…Pretty clear about what he likes.
The thought of that frail illegitimate child — with nowhere to belong — hunkered down in this cramped room, clinging to things like these just to get through each day left a bitter taste on his tongue. Yihyun shook off the stray thoughts and switched on the terminal sitting on the desk.
“Let’s see — how far can I get with Baek Yihyun’s access clearance.”
[Login successful: S-Rank Guide Baek Yihyun (21)]
Data flooded the screen. Yihyun typed in the keywords ‘Han Taeyun’ and ‘Gehenna Gate’ without delay.
[Classified Document: Gehenna Gate Raid Report]
[Contents: Survivor — Han Taeyun (age 20 at time of incident). Deceased — Lee Seunghyun (age 22 at time of incident) and 13 others.
Notable — Immediate post-boss kill: confirmation of Han Taeyun’s sudden mana wave reversal followed by awakening.]
“Awakening? Awakening after a reversal? That makes no sense.”
Yihyun’s brow furrowed. A reversal of an Esper’s mana meant berserk. And yet Han Taeyun hadn’t died — in fact, he had grown strong enough afterward to blow up half the world.
Feeling the hair rise on the back of his neck, Yihyun clicked to open the next detailed page. But a red warning message promptly appeared at the center of the screen.
[Notice: The individual in question has been classified as a ‘Rebel’ and ‘Major State Traitor.’ All related detailed data has been permanently deleted or access-restricted in accordance with Ability Bureau classified information management guidelines.]
“……”
Yihyun clenched his fist, deep irritation surging through him.
“Deleted because he’s a rebel? That doesn’t track. The bigger the threat, the more information you’d want to compile.”
Yihyun clicked through other categories in quick succession. Han Taeyun’s early activity records, his Gate raid history, even minor personal information. But wherever his cursor landed, a red warning window followed like a taunt.
[Access denied: This data has been destroyed.]
[Access denied: Administrator authorization required.]
“This is a cover-up.”
Yihyun raked a hand through his hair in frustration and began hunting for news clips and rebel activity footage on the public network instead. When the loading finished and Han Taeyun’s recent appearance filled the screen, Yihyun went still.
“…Han Taeyun?”
Yihyun’s lips trembled almost imperceptibly. The man on the screen was the same person he had known — and yet someone else entirely.
Even five years ago he had been called a beauty, but the Han Taeyun now looked somehow haggard. Skin pale to the point of translucency, sharp bones jutting through it, and dark shadows settled beneath his eyes where a deep weariness had taken root. He looked like a glass doll on the verge of shattering.
His tall frame and natural bone structure were unchanged from before, but the flesh stripped away with ruthless severity made that build look sharp as a honed blade.
The pressure radiating from that body surpassed fear. It was closer to awe — the kind a mortal feels when overwhelmed by force beyond their control. In the footage, Han Taeyun gave a casual sweep of his hand, and armored vehicles crumpled like paper under the pressure of gravity.
That vast gravity-wielding power was far more refined and formidable than it had been five years ago. But what unsettled Yihyun most was the look in his eyes.
These were not the eyes of a man who had killed thousands and was tearing the world apart. There was no rage in them. No madness. Only an immense, unfathomable emptiness — and a crushing nihilism that said nothing in the world mattered anymore.
Yihyun stared blankly at Han Taeyun’s frozen gaze in the paused footage, and murmured very quietly.
“…Why are you living like that.”
Something tightened in Yihyun’s chest. What came before any competitive drive was an inexplicable sense of debt.
At that moment, the waiting room door rattled with a loud bang.
“Baek Yihyun! The Director’s calling for you. Get out here, now!”
Right. Let’s go have a look at you. See what it is you’ve been doing.
The moment the heavy door of the Ability Bureau Director’s office swung open, Yihyun’s brow visibly narrowed.
……Who is this man? …Oh! He might be the one who used to trail after the previous Director.
Beyond the nauseating smell of cigarettes and the oppressive air of the room, the man seated at the desk was not the old bastard from Seunghyun’s memory. A much younger, much sharper-edged middle-aged man — cold-blooded, with not a single feature that resembled Baek Yihyun — was turning through documents.
In the gap of five years, the head of the Ability Bureau had been replaced. Yihyun concealed his surprise and stood with a slight lean as he observed the man who was supposedly his biological father — Baek Seungho.
The man opened his mouth without lifting his eyes from the documents.
“I’m told you caused a disturbance in the lobby.”
Not a drop of parental warmth in that low, flat voice. Only the contempt one might feel toward a troublesome insect.
“I made myself very clear. Live quietly, as if you’re dead. One instance of embarrassing me is enough.”
Yihyun scoffed inwardly. His own child had swallowed pills and attempted suicide, and rather than asking after his wellbeing, the man’s first concern was his own reputation. If this had been his past self, he would have flipped the desk over before saying a word — but right now, information came first. Yihyun stood with his characteristic lean and met the Director’s gaze head-on.
“That was self-defense — they started it. But that’s not what I came here about. I have something I’m curious about.”
“Curious?”
“Han Taeyun’s records. Why have they all been wiped? He’s supposed to be the rebel leader.”
Baek Seungho’s hand stilled. He raised his head slowly, a cold light settling in his eyes.
“That is none of your concern.”
“I’d argue it is — if he’s a rebel, he’s an enemy. Know your enemy and you win every battle. What’s the problem with an Ability Bureau Guide wanting to look at information on the rebel leader?”
At Yihyun’s brazen reply, Baek Seungho’s brow furrowed deeply. He had received the physician’s report — but the Baek Yihyun standing before him now gave off an aura so entirely different, it was as though the soul itself had been swapped out wholesale, not merely a case of simple memory loss. Since when had the spineless, cowering illegitimate brat learned to look at anyone with eyes like those?
Baek Seungho pushed his chair back and rose slowly. He crossed to Yihyun in a few deliberate strides, seized his chin roughly, and murmured low.
“Since when have you taken such a keen interest in Bureau affairs? The one who used to tremble in terror at the mere sight of an Esper — seems dying and coming back stripped you of your fear.”
The breath that reached him was unpleasantly laced with the smell of harsh cigarettes.
“Don’t get any ideas. The reason you’re still breathing and living comfortably in that penthouse is not because you’re my son. It’s solely because you happen to be an S-Rank Guide. So keep your mouth shut, do as you’re told, and live as though you don’t exist — and when I call for you, crawl out and prove your worth. That is your reason for being. Now get out.”
A naked dismissal, and a threat beneath it. Yihyun judged there was nothing more worth asking and lifted his chin, knocking the man’s hand away.
“Prove my worth, huh. Look forward to it. I’ll make it very clear.”
Yihyun turned and walked out without a backward glance. Baek Seungho’s contemptuous laughter followed from behind — Yihyun ignored it.
Live quietly? That’s your wish, not mine.
The eyes that settled on Yihyun as he stepped out of the office were cold and still. The Director’s sharp, defensive reaction — hiding information to this degree — was more than enough to suspect that there was dirty backroom dealing between Han Taeyun’s turn and the Ability Bureau, or something they desperately wanted buried.
And that line about keeping him alive because he was an S-Rank Guide. Paradoxically, that meant Yihyun was an exceptionally valuable Guide. From what he had confirmed on the internal network earlier, his access clearance was also fairly substantial — if used well, getting to the Bureau’s classified information seemed possible.
Guess I’ll have to ask people.
The Director had sealed his lips, but the Ability Bureau was full of loose ones. The Guide wing in particular was a nexus of information. Guides who worked with Espers’ minds shared the most intimate recesses of those minds. Somewhere in the Guide wing, there had to be someone who knew why Han Taeyun had broken down over the past five years — and what the Ability Bureau had done in that process.
First order of business: take the Guide wing.
Yihyun strode off toward the Guide wing without hesitation.
He needed to get close to the people working in the Guide wing as quickly as possible and fill in the five-year gap — but in practice, the day’s assigned quota stood directly in his way. Yihyun scrolled through the Guiding list for the day on his tablet.
I should be out there smashing monster skulls, not cleaning up after these bastards.
He was pulling at his hair in misery over the wave of reality crashing down on him when the door flew open with a rough kick, manners entirely absent. The one who walked in was the A-Rank Fire-type Esper on the list — Go Cheolsu.
The moment Yihyun matched the face and name on the tablet screen to the face of the man walking through the door, something flared in his eyes.
One of the vile messages he had seen on Baek Yihyun’s phone. [There’s a line of guys who want to fuck you. Crawl your ass out to the Ability Bureau tomorrow.] The sender of that message had just walked in through the door on his own two feet.
“Hey, Baek Yihyun. Heard you put on quite the show in the lobby today? You still doped up after your little near-death stunt?”
Go Cheolsu sauntered in with a contemptible grin. Yihyun said nothing in response and instead scanned the status window that had appeared on the monitor for him.
