A Thrilling Guide Life Chapter 1

8 years ago.

 

“Stop… please… Aaaaaah!”

 

Ivan woke up drenched in cold sweat.

 

Nightmares of the past often came to torment him, but it had been a long time since he last had a dream where he relived the pain so vividly—back in his seven-year-old body, feeling everything exactly as it had happened.

 

Even though his body was now that of a twenty-year-old adult, the fact that his subconscious was still chained to his childhood felt horrifying and gave him chills.

 

Even though he had clearly just woken up from sleep, his body felt leaden and his mind foggy, as if he had been completely drained.

 

Forcing his heavy, sinking body upright, Ivan barely managed to stumble to the bathroom. 

 

But in the end, his vision spun, his balance gave out, and he slipped.

 

He instinctively grabbed the sink with both hands just in time —otherwise, he would have collapsed most pathetically and possibly cracked the back of his head open.

 

The sheer terror of almost falling snapped his dazed mind back to clarity in an instant.

 

“Get it together, Ivan Freud. Stop acting like a damn idiot. You don’t have time to fall apart like this.”

 

Even though he had only just become an adult, he was already the representative, the acting head of a corporation.

 

No matter how crushing or exhausting it felt, that reality wasn’t going to change.

 

He had to establish himself properly as soon as possible. 

 

Only then would the sneering remarks — “Morivel isn’t what it used to be now that he’s in charge” — finally stop.

 

Whether simply growing older would eventually earn him recognition as a true representative of Morivel, or whether there was some fixed standard of ability he had to reach regardless of age… he honestly couldn’t tell anymore.

 

Ivan slapped both cheeks hard, loud enough to make a sharp clap-clap sound, and only then was he finally able to wash his face properly.

 

But misfortune didn’t end there.

 

After finishing getting ready for work and pressing the button for the private elevator connected to his office, the doors opened… and then stopped halfway.

 

Between the narrowly parted elevator doors — barely wide enough for a face to fit through — dangled several thick, tangled cables hanging in empty air.

 

If he had stepped forward out of habit the moment the doors “opened,” he would have plummeted straight down.

 

By the time he reached his office using the stairs, the new pair of gloves he pulled out of the drawer tore more easily than disposable plastic gloves.

 

Simon, who had just entered the office to give the morning report, witnessed the scene and hurriedly approached.

 

Among the fabrics used for espers’ combat uniforms, these gloves were made from the absolute highest-grade material, carefully selected and crafted.

 

Several pairs might be discarded in a single day, but that didn’t mean they were supposed to tear this easily. 

 

Simon immediately spoke up.

 

“We’ll switch suppliers. It seems after dealing with us for so long, they’ve forgotten who Morivel actually is.”

 

“Just leave it.”

 

“But…”

 

“It’s just a defect. It doesn’t happen often.”

 

Exhaustion was visibly layered across Ivan’s face, his irritation plain to see.

 

His fine golden hair was perfectly styled—not a single strand out of place. Shirt, tie, vest, jacket, wrinkle-free slacks, and mirror-shine shoes, nothing was even slightly disheveled, exactly as always.

 

The right eye, vivid blue, remained clear and sharp. 

 

Yet the left eye—the crimson one—seemed somehow darker, more shadowed than usual.

 

The overwhelming presence that came from his tall, perfectly proportioned frame was unchanged, but now 

 

Simon could clearly see how much weight Ivan had lost.

 

He was certain it wasn’t just his imagination. Ever since taking over as representative, Ivan had been pushing himself through relentless workloads, bordering on overwork, while suffering from severe insomnia.

 

Last night must have been especially brutal.

 

Still, Simon couldn’t afford to show clumsy concern.

 

To Simon—even if there were rare exceptions—Ivan was someone who fundamentally hated showing any cracks or vulnerability to others.

 

“Simon, the report.”

 

“Ah, yes. The items that require your immediate attention are…”

 

Another day began, just as relentlessly busy as every other.

 

In addition to the documents Simon personally handed over, simpler ones that only needed a quick check were sent directly through the system. 

 

In the bottom-right corner of the PC screen, an alarm window kept flashing insistently, urging him to review the 32 pre-submitted files as soon as possible.

 

Even as Ivan swiftly moved between paper and screen, his gaze kept faltering—stopping repeatedly.

 

Every company document bore the same deep crimson Morivel logo stamped at the bottom, and today, for some reason, that logo felt unbearably vivid and intrusive.

 

Ivan still couldn’t free himself from the oppressive weight of that logo.

 

Even though his parents no longer showed the slightest interest in him, he sometimes felt the delusion that every single one of his actions was being watched—almost as if invisible hands were tightening around his throat.

 

Nikolai Freud and Ashlyn Freud, the former co-representatives of the Guiding House corporation ‘Morivel’, had—almost as if they’d been waiting for the moment—handed over their positions and declared retirement the instant Ivan legally became an adult.

 

To their twenty-year-old second son.

 

Of course, Ivan had already been receiving management training since around age fifteen, when he gave up on ever curing his own condition.

 

He knew full well that he was the only one left who could inherit Morivel in place of his S-class esper older brother.

 

If his parents—who at least still had a scrap of conscience—hadn’t left behind a capable secretary like Simon, Ivan would probably have already washed his hands of Morivel long ago and shut himself away like a hermit in some place no one could find.

 

Wouldn’t that have been better?

 

Even as meaningless thoughts like that drifted through his mind, Simon’s report continued without pause.

 

“The repair work on the Guiding Room at Branch 4, Sector 2 is proceeding as scheduled…”

 

“The updated blacklist of espers added to Branch 3, Sector 1…”

 

“A request for a meeting regarding transfer has been submitted by Guide Miyuki of the ‘Candy’ guild…”

 

There were many competent secretaries and staff members, but Simon was the one who collated everything that came up from them and presented it to Ivan all at once.

 

It was because of Ivan’s extreme aversion to contact with other people.

 

Unless it was a necessary meeting in political or business circles, or a session with government officials, Simon would attend in Ivan’s place.

 

“Next one.”

 

Ivan’s eyes felt like they were about to be ripped out from how rapidly he was reading and processing the reports Simon handed him.

 

Simply reading them didn’t solve anything.

 

For every item, he had to make a judgment, propose a solution, and issue instructions to carry it out.

 

And at the same time, follow-up reports on the previous decisions he’d already made were pouring in, turning his head into complete chaos.

 

The official end of the workday had long passed, yet the pile of tasks still towered over him.

 

“Representative. Please take a moment to rest. Would you like some tea?”

 

Ivan, who had been hunched over frantically reviewing approval documents, barely lifted his eyes at Simon’s words and rolled his stiff neck from side to side.

 

“Yeah. Please do.”

 

“It’s late, so I’ll prepare warm chamomile instead of coffee. You’re not hungry, are you?”

 

“It’s fine. Tea is enough.”

 

His appetite had vanished long ago.

 

Forcing himself to chew and swallow the food Simon thoughtfully prepared at the right times—just because he knew he had to eat to keep going—had become its own kind of ordeal.

 

The moment Simon left the office, Ivan habitually pulled out a disinfectant wipe and meticulously cleaned every surface on and around the desk that could be wiped down.

 

Even the pen he’d used to sign with, and the gloved hand holding it.

 

Only then did he move to the sofa, sink into it as if collapsing, and tip his head back.

 

“Phew…”

 

A long sigh escaped—and suddenly, in the midst of it, Sergei’s face flashed like an afterimage.

 

Sergei had awakened as an S-class esper and become an outstanding Resonator, contributing greatly to society.

 

Ivan had been proud of that brother.

 

The younger brother of Sergei Freud—the brilliant S-class esper, the designated successor to the major corporation Morivel.

 

Behind that impressive public title, however, always trailed the labels, useless esper, defective product, substandard Resonator, flawed human being.

 

A Resonator who could not live as one.

 

An esper who must never receive Guiding.

 

If he had simply been born an ordinary human—or even just an average-grade esper—he would never have had to hear those words.

 

Why did he have to awaken as an S-class esper like his brother, only to be forced to feel this kind of humiliation?

 

It was shameful. Humiliating.

 

Just like the one eye that had turned vivid red after the awakening pain, everything about him felt disgraceful.

 

There had even been a time when he seriously considered whether it would be better to just gouge out that glaring red eye, convinced it was proof of his defect.

 

The rage he could not unleash upon the world festered and festered until it turned inward, quietly devouring him instead.

 

But the one who had pulled Ivan out of that swamp of despair was neither his parents nor his brother.

 

It was Gloria—his brother’s Imprinted Guide.

 

“Ivan. You can’t completely forget the past, but don’t keep chewing over that pain. Live for the happiness of today, right now, in this moment. Give it your all. Then one day, out of nowhere, you’ll realize, ‘Huh? It doesn’t hurt anymore.’”

 

He had believed those words and tried his best not to dwell on a past filled only with suffering.

 

Yet even Gloria hadn’t stayed by Ivan’s side for long.

 

She had been caught in a sudden gate and lost her life.

 

And on that day, Ivan lost his brother as well.

 

Sergei, who had been fighting in a different gate and could do nothing, only learned of Gloria’s death belatedly—and then let everything go.

 

His parents. His little brother. His duties as an esper.

 

It had happened when Ivan was seventeen.

 

The search parties mobilized to trace Sergei’s whereabouts, but eventually lost momentum too.

 

The one who had desperately wanted his brother to stay by his side had been Ivan alone, after all.

 

So all he had to do was give up by himself.

 

After that, he had deliberately avoided thinking about Sergei—so why had his brother suddenly come to mind now?

 

“Haa. Damn it.”

 

He must be so exhausted that the mental reins he’d been clinging to were going slack. 

 

He couldn’t afford to let his guard down.

 

Soon Simon returned, carrying a cup of fragrant tea, and sat across from him, looking at Ivan with evident concern.

 

“You seem very fatigued. Shall we call it a day?”

 

“No, Simon. There’s so much work piling up. I’m just… not focused today.”

 

“I won’t disturb you while you slowly drink your tea. I do have that much flexibility, you know.”

 

Simon had joined Morivel’s secretarial office straight out of university and risen rapidly through sheer outstanding ability.

 

Even to Ivan—whose company management was still far from perfect—he was always impeccably polite and professional as a secretary.

 

That didn’t mean Simon was coldly businesslike.

 

Though his speech could sometimes feel a little stiff, it was impossible not to sense the underlying warmth and kindness in him.

 

This was something only Ivan himself knew, but among the countless deficiencies he carried, the deepest wound was affection deprivation.

 

That was why—even with Simon’s restrained, polished kindness—there were moments when Ivan wanted to let go completely and lean on him, losing himself for just a second.

 

“Then I’ll rest for a bit. Just thirty minutes.”

 

“I’ll give you an hour. Rest comfortably.”

 

With a faint smile, Simon picked up the empty tray and quietly left the office.

 

Ivan slowly scanned the office with dry eyes.

 

Not a single trace of his parents remained here anymore.

 

Even under the bright, glaring lights, not a speck of floating dust was visible.

 

His fear of contact with others extended to the invisible droplets and bodily fluids that strangers exhaled—sweat, breath, anything.

 

Whenever he had a spare moment, he changed gloves, washed his hands; when he had more time, he showered and changed clothes.

 

The moment he came back to his senses, he was already wiping down his surroundings with disinfectant wipes. He was so tired of the person he had become.

 

Sometimes it even made him depressed.

 

But what could he do?

 

This was the only way he could find even a sliver of peace.

 

“Whew…”

 

Letting out a small sigh, Ivan took a couple of sips of the tea that had cooled to just the right temperature, then leaned back fully into the sofa and closed his eyes.

 

If he could just close his eyes for a little while, his foggy mind would clear up somewhat…

 

Bang—!

 

The door to the office burst open with such force that Simon— who had promised him a full hour of rest—rushed in, his face drained of color.

 

“Representative!”

 

Ivan clutched his throbbing forehead at the words that followed.

 

So that was it.

 

No wonder the day had felt cursed from the very beginning.

 

His brother—Sergei—was dead.