“Han-gyeom, are you awake?!”
The very first thing he heard upon opening his eyes was a woman’s frantic voice.
His vision blurry from tears, Han-gyeom blinked slowly, his eyes dry and sore. He turned his head toward the voice. A woman was sitting next to the bed on a chair.
“…Ah-young?”
The voice was unmistakable, and saying her name came easily.
Beyond his hazy vision, he could hear Jung Ah-young exhale in relief.
“Yes, it’s me. Can you recognize me?”
“Yeah… Mm, cough!”
Han-gyeom answered with a cracked voice as he tried to sit up, then suddenly began coughing. Gasping in alarm, Ah-young shot up from her seat.
“Is it a seizure?! No, this can’t be happening! I’ll go get the Executive Director right away, just hold on!”
As Ah-young turned pale and fumbled to leave the room in a hurry, Han-gyeom grabbed her hand tightly.
“Wait, cough… it’s not that.”
“What do you mean, not that?! You’re coughing—!”
“It’s just a cough, seriously. Calm down.”
Holding his dry throat with one hand, he let out a few shallow coughs. Only then did Ah-young realize the sound was distinctly different from his seizure fits.
“Phew… Seriously, what the hell. I thought my heart was gonna drop.”
“Sorry.”
“You don’t need to apologize. Just wait here, I’ll get you some water.”
Smiling in relief, Ah-young grabbed a clear cup and a bottle of water she had already placed on the nightstand in advance. While she was moving, Han-gyeom rubbed his eyes, still struggling to focus, and looked around the room.
‘Did something… happen?’
The bedroom, once tidy and pristine, looked off.
A broken table and other damaged furniture were all pushed into one corner. It looked like someone had even swept up the shattered fragments. Although the floor had been cleaned, there were still visible dents and scratches scattered throughout—likely from the furniture being smashed.
Han-gyeom couldn’t even begin to imagine that he might have been the one to do it. He accepted the water Ah-young handed him and downed it in one go. His throat, which had felt like it was full of fine dust, finally cleared up with a refreshing sensation.
Ah-young picked up the radio to report that Han-gyeom had regained consciousness, then looked at him again with an expression of pure relief. Han-gyeom could see the deep concern, the relief, and the cautious wariness in her eyes as he asked:
“What happened? What… happened here?”
Ah-young stared at him intently, as if trying to gauge whether he truly didn’t know, then cautiously asked back.
“You… don’t remember?”
“Remember what?”
“Ah, um… no, it’s nothing. Ahaha…”
Ah-young let out an awkward laugh as she took the empty cup from him. Then she dropped herself onto the edge of the bed beside Han-gyeom.
“Are you really okay? You’re not hurting anywhere?”
At her question, Han-gyeom glanced down at his own body. He was sore all over, but there didn’t seem to be anything seriously wrong.
“Yeah, I’m fine.”
Even though he answered, Ah-young couldn’t stop worrying.
She placed her hand on his forehead, her expression serious as she looked directly into his eyes.
“What about your head? They said the fever was really high—there could still be a headache.”
“Fever?”
Relieved to find his temperature had returned to normal, Ah-young let out another deep breath and removed her hand.
“You were out for three full days and nights because of the fever. Do you have any idea how worried I was?”
“Three days…”
Han-gyeom touched the spot where Ah-young’s hand had been on his forehead, a puzzled expression forming on his face.
‘It’s been a while since I was completely out of it from a fever like that…’
It wasn’t the first time.
Right after the Fourth Ability Analysis Research Facility was destroyed during Song Yeon-woo’s rampage, he had gone on the run alone and collapsed, feverish and delirious, in an abandoned house for several days. Even after that, he would occasionally spike a high fever and lose consciousness. But ever since finding Song Jae-woo—Yeon-woo’s younger brother—those episodes had gradually tapered off, eventually ceasing entirely.
Han-gyeom tried to trace the fragments of memory that had gone dark.
For the moment, he felt utterly disoriented, unable to grasp the situation. But as he sifted through the foggy recesses of his mind, something began to surface.
“Director Shin… said to you, ‘I’ve prepared the heart’—is that what you heard? When did you hear that?”
“A week before the transplant.”
“A week… before…?”
Han-gyeom’s eyes flew wide as the conversation with Seo Won rushed back to him. He clutched his head, a sharp pain beginning to throb.
“So you’re saying that up until then… you didn’t even know a heart like that existed? How does that make any sense?!”
As the pain in his head intensified, the memory came into even clearer focus.
“Ugh…!”
“H-Han-gyeom!”
At his obvious groan of pain, Ah-young hurriedly leaned in, panic flooding her face.
“Are you okay, Han-gyeom?! I shouldn’t have brought up headaches, should I?! I’ll call the doctor right now!”
“No… I’m okay. Just give me a second…”
Han-gyeom waved off her panic and tried to steady his breathing. His head pounded like something had just ripped through a dam of buried memory, sending everything flooding back at once. It was dizzying and sharp, but still bearable.
Pressing a hand against his temple, Han-gyeom reached out and gently tugged Ah-young’s arm. She allowed herself to be pulled closer, and he asked her in the faintest whisper:
“I need to get in touch with Kang Woo-chan. When can that happen?”
Han-gyeom needed Kang Woo-chan’s help—urgently.
If Seo Won had really only learned about Song Yeon-woo’s heart a week before the transplant, just as he claimed, it made absolutely no sense. The client who had commissioned the extraction of the heart from Yeon-woo while he was still alive, and even requested refinement procedures for transplantation, had unmistakably been Seo Won.
The Fourth Ability Analysis Research Facility had often taken on confidential contracts. Han-gyeom had only learned about that particular one much later, and even then, only because Yeon-woo had mentioned it to him in secret.
He hadn’t known the exact details of the classified request at the time, but in hindsight, it was easy to guess that most of the contracts had revolved around Song Yeon-woo.
Yeon-woo was an immortal Ability User—capable of surviving even with parts of his body severed. His regenerative abilities were so extreme that he could fully restore amputated limbs within hours.
Even with his heart removed, he didn’t die. If not for his eventual rampage, he might have lived for generations.
There was no way deranged researchers, having seen such regenerative potential, would stop at mere testing.
But that didn’t mean his organs could just be transplanted recklessly.
The recipient had to be an Esper—someone with ESP pathways—so that the energy flowing from the organ could be properly conducted. Even then, repeated adjustments were required, like carefully fitting puzzle pieces, to ensure the channels connected precisely.
Moreover, for the resonance-matching refinement process, blood from one of the two Ability Users had to be continuously supplied to the other.
Han-gyeom, who had been subjected to countless blood extractions by researchers, knew this better than anyone.
He also knew full well how violently Espers reacted when they received Guiding after such resonance adjustments had been made.
Considering that the long refinement process was completed even after the heart had been removed, it meant Seo Won’s side had to have been supplying his blood for four years. That was why Han-gyeom had never doubted that the client was Seo Won.
‘Four whole years…’
And all that time, he’d been supplying his blood without even knowing it?
It was absurd.
But…
Seo Won’s words still lingered in his mind.
“I had no reason to lie to you. It’s the truth.”
That one line—saying he had no reason to lie—continued to gnaw at him.
Part of him desperately didn’t want to believe Seo Won.
Because the moment he accepted those words, the vengeance he had carefully built up until now would crumble like a fragile sandcastle.
So this wasn’t about forgiveness—it was about reinforcing the foundation of his revenge.
“We need to contact Kang Woo-chan as soon as possible.”
He needed proof that Seo Won had personally supplied blood for the refinement of the heart.
If anyone could find it, it would be Kang Woo-chan and the Espers under him. They’d long kept the Esper Association in their sights, treating it like a thorn in their side—so if there were records, they’d likely know.
But for some reason, Ah-young looked conflicted.
“Han-gyeom, contacting him isn’t the issue, but the thing is…”
She glanced around nervously, lowering her voice to a whisper, wary of being overheard. She explained everything—how Seo Won had figured out what her hair tie really was, and how he knew she’d been trying to contact Kang Woo-chan.
At her words, Han-gyeom flinched.
Then came the sound of a knock at the door.
Seo Won, having heard that Han-gyeom had regained consciousness, had arrived.
The knock, as if to signal “Don’t be startled, I’m coming into your room,” was almost laughable. Even the way the door opened—slow and overly cautious—was oddly amusing.
Seo Won stood in the doorway, silently staring at Han-gyeom for a moment. He neither stepped closer nor spoke. He just stood there, gazing quietly.
‘He looks like hell.’
It wasn’t to the point of being unrecognizable, but he looked undeniably worn down.
His eyes were bloodshot, the corners red and raw. His face was flushed with exhaustion, bordering on haggard. His lips were dry and cracked, as if he hadn’t had a proper drink of water in days.
‘How much work did he do while I was out? Did he even eat properly?’
Assuming Seo Won’s fatigue was due to overwork, Han-gyeom found himself, unwillingly, growing concerned.
Whether he knew or not, Seo Won remained silent, still watching.
Ah-young, glancing between the two, hesitantly stood and walked toward Seo Won—hoping to update him on Han-gyeom’s condition and maybe, just maybe, ease the oppressive tension in the room.
“Um…”
“Leave.”
“…Okay.”
She hadn’t even gotten a full word out before receiving the curt command. Deflated, Ah-young dropped her shoulders with a dejected look. She glanced back at Han-gyeom with worry before quietly closing the door behind her.
Even after the door shut, silence lingered.
It was Han-gyeom who broke it first.
“Are you just going to stand there?”
He propped the pillow up behind him and leaned back against it, stretching out his hand toward Seo Won.
“Come here.”
Only then did Seo Won, who had been frozen like a statue, begin to move—stepping forward to take Han-gyeom’s outstretched hand.
