Three weeks had passed since Cha Han-gyeom and Seo Won last contacted Kang Woo-chan.
Then, one day, without warning, Kang Woo-chan appeared at a rural convalescent hospital on the outskirts of the countryside.
Dressed neatly and sharply, he walked straight into the hospital lobby and headed for the reception desk where a male and female nurse were casually chatting.
There were no patients in sight, so the two nurses had been laughing and making small talk. When the unexpected visitor arrived, they quickly adjusted their expressions, each putting on a polite, professional smile.
Standing at the desk, Woo-chan returned a smile just as warm and opened his mouth to speak.
“I’m here to visit a patient.”
“Which patient are you here to see?”
The male nurse asked with a cheerful tone. Woo-chan fixed his gaze on him and replied.
“Mr. Jung Tae-woo.”
“…!”
Not only the male nurse, but even the female nurse—who had just pulled out a visitor form and placed it on the counter—flinched subtly. It was so brief that anyone not paying close attention would’ve missed it, but Woo-chan’s sharp eyes caught it immediately.
Still wearing a smile, the male nurse said, “Please wait a moment,” and turned to look at the computer screen.
Click-clack. The haphazard sound of him randomly clicking the mouse followed, along with the irregular clatter of keystrokes. Judging by his actions, he had probably opened a notepad window and was only pretending to search the patient database.
The female nurse mouthed the word bathroom to her colleague and stepped away. In her hand, unmistakably, was a phone.
Just moments after she disappeared into the restroom, the man, now wearing a troubled expression, spoke.
“Hmm, we don’t seem to have anyone by that name. Maybe you’ve confused us with another hospital?”
“That’s strange. I was told he was here.”
“Who told you that? That he was here.”
His voice suddenly turned cold. Though his smile remained, the sharpness in his eyes was undeniable now.
Woo-chan met his gaze without flinching, his smile steady and unshaken.
Then, from the direction of the bathroom, a bright flash of light briefly flared, and soon after, two figures emerged.
The female nurse from earlier, and a short-haired woman.
The nurse walked out into the lobby with slumped shoulders and a dazed look in her eyes. The phone she had taken into the restroom was now in the hands of the woman walking behind her.
Seeing this, the male nurse immediately realized what had happened.
“Shit—fuck!”
His face twisted in panic. He turned to flee from the reception desk, only to freeze as a small, round object was tossed in front of his eyes.
It traced a slow arc in the air, falling with a flash of light the moment it landed.
“Ghh—!”
The man, unable to even scream, swallowed his breath and staggered violently.
Just as it looked like he might collapse, he froze in place—mirroring the dazed, doll-like state of the woman before him.
“Just as expected.”
Lee Ji-hye, the short-haired woman who had approached Woo-chan, handed him a phone. The screen was still lit—it was clearly the same phone the female nurse had taken with her earlier.
Only half of the number was visible on the display, but it was enough to guess where the call had been going. If nothing else, the first four digits were a designated code used exclusively within the Esper Association.
While Woo-chan checked the phone, Ji-hye was already digging into the reception desk’s computer, finding out which floor and room the man they were looking for—Jung Tae-woo—was in.
“Let’s go.”
She gave the command to the two nurses, leaving them standing vacantly behind the desk before taking the lead.
Woo-chan slipped the phone back into the female nurse’s pocket and followed after Ji-hye, asking,
“The memory?”
“I did what you said and boosted the ESP output at the moment of infiltration. They’re ordinary civilians with no natural defenses, so the shock should wipe out about five minutes of memory.”
The five minutes she referred to were the moments leading up to the flashbang she had triggered.
Even being generous, they’d forget everything right up until Woo-chan’s arrival—more than enough to erase every trace.
‘They really went through a lot of trouble, didn’t they.’
Riding the elevator with Ji-hye, Woo-chan let out a tired sigh.
There were more managers involved in handling the requests for each Ability Analysis Research Facility than he’d originally thought. He had assumed a few individuals each covered several years of activity—but in reality, the structure was far more convoluted.
There had always been one main administrator, but there were also three sub-administrators appointed each year.
In other words, three sub-administrators rotated annually, each assigned to a different research facility: the Second, Third, and Fourth.
‘I figured that bastard would be the one handling the First Facility.’
Woo-chan’s brows furrowed as the image of Kim Cheol-min, the current Vice President of the Esper Association, came to mind.
Kim Cheol-min had long served as the main administrator and the director of the First Ability Analysis Research Facility. He was also the one who had used the facility’s systems and research outcomes to funnel dirty money into the Association’s coffers.
In any case, while the First Facility was managed under a continuous, centralized hand, the remaining three saw a strangely consistent pattern of turnover and fates.
One administrator climbed the ranks, receiving promotion after promotion, eventually reaching a high-level post within the Association.
Another ended up a ruined husk of a man, sentenced to live the rest of his days in a convalescent hospital.
The last vanished without a trace—dead, with no one knowing how or why.
Notably, every sub-administrator who became a “vegetable” had only ever been assigned to the Fourth Ability Analysis Research Facility.
Jung Tae-woo, the final sub-administrator of the Fourth Facility and the very man imprisoned in this hospital, was no different.
Apparently, the Association had so much they wanted to hide that simply reducing a manager to this state wasn’t enough—they’d even planted people inside the hospital.
Or perhaps they’d just paid off the staff to keep him monitored and locked down.
‘Judging by the fact they’re civilians, the latter seems more likely.’
If they’d truly wanted to plant someone properly, they would’ve assigned an Ability User. But judging by the two nurses at the reception desk, it looked like they’d simply paid off civilians to keep watch.
The research facility itself had already been wiped clean—maybe they didn’t see any point in investing more manpower to protect someone no longer of value.
On the third floor of the hospital, in one of the few single-patient rooms,
Woo-chan spotted a nameplate: Jung Tae-woo.
Leaving Ji-hye outside, he entered the room alone.
On the hospital bed sat a man who looked to be in his fifties.
The first thing that stood out was the unkempt mess of hair, clearly left unmanaged, and his rough, unshaven appearance.
He wasn’t staring out the window or up at the ceiling but rather blankly gazing at a strange diagonal angle, his eyes vacant.
When Woo-chan stepped into the room, the man turned toward him, making a noise like a zombie.
“Uuh… uh…”
A garbled, slurred growl escaped from between his barely parting lips, not quite forming words. Another twitch of his mouth, and it looked like he might start drooling.
Woo-chan walked up to the man and called his name.
“Jung Tae-woo.”
But Jung Tae-woo didn’t react, as if he didn’t even recognize that it was his own name.
Woo-chan stepped up beside the bed, his irises glowing red, and reached for Tae-woo’s head.
The moment his fingertips touched Tae-woo’s forehead—
Pop!
“Aagh!”
With a soft sound like something had burst, red light scattered from Tae-woo’s forehead.
It wasn’t an actual injury—his head hadn’t split open or bled. It was simply that the ESP which had taken over his mind had been completely purged.
Tae-woo, now screaming, recoiled to the corner of the bed. Unlike before, his eyes had regained their focus.
“Wh-Who are you?! Where… where the hell am I?!”
He didn’t even know why he was here. It was no wonder he was confused—he’d been submerged in brain-damaging ESP for five and a half years.
But Woo-chan wasn’t the kind of man to show pity for that.
His hand shot forward and clamped tightly around Tae-woo’s throat.
“Guhk!”
“There’s something I need to confirm with you.”
The deadly aura that radiated from him was enough to suggest that if he didn’t get an answer, he’d snap Tae-woo’s neck right then and there.
Tae-woo, whose muscles were too weak to even function properly, could do nothing but feebly thrash.
Woo-chan leaned in, voice cold and quiet as death.
“If you don’t answer properly…”
For some reason, his other hand was now gripping Tae-woo’s index finger.
The sharp, raised slant of Woo-chan’s eyes softened into a gentle curve—matching the seemingly kind shape of his lips.
“I’ll break them. One by one.”
There wasn’t a trace of mercy in him as he asked with a smile, “That okay with you?”, while tightening his grip on Tae-woo’s finger.
***
After leaving the convalescent hospital where Jung Tae-woo had been confined, Woo-chan let out a heavy sigh, his expression clouded with complex thoughts.
Ji-hye, who had been standing silently beside him, asked cautiously,
“You okay?”
She had no idea what kind of conversation had taken place between Woo-chan and Tae-woo.
Only a very select few—the trusted aides who served as Woo-chan’s hands and feet—were privy to that.
He had only told her that the reason for searching for Jung Tae-woo was because of Han-gyeom’s request. Nothing beyond that had been shared.
Probably because knowing more might put Han-gyeom in danger, or shake her emotionally to the point of losing composure.
So she didn’t intend to ask what was said.
All that mattered was whether Woo-chan could bear the weight of it in silence.
Reading Ji-hye’s worried thoughts, Woo-chan gave her a faint smile.
“Yeah. I’m fine.”
“‘I’m’ fine… so that means someone else might not be?”
Instead of answering her question, Woo-chan quietly pulled out his phone.
Tap, tap. His fingers paused occasionally as he tapped the screen, hesitating here and there—but before long, he had finished composing a short message.
[Investigation’s done. Come when you’re ready.]
The recipient of that message—was Seo Won.
