Cha Han-gyeom couldn’t answer right away. There had never been a moment when he wasn’t curious about what Seo Won was thinking. He had always wanted to know.
When he seduced Seo Won, it had felt like the man was dancing in the palm of his hand. Seo Won’s emotional reactions were predictable and well within his expectations—he’d acted just as intended. There had been various variables and unexpected circumstances, sure, but nothing that couldn’t be accounted for.
When had that changed? Seo Won’s emotions, expressions, tone, and behavior, he found himself both baffled by them and desperate to understand every single one.
Maybe that’s why he felt himself about to agree with Cha Min-hyung, even though his words were clearly deliberate.
But Han-gyeom tightened his grip on the teacup in his hand and turned his gaze away.
“I was just… curious what other consequences there might be for breaching a contract, aside from legal penalties. And that guy, Kim Cheol-min, he’s basically an enemy. I was just a little interested in the incident, that’s all.”
He forced a casual tone, but Min-hyung had already seen through him.
“Is that really all?”
“If it’s not, then what else would it be?”
Han-gyeom snapped back, but still couldn’t bring himself to meet Min-hyung’s eyes.
Min-hyung stared at him quietly for a moment before finally speaking.
“Kim Cheol-min demanded Director Seo’s heart in lieu of a termination fee.”
“……?!”
Han-gyeom’s eyes widened like lanterns.
Only then did he look directly at Min-hyung, his voice filled with disbelief.
“His heart? That’s just a death sentence!”
“Exactly.”
Han-gyeom’s face twisted. He slammed the teacup down on the table, furrowing his brow hard.
“Seo Won’s lost his damn mind. I don’t know the exact details of the backdoor contract, but that price for failure is insane. That heart… do you know what it took to get it? And to throw it away without a plan…”
A surge of anger welled up inside him. That heart, what had it taken to obtain it? A rare heart from an Esper of the same rank, and even then, it had taken four years of painstaking refinement.
To gamble something so precious as the price for a failed deal—he had to be out of his mind. After barely surviving, what the hell was Seo Won doing?
Suddenly, Han-gyeom froze, struck by the realization of why he was so furious.
It wasn’t because the stolen heart of Song Yeon-woo was being used as payment for a failed contract.
It was because Seo Won’s fragile, barely-salvaged life was now at risk.
That truth alone made his face flush with rage. He was so incensed, he felt like grabbing Kim Cheol-min by the throat right then and there.
Han-gyeom quickly covered his flushed face with one hand and shut his mouth, but Min-hyung had already caught every nuance of his reaction in clear detail.
“It couldn’t be helped. Kim Cheol-min presented that contract when Director Seo had only days left to live under the curse.”
As Han-gyeom mulled over Min-hyung’s words, he realized something didn’t add up.
“The curse… You mean just a few days before he received the heart transplant?”
“That’s correct.”
It was something he already knew, but Min-hyung had directly reviewed the secret contract between Seo Won and Kim Cheol-min during the prosecution’s investigation. The contract had been signed exactly one week before Seo Won’s heart transplant. That transplant was scheduled on the day Seo Won was supposed to die from the curse—his thirty-second birthday.
“Kim Cheol-min deliberately waited until there was just one week left—until Seo Won couldn’t possibly refuse—and approached him with a rare and irreplaceable heart.”
Seo Won had claimed he found out about the heart through Director Shin. So, had Kim Cheol-min used Director Shin to make contact with Seo Won?
‘But that was a lie.’
Seo Won had already commissioned the heart transplant four years prior. The heart had been secured long before the supposed deal. So Min-hyung’s account only deepened the contradiction.
Min-hyung’s next words tangled Han-gyeom’s thoughts even further.
“Director Seo had no choice but to accept the terms Kim Cheol-min proposed—no matter how unfair—because he was about to die. Without that contract, he wouldn’t have survived long enough to do anything.”
“Wait. That doesn’t make sense… Are you sure you’re not mistaken?”
Han-gyeom shook his head, eyes clouded with confusion.
“Seo Won was the one who requested the S-rank Esper’s heart. And Kim Cheol-min was the one who fulfilled that request. The transaction happened four years ago—way before the transplant. So what do you mean, he couldn’t refuse? That’s just… it doesn’t add up.”
Han-gyeom couldn’t believe what Min-hyung was saying.
That day at the beach, in the car, Seo Won had lied to him. He said he’d only learned about the donor heart a week prior.
Han-gyeom couldn’t help but believe it had to be a lie, because every piece of evidence pointed to Seo Won being the mastermind behind it all. Even the facts he’d confirmed later through Kang Woo-chan matched that narrative.
So that conversation in the car—it had to have been a lie.
‘It had to be.’
And yet… there was something about it that kept nagging at him, like a thorn embedded in the back of his mind.
Min-hyung, observing Han-gyeom’s unsettled expression, lightly prodded at that thorn.
“Don’t you find it strange?”
“…Strange how?”
“Just as you said, Seo Won commissioned the transplant and paid for it four years ago. But then how did Kim Cheol-min manage to use that heart as leverage in a secret contract?”
Min-hyung’s calm but pointed question stirred Han-gyeom’s mind into even deeper disarray.
Now that he heard it out loud—it was undeniably strange.
Kim Cheol-min had already received ample compensation and prepared the transplant heart in advance. If that was the case, then he should have returned the fully refined heart without hesitation. And as the client, Seo Won had every right to demand it.
So why did Seo Won end up signing a backdoor contract that risked his very life?
No matter how massive the investment Kim Cheol-min had offered, or how critical his ties to the Esper Association were, Seo Won’s life had already been extended against all odds. It made no sense that he would stake such a precious second chance on a reckless deal. Especially not someone like Seo Won, whose obsession with survival bordered on pathological.
Min-hyung drained the remaining tea in one go and rose from his seat.
“It seems you need some time to think, Han-gyeom. I’ll take my leave now.”
“Already?”
Snapping out of his deep thoughts, Han-gyeom quickly stood up to follow him.
“Seo Won will be here soon. You’re not going to stay and see him…?”
“That’s exactly why I’m escaping.”
Min-hyung smiled softly as he walked toward the door.
“Even I’m not equipped to handle Director Seo’s killing intent.”
Just as he reached the door, Min-hyung paused. Turning back, he studied Han-gyeom calmly before reaching out to clasp his hand tightly.
“Sometimes, the best way to protect yourself is to look away. I’ve spent most of my life doing just that.”
His voice, wrapped in nostalgia, carried a gentle warmth that seemed to genuinely comfort Han-gyeom.
“But there’s a big difference between choosing to look away, and ignorantly looking away. And I think you already know that much.”
Han-gyeom had a pretty good idea of what Min-hyung was trying to say. At the very least, he could admit that he had been willfully ignoring the truth, telling himself he didn’t want to know any more about Seo Won.
“There’s just one thing I hope from you, Han-gyeom.”
Min-hyung pulled him into a brief, brotherly embrace and gave his back a gentle pat.
It felt like a caring older brother consoling a lost younger sibling.
“Whatever choice you make… I just hope you don’t regret it.”
With that heartfelt piece of advice, Min-hyung leaned in and whispered softly to Han-gyeom.
“When your thoughts are in order, try looking for a small black USB. Director Seo likely hid it somewhere in the mansion.”
Han-gyeom flinched at the suggestion and asked in a tense voice,
“What’s on it?”
“Everything you’ve desperately wanted to know but couldn’t find out… let’s put it that way.”
Once again, Min-hyung left behind a cryptic but weighty remark. With that, he exited the parlor, dodging Jung Ah-young’s glare as he did so.
Escorted by other guards, he strode confidently toward the mansion’s front entrance.
Jung Ah-young, who had been glaring daggers at Min-hyung’s retreating back, turned to face Han-gyeom, who now sat alone in the parlor. She quickly stepped closer.
“Han-gyeom, are you okay? What on earth did you two talk about for you to look so pale…?”
“Ah-young.”
Han-gyeom cut her off mid-question, staring at her with unsettling intensity.
Something in his gaze felt so heavy that Ah-young instinctively composed her expression.
“I need to use your phone.”
“Huh? Are you calling someone?”
“No. I just need to look something up online.”
Even as he watched Ah-young tilt her head in confusion, Han-gyeom kept replaying his conversation with Min-hyung over and over in his mind.
He couldn’t yet decipher what all of Min-hyung’s words truly meant. It would’ve been easier to stay ignorant, to let it go. But his instincts kept prodding at that mental thorn lodged deep in his thoughts, subtle but insistent, never letting him ignore it for long.
Try as he might, he couldn’t push it aside. It was just too damn irritating.
So he decided—he would at least verify one thing.
Whether the deal between Seo Won and Kim Cheol-min had truly been a life-or-death contract.
That was the one fact he needed to be sure of.
All of Min-hyung’s remarks had been based on that very premise.
‘Just that one thing. I’ll only check that one thing…’
He convinced himself it was nothing, that once he confirmed it, the thorn in his mind would naturally dislodge itself.
What he didn’t realize…was that doing so would only drive in far more thorns.
