Ah-young couldn’t immediately grasp what Han-gyeom was saying.
After drawing such a clear line and rejecting Kang Woo-chan so decisively, he was now asking her to be the bridge between them?
As she wracked her brain trying to make sense of what she had just heard, she suddenly realized Han-gyeom was now standing right in front of her, untying the rope that bound her to the chair.
“Judging by the situation, you’ve been making regular reports to Kang Woo-chan. Am I right?”
“That’s…”
Ah-young looked down at Han-gyeom, who was now untying her legs as well, and hesitated. But Han-gyeom didn’t wait long for an answer—he already knew the truth, even if she didn’t say it out loud.
“But the Ah-young I saw was always by my and Seo Won’s side. Even when she was standing guard outside, she was always within the visual range of the other bodyguards. Meaning—there was never a moment when she could have slipped away to make some shady report on her own.”
Internally, Ah-young was stunned by Han-gyeom’s powers of observation.
Ever since arriving at the mansion, Han-gyeom had been confined to his room day in and day out. The only movement allowed to him was the short walk to and from Seo Won’s office. Yet even during those brief moments, he’d taken note of the entire security layout around him.
Just as Han-gyeom said, no bodyguard in this mansion ever worked solo or was placed where they couldn’t be seen.
Even when Ah-young was standing guard alone outside a door, there were always at least one or two bodyguards positioned at the end of the hallway where her movements could be seen. On the stairs above or below the landing—areas within their field of vision—there were always other guards stationed. Those guards, in turn, were placed in sight of other guards stationed throughout the corridors.
In other words, the mansion’s entire security team had been stationed so that each guard’s field of vision overlapped with another’s, like links in a chain. This applied not just to the interior of the mansion, but the exterior as well. Given that setup, no matter how trustworthy Jung Ah-young might be, there was simply no window of opportunity for her to act alone during her time inside.
And this was true even outside of her working hours.
By default, all the staff shared rooms in groups of three—no exceptions. Whether eating, resting, or sleeping, at least two or more people had to be together at all times, officially for “security purposes.”
The only time anyone could really move around alone was during leave—but apparently, Ah-young hadn’t taken a single day off since Han-gyeom arrived at the mansion.
As all these facts piled up, it became clear: Seo Won didn’t fully trust any of the staff he brought into the mansion.
When Han-gyeom confessed to Seo Won that he was convinced Ah-young was a spy, Seo Won had responded with something revealing:
“Every staff member here—including Jung Ah-young and Lim Du-hyuk—has a shard of ice that I implanted in them. If anyone harbors hostility toward me or tries to scheme behind my back, I’ll know immediately. There’s no way for it to go undetected.”
“But up until now, there hasn’t been a single signal from Jung Ah-young. Not even once.”
That very fact was probably the reason Ah-young had been allowed to remain so close all this time.
When he heard Seo Won say those words, something had suddenly clicked in Han-gyeom’s mind.
Jung Ah-young’s ability was to perfectly conceal all ESP signatures, making her indistinguishable from an ordinary person.
If that was the case, then even the ESP embedded in her by Seo Won—his ice shard—could have been completely hidden, rendering it incapable of transmitting any signals back to its creator.
No matter how kind-hearted and warm Ah-young might seem, judging by the reactions of Kang Woo-chan and his allies, it was clear that she, too, harbored no small amount of resentment toward Seo Won.
And the only reason she’d been able to hide that hatred so flawlessly all this time was likely because of her own ability.
‘A power that not only hides her own ESP but also conceals any foreign ESP that has infiltrated her.’
The final piece that allowed Han-gyeom to confirm Ah-young was the spy had been hidden in the documents on ability users that Cha Min-hyung had obtained from the research facility.
A girl who could freely control the level of her ESP—E_NO.63.
From the development notes, it was clear that the researchers had initially intended to use this girl’s ability as a kind of ESP amplifier.
If she could boost another person’s ESP, then theoretically, even a D-rank user could unleash power on par with an A-rank simply by her gesture alone.
But her ability didn’t evolve the way they had hoped.
Instead, E_NO.63 developed the capacity to drastically lower her own ESP levels.
The experiments ended around that time, but Han-gyeom had a hunch about the path her ability might’ve taken afterward.
As expected, E_NO.63—Jung Ah-young—had learned to suppress her ESP entirely, allowing her to pass herself off as a non-ability user.
More than that, she could reduce even the ESP embedded in her—the ice shard from Seo Won—to zero, neutralizing it into nothing more than an inert, useless object incapable of any function.
But Han-gyeom hadn’t told Seo Won all of this.
He only mentioned that the girl in the data was very likely to be Jung Ah-young, and that her ability allowed her to mask her ESP and impersonate a civilian.
There was only one reason Han-gyeom had withheld the full truth from Seo Won.
“You’ve got a way to contact Kang Woo-chan without anyone ever noticing, don’t you? Something invisible on the surface—a special method that leaves no trace.”
Now that her arms and legs were completely free, Ah-young looked at Han-gyeom with visible hesitation.
Before she could react, Han-gyeom leaned over with both hands gripping the backrest of her chair, caging her in with his shadow.
His gaze slowly drifted upward from her uncertain eyes. It stopped at the neatly tied hairband she always wore.
“An Esper who could embed ESP into objects and communicate telepathically with whoever held them—E_NO.41 from the Third Ability Analysis Research Facility.”
“……!”
Startled, Ah-young immediately reached up and covered her hairband with both hands.
That reaction only confirmed Han-gyeom’s suspicions.
“By now, I’m sure it’s possible for two people to share telepathy just by holding the same object, even without the Esper herself being involved.”
“Uh, that… I…”
“Still, the fact that you had no clue what was going on while you were tied up here… that tells me it’s not a constant line of communication. Makes sense, though. You probably need to regularly recharge the object with ESP to keep it working, but with the situation being what it is… I’m guessing it’s only usable at set dates or times, right?”
Ah-young couldn’t even manage to keep her expression in check—she was completely thrown off.
‘H-How does he know all this? Did Woo-chan tell him?’
She had no idea that Min-hyung had handed over all the data on the children from the research facility to Seo Won. From her perspective, it was simply astonishing that Han-gyeom could pinpoint the truth about their abilities with such precision, as if he were observing them from a vantage point far above.
Seeing the bewilderment on Ah-young’s face, Han-gyeom gave her a soft smile.
“Don’t worry. I won’t tell anyone that you can suppress the ESP embedded in your body—or that you can perfectly conceal any ESP you’re in contact with.”
At his words, Ah-young unconsciously let out a breath of relief.
She had already resolved to stay at the mansion and remain by Han-gyeom’s side. But if her ability was exposed, Seo Won would never let it slide. Her secret line to Kang Woo-chan would be severed immediately, and the surveillance would become suffocating.
Han-gyeom, watching her visibly relax, moved on to briefly explain his intentions.
“There’s not much I’m asking from you. Just pass on my words to Kang Woo-chan whenever you’re able to make contact. If possible, I’d like you to message him in real-time whenever we’re alone.”
“…That’s what you mean by being a ‘bridge,’ right?”
“Exactly.”
Only then did Han-gyeom lift his hands and straighten up, ending the subtle trap his posture had created. Ah-young looked up at him, her expression now more composed, as if her thoughts were finally starting to come together.
“Two days from now. Noon, two days from today.”
“Perfect. Let’s have lunch together in my room then.”
My room, meaning Seo Won’s bedroom.
He briefly considered suggesting somewhere like the dining hall or the garden, but quickly dismissed the idea. If the two of them were seen moving to a location outside of Seo Won’s designated ‘safe zones,’ someone as perceptive as Seo Won would definitely grow suspicious.
‘His bedroom—where he feels safest—will be the least questionable.’
Seo Won’s possessiveness really was a damn nuisance sometimes.
Han-gyeom gently rubbed Ah-young’s wrists, where the ropes had left harsh red marks.
“Looks like they left a mark… Bet that hurt.”
Ah-young stared at Han-gyeom’s concerned face, then suddenly let out a soft laugh.
“You’re really too kind, Han-gyeom. I told you to live a little meaner.”
“Oh, I’m being mean. I’m cursing Seo Won in my head as we speak. Saying he should’ve tied you up less tight.”
“Pfft, haha!”
Ah-young let out a bright, honest laugh. Then, without warning, she threw her arms around him.
Han-gyeom stiffened for a second at the sudden embrace but soon wrapped an arm gently around her back, stroking it comfortingly.
“Thank you… for letting me stay. If you’d told me to go back, I probably wouldn’t have slept a wink, worried sick about you because of that tyrant of a director. Even if Woo-chan tried to stop me, I might’ve stormed the mansion to blow it up myself.”
“That would’ve… been a bit of a problem. Still, there’s no need to thank me. I only kept you here because I intend to use you.”
“That’s okay. If it’s you, Han-gyeom… you can use me as much as you want.”
Still smiling faintly with her arms around him, Ah-young’s expression slowly turned bittersweet.
“So just… don’t push yourself too hard. No matter what happens.”
“…I’ll try.”
Han-gyeom lowered his gaze, his expression mirroring the same bitter smile she wore.
When he finally looked up again, his eyes had turned cold—quiet and distant, like the color of dawn outside the window.
