“Ahaha.”
Tae-soo clapped his hands, laughing in a way that could be described as refreshing and free of malice. He had suspected to some extent, but he was genuinely surprised that the guess was so accurate. His laughter was pure and full of enjoyment.
“How did you know?” Tae-soo asked, curiosity piqued.
“I know an Esper who uses contract abilities,” Han-gyeom replied.
Han-gyeom recalled a particular child from the Fourth Ability Analysis Research Facility who was unusually quiet. This child was barely noticeable and was one of the more comfortable subjects to guide, but there was always an unsettling feeling whenever their eyes met.
The child’s ability was remarkable: through verbal contracts, he could alter the abilities of other Espers. Depending on the contract’s terms and usage, the scope and quality of the contracted Esper’s abilities could change dramatically.
However, this ability came with a significant drawback. The Esper who repeatedly used the contract ability began to experience a rapid decline in health. Within days, he contracted an incurable disease. Despite the relentless experiments and coercive contracts, the child died not long after turning ten.
The researchers knew the child would die young. They were aware of why his health deteriorated and why he contracted the incurable disease. The child was merely a sacrificial lamb for analyzing and dealing with the inevitable ‘short lifespan’ of contract-type ability users.
Contract-type ability users were extremely rare worldwide. This rarity was due not only to the scarcity of the ability itself but also to the fact that using the ability accelerated the user’s demise. Not a single contract-type ability user registered with the global Esper Association had lived past the age of 40.
In this context, Ha Tae-soo’s existence was quite anomalous. It was said that by their 30s, most contract-type ability users were either confined to wheelchairs or required special care to stay alive. Yet, Ha Tae-soo appeared perfectly healthy, with no hint of death’s shadow on his face.
This led Han-gyeom to a realization. As a contract-type ability user, Ha Tae-soo must have negotiated terms that ensured his survival. Ha Tae-soo had granted Chairman Seo an ability called the ‘right to hear the truth,’ which could be used regardless of ESP presence. The mere fact that Ha Tae-soo could facilitate such a contract was astonishing, but if true, it would be a groundbreaking event within the association.
The advantages of unrestricted ability use and the elimination of the need for guiding were immense. Naturally, the price for such a benefit would be equally significant. The cost was likely the lifespan of Chairman Seo’s bloodline.
The deaths in Chairman Seo’s family had begun roughly 50 years ago, with the curse’s threshold set at the age of 32.
Judging by appearances, the benchmark was likely Ha Tae-soo’s age at the time of the contract. Since then, the accumulated lifespans of the deceased had kept Ha Tae-soo from aging at all.
‘I didn’t think he was that crazy!’
Han-gyeom frowned, recalling the old man’s aged face. It was unbelievable that someone would trade the lifespans of their own bloodline for such an absurd contract. It was sheer madness.
Several of Chairman Seo’s relatives had died because of this one man. Sons, daughters, illegitimate children, even grandchildren—all had perished. Now, only Seo Won and Yoon Jeong-ho remained.
‘Does Seo Won know?‘ Han-gyeom wondered. Did he know that he had nearly died because of Chairman Seo’s greed and his contract with Ha Tae-soo? If Han-gyeom were in Seo Won’s position, he would feel incredibly wronged. Because of his grandfather’s excessive greed, he had almost died at the age of 32. Even those 32 years would not have been easy, living in fear as relatives died one by one, knowing that his own death was approaching and couldn’t be avoided. What must have gone through Seo Won’s mind in those moments?
Thinking about Seo Won’s situation made Han-gyeom angry. He didn’t care about contracts driven by personal desires or the pitiful game of trading lifespans. What infuriated him was the realization that his life had been bargained away without his knowledge. The same had happened to all the children thrown into the research facility, which made it even more enraging.
Han-gyeom’s face hardened with suspicion, and he almost imagined seeing a sharp thorn lurking beneath the surface. Ha Tae-soo looked troubled, as if sensing the hostility that could lash out and sting.
“Don’t look at me like that,” Ha Tae-soo said, his face darkening with a bitter smile. “I had no choice if I wanted to live.”
Only then did Han-gyeom feel he was seeing Ha Tae-soo’s genuine smile. It was very different from the bright and cheerful smile he had shown earlier.
“It wasn’t easy for me either,” Ha Tae-soo continued. “Chairman Seo would summon me every time one of his relatives died and blame me, even though he had willingly entered the contract. He probably included the clause that I had to stay in this annex to torment me.”
More likely, Chairman Seo had done it out of caution, fearing the formidable power of Ha Tae-soo’s contract abilities. He might have wanted to keep Ha Tae-soo close to avoid unexpected betrayals or to question him constantly about the contract. If Ha Tae-soo disappeared after making the contract, Chairman Seo would be left alone with just a flimsy contract, helpless and anxious.
There were probably many other stipulations in the contract besides that clause.
For example, if Ha Tae-soo’s main ability is ‘contract,’ he might have been able to teleport because of a clause that allowed him to move to the contractor’s side at any time for their safety. The fact that he could move to this annex, referred to as a separate building, was likely due to the same logic.
Contract-type ability users often set up their contracts with incredibly detailed terms. The older they are, the more meticulous they become, making this entirely plausible.
Ha Tae-soo’s dark expression quickly shifted. As if nothing had happened, he faced Han-gyeom with a kind and bright demeanor.
“Let’s get to the point,” Ha Tae-soo said. “You must be wondering why I was so eager to meet you, Han-gyeom.”
Han-gyeom’s wariness intensified. Whether Ha Tae-soo noticed or not, he continued with a grin.
“You want to kill Seo Won, don’t you?” Ha Tae-soo asked, his eyes narrowing ominously as Han-gyeom flinched in surprise. “Shall I help you?”
Ha Tae-soo extended his hand to Han-gyeom as if offering a handshake. There was no hint of malice in his gesture, but neither was there any sign of pure goodwill.
“I’m offering to assist you in killing Seo Won,” Ha Tae-soo explained.
The conversation in Chairman Seo’s annex had turned to a disrespectful discussion about killing his grandson. Han-gyeom looked at the outstretched hand and then met Ha Tae-soo’s gaze with an inscrutable expression.
“Do you want Seo Won’s lifespan?” Han-gyeom asked.
“That’s part of it, but there’s another reason,” Ha Tae-soo replied in a hushed tone, raising a finger to his lips as if sharing a secret.
“There’s no downside for you, Han-gyeom,” Ha Tae-soo continued. “Even if you’re imprinted with an Esper, a guide can live independently. You could pass as a normal person, but in your case, you can guide anyone regardless of imprinting. Returning to being an unregistered guide wouldn’t be so bad.”
Despite having just met, Ha Tae-soo seemed to know a lot about Han-gyeom. Yet, Han-gyeom showed no surprise. It was as if he had expected this.
“It was you, wasn’t it?” Han-gyeom said coldly.
“What do you mean?” Ha Tae-soo asked, tilting his head.
“You sent the report on Song Yeon-woo’s heart extraction to me and Kang Woo-chan,” Han-gyeom accused.
Han-gyeom recalled a brief report he had received the day before coming to the mansion.
– We couldn’t trace the teleportation path.
– However, kids with photographic abilities worked for days to draw a room from the report. It might be a clue.
– I’ll visualize it now, so put it in your mind.
Remarkably, the image of the room that had been telepathically implanted in Han-gyeom’s mind matched this room perfectly.
