Cha Min-hyung’s expression shifted drastically. His face, paler and more rigid than ever, looked carved from stone, and his eyes, sharp and widened, brimmed with a faint trace of murderous intent.
In stark contrast, Seo Won remained effortlessly composed—like a man waving a winning hand with smug confidence.
“You really thought I wouldn’t know?”
There was unwavering certainty in Seo Won’s voice. He wasn’t fishing for possibilities. This wasn’t a guess—it was conviction.
“Back on the day we first met, you said it yourself. That everyone except you escaped from the First Ability Analysis Research Facility. That all the researchers, wracked with guilt, destroyed the research data and chose to commit suicide.”
Min-hyung didn’t answer. He just stared straight at him, eyes boring into his.
“But based on what I’ve looked into, you later took part in the research at the Second and Third Facilities as an ‘official S-rank Base guide’ under the Esper Association. That is, until both of them conveniently fell victim to terrorist attacks due to some so-called ‘coincidental’ security lapses.”
“…Who did you hear that from?”
Only a handful of people—including senior executives of the Association—had access to information about all four facilities. And even fewer knew the detailed circumstances behind them.
“You haven’t forgotten who I’m doing business with, have you?”
Upon hearing Seo Won’s reply, Min-hyung let out a breath that had been stuck in his chest, almost like a sigh of resignation.
“I see. I thought you’d at least keep your mouth shut—for your own sake…”
His voice was weary, but beneath the exhaustion lay a seething anger and a dangerous edge. Not aimed at Seo Won—but at the man they were both entangled with.
The reason Seo Won had become so deeply enmeshed with the Association was because of that man: Kim Cheol-min, the former director of the First Ability Analysis Research Facility and now Vice President of the Esper Association.
Seo Won may have received his compensation first, but what he was yet to receive was even more substantial. Monumental, even. That meant the Vice President had every reason to support Seo Won’s demands to the fullest. If Seo Won wanted information, he’d get every last detail.
Recalling the Vice President, Min-hyung turned to Cha Han-gyeom with a troubled look.
As expected, Han-gyeom looked utterly stunned by what he’d just heard. His wide-open eyes were fixed on him, full of questions.
Now there was yet another story Min-hyung would have to tell him.
He had thought it might be better to keep it buried, to leave it unsaid.
But while Min-hyung’s gaze lingered on Han-gyeom, Seo Won showed no signs of slowing down.
“During that terrorist attack, every single researcher present at the facility was killed—without exception. And aside from a few test subjects, most managed to escape.”
Seo Won’s narrowed eyes grew sharper, slicing through the room like blades.
“But what’s curious is that, once again, just before the researchers were murdered, they conveniently destroyed all the research data. And guess who the sole witness to that was, both times? You, Cha Min-hyung.”
Cornered, Min-hyung didn’t refute Seo Won’s words. He simply wore a look of resignation.
Other than Cha Min-hyung himself, the person who knew the most about the research facilities was none other than the Vice President. As expected, it seemed he had shared an astonishing amount of information—at least with Seo Won, who was deeply embedded in his network.
Min-hyung let out a dry chuckle as he thought of the Vice President, a man he had long despised.
“You suspect him too?”
“There’s suspicion, but no solid proof. His motive isn’t clear, and frankly, at this point, your position has become too influential to dig all this up again.”
Seo Won recalled the Vice President’s insincere, ever-smiling eyes and those kindly-curved lips that feigned warmth.
“If the suspicion is true, that man would probably think this all worked out for the best. After all, you neatly buried the Esper Association’s dirty laundry for him.”
The specific details of the research conducted at the facility, the names of the test subjects, their ability shifts and analysis records. All of it was gone.
If terrorists were behind it, they would have weaponized that research data to publicly condemn the Association. But if someone like Cha Min-hyung, a high-ranking insider, had quietly hidden the information himself, then it was obvious he’d keep it buried for good—for his own sake. Because once exposed, he wouldn’t just lose everything; he’d be dragged down into the abyss right alongside it.
“The Fourth Ability Analysis Research Facility may not have been struck by terrorists, but all of the researchers died, and every bit of research data was lost without needing to be destroyed. Doesn’t that sound far too similar to what happened at the other facilities?”
“Wait! No, that one… that wasn’t… it wasn’t something anyone could have planned.”
Han-gyeom spoke up even before Min-hyung could, shaking his head vehemently at Seo Won’s words.
The rampage of Song Yeon-woo couldn’t have been orchestrated. The only one who could read the emotional shift that day was Cha Han-gyeom, his Imprinter. On top of that, the outburst would’ve been impossible without Han-gyeom’s ability at the time—and it was ultimately his decision to allow it.
To anyone, it was clear: Song Yeon-woo’s rampage had not been premeditated.
Even Seo Won agreed with that part.
“You’re right. The Cha Min-hyung I know wouldn’t go so far as to manipulate someone else’s breakdown just to set his plans in motion.”
Though relieved by Seo Won’s words, Han-gyeom couldn’t hide the pain on his face.
Yes, it was comforting to know that Song Yeon-woo’s rampage hadn’t been orchestrated for anyone else’s gain.
But looked at another way, it only confirmed that Yeon-woo’s rampage was the only choice he had left when cornered. That truth drove the pain deeper into Han-gyeom’s chest, making it hard to breathe.
Seo Won stared at Han-gyeom’s face, fragile and on the verge of crumbling like back then, then reached out to cradle his head in his hands. As Han-gyeom leaned into his shoulder, Seo Won gently stroked his hair, a quiet concern in his touch.
“If it’s too much, you don’t have to listen.”
In truth, the reason for bringing Han-gyeom face-to-face with Cha Min-hyung had already been fulfilled.
Cha Min-hyung was a man surrounded by secrets—secrets about himself, yes, but more importantly, secrets he held about others. While he seemed relatively cooperative and amicable, he never revealed everything he knew.
But whenever Cha Min-hyung showed emotion, whenever he stepped forward willingly— It was always when Cha Han-gyeom was involved.
At first, Seo Won had thought it was because matters concerning him, with his deep ties to the Association, provoked Min-hyung’s reaction.
But now that he looked back on it, it was the opposite.
It was because Cha Han-gyeom was there, by his side, that Min-hyung chose to extend his hand.
‘That damned sense of kinship.’
Seo Won was once again struck by just how deeply that sense of kinship was rooted in Cha Min-hyung—and in the other Ability Users who had come from the research facility.
Because of that, in order to use Cha Min-hyung effectively, Seo Won had first used Cha Han-gyeom. And now, with the emotional wall beginning to crumble, Min-hyung’s hidden feelings were starting to spill out unfiltered. That alone was more than enough.
Yet for some reason, the word “use,” which had always been so natural and obvious to him, carried a strange sense of guilt this time. And of course, that guilt was directed at Cha Han-gyeom.
‘Why…?’
Seo Won suddenly thought of his grandfather—the man who had taught him the word “use” from the moment they met.
“Listen closely, Won-ah.”
“In this world, there are only two kinds of people: those you can use, and those you can’t.”
“That goes for Espers and Guides too.”
“Your mother was abandoned by a mere Guide because she lost her value.”
“So you must always be of value.”
“And you too—if necessary, use anyone, no matter who they are.”
Those words had been forced into him when he was still a child, dragged to a foreign land with no one he could turn to. Everything that followed—his brutal education—was nothing more than a process of shaping him to fit that single word: use. And he had lived his life believing it was the natural order of things.
But now, for the first time, that word grated against him.
This unfamiliar discomfort was so strange to him that he was about to send Han-gyeom away—just in case the memories of the past brought him pain.
But Han-gyeom shook his head.
“…No. I want to hear it.”
Pulling away from Seo Won’s arms, Han-gyeom met his gaze with resolute eyes.
“You’re saying Cha Min-hyung must’ve hidden the data right after the rampage at the Fourth Ability Analysis Research Facility? Just like the other facilities?”
“That’s right.”
Despite the storm of emotions swirling inside him, Seo Won reached out and gently stroked Han-gyeom’s hair, as if proud that he’d caught onto the core of his intent. But his eyes were already shifting back to Min-hyung, ready to press the attack again.
“Even if he couldn’t have predicted the rampage, he would’ve been the first to arrive on the scene. Because the only Guide qualified to respond to an S-rank Esper going berserk—is another S-rank.”
And in truth, when Han-gyeom had fled the devastated facility grounds, the first vehicle to arrive wasn’t a police car or an Association van. It was a black sedan. Han-gyeom, then a fugitive, had instinctively hidden at the sight of it. But thinking back now, it must’ve been Cha Min-hyung inside that car.
“A facility that closed-off would’ve had top-tier security—meaning they’d have taken great care with data storage. Even if the aftermath of the rampage was catastrophic, there must’ve been a secure location inside where the research could be preserved.”
Min-hyung said nothing. His face was grim, his silence bitter.
Seo Won, now grounded in his hypothesis, spoke with growing confidence.
“I believe Cha Min-hyung has all the research data and test subject records from every Ability Analysis Research Facility.”
“And what makes you so sure? Even the Vice President believes it was all lost.”
Min-hyung’s voice sounded more resigned than confrontational now, as if he no longer had the will to argue.
Seo Won glanced at Han-gyeom, as if briefly weighing something, then finally spoke.
“Cha Min-hyung is the one who gave me the information I needed to find Cha Han-gyeom. Without him, I would’ve already gone into a rampage and died.”
His voice was remarkably calm as he imagined his own death.
“You knew from the beginning, didn’t you?”
He touched the left side of his chest, where his heart would be.
“That the heart implanted in me was already Imprinted. That whoever had it would eventually be drawn to you.”
As Seo Won followed the trail of his own fingers, Min-hyung’s eyes shifted—not to him, but to Han-gyeom, who sat quietly, absorbing every word and committing it to memory.
“You were waiting for the right moment to give out the information about the Imprinter, weren’t you?”
At Seo Won’s words, a dull ache began to spread through Min-hyung’s chest.
So he already knows everything…
There was no use denying it anymore.
“…It wasn’t for me. It was to save Cha Han-gyeom.”
What pained him was not that the truth had come out—but that now he had to expose his own selfishness, which he had so desperately hoped to bury.
