Chapter 26
A long time passed before the door creaked open. I lifted my head slowly. Like a gift I hadn’t dared hope for, Yu Hyunjae’s face appeared.
“Chanhee.”
His voice called my name—soft, gentle, the kind I never thought I’d hear again. I couldn’t even manage a proper reply. Hyunjae stepped closer, each movement light, deliberate. With every inch he closed between us, tears burned behind my eyes. Then, our fingertips brushed. My whole body prickled, and I almost snapped—Why now? Why are you only kind to me now? But before I could, he leaned in and whispered:
“I’m sorry.”
…
“I’m sorry, Chanhee.”
His voice was raw, sincere. The tears that had been rising suddenly stilled. My own voice, surprisingly steady, answered without thought:
“Me too.”
And then I woke from the dream.
***
Dinner was agony. I pushed food around my plate, my body radiating indifference. The four of us eating together was rare, even under the same roof. My father ignored my discomfort, chewing in silence. Hyunjae, beside me, did the same. As the meal dragged on, my father finally cut to the chase. His question was winding, but the point was clear: How are you preparing for the second selection test? I already knew Hyunjae had mastered martial arts, so I glanced at him before answering.
“Just doing what I always do.”
My father’s expression darkened.
“I hope you’re not the type to rely on talent alone and act recklessly.”
A bitter laugh escaped me.
“In this world, you can’t even start without talent.”
My mother’s eyes flicked to Hyunjae. She probably thought I was taking a dig at him. I wasn’t, but I didn’t bother correcting her.
“Come to the Center before the exam.”
I nodded vaguely. It was a chance to observe active professional Rankers, though I wasn’t particularly interested. Still, no reason to refuse. Just then, Hyunjae hesitated beside me, as if debating whether to speak.
“Can I come with you?”
The table fell silent. My father kept eating, saying nothing.
“It’s fine.”
I answered first. Hyunjae looked at me.
“I might feel out of place going alone.”
“What’s out of place about it? It’s your father’s workplace.”
“I don’t want people saying I’m getting special treatment.”
…
“You don’t mind, do you? We’re even.”
Hyunjae didn’t reply, but his silence was answer enough. I could feel it—the hunger for power, the absolute strength that drove him. He’d swallow his pride for it.
After the meal, I returned to my room and opened a book. The content was familiar: the origins of necromancy, the nature of a necromancer, the fatal flaws of the undead. The same warning ended every chapter—necromancy was forbidden, dangerous, to be approached with caution. The author’s intent was clear, but my goals were beyond their warnings.
As the questions piled up, only one person could answer them: Yu Dohyun. And then, it happened.
<Intermediate Skill ‘Basics of Necromancy’ has begun. Progress to first summon: approximately 10%>
I stared at the dry text. No surprise. Mastering this skill was likely a turning point in whatever game this system was playing.
<You can save. Would you like to save? (2/3)>
“No.”
<Please save regularly to keep your data secure!>
“Bullshit.”
As if they hadn’t already manipulated everything. I refused to waste another emotion on this arbitrary system.
Just as I was about to sever the connection, a thought struck me. I knew it wouldn’t answer, but I asked anyway, like a fool:
“Is this… inside a novel?”
<Unknown question.>
“You brought me here, didn’t you?”
<Function not available.>
I flopped back onto the bed, as if I’d expected that. I hadn’t really thought it would confess so easily. Maybe I’d never know, even until I died. If this really was inside a novel, and everyone here was just a creation, what words could ever capture these tangled, indescribable emotions?
***
The Combat Division stood on the city’s outskirts—a potential terrorist target, but the safest option for civilians. The building was nondescript, devoid of the grand logos or markings typical of government agencies. Security, of course. Hyunjae and I stood silently at the entrance after our father dropped us off. We had no idea how to get inside. My father had never brought family to his workplace, so this was my first time seeing the Combat Division building.
An awkward silence lingered between us. I didn’t want to draw attention to myself—especially not from someone who found my existence difficult.
Then, a man in a suit jogged toward us from the main entrance. Middle-aged, with neatly combed graying hair, he carried the air of a high-ranking official.
“Director Kim asked me to meet you. Are you Yu Chanhee?”
“Ah, yes.”
“Please follow me.”
As we walked, he handed each of us a business card: Kim Guhyeon, Chief Security Officer of the Security Bureau. I pocketed it, struck by a strange familiarity in his face and name.
“As you know, the Combat Division has two main branches: the Combat Bureau and the Security Bureau.”
Kim Guhyeon gestured to a floor directory in the lobby.
“You’re acquainted, I believe—the Combat Bureau is headed by Director Cha Hyerin.”
“Yes.”
I remembered a woman who had once patted my head and smiled kindly during my childhood.
“And the Security Bureau is headed by your father, Chanhee.”
Kim Guhyeon led us to the elevator, his expression warm. The interior was standard government issue: a lounge on the second floor, a conference room on the third, and offices from the fourth floor up. The Security Director’s office was on the tenth floor. We weren’t heading straight there—instead, we were to tour each floor.
On the second floor, in a corner of the lounge, was a small memorial space. A tribute to employees lost in the field. Among the names on the wall, Yu Dohyun stood out.
“Dohyun was a man of many talents.”
Kim Guhyeon began to reminisce, though no one had asked.
“Though I remember him being quite cold.”
“Was my brother really like that?”
Kim Guhyeon’s eyes widened, as if he hadn’t expected the question. After a pause, he answered carefully:
“Well, he seemed to dislike me in particular.”
He laughed bitterly. I suddenly realized why his face had seemed so familiar.
“Do you, by any chance, have a younger sibling… or maybe a grown child?”
It was a rude question. Hyunjae shot me a look, but Kim Guhyeon only smiled, unfazed.
“Unfortunately, I have neither siblings nor children.”
I tilted my head. His face was so similar to someone I knew, but the age difference was too great.
“At my age, one might expect me to have children, though.”
Ah. Right. Age.
I stared at Kim Guhyeon’s back. Long ago, a man who had stabbed me with a knife and laughed now stood before me, aged. Why was he here? Why?
