Han-gyeom started by searching the sofa closest to the door. He looked beneath the cushions and even under the frame itself.
But he found absolutely nothing. Maybe it was because the place was cleaned daily—there wasn’t even a speck of dust.
‘Figures it wouldn’t be in a place like this.’
Thinking about it, there was no way Seo Won would hide a USB somewhere so obvious. This was a place where the housekeeping staff—who cleaned meticulously every day—could easily stumble across it. It was probably the same reason nothing had turned up in the other rooms, either.
‘Which means, it’s got to be…’
Han-gyeom’s gaze drifted toward Seo Won’s desk. Managing that desk was the responsibility of Lim Du-hyuk, someone Seo Won trusted deeply. Originally, Jung Ah-young had handled it together with him, but after she became Han-gyeom’s personal bodyguard, the task had fallen entirely to Lim Du-hyuk.
If Seo Won paid that much attention to it, then odds were high the USB would be in the desk.
Han-gyeom stepped over to Seo Won’s desk, which was meticulously neat and tidy. The neatly stacked documents sitting on the desk didn’t hold his interest. Neither did the expensive-looking pens and trinkets—none of them stood out.
He looked down at the laptop placed in the center of the desk for work use. All of its ports were empty and clean—no USB plugged in.
With growing urgency, Han-gyeom began opening the desk drawers one by one. He rummaged through the neatly arranged contents, pulling things out, unfolding them, inspecting everything down to the last detail.
But contrary to his expectations, the USB was nowhere to be found in the drawers. Just in case it was lodged in some hidden nook, he pulled each drawer out completely and checked thoroughly—still nothing.
‘Where the hell did he put it?’
At this point, anxiety started creeping in. Min-hyung wouldn’t lie to him. And the fact that Min-hyung had specifically mentioned a “black USB” meant the item definitely existed. Whatever was inside it had to be the proof backing up that cryptic statement Min-hyung had made.
Which meant Han-gyeom had to find it—had to get rid of the thorn that had taken root in his mind—but the fact that it kept eluding him only fed his unease.
He began putting the drawer contents back exactly the way they were, restoring their original order.
‘No way… is Seo Won carrying it around with him…?’
Just as that disheartening thought crossed his mind, Han-gyeom’s eyes landed on a foreign-language book, about the thickness of a finger joint. It had been tucked in with some English documents in the drawer, so he hadn’t paid much attention to it before, but something about it now struck him as odd.
‘I’ve never seen a mass-market paperback with a book band set on it before…’
A book band was usually an elastic strap used to keep the pages of a diary from getting crumpled. This wasn’t a hardcover, nor was it one of those paperbacks with a fancy, reinforced cover design. Yet here it was—this soft-cover book, bound with a fixed book band.
That alone was definitely suspicious.
What was even stranger was the clear sign that the book band had been added after the book had been printed and completed.
Strangeness often meant suspicion.
Without further hesitation, Han-gyeom undid the band and opened the book.
A sharp, fresh scent characteristic of a brand-new book wafted up, and the pages were pristine—untouched, as if they’d never once been read. He flipped through several pages at a time, and a dizzying flood of foreign text blurred past his eyes.
“…Found it.”
Han-gyeom muttered as he opened the book to its center. Right in the middle of the inner pages was a small, square recess, hidden discreetly within the binding. The paper had been cut out cleanly and with surgical precision—and nestled perfectly inside was a black USB.
Holding the USB tightly, Han-gyeom glanced toward the desk, tension etched across his face.
Seo Won’s laptop was locked behind a complicated password. But Seo Won never typed it in himself. The camera on the laptop automatically recognized his face and unlocked the device without any input.
And recently, Seo Won had registered Han-gyeom’s face as well.
“Whether I’m around or not, you can use it however you like. Browse the internet, play games, go shopping—whatever you want.”
“Shopping… Are you the one paying?”
“Of course. I always keep my card in this drawer right here, so anytime…”
That was around the time Seo Won had begun to grant Han-gyeom little freedoms. He’d given him a phone that could contact anyone, permitted him to take walks, and even allowed outings as long as he was accompanied by Jung Ah-young or another bodyguard.
Recalling that conversation, Han-gyeom looked toward the drawer he had ransacked earlier. Sure enough, there was a sleek black credit card tucked inside—undeniably luxurious in feel. Until now, he hadn’t even thought to check it, let alone use it. It just hadn’t meant anything to him.
In any case, Seo Won’s thoughtfulness back then had turned out to be a blessing for Han-gyeom—because now he could access the USB he’d finally gotten his hands on.
He opened the laptop and pressed the power button. The screen flashed a message: “Scanning for facial recognition…” Moments later—without him touching a thing—the desktop appeared.
The background was stark white, with only a few essential icons neatly arranged.
With trembling fingers, Han-gyeom inserted the USB. An endless sea of folders appeared on the screen.
‘Why are there so many…?’
Eyes wide with surprise, he clicked on the first folder.
Inside, it was packed wall-to-wall with files all bearing the same icon.
‘They’re all… video files?’
Tilting his head, Han-gyeom skimmed the filenames—and his eyes slowly widened in horror. From his fingertips to the rest of his body, tremors began to ripple uncontrollably.
E_NO.00…..
E_NO.01……
E_NO.02…..
E_NO.03…..
Familiar letters and numbers were attached to every file. Codes that anyone from the research facility would instantly recognize.
“What… is this…?”
With hands trembling uncontrollably, Han-gyeom scrolled down.
G_NO.00……
At the bottom, he saw the only code beginning with a G—his own.
With blurred vision, unable to fully focus, Han-gyeom opened the file tied to that code.
A man’s face appeared on the screen—one of the most horrific people Han-gyeom could never forget.
—Beginning the first experiment on G_NO.00.
The voice was so faint that only Han-gyeom, sitting close to the laptop, could hear it. But to him, it hit like thunder ripping through a storm.
“Ah… ngh….”
A strangled noise spilled from his lips as he staggered violently. He barely managed to stay upright by grabbing the desk, but his legs refused to hold him.
Then, on the screen, the researcher stepped aside, revealing a small child in the background. A child, lying on a cold, uncaring lab table, completely devoid of compassion. It was unmistakably himself.
This was a recording of the very first experiment conducted on five-year-old Cha Han-gyeom, the day he was taken to the lab without understanding a thing.
Desperately, Han-gyeom reached out and closed the video. Had he watched even a second longer, the screen would’ve erupted in unbearable noise—screams, and the harrowing cries of his younger self.
‘Why… Why does this exist…? How…?’
His mind was instantly thrown into chaos. He couldn’t think straight—couldn’t think at all.
And then, as if it had been waiting, a violent, twisting pain seized his gut, triggering a harsh cough.
“Ugh—nngh! Cough!”
His legs gave out beneath him, and he collapsed onto the floor. With both hands over his mouth, he stifled the harsh, ragged coughing fits that wracked his body.
It felt like he was about to cough up blood. By sheer instinct, he reached into his cardigan pocket and pulled out the ice apple. Responding to his distress, the ice apple instantly turned pitch black.
Maybe it was because Seo Won had imbued it beforehand with a powerful energy. Thankfully, the convulsions subsided before the bleeding could begin.
Panting, Han-gyeom clutched the darkened apple in both hands as if it were a lifeline, his eyes glistening with moisture as he stared at the laptop screen.
‘Why…?’
Staggering to his feet, Han-gyeom began checking the rest of the videos with a still-quivering hand. He didn’t have the strength to open them all one by one, so he skimmed through, focusing on the codenames and dates.
From what he could tell, the files in this folder were direct records from the Fourth Ability Analysis Research Facility. They weren’t documented on paper, but they were just as thorough—confidential materials capturing each experiment’s progress and detailed reports, all preserved on video.
He never imagined that footage like this still existed. He had assumed, naturally, that everything had gone up in flames when the facility was destroyed.
‘Min-hyung… you held onto this?’
If anyone could’ve secured something like this, it would be none other than Cha Min-hyung. But the real question was—why did Seo Won have it now?
Maybe Seo Won had threatened Min-hyung and taken it by force. Still, considering the nature of their relationship, it was more reasonable to assume that some sort of deal had taken place—one that served both their interests.
As Han-gyeom scrolled through the files again, he kept tossing questions at the absent Seo Won in his mind.
Why do you have this?
Why would you go so far as to make a deal to get it?
What could this possibly mean to you…?
Tears welled up and refused to stop. His throat tightened, and suppressed sobs slipped through his lips.
It felt like someone had exposed his most grotesque, vulnerable self. That unbearable injustice he thought he’d long buried surged up all at once, and he wanted to scream and wail until his chest split open.
Sensing his spiraling emotions, the ice apple trembled in his hand. The black energy within it, now swelling and pulsing, seeped through his fingers and gently soothed the ache in his hollow chest.
The moment he felt that warmth, Han-gyeom bit down hard on his lip. The sorrow twisted into rage—rage aimed squarely at Seo Won, who wasn’t even there.
It was Song Yeon-woo who had helped him survive those years. Because of him, Han-gyeom had endured, clawed his way forward, and refused to give in.
‘And Seo Won destroyed all of that.’
It was Seo Won who killed Song Yeon-woo, his only support. Seo Won’s greed had completely stolen away that poor man’s life.
Clutching his chest, the pain now sharp and throbbing beyond mere numbness, Han-gyeom glared at the laptop screen.
Then—he noticed something odd about one of the files.
All the other files had a “last modified” date that matched the time they were created. Meaning no one had touched them since the day they were recorded—they were untouched originals.
Except for one.
A file named “extraction_4lab” stood out. It was the only file with a modification date listed as this year.
‘That date…’
Han-gyeom froze as he tried to place it. The file had been modified during the very period when he had been bedridden with a high fever.
A piercing alarm sounded inside his mind, a deep, creeping dread blooming in his gut. Something told him—he shouldn’t open this file.
And yet, almost reflexively, Han-gyeom found himself clicking it open.
