Five years ago.
“Something’s gone terribly wrong!”
A young man burst into the abandoned cathedral they used as their hideout, panting heavily, his voice laced with urgency. As the only one in Kang Woo-chan’s terrorist group with the ability to turn invisible, he had always taken on reconnaissance missions and tailing assignments.
“Th-The Fourth Ability Analysis Research Facility… it’s completely wiped out.”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
Amidst the confused murmurs of the group, Woo-chan stood up, his expression turning serious.
“It was fine when you scouted it just yesterday. How the hell could it vanish overnight?”
The young man’s face twisted in frustration and helplessness as he approached Woo-chan, pulling out his phone.
“I wish it weren’t true, but it is.”
Everyone fell silent as they looked at the photos he handed over.
A desolate wasteland, as if a massive bomb had detonated. Deep gouges in the earth, claw marks like a rampaging beast had torn through the site. Between the Esper Association investigators combing through the rubble, mangled human remains were being hauled out like discarded trash.
No one could speak.
They all knew exactly what those traces meant.
No one—absolutely no one—could’ve survived that kind of cataclysmic outburst.
“…We were too late.”
The moment someone muttered the words in self-blame, voices started erupting all around, raw with frustration.
“We should’ve moved up the damn plan!”
“There wasn’t anything we could do! The place was locked down so tight, we didn’t even know how many kids were being used as test subjects. Still… maybe we should’ve just stormed in, ready to die trying.”
“Fucking bastards! What the hell did they do to those kids to push them into a berserk state…?!”
The children who had escaped from the First Ability Analysis Research Facility had made this abandoned cathedral their sanctuary, vowing to rescue others who were still trapped in situations like theirs.
Back then, they were just kids themselves—anywhere from seven to twelve years old—far too young to plan or act in any organized way. But five years later, after their bodies had matured and their powers had been honed, they finally reached the point—about a year ago—when they could begin planning raids on the other research facilities.
At the time, they had an anonymous informant leaking internal information about the Ability Analysis Research Facilities. Thanks to that person, they got their hands on floor plans, ID cards, even encrypted access codes for the Second and Third Facilities, which made it possible to rescue the children held there.
But even that informant had never managed to obtain a single piece of intel about the Fourth Ability Analysis Research Facility. That facility had been operated under such extreme secrecy and isolation that preparing for a raid took far more time.
And of all moments, disaster struck just as they were finalizing their plans.
The sheer futility of it all was crushing. It was infuriating. So damn senseless, and so damn enraging.
The Ability Analysis Research Facilities were primarily focused on preventing one thing above all else—an Esper going berserk.
Even when pushing subjects to their limits, they took meticulous care to monitor ESP levels, ensuring they never crossed the threshold into a full-blown rampage. While they might work a Base guide to the brink of death, care for the Esper themselves was always maintained above a certain minimum.
And yet, the sheer scale of the destruction left behind made one thing painfully clear: the Esper who lost control had deliberately hurled themselves into the fire with the intent to obliterate everything. Which meant that they had been a high-grade Esper with a monstrous level of ESP—far beyond what the facility could handle.
Sighs escaped from every corner of the room. Some, overwhelmed with emotion, shed tears for the Esper who had spiraled out of control. Others pounded their chests in frustration, consumed by helplessness.
As he silently took in the heavy atmosphere, Woo-chan turned and walked out of the ruined cathedral without a word.
“What do we do now, Woo-chan?”
The young man who had reported the situation at the Fourth Ability Analysis Research Facility rushed out after him. Woo-chan glanced back at him, his face bitter.
“Everyone in the Fourth Facility… they’re all dead, right?”
“Yeah… from what I overheard at the scene, not a single person made it out. Researchers, test subjects—none survived.”
The young man exhaled deeply, his tone somber.
“There’s just one person whose status couldn’t be confirmed… a guide. They said he was probably caught right at the center trying to stop the berserk outbreak and got obliterated without a trace. They even found shreds of his uniform at the heart of the rampage.”
“…Yeah.”
Woo-chan had thought the same.
When an Esper assigned to a personal guide loses control, the one most likely to die first is the guide. They’re the first to notice the signs and the last to abandon their Esper, clinging desperately to their duty. But there are moments when, no matter how fiercely they try to stabilize them, it’s already too late—nothing can be stopped.
And when that happens, the guide ends up being the closest person to the storm when it explodes, cut down without a chance to defend themselves.
Woo-chan swallowed a bitter breath, his gaze falling to the ground as he muttered in self-derision, thinking of the nameless guide who’d been torn apart.
“In the end… we couldn’t save them either.”
“There was nothing you could’ve done, Woo-chan. It’s not your fault.”
“Yeah, I know… I know it’s not my fault. Not mine, not ours. But still… I can’t help but regret it.”
If only they’d moved faster.
Just like one of the kids had said earlier—maybe if they’d charged in, even without any intel, ready to die trying… maybe they could’ve saved at least one person.
Even if the mission had failed, they could’ve shown the kids trapped in that place that someone was trying to save them. Given them at least that faint sliver of hope to cling to.
His bitterness quickly turned to fury.
The Association hadn’t just failed to treat those children like human beings—they had driven them mercilessly into death. And Woo-chan’s hatred toward them had never burned more fiercely.
Just then, the young man hesitated for a moment before speaking up with a conflicted look.
“Hey, Woo-chan… actually, there’s something I didn’t show you earlier, ‘cause the others were around.”
Glancing around to make sure no one else was nearby, he pulled out his phone and discreetly held it up. This time, instead of a photo, a video was loaded on the screen.
He tapped the triangular play button, and a shaky image came to life. Two investigators appeared on screen. They hadn’t noticed the young man filming right beside them thanks to his invisibility ability.
—Bit of a shame, really. But in a way, it’s a relief they pulled it out before the rampage.
One of the investigators sighed as he spoke, prompting the other beside him to mutter quietly.
—The Vice President of the Association made a deal with the Kangsan Group heir, right?
—Yeah, but it doesn’t look like the contract has been fully carried out yet. Supposedly, the refinement process won’t be finished for another four years.
—That heir must be something else. The Vice President’s not the patient type, and yet he’s willing to wait four years?
—He has no choice. The tech that heir developed is…
—Hey, you punks!
A rough voice abruptly cut through their whispers.
A man in a sharp suit had silently approached from behind, his face twisted into a menacing scowl. The two investigators, startled, turned around and quickly saluted. But before they could even lower their hands, the suited man extended his arm toward them, and in the blink of an eye, their heads popped like balloons, collapsing with a sickening lack of resistance.
Blood and torn flesh splattered across the phone camera lens. The young man, stunned, jerked the phone down and hastily stopped the recording. That was the end of the footage.
Just recalling that moment seemed to drain the color from the young man’s face as he held out the phone. Given what he’d witnessed—two heads exploding right before his eyes—it was no wonder. Honestly, he deserved praise for not getting caught.
Woo-chan mulled over what he’d just seen in the video.
“Pulled it out before the rampage”? Pulled what? The current Vice President of the Association… if it’s him, then he must be that bastard who used to head the First Facility. And the ‘deal’… with the Kangsan Group heir? Refinement process… four years… some kind of technology the heir developed…
His brow furrowed as he pieced together fragments of information and names that kept surfacing in his thoughts.
There was clearly something deeply entwined between the Fourth Ability Analysis Research Facility, the Vice President of the Association, and the heir to the Kangsan Group. And at the center of it all… the Esper who had gone berserk.
This wasn’t just another outburst caused by failed experimentation. Whatever it was, it was sensitive enough that an Ability User affiliated with the Association had no hesitation killing two of his own in front of others just for speaking about it.
What the hell was the secret they were hiding?
“…We need to find out.”
All this time, they’d lived with the sole mission of rescuing the test subjects imprisoned in those facilities. That had been their entire purpose. But now, for the sake of the children they’d failed to save in the Fourth Facility, they needed to uncover the truth behind that “deal.”
In preparation, Woo-chan began organizing multiple teams, each tailored around the specific abilities of their members.
Among them, the one tasked with investigating, monitoring, and tracking the Kangsan Group heir… included none other than Jung Ah-young.
