If it was truly a device capable of influencing Gates, then it could mean one of two things: either the ability to open and close Gates freely, or the power to control the rank of the Gates that appear. Or possibly… both.
That was the thought that had just struck Lee Tae-rim—and with it, a creeping suspicion. What if someone had already used that machine? It hadn’t just shown up anywhere—it was discovered here, in this country. And it wasn’t just coincidence that a Gate had opened here too. Not just anywhere, but in a place where Gates were never supposed to appear.
He didn’t know the exact reason, but the whole thing felt too connected to ignore. Lee Tae-rim didn’t believe the discovery of that device was random—and if that wasn’t coincidence, then this incident likely wasn’t either.
Tossing the machine their way had been a teaser. A taste. And now came the warning. This might very well be the opening shot—a signal that something bigger was about to begin. After all, there was no way it was pure chance that one Gate had opened, and that it had been calibrated so precisely to an A-rank—just barely over the line. Lee Tae-rim couldn’t help but think it was a perfectly staged opening move.
Besides, Molt had another reason to make a move: the agents they’d embedded in the Center during the spy incident had all been killed. Sure, the fault ultimately lay with Molt for planting them in the first place, but from their perspective, it was an unjust and bitter loss of comrades. They had every reason to be furious.
So Tae-rim thought, If they were finally ready to reveal the results of their experiments, they wouldn’t get a better opportunity than this. The spy incident had left the Center battered and unstable. If they were going to strike, now was the ideal moment.
The real question was how the government planned to handle this. The crisis had already begun. Even if they didn’t tell the public right away, the truth would come out sooner or later—because no one could predict Molt’s next move.
The existence of that machine was known only to a few at the top. Even the three people standing in front of Tae-rim right now probably had no idea that Molt was developing a device capable of manipulating Gates.
If word of that machine ever got out, the entire world would be thrown into despair. That’s how terrifying its implications were.
“Tae-rim, you look super serious.”
“Is our Tae-rim scared?”
“I mean, if monsters start raining from the sky, not being scared would be the weird part.”
“Scary, yeah. Monster rain…”
If things escalated to that point, it would basically mean dragging the entire world down with them. The thought was terrifying—proof that they were genuinely willing to consider annihilating humanity just to wipe out the Gates.
And if the theory about Gates being caused by alien invasions was actually true, this would be a straight-up suicide mission. If you’re going to die, just die alone. Why take everyone else with you?
One of the most infuriating kinds of people in life were the ones who refused to go down alone. The kind who made sure others suffered with them. Innocent people always ended up paying the price for those lunatics—and people like that were rarely ever sane to begin with.
Tae-rim wished things like this would at least wait to happen until after he was dead. But life, as always, never worked that way. So there’s really no escaping this? This damn possession cliché…
Every possessed protagonist just wants to live quietly, but the story never lets them. Every major event that’s supposed to blow up does—and always drags the poor bastard along with it. But even so, Tae-rim wasn’t exactly the main character here. He wasn’t at the center of the storm. He didn’t know anything, and he couldn’t do anything either.
If anyone was at the center of it all, it was probably Choi Jiwoon. Tae-rim didn’t know what Jiwoon was up to, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that he was involved somehow.
And then, a few days later—Choi Jiwoon appeared.
Looking like something you wouldn’t believe, even if you saw it with your own eyes.
***
Jung Jae-heon handed the report to Kwon Hae-beom, wearing an expression of deep discomfort. Kwon accepted it quietly and began reading.
Around noon today, Choi Jiwoon appeared. It looked like an Esper had transported him—he’d suddenly materialized right in front of the main gate without warning.
Jiwoon was wearing what looked like a flimsy white patient’s gown and was gaunt to the point of looking skeletal. The security guard stationed at the gate, seeing someone who was clearly in no condition to be wandering around, immediately contacted the medical ward. Jiwoon was taken there straight away. That’s when the real problems began.
Choi Jiwoon was not in a normal state. Though his eyes were open, they were vacant, unfocused. He didn’t respond to anyone who spoke to him. It was as if he were completely hollowed out, like his soul had been drained.
His arms were riddled with injection marks. A drug screening was done immediately, but no narcotics or illegal substances were detected. Instead, what they found was a body overwhelmed with countless unidentified drugs. There were so many substances mixed in his system that it was impossible to determine what, exactly, had been done to him. But one thing was certain: Choi Jiwoon had been subjected to some kind of experimentation.
The proof was burned into his skin. On the back of his neck was a barcode—the same kind that had been found on the Espers captured during Jiwoon’s second abduction. The numbers were different, but it was in the exact same spot. The meaning was obvious.
Even more alarming was Jiwoon’s reaction to Espers. Possibly a result of the experiments, he began screaming in agony whenever one got too close. He would curl up on himself, sobbing in pain. To someone like Kwon Hae-beom, being near him was like poison. Because of that, Kwon hadn’t even been able to look him in the face.
The diagnosis was grim. Jiwoon had almost completely lost his ability as a Guide, and he’d become hyper-sensitive to Esper wavelengths. His Guide classification had dropped to C-rank.
According to Dr. Oh, Jiwoon experienced excruciating, body-tearing pain whenever an Esper approached him. The higher the Esper’s rank, the worse the pain. In this condition, trying to perform Guiding would be suicide. In other words, Choi Jiwoon could no longer live as a Guide.
Dr. Oh had urged them to remove Jiwoon from the Center as soon as possible. A public hospital, far from the dense concentration of Espers, would be a far better place for him.
Then, the doctor had added something else—he wasn’t sure how much time Jiwoon had left. The man who returned… was terminal.
But even that wasn’t the biggest issue.
The real bombshell was the paperwork that came with him. Inside was Choi Jiwoon’s true profile—proof that he had, in fact, been a spy for Molt.
And it didn’t stop there. Enclosed with it was a research log detailing experiments conducted to “match” Jiwoon with a specific Esper. Most of the key information had been redacted, but the implications were impossible to miss.
A Manufactured Guide. The idea that a Matching Rate could be engineered.
Jung Jae-heon felt a chill crawl down his spine. His hands went cold when he saw that even the drugs Jiwoon had taken to continue Guiding Kwon Hae-beom were logged in the report.
Kwon read through the documents silently, his face completely unreadable. Jung had no idea what he was thinking—but thankfully, there was no sign of an impending Rampage. The higher-ups had initially wanted to keep this hidden from Kwon, but Jung had fought to convince them otherwise.
After all, this was the man Kwon had gone half-mad searching for. He deserved to know the truth. Just in case, Seon Juho and Lee Tae-rim were on standby in the next room.
“How long… does Jiwoon have left?” Kwon finally asked, after reading every word as if he were carving it into memory.
Jung shook his head.
“They don’t know.”
“……”
Silence. Kwon’s face remained blank. His voice had been calm, almost disturbingly so. Judging from his tone, he didn’t seem to feel anger or betrayal. And he had every right to—but he didn’t.
“Please transfer Jiwoon to the best hospital available. I’ll cover all the costs.”
“Alright.”
“If… there’s a chance he can be treated… Hah…”
“Do you want him to be treated?”
“…No.”
In this situation—now that the truth was out—what would happen if Jiwoon actually recovered? Maybe it was better not to know. Still, there was probably a part of Kwon that wanted him to live, even now. He rubbed his face with both hands and let out a long, weary breath.
“Can I… see him from afar?”
“Yes.”
That kind of love… it was staggering. Whether Jiwoon’s feelings had ever been genuine was something only he could answer. Jung Jae-heon didn’t think he could’ve stayed that calm. Maybe he would’ve gone into Rampage. Seeing someone you loved return in that condition—and knowing they’d lied to you the entire time—how could anyone forgive that? Jung sighed quietly.
“I’ll continue the investigation.”
“Alright.”
Kwon stood and walked out of the office.
The higher-ups believed this whole situation was a calculated act of revenge. Sending Jiwoon back with those documents had clearly been deliberate. It was petty, but it would have undoubtedly struck a painful blow to Kwon Hae-beom.
Jung sent a message to Seon Juho and Lee Tae-rim, letting them know it was safe to stand down. The fact that Kwon hadn’t gone into Rampage was a huge relief.
Still, when Jung thought about Jiwoon, he couldn’t shake the chill that ran through him. A Manufactured Guide. The idea provoked a deep, instinctive discomfort. No matter how important Matching Rate was, Jung would never go that far just to find a compatible Guide.
Jiwoon, as a test subject, probably hadn’t had a choice. That was tragic in its own way. But even so, the unease wouldn’t go away. A Guide created through inhuman experimentation, pushed repeatedly to the brink of death—that couldn’t have been what Kwon Hae-beom wanted, either.
Jung let out one more sigh, then stood up from his seat.
It was time to file the report.
