When a person’s mind is subjected to repeated trauma, it eventually shatters.
Joo Cheong-gyeong knew all too well just how battered Cha Eun-soo had become. No matter how desperately he had tried to escape, he had ultimately been caught again and must have endured a hellish ordeal. Knowing Jang Hee-gang as he did, he was certain that Hee-gang wouldn’t have treated his own Guide with much kindness. His obsession with Cha Eun-soo must have taken on a violently twisted form.
After that, it seemed Eun-soo had spent some good time with Cha Eun-hyuk, as he had later clung to him so desperately—it was an ignorant and pitiful sight. And now, convinced he’d been abandoned, he looked more hopeless than ever.
Joo Cheong-gyeong looked down at Cha Eun-soo, who had collapsed in his arms, sobbing. He’d merely prepared a meal Eun-soo liked in hopes of stirring him a little, but to his surprise, the man had instantly grasped the gravity of his situation. Maybe he had always harbored both trust and suspicion toward Cha Eun-hyuk from the beginning.
Originally, Joo Cheong-gyeong had planned to slowly condition him through various means.
There was a strange, bittersweet feeling about it all. Disappointment, yes—but not entirely unpleasant.
He gently wiped the tears trailing down Eun-soo’s pale cheeks. The warmth of his skin and the dampness of his sorrow lingered on his fingers. Even distorted by anguish, that beautiful face was now steeped in the peculiar agony of someone who had fallen into ruin.
“Eun-soo.”
“…Because of me.”
Cha Eun-soo murmured in a hoarse voice. His vacant eyes were fixed on the void, as if his soul had drifted far away. From them, a relentless flood of despair and every other negative emotion poured forth and spiraled downward.
“Because I was irresponsible… That’s why…”
He clung to the belief that Cha Eun-hyuk wouldn’t have done all this without reason. Perhaps he still thought it was because Eun-hyuk hadn’t been able to forgive him for leaving so abruptly. He was trying to force himself—almost absurdly so—to understand, to make sense of it all.
As if blaming himself was the only way to stay sane.
…Thinking of Cha Eun-hyuk, who likely had predicted even this self-destructive defense mechanism, Joo Cheong-gyeong instinctively furrowed his brows.
He loathed greedy hypocrites more than anything.
“So what?”
He brushed the wet lashes of Cha Eun-soo with his thumb. Eun-soo closed his eyes, then opened them again. That hollow, vacant look wasn’t unfamiliar.
Even knowing the man’s psyche was on the verge of complete collapse, Joo Cheong-gyeong made no concessions. He desired Cha Eun-soo far too much to feel pity.
“Are you saying you’ve come to terms with your situation?”
“No matter what’s done to you?”
His voice was cold as ice.
Cha Eun-soo bowed his head deeply. A tear splashed onto his bare thigh.
“Lift your head.”
It wasn’t as if Joo Cheong-gyeong enjoyed seeing him like this. A sharp, uncomfortable pang stirred in his chest, and he knitted his brows together.
And soon after, Cha Eun-soo lifted his head weakly, locking eyes with him.
“Listen carefully.”
Joo Cheong-gyeong’s hand, oddly gentle yet tinged with irritation, wrapped around the nape of Cha Eun-soo’s neck.
“I’m going to lay down some rules. Very simple ones.”
“……”
“Never, not even slightly, resist.”
His voice, laced with an obsessive intensity, rang out like a chilling command.
“If you avoid eye contact or physical touch… you’ll pay the price immediately.”
“…!”
All color drained from Cha Eun-soo’s face as the memory of the punishment he’d suffered under Jang Hee-gang came rushing back.
In contrast, Joo Cheong-gyeong rubbed his chin, as if toying with a pleasant thought.
“That might not be so bad, actually. I do enjoy seeing our Eun-soo all prettied up.”
What the…
Could he mean crossdressing?
Cold sweat broke out along Cha Eun-soo’s back as the memory of being made to wear a dress resurfaced. Somehow, this time, the implication felt… like it wouldn’t stop at just a dress.
“Do you understand what I mean?”
Those red-tinged black eyes briefly flicked toward the bars.
“If you behave—if you’re a good boy—then you might even be rewarded instead.”
It was a veiled suggestion that he might be let out of the cage.
It wasn’t a complete lie. After all, once Joo Cheong-gyeong had his turn, Cha Eun-soo would be released from this place.
With a chilling gaze, Joo Cheong-gyeong’s lips curled into a faint smile.
***
Cha Eun-hyuk walked on with a scowl. His physical condition couldn’t have been better, but his mood had hit rock bottom.
Letting go of his sleeping brother with his own hands had been harder than he ever expected. No hardship he’d endured until now had hurt quite that much.
Maybe Jang Hee-gang had made the right call by staying away entirely.
“Know your limits.”
He couldn’t even remember what kind of expression Joo Cheong-gyeong had worn or what exact words he’d said to him while he struggled to suppress his murderous intent.
“This way, please.”
Clack. A staff member slid open the door to a private room.
Cha Eun-hyuk stepped inside, taking off his shoes before entering fully.
“President Cha Eun-hyuk?”
A man in a suit stood up to greet him. Thin build, sunken cheeks.
“Yes.”
“Pleasure to meet you. I’m Kim Min-seong, aide to Assemblyman Yoo Seok-heon.”
After exchanging a brief handshake, the two sat facing each other.
“I heard you were on leave. Apologies for reaching out so abruptly.”
“It’s fine. I was just about to return to work anyway.”
“So you have. Ah, I ordered the food in advance, but I’m not sure if it suits your taste.”
Cha Eun-hyuk cast a glance at the table neatly set with Korean cuisine.
“…Let’s save the meal for later. Please get straight to the point.”
His black eyes, now composed though still shadowed by displeasure, settled firmly on Kim Min-seong.
“You’ve been persistent in trying to contact me—this must be something important.”
Until now, not even the other S-ranks—let alone Cha Eun-hyuk—had ever shown up to a meeting like this. The only reason he’d responded this time, on a whim, was to get a feel for the situation.
The relationship between the government and the Esper Association was anything but smooth. Considering who two of the current Association Presidents were, that much was expected.
But more than that, there was a clearer reason.
The government sought to gain command authority over the Association. The Association rejected this outright.
That said, the government couldn’t afford to openly antagonize the Association or pull underhanded tricks. Espers, who fought monsters and protected humanity, represented a massive pillar of national power.
If the government attempted to tarnish the Association’s reputation to weaken its influence and seize control, it would only damage the country’s strength and image in turn.
Instead, the government had chosen two more subtle strategies. First, manipulating public perception through the media, pushing the narrative that the Association should be under government control. Second, quietly digging into the personal weaknesses of the Association Presidents.
In response, the Association had grown increasingly sophisticated in intelligence gathering and media management. So much so that the public sometimes described them as overly sensitive.
Cha Eun-hyuk, more than anyone, understood this dynamic. That’s why he was on high alert now, wary that the institution this man represented might have caught wind—however faint—of Cha Eun-soo’s existence. There was always a possibility. And it never hurt to be cautious.
Kim Min-seong was starting to wonder if he might choke on nothing at all. He’d thought that, thanks to years of experience in the political world, he could remain composed in any situation. But today had proven otherwise.
He couldn’t help thinking: maybe this is what it feels like to face a real monster.
The man before him didn’t seem human. That face, devoid of a single shred of emotion… It wasn’t merely cold—it was terrifying.
“First…”
Swallowing dryly, Kim Min-seong opened his mouth to speak.
“Thank you for coming out today. And I also ask your understanding regarding the Assemblyman’s absence. I’ve come in his place because he had to attend to an urgent matter regarding the expansion of a shelter…”
“The shelter?”
“Yes. There’s going to be an official announcement soon. I take it you haven’t heard anything about it from your family?”
He tried his luck with a subtle probe, asking what Cha Eun-hyuk had been doing during his time off—specifically, whether he had met with his family at all.
Since the government couldn’t precisely monitor the private homes of high-ranked Espers, all they knew was that both Jang Hee-gang and Cha Eun-hyuk had stayed at their respective residences for the duration of their leave.
Cha Eun-hyuk said nothing, simply staring at him in silence. But even that silence weighed heavily. The atmosphere thickened with tension.
Realizing he wouldn’t get a reply, Kim Min-seong quickly pivoted and continued, doing his best to maintain a natural tone.
“As the frequency of aerial raids increases, we’re faced with the need for all kinds of countermeasures. Public sentiment isn’t exactly favorable, either.”
“It’s the same for us regular civilians. We entrust our lives to remarkable Espers like yourself, President Cha. That’s precisely why the fear grows, and with it, a heightened interest in Espers.”
Here came the heart of the matter.
“Especially… and I say this with all due caution… but isn’t it common knowledge that none of the Association Presidents have Guides matched to their ranks?”
Kim Min-seong lowered his voice.
“You’re the ones who put in the most effort. And yet, you haven’t been receiving proper Guiding… A lot of people are genuinely concerned about your condition.”
Even Espers who received stable Guiding occasionally lost control when dealing with monsters, failing to regulate their abilities. The higher the rank, the greater the potential damage—on par with the monsters themselves, if not worse.
So then, what kind of catastrophe could result from a rampage by top-tier Espers with no compatible Guides…?
Based on past incidents, many feared that it was only a matter of time before such a disaster occurred again.
“What would you think about undergoing a resonance scan with our department?”
Kim Min-seong cautiously observed Cha Eun-hyuk’s expression as he made the suggestion.
“That way, we could share the results to reassure the public about your well-being and help stabilize the current climate of fear. After all, a formal government endorsement carries a certain weight of credibility.”
“……”
“Of course, we understand the results might not be optimal. But if we could just present the findings in a way that eases people’s anxiety…”
He framed it as a friendly request for cooperation—but the true goal was clear: to get definitive proof that even S-ranks could lose control at any time.
Cha Eun-hyuk saw through the ploy instantly.
His gaze chilled.
But the world he lived in now was no longer the one where he had to submit to mandatory tests as a public servant. No longer the world where he’d gone to great lengths to hide the improvements in his resonance thanks to Cha Eun-soo.
Now, he had the authority to reject offers like this outright.
“I refuse.”
“…Pardon?”
“Legally, ordering Esper resonance scans falls solely under the jurisdiction of the Association Presidents. Including ourselves.”
The same applied to viewing or storing test results.
Kim Min-seong quickly tried to backtrack.
“This isn’t an order, President Cha. I’m simply requesting—”
“It doesn’t come across as a request at all.” Cha Eun-hyuk cut in flatly.
“You said monster attacks are increasing. But do you really think what people are most concerned about right now is Espers going rogue?”
“……”
“If he’s so busy… then please tell him this: we have no interest in wasting time stirring up pointless power struggles.”
Without even lifting his chopsticks, Cha Eun-hyuk stood up and turned his back.
The conversation had been pathetic, but since none of the suspicions he’d been on guard for had surfaced, he didn’t feel like his time had been wasted.
He left the room without looking back.
