Min-hyung smiled awkwardly as their eyes met.
“Did you know?”
“Of course.”
Seo Won hadn’t memorized Han-gyeom’s entire schedule, but he was diligent when it came to him.
Whenever he had to attend something in person, he always informed Han-gyeom of the day’s schedule and his expected return time. Seo Won had been told not to go out in his main body without receiving Guiding first, and he’d obediently listened every single time. Waiting patiently without leaving—even in urgent situations—until Han-gyeom woke up from his deep sleep had simply become part of the routine.
So Han-gyeom knew Seo Won’s schedule for today. He also knew that by now, Seo Won was likely swarmed by reporters in real time.
And just then, Cha Min-hyung had shown up.
He was someone who could contact Seo Won directly, and yet he came at a time when Seo Won was unavailable. Considering how rarely Seo Won left the mansion himself, there was no other way to interpret it—it was clearly intentional.
Min-hyung made no effort to hide his intentions as he spoke casually.
“I wanted to see your condition with my own eyes. It’s been quite a while since we last met.”
“Somehow, I doubt you came just to check on my physical health.”
Rather than deny it, Min-hyung simply smiled warmly. Just as Han-gyeom had said, he was more concerned about his mental state than his body.
With a relaxed expression, Han-gyeom sipped his tea and began to speak.
“Lately… I’ve been doing really well. Eating properly, sleeping soundly, resting when I need to. My mind’s not cluttered either.”
His reply was straightforward. He sounded genuinely like someone who was doing just fine—clear and crisp.
And in truth, Han-gyeom was indeed eating well, sleeping well, and resting peacefully.
He wasn’t locked away in some suffocating prison. He was living comfortably in a massive house, lacking nothing.
Walks, retreats far away—if Han-gyeom wanted it, he could go anytime. With the way Seo Won was now, it was obvious he wouldn’t stop him from going anywhere or doing anything. Though it would be unavoidable for someone to accompany him in case of a seizure, at the very least, Seo Won would ensure others kept their distance.
‘Come to think of it, I haven’t had any seizures lately either.’
The last time Han-gyeom had experienced a seizure was the day Seo Won smoked a cigarette for the first time. The moment he realized that the scent of Seo Won’s cigarette was the same as his own, an inexplicable mix of emotions overwhelmed him, and unexpectedly, the early signs of a seizure appeared. Fortunately, the symptoms were mild, and as soon as he clutched the ice apple infused with Seo Won’s ESP, everything calmed down quickly.
That had been his last seizure.
Since then, there hadn’t been a single sign—not even a flicker. It was as if his body was saying it didn’t need to be in pain anymore.
Han-gyeom chose to keep it simple.
The seizures had stopped because he no longer felt himself being pulled in every direction.
So Han-gyeom was able to tell Min-hyung he was fine without a hint of hesitation or doubt.
“I’m really okay. You don’t have to worry about me.”
“Then that’s a relief.”
But Min-hyung couldn’t shake the strange sense of dissonance he felt from Han-gyeom.
I’m doing well. I’m fine. There’s nothing to worry about…
Why did all of that sound… off?
He could have taken Han-gyeom’s words at face value. It wasn’t his place to question the man’s thoughts or feelings.
If Han-gyeom knew everything, Min-hyung would’ve respected whatever decision he made. Whether he decided to kill Seo Won out of revenge, whether he cried afterward or didn’t, whether it led to his own death or not—it was all Han-gyeom’s choice. Min-hyung wouldn’t interfere or offer unnecessary commentary.
‘That is, if he really knew everything.’
“How much do you know about this situation, Mr. Cha Han-gyeom?”
At Min-hyung’s question, Han-gyeom tilted his head slightly, curious.
“This situation… meaning what, exactly…?”
“I’m talking about the illegal dealings of former Vice Chairman Kim Cheol-min.”
Only then did Han-gyeom let out a quiet “Ah,” nodding in recognition.
“I’ve got a general idea. Aside from the contract Seo Won made with the Esper Association, there was a backdoor deal for illegal transactions… That’s why he’s been so busy lately, right?”
“That’s right. Then are you also aware of the details of the deal?”
“Hmm… I know that Seo Won—or rather, that he agreed to create something Kim Cheol-min wanted.”
“And what was the consequence if he failed to deliver?”
“…Excuse me?”
Han-gyeom looked confused. Usually, this kind of question would be about the price of making something, not the penalty for failing to.
As Han-gyeom struggled to answer, Min-hyung let out a silent sigh in his mind.
‘He really doesn’t know a thing… Is it because he doesn’t want to?’
It wasn’t something Min-hyung couldn’t understand.
The moment he saw Han-gyeom’s face, he knew—the man had made up his mind to kill Seo Won. His eyes were firmer than the last time they met, calm yet filled with a deadly resolve.
And yet, Seo Won had given him freedom.
But was that freedom only referring to where Han-gyeom could go?
He had every means to reach out, to dig deeper, to investigate things on his own. Even just reading a few news articles online would’ve revealed what Kim Cheol-min had been after, how he was trying to exploit Seo Won, and how outrageously unjust the penalties were if he failed to produce results.
And still, Han-gyeom knew nothing. He hadn’t even tried to find out.
Because buried in that information… there might be a poison that would shake him to his core.
Min-hyung took a sip of his now-cooling tea and said,
“Forget what I said. It’s not the kind of topic that would interest you right now.”
“I… see.”
Han-gyeom responded with a look of unease, and Min-hyung held his gaze in silence.
The spark had been planted.
Whether to extinguish it or let it grow into a flame—that choice now belonged solely to Han-gyeom.
Min-hyung sipped his tea in silence, as if to show he could wait however long it might take.
Just moments ago, Han-gyeom had appeared calm and at ease. Now, he sat motionless, holding his teacup with both hands, unmoving. His face reflected dimly in the faintly rippling, rose-tinted tea.
‘The price… What could it be?’
Min-hyung’s words looped endlessly in his head. Among them, the one that kept circling the most was that single word—price.
‘Isn’t the price of failure usually a penalty fee or compensation? But if it were something that simple, Min-hyung wouldn’t have said it like that…’
Han-gyeom didn’t know much about the case.
All he really knew was that there had been an illegal transaction stemming from a hidden backdoor agreement—between Seo Won and Kim Cheol-min.
He was aware that, due to his contract with the Esper Association, Seo Won was developing a medium capable of containing ESP or GP. That device was the reason Kang Woo-chan and his people hated Seo Won so vehemently—because of the pain it could bring to other Ability Users in the future.
Han-gyeom had assumed that was all there was to it. But now, it had come to light that Seo Won had been conducting an illegal transaction with Kim Cheol-min through that secret agreement. That detail had come not through questioning, but as a vague snippet casually passed along by Ah-young—nothing detailed.
Kim Cheol-min had asked Seo Won to create something with the potential to threaten national security, and for whatever reason, Seo Won had accepted. Han-gyeom simply figured it must’ve been an astronomical amount of money—enough to force his hand.
But that was as far as he could speculate.
He didn’t know if there was some deep connection between Seo Won and Kim Cheol-min. He had no idea why Seo Won had agreed to that kind of deal in the first place. Nor did he understand why Seo Won had to personally handle everything, making public appearances almost daily. He couldn’t fathom why Seo Won and even the Kangsan Group were taking such massive blows just to undo what had already been done.
He didn’t know.
And he hadn’t tried to know.
It had been quite a while since Seo Won left behind a phone for Han-gyeom, saying he could use it anytime. But Han-gyeom had never even turned it on. Not once. He hadn’t contacted anyone. He hadn’t even used it to look up a single article, despite how easy it would’ve been to access the internet.
Because he believed… even if he knew, nothing would change.
With that vague thought in mind, he shut off every line of thinking, just as he had been doing all this time—quietly waiting for Seo Won. Even though the controls that once bound his eyes, ears, hands, and feet had long since disappeared.
‘Is it really so bad… not to know?’
After all, they were just two people who’d end up killing each other in a few days anyway.
And yet, contrary to his thoughts, Han-gyeom’s lips moved of their own accord, letting his voice slip out.
“It’s okay… even if it’s not interesting.”
He hesitated, then continued, speaking to Min-hyung.
“Please tell me what happened.”
In the end, Han-gyeom chose to let that spark live.
Unaware that this was exactly what Min-hyung had been hoping for.
Min-hyung looked at the change in Han-gyeom’s expression and gave a faint smile.
‘Thank goodness.’
Han-gyeom’s face was noticeably different from earlier.
The calm, cold stillness that had once made him seem almost mechanical had given way to a quiet, welcome trace of life.
‘Because you don’t just hate him.’
Staring into Han-gyeom’s deep eyes, Min-hyung broke the silent taboo that had hung between them regarding Seo Won.
“Don’t you want to know more?”
“More… like what?”
Han-gyeom’s pupils trembled ever so slightly. Min-hyung didn’t miss that subtle shift.
“What Director Seo is thinking right now… what’s going on in his mind.”
Min-hyung recalled the “Pandora’s Box” he had personally handed to Seo Won.
And before he knew it, he found himself silently offering an apology to Seo Won within his thoughts.
‘I’m sorry.’
