Lee Ki-uk sat reading over the documents on his laptop, absentmindedly tapping his index finger against the desk. It was a habit that surfaced whenever his thoughts grew too heavy. Keeping a steady rhythm, he tapped a few more times before refocusing on the screen.
The files had been sent by Dr. Han before his death. Ki-uk had gone through them countless times already, yet no matter how thoroughly he examined them, one conclusion remained: test subject K0285F91—Subject K—was suspicious.
Subject K had been one of the experimental units in the lab that had been destroyed during the explosion in Sector 1-8—the very incident that coincided with K’s rampage. According to Dr. Han’s research logs, there was a high probability that Subject K possessed a special ability. Whether that ability was erasure or something else remained unclear, but it was certainly worth investigating.
Even without any special powers, Subject K held considerable value. An Esper ranked above S-grade? That alone made him a prize. Although Ki-uk didn’t specialize in Awakened research, Subject K was simply too intriguing to ignore.
After skimming through K’s logs one more time, Ki-uk opened a new file—Lee Tae-rim’s. In order to retrieve Subject K, Tae-rim would need to be brought in as well. There was no way around it; K had left an Incomplete Imprint on him.
Interestingly, Dr. Han had taken quite a liking to this particular Guide. His notes indicated that ever since the Incomplete Imprint with Subject K, the amount of energy Tae-rim could channel during Guiding had increased dramatically. He had even managed to save Kwon Hae-beom—who had been moments away from death with a punctured lung and showing signs of an imminent Rampage—through heart Guiding, not even the typical mucosal method. And the kicker? Their Matching Rate had dropped by 10%, down to just 60%.
The Center hadn’t made a fuss since Dr. Han had kept it quiet, but under normal circumstances, the research team would’ve pounced on such an anomaly. In his journal, Dr. Han even speculated that Tae-rim’s true rank might exceed S-grade and expressed interest in exploring the link between the Incomplete Imprint and his enhanced capabilities.
With a bitter expression, Lee Ki-uk reread Dr. Han’s notes. He silently vowed never to forget the man’s noble sacrifice.
“…Haa.”
A deep sigh escaped his lips. So many lives had been lost—all because of one damn Guide. Their comrades had marched in with bombs implanted in their brains, prepared to die if it came to that—but no one had actually wanted them to.
They’d all wanted to make it to the end together, to live to see the day their purpose was fulfilled. They had hoped to stand side by side when it happened. But now, that dream had slipped out of reach.
The research team in Sector 4-7 was focused on developing a Guide capable of syncing with any Esper. A perfect Guide, free from the restrictions of Matching Rate and compatibility. The ultimate goal was to create someone who could even Guide Espers engineered by Molt, no matter how extreme their abilities were.
After all, what was the point of painstakingly creating an Esper with erasure powers if you couldn’t even use them due to the lack of a compatible Guide? That kind of waste was unacceptable. Creating Guides was just as crucial as producing Espers.
At first, they had tried to create Espers who didn’t need Guides at all. But it hadn’t taken long to realize it was impossible to cram multiple abilities into a single, limited human frame. They had quickly abandoned that idea. So now, though it was more laborious, they created Espers and Guides separately.
Dr. Kim, who oversaw Sector 4-7, referred to D0894T05—Subject D—as a unique case. Normally, when a Guide received an Esper’s Wavelength, especially one with a low Matching Rate, it caused intense pain. The energy would clash violently inside the Guide’s body, unable to dissipate properly, and would continue to do so until it eventually faded on its own.
But Subject D could Guide any Wavelength. Even with poor compatibility, he always managed to complete the process within three hours. His body was fragile, and his rank too low for practical use, but studying his unusual constitution yielded meaningful results.
Then Dr. Han sent Dr. Kim some blood samples and physical data on Kwon Hae-beom. He suggested that if Subject D could be adapted to handle someone like Kwon—an Esper with no compatible Guide—the research could reach new heights.
Using the materials provided, Dr. Kim ran multiple tests and eventually succeeded in tailoring Subject D to match Kwon Hae-beom. He was ecstatic with the breakthrough, calling Subject D a specimen that made experimentation truly satisfying.
The only issue was Subject D’s rank. C-rank was far too low. In an effort to raise it, countless S-rank Guides had to be sacrificed. Even then, Subject D never made it past B-rank. Dr. Kim found that endlessly frustrating.
Nevertheless, he continued forcing Subject D to Guide Kwon Hae-beom’s Wavelength. Though the process was excruciating, Subject D endured it, relying on drugs to stay alive as he slowly raised the Matching Rate.
If only Subject D had reached A-rank… The thought alone stirred regret. He hadn’t been enough to satisfy Dr. Kim’s ambitions, but for a disposable test subject, he’d left behind a remarkably valuable record.
Seeking further data, Dr. Kim sent Subject D to the Sector 1 Center. There, he successfully became Kwon Hae-beom’s exclusive Guide. Dr. Han maintained regular contact with Dr. Kim, sharing updates and monitoring both of them.
But then, disaster struck. The Center seized control of Subject K, and the research team in Sector 1-8 was annihilated when K went into a rampage. A devastating loss in every sense of the word.
After that, for reasons no one quite understood, Dr. Kim became obsessed with bringing Subject K into his own lab. He even gave Subject D an outrageous order: seduce Subject K.
But after three years of unwavering devotion to Kwon Hae-beom, Subject D flat-out refused. Dr. Kim, hot-tempered as always, flew into a rage.
Looking back, Lee Ki-uk regretted not discarding Subject D then and there. He’d been too tied up with the current project to stop Dr. Kim—and that failure had cost them far too many comrades.
Even Dr. Kim, who had once been elated when Subject D came crawling back, had gone silent in the face of so much death. Rumor had it he was now pushing his experiments so far, he was draining the very life out of Subject D to keep the research going.
Lee Ki-uk had deliberately chosen to say nothing to Dr. Kim. He didn’t reprimand him, didn’t accuse or condemn. Dr. Kim had once stood among them, a comrade who’d made the same vow. And Ki-uk knew—he was already bearing the weight of that guilt himself.
But the real issue now… was how to get Subject K out.
That was the problem.
Judging by Dr. Han’s logs, brute force wasn’t a viable option. The only path was through his Guide, Lee Tae-rim. But that presented another obstacle—every S-rank Guide had a tracking chip embedded somewhere in their body.
The chip, microscopic and small enough to circulate through the bloodstream, had a lifespan of exactly one year. Once that year passed, a new one would be injected. Guides were aware of the chip’s presence, but not its location. Even they couldn’t pinpoint it. That was how valuable S-rank Guides were—classified as critical national assets.
And because the chip functioned solely as a tracker, its signal was refined to an extreme degree. Creating interference devices for it was no easy feat. Worse, the chips evolved constantly, upgraded every time the tech improved.
Anyone with half a brain would’ve replaced all the chips after what had just happened. Which meant that every S-rank Guide now carried an upgraded chip—one even more advanced than the ones detailed in the files they had.
Trying to abduct someone with a live tracker inside them was… a nightmare.
“…Doesn’t mean we can’t build something of our own.”
With all the data they’d collected and the technology they’d developed, it wasn’t impossible. Far from it. They had talent to spare.
Of course, kidnapping an S-rank Guide couldn’t be done quietly. Covert wasn’t realistic. But that didn’t mean it couldn’t be done. If he used the Gate Wavelength Regulator—the very project he was currently working on—taking down an entire Center wouldn’t be that difficult.
Lee Ki-uk’s eyes drifted to a small photo frame sitting on the desk. Inside was a woman, smiling brightly. His wife. She had died in a Gate accident exactly twenty-nine years ago. The only person in the world he would have given everything for without hesitation.
And he’d lost her.
Despair had been inevitable.
Back then, Lee Ki-uk had been a researcher for the Center. He’d joined with one goal—to destroy the Gates that had taken his wife. For five years, he gave everything to that cause. His brilliance had fast-tracked his promotions, and before long, he was entrusted with a major project.
It was the Gate Erasure Project. The very thing he had dreamed of.
But the government hadn’t truly cared about erasing the Gates. Their attention had always been on defense. They could’ve funded both, but instead, interest in the Erasure Project dwindled year after year. Budgets were cut. Researchers lost hope and walked away one by one.
Still, Lee Ki-uk refused to give up. This was the reason he’d joined the Center. His purpose. Erasing the Gates that had taken everything from him. He ran himself ragged trying to keep the research afloat, pulling strings, chasing leads, making deals.
And then he uncovered the rotten truth behind it all.
The Erasure Project wasn’t abandoned for scientific reasons.
It was political.
The greedy officials at Central had never wanted the Gates erased. All they needed was the illusion of progress—just enough to keep the public pacified. They shouted about erasing Gates while quietly reaping all the profits that came from them.
People like that were never going to want the Gates gone. Not truly.
In the end, the Gate Erasure Project had been a lie—a hollow front put up to keep the citizens compliant. Nothing more than smoke and mirrors.
