The investigation into the two of them had already been completed.
But the only point of contact between them had been that brief encounter in the underground vault.
Whatever Yeon Yu-jin said to him back then, Hyun Je-ha would’ve been hostile toward him, wouldn’t he?
There had been absolutely no connection with Ahn Ga-hyun, his late partner, either.
Even while Lee Ha-ram was assigned to monitor Yeon Yu-jin, Hyun Je-ha hadn’t once shown up in front of him.
So Shin Yoon-hee had assumed Hyun Je-ha had completely lost interest in Yeon Yu-jin.
But now, Hyun Je-ha had personally stepped in to take care of Yeon Yu-jin—the one who had just stopped a dungeon break.
Does this even make sense?
The same Hyun Je-ha who hadn’t spared a glance at another Guide in twenty years—who’d lived with something more than friendship for his former partner—was now taking interest in a Guide?
A greenhorn Guide, practically young enough to be his son?
“Has Hyun Je-ha gone mad from being alone too long…?”
Shin Yoon-hee muttered in disbelief, and beside her, Park Ha-na—now fully recovered—whispered softly.
“But, Director…”
“…What?”
“That D-rank Guide… there’s something off about him. Not only did he respond as quickly as a field agent Guide like you said, but he also seemed incredibly knowledgeable about monsters and dungeon breaks.”
“…That kid? Practically a civilian-level newbie?”
“Yes. And… his guiding efficiency was bizarrely high. Sure, the ones who actually suppressed the dungeon break were the four Espers, but I doubt they could’ve managed it without that Guide injecting guiding support.”
“Hm… That’s really odd. Keep going.”
Normally, in an Esper–Guide team, the Esper gives the orders, and the Guide serves a support role.
But according to Park Ha-na, Yeon Yu-jin was nothing like a typical Guide.
“He calculated everything himself and gave the Espers direct orders. That team’s commander wasn’t one of the Espers—it was Yeon Yu-jin. The Espers were basically just chess pieces moving at his command.”
At Park Ha-na’s words, three syllables flashed through Shin Yoon-hee’s mind.
Ahn Ga-hyun.
The late Ahn Ga-hyun—still the one and only SSS-rank Guide, past or present.
Back in the chaotic early days before a formal system existed, it had been him—a Guide who acted as teacher, support, and commander to confused rookie Espers.
Nowadays, with centers offering proper education, the hierarchy between Espers and Guides had solidified.
But for an untrained Guide to be operating in a manner so reminiscent of Ahn Ga-hyun—it couldn’t just be ignored.
“…Could Ahn Ga-hyun still be alive?”
“What?”
“No… no, that can’t be right.”
Ahn Ga-hyun was dead.
If he weren’t, Hyun Je-ha wouldn’t have spent the past twenty years with bloodshot eyes, pouring his life into avenging his beloved partner.
Still… something’s fishy. That Guide is clearly hiding something…
But Shin Yoon-hee couldn’t for the life of her figure out what it was.
Should I call Ha-ram?
She reached for her phone, hoping that guy might know something more.
Rrringgg—
“Huh?”
“Hmm?”
The two women frowned as the ringtone came from nearby.
“…Isn’t that Ha-ram’s ringtone?”
“Sounds like it…?”
Step. Step. Someone was walking toward them. Both Shin Yoon-hee and Park Ha-na immediately drew their weapons and braced for combat.
From the darkness of the park, a figure emerged into the light…
“Huh? Sunbae? Director?”
“…What?”
“Why the hell are you here…?”
Amazingly, it was Lee Ha-ram.
Cool as ever, he was dressed in his formal work suit—as if it were perfectly normal to stroll into a park at this hour.
The exact park where the dungeon break had just occurred.
Shin Yoon-hee, baffled, fired off a question.
“I haven’t ordered you to stop monitoring Yeon Yu-jin yet. So what the hell are you doing here?”
“Yeah, Lee Ha-ram. Did someone upstairs order this? What are the odds we’d run into you right now?”
Bombarded with questions from the two puzzled women, Lee Ha-ram’s eyes began to dart around rapidly.
“W-Wait a minute. One at a time, please…”
“Let’s start with the urgent one. Why are you here? And how the hell did you manage to run into us with this perfect timing?”
Faced with Shin Yoon-hee’s sharp question, Lee Ha-ram just gave her a dopey look.
“Uh… now that you mention it, why am I here…?”
Like a lost child, his eyes trembled helplessly.
“I don’t know… I don’t really remember.”
“…Lee Ha-ram. Do you at least remember being assigned to closely monitor a D-rank Guide named Yeon Yu-jin by my orders?”
“Not at all. I just woke up with this overwhelming urge to come to the park, so… here I am.”
“Shit. That bastard Je-ha did this.”
There was no doubt in her mind—Hyun Je-ha had used his ability, Memory Erasure, to tamper with Lee Ha-ram’s mind.
Why? Could it be… he found out Ha-ram was monitoring Yeon Yu-jin?
Hyun Je-ha was a veteran Esper with exceptional perception—if anyone could instantly sense surveillance, it was him.
But the real problem was this: Why was he taking an interest in Yeon Yu-jin to begin with?
Don’t tell me he fell in love at first sight?
No. That didn’t fit Hyun Je-ha at all—the man who still mourned Ahn Ga-hyun and waged war against the rebels in his memory.
So then why? For what reason?
The mystery was enough to make Shin Yoon-hee feel like her head would explode.
“Uuughhh…”
“Director… are you okay?”
“No. Not at all. Anyway, Chief Park. Based on what we’ve seen, we can’t keep using Lee Ha-ram for surveillance. If something happens again, it’s too risky.”
Despite being visibly dazed, Lee Ha-ram lit up at the news.
“So… does that mean I can go home now?”
“Yeah. Good work.”
“Hell yeah!”
As he skipped off cheerfully toward home, Shin Yoon-hee murmured, watching his retreating back:
“That Guide, Yeon Yu-jin… he’s way too suspicious. But now that the dungeon break has made him a public figure, it’s tricky to touch him.”
“What should we do?”
“Hmm… Still, if Hyun Je-ha’s got his eyes on him, and his skills seem to have improved beyond D-rank, we could issue a directive for a re-evaluation.”
“So if his new evaluation turns out higher…”
“We’ll try to lure him—tell him being a Hunter beats being a failed idol any day.”
And while we’re at it, we’ll set a trap using Yeon Yu-jin as bait to reel in Hyun Je-ha.
“He doesn’t get along with his members, he doesn’t seem to be adjusting to the industry… this might actually work.”
Shin Yoon-hee hoped her plan would hit the mark.
As she whistled, Park Ha-na stared at the sealed dungeon gate and asked:
“By the way, why did the monsters burst out of that gate like an explosion? Hunter Jin Eutteum isn’t just famous—he’s a competent Esper. That dungeon’s rank shouldn’t have been any threat to him.”
“Beats me… It really didn’t feel like a rebel attack. No clear explanation yet. The investigation team says either the dungeon underwent a spontaneous shift, or…”
“Or?”
“Someone figured out how to forcibly trigger a dungeon to go berserk.”
It sounded absurd, but…
They chalked it up to nonsense and went on their way.
But a few minutes later, someone approached the sealed dungeon gate.
As he whispered something under his breath, a small round object rolled out from the keyhole in the gate—
A vivid red orb, like a perfectly ripe cherry.
He stuffed it into his pocket and vanished without a trace.
***
After the dungeon break incident, Yeon Yu-jin’s agency suddenly found itself very busy.
More specifically, the schedule that had once been depressingly empty was now overflowing for the members of Secreti.
Inside the shared dorm, the cheerful voice of Manager Kim Hyun-soo rang out.
“Okay, next up is K-101! It’s a special called ‘Ability Users Who Became Heroes by Accident,’ so don’t forget to dramatize the hell out of what happened, got it?”
Manager Hyun-soo was fired up. He’d even lost a little weight with all the incoming schedules. Despite the heavy dark circles under his eyes, his gaze was blazing.
Dragged onto every talk show under the theme “Heroes Who Stopped the Dungeon Break,” the Secreti members were now nothing but human jerky.
“Ugh… Hyung, how many times are we gonna milk this?”
Seo Yoon-chae made gagging motions.
“We’re not soup bones, you know. Even beef bones don’t get boiled this long!”
Shin Tae-boem let out a shriek.
“Same story, different program—it’s like copy-pasting. Aren’t the viewers getting bored by now?”
Even Cha Si-yoon, who rarely spoke at all, voiced his complaint.
