Startled at first, Woo-chan glared sharply at Seo Won.
Instantly grasping the meaning behind that look, Seo Won closed his eyes, which were swirling with black energy. When he opened them again, his irises had returned to a clear, ocean-blue hue.
With his ability withdrawn, Seo Won stepped into Woo-chan’s room.
“If it were anyone else, I wouldn’t be worried. That ice holding them won’t last five minutes.”
As if to confirm Seo Won’s words, Woo-chan turned his eyes toward the young man visible over Seo Won’s shoulder. The young Esper, who had been brimming with power as if ready to charge at a moment’s notice, gave a subtle nod. He was confirming that he had only restrained the Espers they encountered on the way—not attacked them.
Woo-chan, visibly relieved, issued a command to the young man.
“Close the door and wait outside.”
“Will you be okay?”
The young man asked with concern. It was understandable—after all, he’d once been utterly humiliated by Seo Won in front of the cathedral.
“I’ll be fine. Tell the others not to worry, either.”
“…Got it.”
The young man’s concern clearly lingered, but he didn’t say anything more. He quietly closed the door behind him.
As soon as the door shut, Woo-chan’s expression turned skeptical.
“I have to admit, it’s impressive. We only set up this place as a hideout yesterday. How the hell did you find us so fast?”
Seo Won held out his hand in response. Resting in his palm was a tiny sliver of ice, no larger than a pinky nail.
“As long as even the smallest shard remains, I can use it to create a clone whenever I want.”
Seo Won had previously clashed with Woo-chan’s group at the cathedral. During that encounter, he had discreetly attached fragments of this ice to the clothing of a few individuals.
This sliver didn’t melt when touched by water, wasn’t cold to the touch, and was so thin it was almost invisible. Because of its tiny surface area, its ESP signature was extremely faint—so faint that even Kang Woo-chan hadn’t noticed.
It was purely a tracking device, created in case Woo-chan’s group went after Cha Han-gyeom again or tried anything suspicious. If triggered, the razor-thin sliver of ice could instantly become a clone, descending on Woo-chan’s loyal dogs without hesitation.
But this time, it had only served as a means to contact Woo-chan for a conversation.
“Guess there’s a reason you’re ranked S-class.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment.”
Woo-chan eased the sharp tension he had been holding.
If it were Seo Won himself, someone who couldn’t accept Guiding from any other Guide due to his Imprint, then Woo-chan would have no way to strike. But a clone? That was a different story. As long as he could touch it, he could crush it easily.
With that reassurance, he relaxed.
“Sit down. You must’ve been in a real rush to get here.”
He offered the chair with a mocking tone.
The only furniture in Woo-chan’s room consisted of a bed, a dresser, a small table, and two chairs. It was, after all, a temporary hideout—one they might abandon at any time. This much furniture was more than enough.
Sitting across from Seo Won with the table between them, Woo-chan was the first to speak.
“Why did you want to meet me?”
He had a few guesses as to what Seo Won’s answer might be, but he needed to hear it clearly from his mouth.
But instead of answering directly, Seo Won said something else.
“Cha Han-gyeom asked you for a favor, didn’t he?”
Woo-chan’s brow immediately furrowed.
Not only did he dislike having a question thrown back at him, but hearing Han-gyeom’s name spoken aloud—and with it, the insinuation that Seo Won intended to dig into what that request had been—sat even worse with him.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“It was probably something related to Song Yeon-woo, wasn’t it?”
Ignoring Woo-chan’s denial, Seo Won calmly followed up, driving the wedge in deeper.
“Something like the request records Song Yeon-woo received… for example, asking to look into the heart that was transplanted into me.”
“…!”
This time, even Woo-chan had trouble keeping his expression in check.
Seo Won’s guess was spot on. As if he had eavesdropped.
But telepathy via an object-bound link between specific individuals wasn’t something anyone could spy on. Besides, he had already verified every ability possessed by the Espers at the estate through Ah-young’s reports, and he knew for certain that no one among them could intercept telepathic communications.
‘Did someone hijack the medium during transmission? No, that can’t be it. If that had happened, they wouldn’t have been able to communicate properly. And Ah-young wouldn’t have let it slide either. Then how the hell…’
Woo-chan simply couldn’t begin to guess how Seo Won knew. But for Seo Won, it hadn’t been that difficult.
Han-gyeom had suffered a seizure in the car despite being right beside Seo Won—clearly from emotional shock.
That conversation.
And the contents of the ‘extraction_4lab’ file he’d reviewed—detailing the “extraction” orders carried out by the Fourth Ability Analysis Research Facility.
Seo Won closed his eyes tightly, a weight pressing on his chest.
In the darkness behind his lids, Song Yeon-woo’s extraction records flickered like ghosts.
“If it’s Song Yeon-woo’s organ extraction records you want, I can provide them.”
“What? Why the hell do you have those records?”
Rather than answer Woo-chan’s stunned question, Seo Won continued.
“What I can offer is limited to internal records from the lab pertaining to the extractions. If there’s anything directly linked to those transactions, it would be buried deep within the Esper Association. Those were high-stakes deals, after all.”
Woo-chan mulled over Seo Won’s words again and again in his head.
If Seo Won really had access to extraction-related records, then a good portion of the information Han-gyeom wanted could be resolved immediately.
Han-gyeom’s request was for the final extraction record tied to Song Yeon-woo, and confirmation on whether the transplant recipient was the client himself.
If the extraction records could be secured, then they’d be able to properly investigate both the transplant recipient and the client.
Without the records, they’d have to manually dig through everything—when the request was made, what was offered at what point, and how the entire process had been carried out.
Digging aimlessly through the now-empty grounds of the Fourth Research Facility was pointless. It had always been a highly classified, closed-off lab, and whatever scraps of information remained were on par with urban legends.
That left them with no choice but to dig deep into the Esper Association’s innermost archives.
If Seo Won could really provide legitimate extraction records, the scope of the investigation would narrow drastically. That meant they could access everything far faster—and with significantly less risk.
But Woo-chan couldn’t simply be pleased about Seo Won offering up those records.
“How ridiculous—you’re proudly sitting on organ extraction records now?”
Even considering Han-gyeom’s request for the investigation, something about this felt wrong. But that was a separate issue. The simple fact remained that as long as those records existed, Song Yeon-woo had died to provide a heart for Seo Won’s transplant.
“Were you proud of holding on to the record of the S-Class Esper you killed?”
Woo-chan’s sharp, bitter laughter pierced Seo Won’s chest.
When Seo Won gave no response, Woo-chan grew irritated and stood from his seat. He yanked open a battered drawer with unnecessary force and slammed a document down on the table in front of Seo Won.
[Request from client to secure a heart for transplant.]
[Purification required to match ESP frequency precisely.]
Seo Won showed no reaction as he stared down at the paper Woo-chan had flung at him. He already possessed a far more detailed version of the same record.
His gaze landed on the final lines.
[E_NO.17 Subject Scheduled for Disposal: June 19, 2018]
[Heart Transplant Recipient: Seo Won (S)]
His name was written clearly—undeniably.
“Look at it properly! See who Song Yeon-woo had to die for! Who he was sacrificed for!”
Woo-chan finally lost control and shouted.
Seo Won raised his eyes, shadowed in deep darkness.
“I know. I know it was because of me.”
That answer made Woo-chan freeze, if only for a moment.
‘He’s not the man I used to know.’
Over the years, Woo-chan had gathered a considerable amount of information on Seo Won through extensive investigation.
The reports Ah-young had meticulously compiled and delivered were all stored in Woo-chan’s mind. Not to mention, he had faced Seo Won in person before.
And yet, the Seo Won sitting before him today felt entirely different from the man described in all that data.
This wasn’t the ever-arrogant, cold, domineering Seo Won.
He looked more like a powerless wanderer, cast adrift in darkness.
‘What the hell happened to him?’
As Woo-chan stood there questioning everything, Seo Won kept his eyes fixed on the paper and quietly spoke.
“I have a condition for handing over the extraction records.”
“…What is it?”
Having calmed down a bit, Woo-chan sat back down across from Seo Won. Only then did Seo Won finally lift his gaze to meet Woo-chan’s eyes.
The moment their eyes met, Woo-chan felt an odd sense of unease.
Seo Won’s eyes, which once resembled crashing waves of solid ice, now looked more like the deep sea—swallowed in shadow and silence.
“Cha Han-gyeom probably asked you to find out whether I was the client who commissioned Song Yeon-woo’s heart extraction.”
Seo Won had a precise grasp of exactly what Han-gyeom was trying to uncover.
“You’re going to share everything Han-gyeom asked you to find out—with me, before him.”
That dark, ocean-blue gaze subtly twisted, and a storm of emotion surfaced on Seo Won’s face.
“That’s all I ask.”
