his rejection symptoms or find a compatible Guide...

Ding dong dang dong!

A cheerful chime signaled the end of the test. The door slowly opened.

“Thank you. The test is complete. Please exit the chamber.”

The technician’s voice was flat and expressionless. I couldn’t guess the result from his tone.

I stepped out of the capsule and changed back into my clothes.

By now, I figured everyone’s faces had gone pale with disappointment. I’d been their last hope, after all...

It wasn’t my fault the match rate was low. But the guilt of letting people down still weighed on me.

Sure enough, when I emerged, everyone looked completely stunned.

Just as I expected. I’d failed too—so now the entire Esper department must be in full meltdown mode.

S-classes were symbols of national power. The ISA, the Center, even Seonghan Group—they’d all be panicking.

And once the public heard the news, it would cause a stir. Losing an Esper who could clear high-level Gates was no small thing.

Breaking the silence, I asked the question.

“What’s the number?”

Better to rip the band-aid off. Standing around wouldn’t change the result anyway.

When I asked, the lab supervisor replied.

“Ninety-three percent.”

“...Sorry? Nine point three?”

I blinked in disbelief.

“No. Ninety-three percent. Ninety-three point eight seven two.”

Ninety-three... point eight seven two?

That was even higher than Kim Jun’s match rate in the original novel.

How the hell...? Seven years ago, our result had been identical to canon: 48%. And now it had jumped to this?

“I think there might be a mista—”

I was about to ask if there’d been an error, but the staff suddenly burst into cheers.

“Ninety-three! It’s ninety-three! If you round it up, it’s ninety-four!”

“Two S-classes with ninety-three?! This is unprecedented!”

“Ninety-one for an F-rank?! That’s unheard of!”

Their voices overlapped with the lines from the original story.

When Kim Jun and Joo Seunghyuk’s match rate was revealed, the staff had also shouted in awe and disbelief.

So why were they saying those lines to me now?

Something was wrong.

That’s when someone grabbed my hand.

A man whose hand I could now recognize by feel alone.

“Seunghyuk...”

He’d already changed and was standing beside me with a soft smile.

“Hyung, I knew it. We really are destined.”

Destiny my ass. Your fate isn’t with me—it’s with Kim Jun!

I honestly did want Seunghyuk to be okay. I wanted him to recover from his rejection symptoms and continue as an Esper.

But that didn’t mean I wanted to be the one tied to his fate.

‘And you—you didn’t even want me as your Guide! You hated it seven years ago!!!’

But bringing that up now would be like digging my own grave.

“Hyung, my hand hurts. Guide me.”

He lowered his gaze with a sorrowful expression. Like a tragic lead in some melodrama. But I could only stare in disbelief.

He was the one who hit the guy—what kind of shameless request was that?

“I haven’t received any guiding for two weeks. I feel so dizzy. Please, just do it.”

His lips curved into a cold smile. Unlike his drooping eyes, the relaxed smirk on his face sent a chill down my spine.

Could it be... is Joo Seunghyuk...