Hyun Tae-oh’s rage exploded. The Bureau Chief and Jeong Seong-gon were struck one after another, unable to do more than desperately defend themselves. No matter how hard they tried, there was simply no stopping him—blinded by fury, he saw nothing but his enemies.
He didn’t allow them a single breath. His abilities rained down in an unending storm, battering the two men with merciless precision.
Not a moment’s pause.
The Bureau Chief—an S-rank Esper known for both his power and his battlefield experience—and Jeong Seong-gon—another S-rank from the Central Bureau’s First Division—were formidable on their own. Yet even combining their strength, they couldn’t land the slightest hit on Tae-oh.
When enraged, Tae-oh’s strength was overwhelming. He wielded his powers without hesitation, without fear of Rampage, pouring everything out at full force.
The two could do nothing but raise their elemental defenses—water and fire—simply to survive. The thought of striking back never even entered their minds. The Bureau Chief threw up a towering water wall against Tae-oh’s shadow attacks, while beside him Jeong Seong-gon countered with a roaring pillar of fire.
Expressionless, Tae-oh lifted his left hand and summoned wind.
A vortex tore forward, slamming into the Bureau Chief’s water wall with such force it bent violently to the side. The deflected wall then swept into Jeong Seong-gon’s pillar of flame, smothering it completely.
With a single attribute, Tae-oh had dismantled two opposing ones. Clean. Efficient. Deadly.
Their defenses gone, the two were struck with a surge of electricity before shadows coiled around their throats, choking the air from them.
He had always sworn never to turn his abilities on humans, only on beasts. But to him, these insects who had endangered Kang Chi-yu were no better than monsters.
Still, the fact he didn’t combine electricity with water made it clear—he wasn’t trying to kill them. But he would crush them to the brink of death, until his fury was spent.
And so he did. He left them barely clinging to life, their bodies broken.
When they finally collapsed, Tae-oh turned cold eyes to his next target.
Sung Ji-yeol threw up his hands frantically, babbling that it was all a misunderstanding. Tae-oh ignored him. In an instant, shadows hurled Ji-yeol across the room. He slammed into the wall, crumpling to the ground unconscious.
Only after disposing of all three—the very ones who had dragged Kang Chi-yu into this—did Tae-oh finally turn to Chi-yu.
Chi-yu was still desperately trying to free Catdog from the Ridune. Tears streaked his face as he clawed and struck at the hardened shell, utterly lost in his panic.
Tae-oh gathered him gently into his arms and teleported straight to Myung Jun-su.
Inside the director’s office, Myung Jun-su was eating ramen when Tae-oh appeared out of nowhere. His face immediately twisted in irritation.
“You bastard—every damn time I start to forget your face, you just show up again—”
But before he could finish, his eyes landed on Kang Chi-yu, tear-streaked and shaking, clutching the Ridune-encased Catdog. In an instant he dropped his chopsticks and stood.
Without a word, he took Catdog from Chi-yu’s arms and rushed out of the office. And so, the experiment to save Catdog began.
When Tae-oh brought Chi-yu home afterward, Chi-yu was tormented with guilt, convinced Catdog had suffered because of him. He sobbed in Tae-oh’s arms for hours, his grief so deep it seemed it might crush him. Tae-oh held him silently, offering comfort through his presence alone.
If Lee Jun-hyung hadn’t sensed something wrong and contacted Tae-oh, who knew what horrors Chi-yu might have faced at the Bureau Chief’s hands. At first, Tae-oh had been ready to scold him for acting on his own again without a word. But with Catdog in such a state and Chi-yu falling apart, crying until he could barely breathe, Tae-oh found himself unable to even say It’s okay, let alone express his anger.
When Chi-yu’s sobs finally subsided, he whispered his explanation.
“I did suspect he might be hiding something. But… if he really meant to apologize, even for a moment, then for me it’s nothing—but for him, it could mean a lifetime of regret. That’s why I went.”
Tae-oh listened in silence, his expression steady.
“I know it was my fault. I regret it. My stupidity is what put Catdog in danger.”
“……”
“I’m sorry.”
His tears spilled again. I’m really sorry.
Tae-oh drew him close, tightening his embrace, and whispered instead, “No—I’m the one who’s sorry.”
Wiping away the tears streaming down Chi-yu’s cheeks, he continued, his voice low.
“I should’ve protected both you and Catdog. But I was careless. I came too late. I’m sorry.”
Fresh tears poured down Chi-yu’s face. It had clearly been his fault, yet Tae-oh was the one apologizing—insisting Chi-yu bore no blame at all.
Because of that, because of Tae-oh’s quiet tenderness, Chi-yu broke down and cried all over again.
It was a night that made him realize just how much of a crybaby he truly was.
***
It was sheer luck that Myung Jun-su had been the one treating the animals Tae-oh had rescued. Years earlier, while working on an owl whose mutant transformation had stalled, he had discovered the phenomenon of self-sealing.
Self-sealing was a defensive ability that sometimes developed when beast cells were forcibly injected into an animal—an instinctive measure to protect itself. And this was exactly what allowed Catdog to survive even while trapped in Ridune.
The principle was simple: the Ridune injected along with beast cells fused with the natural Ridune Catdog had carried since birth, halting beastification. But the ability only appeared in animals that lived in, or near, habitats where Ridune naturally formed. Not every lab animal had it.
Of the animals Tae-oh had rescued, only the owl, the dog, and Catdog possessed the ability. Catdog, in particular, had pushed itself to use self-sealing even while rampaging—driven purely by instinct to protect Chi-yu.
Explaining this, Myung Jun-su made it clear just how much Catdog loved Chi-yu. The revelation left Chi-yu torn—grieved, grateful, and heartbroken all at once.
“Can it survive?” Tae-oh asked bluntly.
Looking at him, Myung Jun-su replied,
“Count yourself lucky. If its beastification had fully progressed, I couldn’t have saved it.”
“Details.”
“Unlike the others, this one is… complete. That means it can survive indefinitely inside Ridune—because Ridune is practically life itself to a beast. But the safest way is for it to break free on its own, once it feels safe. Forcing it open could cause side effects I can’t predict.”
In other words, Catdog had to wake by itself.
Tae-oh and Chi-yu exchanged a glance.
“So, it can live like this?”
“Its heart is steady. Its chest is rising and falling. I promise you—it isn’t dying anytime soon.”
At those firm words, Tae-oh nodded.
“Then we wait until it wakes up on its own.”
Chi-yu nodded too, softly agreeing.
***
The Bureau Chief—beaten to within an inch of his life by Tae-oh—was sentenced to eighty years in prison alongside the lab director. In practice, it was a life sentence. The other executives were each given fifty to sixty years.
The head researcher who smuggled data had clearly planned to use it as leverage, just as a former director once had. But by the time Tae-oh uncovered the evidence in the Bureau Chief’s phone, the man had already paid a civilian Esper to teleport him overseas.
Tae-oh immediately alerted the World Peace Committee. With Espers from multiple countries, they began the manhunt.
No matter how carefully a civilian hid, there was no escaping Ability Users. Within four days, the researcher was caught. The USBs containing his data—eight in total—were destroyed one by one by Tae-oh himself before the man was handed over.
The World Peace Committee were guardians of order—but to those who sought to disrupt it, they were nightmares made flesh.
And so, the world found stability again. The guilty were punished. The newly appointed executives busied themselves with repairing the damage left behind. Chi-yu, Tae-oh, and the other Ability Users returned to their daily duties.
The only difference was the nature of the work. Instead of culling dozens of mutant beasts, they now focused on Ridune collection and maintaining habitat barriers. Because Ridune was humanity’s energy lifeline, they had to ensure its steady production even without new Gates.
Research also began into harvesting Ridune without killing beasts at all—a project led by Myung Jun-su and the RISG lab.
As for Tae-oh’s new medicine, it reached him safely. Although Jun-su had to alter the formula slightly—since the original contained compounds dangerous to someone who could wield all abilities—the final result was a drug both safe and necessary for Tae-oh.
For the first time, Kang Chi-yu felt true relief. Tae-oh would no longer have to suffer.
***
One evening, as Chi-yu was getting ready to leave work, Jeong Seong-gon and Sung Ji-yeol appeared. Still wrapped in bandages, both wore uneasy expressions.
“We came to apologize,” Jeong Seong-gon said, bowing deeply. “I’m sorry for burning down your house and tormenting you. I regret it sincerely.”
“I’m remorseful too. I shut down the Anti Club yesterday. I won’t ever create something like that again,” Sung Ji-yeol added, bowing as well.
Seong-gon’s words rang genuine. Ji-yeol’s were clearly reluctant. But Chi-yu decided to accept them anyway. Because he knew who was behind it—Hyun Tae-oh.
Tae-oh must have remembered Chi-yu’s tearful words when Catdog was in danger. That was why he’d tracked them down, told them to come and apologize directly.
Despite hating crowds, despite disliking conversation, Tae-oh had forced himself to do it—for Chi-yu’s sake.
How could he not feel loved?
Chi-yu’s heart swelled with certainty. He was loved—deeply, fiercely. He wanted nothing more than to hurry home and hold Tae-oh close.
To the two still bowing their heads, he said softly,
“I accept your apology.”
Leaving them behind, he stepped outside and quickly called Tae-oh.
– Yeah. Where are you?
“I’m heading home. Where are you?”
– At the lab. Almost finished.
“Good. Hurry back. I miss you.”
There was silence on the other end.
Just as Chi-yu was about to call his name, that low, velvety voice came through the receiver.
– I’ll be there soon.
Come to think of it, this was the first time he had ever said it: I miss you. Come quickly.
