Seo Won fixed his sharp gaze on the door from which Lim Du-hyuk’s voice had come.
It wasn’t unusual during public events for something like this to happen. Most of the time, people would either call directly from the venue or arrange a face-to-face meeting. Occasionally, however, someone would secretly show up at the hotel where he was staying. So the mere fact that someone had come looking for them at this late hour wasn’t particularly out of the ordinary.
But the visitor hadn’t come for him—it was Cha Han-gyeom they were looking for. Just an ordinary escort, at least in the eyes of the public.
Did they take the bait?
That was the only conclusion he could reach.
“…Won. Seo Won?”
Han-gyeom’s tiny voice came through the phone he still held in his hand.
There was only one thing Seo Won could say to Han-gyeom in that moment.
“I’ll call you back later.”
He couldn’t tell him someone had likely taken the bait.
It wasn’t so bad having Han-gyeom worry about him. In fact, he welcomed it. Seo Won had to survive for Han-gyeom to keep living, so it was only natural for him to worry—and that naturalness felt reassuring.
But that worry would soon fuel Han-gyeom’s anxiety.
He’d left an ice apple, imbued with his own energy, beside him, but who knew how effective it would really be. If possible, he hoped Han-gyeom wouldn’t grow anxious in his absence.
That anxiety, too, belonged to him.
So even when Han-gyeom coldly hung up with a curt “Don’t bother calling if you’re busy,” Seo Won couldn’t say anything more.
Staring down at the now-disconnected phone screen with a hint of regret, Seo Won strode toward the door. The moment he opened it, Lim Du-hyuk was there waiting.
“Who is it?”
Seo Won’s voice was cold and curt. Du-hyuk glanced toward the suite’s entrance as he replied.
“It’s a bellboy. Said he had a message to deliver to Han-gyeom.”
Come to think of it, the floor they were staying on was under complete control by Seo Won and Yoon Jeong-ho’s security team. The only outsiders allowed through were verified hotel staff. Which meant—even if someone had come to see Han-gyeom, they shouldn’t have been able to get up here directly.
Seo Won stepped past Du-hyuk and made his way to the front entrance. Naturally, Han-gyeom’s doppelgänger and Du-hyuk followed behind him.
As Seo Won stood before the door, Du-hyuk, catching his eye, moved ahead to open it in his stead.
Just as Du-hyuk had said, waiting behind the door was a bellboy dressed neatly in a red jacket and matching hat. The moment he saw Seo Won, the bellboy bowed politely and greeted him with a gentle smile.
“Apologies for the late hour. I have a memo and a letter to deliver to Cha Han-gyeom-nim.”
The bellboy glanced at Han-gyeom’s doppelgänger, who was partially hidden behind Seo Won, and held out a small note along with a postcard-sized message envelope. Both the envelope and the memo pad matched what one would typically see at the front desk. Even the hotel’s logo was the same.
Seo Won glanced down briefly at the note and envelope as he asked:
“Who told you to deliver this?”
“I… I don’t know. I was just told to give it to Cha Han-gyeom-nim…”
“If you’re going to lie, you should’ve at least done your homework first.”
Seo Won suddenly snapped, his voice like ice as he reached out. His hand, now cloaked in rising black haze, clamped around the bellboy’s throat in an instant.
“Khak!”
The bellboy gasped, startled wide-eyed by the abrupt chokehold. Somehow, the memo and message envelope he’d been holding had already been snatched by Seo Won.
When bellboys deliver messages, it’s standard practice for them to at least have some idea of who made the request.
And yet this man—dressed impeccably head to toe in a bellboy uniform—had answered with “I don’t know.” As far as Seo Won knew, there was no way a properly trained bellboy would deliver a vague message all the way to a suite like this, especially without verifying the sender.
And there was another issue.
“How do you even know Cha Han-gyeom’s name? It’s not listed on the guest registry.”
Seo Won had deliberately used a different name on the room’s reservation instead of Han-gyeom’s. Naturally, a bellboy trying to deliver something would’ve checked the registry first to confirm the recipient’s presence. If that were the case, there was no reason Cha Han-gyeom’s name should’ve come up at all.
The fact that he’d mentioned Han-gyeom by name, and had even looked directly at his doppelgänger while saying he had a message to deliver—
That alone was enough to make this man suspicious.
Seo Won was certain: this man had either been sent by someone or was a hostile pretending to be a bellboy.
“Talk. Who sent you?”
The menace in his voice was palpable—anyone could tell that if the man didn’t give a proper answer, his neck might snap right then and there. The pressure was so intense that even Lim Du-hyuk, standing just behind him, tensed instinctively.
“Ggh—ugh…!”
The bellboy flailed, clawing at Seo Won’s hand to pry it off his throat.
Seo Won’s grip was already strong to begin with, but now it was reinforced with ice, each finger rigid and solid. No amount of struggling on the man’s part was going to loosen it.
And yet—for some reason, the bellboy, wheezing and gasping for air, slowly curled the corner of his lips into a faint smirk. His trembling hand, which had been raking uselessly at Seo Won’s iron grip, began to point toward something.
His index finger was aimed at the memo and envelope Seo Won was still holding.
The neatly folded memo hadn’t even been opened yet, and the envelope remained sealed.
Before Seo Won could give an order, Lim Du-hyuk moved in, twisting the bellboy’s arms behind his back and locking them in place. The moment Seo Won released his grip, Du-hyuk slammed the man to the floor with a loud thud.
With the black aura receding from his hand, Seo Won finally turned his attention to the memo. He unfolded the crisp piece of paper—and was met with a short message written inside.
[Let’s go together.]
The message was so brief that it was almost incomprehensible.
There wasn’t even a sender’s name—no indication of intent, no context to decipher.
Naturally, Seo Won’s hand moved to the message envelope. At first, he had assumed it held a stiff postcard or a formal card of some kind, but what he pulled out was a single printed photograph.
The moment he saw it, Seo Won’s brows furrowed deeply.
The subject in the photo was none other than Song Jae-woo.
A thick metal collar—something more fit for a large dog—was strapped around Jae-woo’s neck. The chain connected to it was being held by someone, though only a hand was visible, leaving the person’s identity a mystery.
Jae-woo, bound by a collar, and someone else holding the chain.
That alone was disturbing enough—but the real problem was the state Jae-woo was in.
His eyes were vacant and unfocused, glazed over with a dazed, drugged look. His lips were stretched into a dumb grin, mouth hanging open like a fool’s. His complexion was deathly pale. Though he wasn’t physically tied up, he was slumped helplessly on the floor like a broken marionette.
It was a grotesque image—nothing like the Song Jae-woo Seo Won knew.
Brainwashing? No… maybe hypnosis?
When Seo Won had last seen him at the estate, Jae-woo had been completely normal. It had only been about two weeks since then. For someone’s condition to deteriorate this badly in that short a time… it could only point to one thing: a mental-type Esper.
Even then, Jae-woo was an Esper himself.
It shouldn’t be that easy to dominate another Esper’s mind…
Seo Won’s expression was grim as he stared, unable to tear his eyes away from the photo.
Truthfully, he didn’t care what happened to Song Jae-woo. Whether the man suffered, vanished into the unknown, or even died—none of it mattered to him.
But what if Cha Han-gyeom had seen this photo?
If it had been the real Han-gyeom here—not his doppelgänger—his breathing would’ve hitched the instant his eyes landed on it. Like it or not, Song Jae-woo meant a great deal to Han-gyeom.
Seo Won let out a breath, almost relieved that Han-gyeom wasn’t present. Then he began to consider who might’ve sent the memo and photo.
There was no need for lengthy speculation.
From the beginning, there had only ever been a few who would dare throw out bait like this—and they were all painfully obvious.
Just then—
“Executive Seo! The memo—!”
Lim Du-hyuk shouted in alarm.
The memo in Seo Won’s hand had suddenly begun to melt, black smoke curling off its surface. Since Du-hyuk was a Non-Ability User, he couldn’t see the black smoke. All he saw was the strange, unnatural way the memo was dissolving.
But this wasn’t simple decay.
The memo in Seo Won’s hand was radiating intense heat.
The abrupt searing pain forced Seo Won to fling it to the ground. The half-melted paper hit the floor with a faint, unnatural thud—far too heavy for something made of paper.
From the spot where the memo had fallen, wisps of black smoke began to curl upward.
As it melted, the memo gradually collapsed into itself, curling inward until it formed a dark, shifting mass—no longer just a piece of paper, but a pulsing lump emitting thick, black smoke.
And as it transformed, Seo Won instinctively stepped in front of Han-gyeom’s doppelgänger—positioning himself as if to shield him.
