Han-gyeom stormed into the office without giving Ah-young a chance to knock. Caught off guard, Ah-young tried to stop him.
“Wait, Han-gyeom—!”
“It’s fine.”
Seo Won, who had just set down the documents he was reviewing, glanced at Ah-young and gave her a subtle signal to leave. Catching on, Ah-young shot Han-gyeom a worried look, then quietly closed the door behind her without another word.
Striding straight up to Seo Won’s desk, Han-gyeom realized the documents Seo Won had been reading were from Cha Min-hyung—materials detailing the experimental subjects from the Ability Analysis Research Facility.
Before saying a word to Seo Won, Han-gyeom picked up the file he’d been looking at.
The moment he flipped to the first page, he was met with a photo of a tearful child who looked to be about six or seven years old. The document contained not only the child’s unique identification number, as assigned to all test subjects, but also an excessively detailed personal profile. Below that was an exhaustive record of experiments conducted using the child’s ability and the progress made.
Just looking at it made his stomach churn. Even though the child hadn’t undergone the exact same procedure as he had, Han-gyeom could clearly imagine the agony they must have endured and how their eyes had died out, little by little.
His grip on the papers tightened involuntarily. The smooth surface of the copy—not the original—let out a soft crinkling sound as it bent under the pressure of his fingers.
At that moment, Seo Won finally stood and reached for the documents in Han-gyeom’s hand.
“Give it here.”
But Han-gyeom only gripped them tighter, his gaze firm and unwavering. Contrary to Han-gyeom’s expectation that Seo Won might try to force them from him, he simply let go without resistance and sat back down.
“That was one of the better ones. The First Research Facility, I mean. Weirdly enough, their mental care protocols were actually decent. No disposal records either.”
Seo Won, who had clearly read all the materials even before Han-gyeom arrived, opened a drawer as he spoke. At the mention of the word “disposal,” Han-gyeom’s eyelashes quivered visibly—he knew exactly what that word meant and the weight it carried.
“The Second and Third Facilities, which were shut down much later, were far worse by comparison. And the Fourth Facility, in particular…”
Seo Won, midway through retrieving something from the drawer, suddenly paused. Instead of finishing his sentence, he glanced at Han-gyeom once, then swallowed a sigh.
A cigarette was extended toward Han-gyeom, who was still glaring down at the documents, his eyes bloodshot.
He wasn’t even a smoker—so how did Seo Won always manage to get the timing so right?
Han-gyeom didn’t refuse. He took the cigarette and placed it between his lips. As soon as he did, there was a quiet click, followed by a small flame flickering toward him.
A half-used disposable lighter lit the tip of the expensive cigarette with a steady stream of fire. The faint crackling sound of the tobacco catching flame was oddly soothing.
Since Han-gyeom had taken to smoking not only in the office but in the bedroom as well, it wasn’t unusual for Seo Won to light his cigarettes for him. In the beginning, he’d struggled with disposable lighters, always scraping the skin under his thumb and misfiring the flint. But now, he could flick it on cleanly and smoothly.
Funny how even this cheap little lighter had become familiar to him.
Han-gyeom held the cigarette between his lips and took a deep drag. The warm, rich smoke filled the tangled, burning pit of his stomach, slowly bringing him a fragile sense of calm. By the time he exhaled the lungful of smoke, his throbbing, congested mind felt noticeably clearer.
Even as he flipped through the documents with the cigarette still in his mouth, his eyes never left the pages. It was then that Seo Won spoke up.
“If it’s too much, don’t look.”
“Why would you think it’s too much?”
Wasn’t it more strange not to ask that? Han-gyeom, who had only barely escaped from a lab steeped in horrific and brutal experiments, was now staring at these painstakingly detailed reports that would inevitably drag him back into those memories as if they’d happened yesterday. It was only natural to think this would be painful for him to read.
“You don’t need to worry about something like that.”
Instead of waiting for Seo Won’s reply, Han-gyeom exhaled a long stream of smoke and gave a dry laugh.
“I’m not some noble guy like Cha Min-hyung. Empathy? Screw that.”
Thinking of Cha Min-hyung—who had gone so far as to conceal all the research data to protect the ability users who had been experimented on—Han-gyeom held up the file in his hand.
“No matter what kinds of experiments the espers here were subjected to, or how they died, I don’t feel some kind of aching pity for them. Maybe it was different at other labs, but where I was, I was the one left to clean up all the shit they left behind.”
Just when his chest had started to settle thanks to the cigarette, it began to tighten again, his insides twisting with bitterness. His feeble mind couldn’t help but recall the countless times he’d been dragged around like a puppet by other espers.
Han-gyeom inhaled again, then took a deep breath, pushing the smoke deep into his lungs.
“If I know the details of the experiments, I can figure out how their abilities evolved. I’ve seen the patterns firsthand through guiding.”
He tapped his finger against the remaining documents as he sat on the edge of Seo Won’s desk.
“This is a copy, isn’t it? A version meant for me to see.”
Han-gyeom was sharp as ever. These weren’t even records from the Fourth Ability Analysis Research Facility—his own lab—but just from a few pages, he could already tell there was missing data.
Seo Won, still seated, looked up at Han-gyeom with an unreadable expression.
“What makes you think that?”
“You think you’d hand over the originals just like that when I might lose my temper and rip them to shreds or crumple them?”
Not that he believed Cha Min-hyung would’ve handed over the original documents from the lab in the first place. Those originals were far too important, even to Min-hyung. He must’ve made a copy and passed that along. Then Seo Won had likely made another copy of that copy, the version now sitting on his desk.
And in the process of creating that extra copy, Seo Won had probably removed certain parts. So far, Han-gyeom had only skimmed the cases of two espers, but even within those, the references to guiding by their respective guides were suspiciously minimal—clearly too little.
“Don’t try to protect me this time.”
Was it instinct as an Imprint, or had he simply been tainted too deeply already?
Whatever the reason, Seo Won’s impulse to protect Han-gyeom was nearly automatic.
But now, both of the things Han-gyeom considered “his” had been messed with. As pathetic as it was, they were the only things he held onto. Regardless of intention, the other side had crossed the line.
“Hand it all over. Don’t hide a single thing—everything.”
***
That night, just past midnight.
Han-gyeom opened his eyes and gently moved Seo Won’s arm, which was wrapped around his waist. After watching the soundly sleeping Seo Won for a moment, he quietly slipped out of bed without making a noise.
Inside the dressing room, Han-gyeom relied on the moonlight to pick out his clothes. The soft rustling of fabric echoed faintly in the quiet space.
Once dressed, he pulled on a cardigan to ward off the chill in the night air. In its pockets were a miniaturized ice apple and a black cube. Clink—the two items knocked together and made a small sound inside his pocket.
Leaving the dressing room, Han-gyeom cast another glance at Seo Won, still fast asleep without the slightest movement. Then he picked up the cigarette case and disposable lighter that had been left on the nightstand.
As he approached the door, he opened it slowly.
“Ah—Han-gyeom-ssi?”
Ah-young, who had been standing guard alone in the hallway, jumped and lowered her voice. She glanced nervously around the empty corridor before looking warily through the cracked door into the dark room behind him.
“It’s still early. You should go back to sleep.”
“I can’t sleep.”
Han-gyeom spoke with a bitter expression, his face troubled.
“I keep thinking about Jae-woo. I can’t stop. So… would it be alright if I went to see him for a bit?”
“At this hour? Jae-woo’s probably asleep too, you know.”
After all the chaos he’d stirred up, Jae-woo seemed to have worn himself out. Since early evening, even when his eyes were open, all he did was whine about how tired he was or beg to be let out. He hadn’t even been given a sedative. Still, who knew how he’d react if Han-gyeom showed up?
“You promised I’d be allowed to see Jae-woo freely.”
“But if the Director wakes up and finds out…”
Ah-young’s eyes flicked toward the thick darkness inside the room. If Seo Won woke up and realized the spot beside him was empty—and that Han-gyeom had spent the night with another man—it could turn into a disaster. Well… it sounded bad, at least.
“I’ll just look in on him for thirty minutes, then come right back. That’s not too much, right? And if Seo Won says anything, I’ll take the blame. I won’t let him come down on you.”
Ah-young made a conflicted face at Han-gyeom’s plea.
In the end, she couldn’t resist the longing in his eyes.
“Just thirty minutes.”
“Thank you.”
She called over a bodyguard who had been stationed near the staircase at the end of the corridor and had him stand watch outside the bedroom in her place. Han-gyeom could never be left alone—he was always to be guarded either by Im Du-hyuk or herself. That was the Director’s order.
Standing in front of Jae-woo’s room with Ah-young, Han-gyeom thanked her again before quietly slipping inside.
The room was dark. Han-gyeom turned on a small lamp that had been left atop the dresser near the door. The gentle glow dimly lit the room, which had been shrouded in darkness.
Jae-woo was the only one inside, fast asleep.
Han-gyeom approached him right away. He was still bound at the wrists and ankles in an uncomfortable position. The very first thing Han-gyeom did was hurriedly untie the ropes holding him down.
The ropes had been tied tight—knotted multiple times over—and it took some effort to undo them all. But eventually, Han-gyeom managed to free every last one.
“…Hyung?”
Just as the final knot came loose, Jae-woo’s eyes fluttered open.
He blinked up at Han-gyeom in a daze, then broke into a wide, beaming smile.
“You came… Hyung.”
Hearing Jae-woo’s voice—hoarse and ragged beyond belief—made Han-gyeom’s chest ache. He gently took Jae-woo’s hand in his own, and with his other hand, pulled out the black cube he’d received from the male terrorist.
“Let’s go, Jae-woo.”
As Jae-woo wobbled off the bed, barely steady on his feet, Han-gyeom caught him and supported him with his body. Then, without hesitation, he dropped the black cube onto the floor.
