The culprit wasn’t just one person.
Ever since I started investigating the case, everyone assumed the culprit had to be the missing researcher or a C-rank mental-type Esper from the Center.
So we’d been chasing suspects based on that overlap.
But if there were two culprits, then there was no need to search for an intersection at all.
A missing researcher. And a C-rank mental Esper. Only two people came to mind from my surroundings.
If the accomplice wasn’t just a brainwashed Cremon, but if this entire attack had been planned by two people from the start…
“Stop the car.”
The Center’s C-rank mental Esper, Kang Ji-han, who had watched everything unfold beside me—
“Yes?”
And the researcher Ian, who approached me with an unnatural interest in Cremons.
Gyu-hyeon, thinking I was speaking to him, looked confused. I stared into the rearview mirror, locking eyes with Ji-han.
“Ji-han sunbae. I said, stop the car.”
Our eyes met. Despite having known him for so long, his gaze now felt unfamiliar, cold, and detached.
He must’ve heard me clearly—but instead of slowing down, the car accelerated. A chill ran down my spine, my neck going stiff with dread.
Looking ahead, I saw no smoke or flames from a gate explosion. The desolate stillness of the city felt more like the aftermath of a gate than an active one.
The sound of our tires rolling over cracked asphalt grated on my ears like sandpaper. The air itself felt suffocating, like all the moisture had been sucked away.
Then, in the distance, the fog lifted—and faint silhouettes appeared. What looked like one shape became two, then three, then ten…
Hundreds of Cremons stood before us.
“Sunbae!”
“Sa-weol.”
Ji-han gave a faint smile. His voice remained calm, familiar, friendly.
The fact that he might be an accomplice made that familiarity all the more dissonant.
“Watch above.”
It happened in an instant.
Boom! Clang, screech, CRASH!
The world flipped upside down, pain flooding in. My body was thrown around violently—I couldn’t think straight.
Explosions, crunching metal, shrieking—something clawing at us. Through the disorienting noise and pain, I forced my vision to focus.
“Haa… ha…”
“Guide Gu Sa-weol! Are you okay?”
“Ugh… I’m okay.”
When I opened my eyes, we were outside the car. It looked like Gyu-hyeon had grabbed me and rolled us out before the impact.
Looking up to grasp what had happened, I saw our military vehicle crushed like a tin can. On top of it, a berserk Cremon stabbed down repeatedly with razor-sharp claws.
And it wasn’t just one or two. Dozens of Cremons clung to the vehicle like starving beasts thrown fresh prey. I couldn’t believe we’d just been inside that death trap moments ago.
BOOM!
Screeech!
Shortly after, the hood exploded. Flames roared, and some of the Cremons burst into fire. They thrashed wildly before collapsing, their glowing red cores crumbling to ash.
“What the hell…?”
“Esper Kang Ji-han, what is going on here? Why are there Creatures here?”
Across the wrecked vehicle, Ji-han reappeared. He looked unharmed, having apparently escaped in time as well.
Come to think of it—just before the attack, he told me to be careful above, as if he knew it was coming.
I couldn’t take my eyes off his face, which had lost its usual smile.
“Creatures?”
The voice that responded didn’t belong to Ji-han. I turned toward the sound.
A separate group of Cremons stood further away, drooling and watching us. But they didn’t advance—as if someone was holding their leash. And from among them, the owner of that voice stepped forward.
“Look closer. It’s insulting to compare me to those mindless things. Though… I suppose we do share the trait of having no will of our own.”
Glittering silver hair. Tattoos like arcane glyphs. Sharply defined features like a statue, and the scent of the sea…
“Ian…”
“Hello there.”
His hair color was different now, and his body was wrapped in ancient-symbol tattoos. But the face was undeniably Ian’s.
Most of all, the icy, unsettling blue eyes were exactly the same.
“I’m surprised you recognized me. This is your first time seeing me like this, isn’t it?”
He wasn’t wearing his glasses anymore. Without them, his piercing eyes seemed to strip away every layer of flesh and bone, exposing the soul.
It was a familiar yet unfamiliar presence—different from the intelligent and slightly suspicious Ian I’d known from Echo Team at the Center.
How was it different? More unhinged, more obsessive… and brimming with madness.
“Which do you prefer?”
He pulled the silver-rimmed glasses from his pocket—the same ones he wore at the Center—and put them on.
“I’ll show myself however you like, Guide Gu Sa-weol. As long as it pleases your eyes.”
Like magic, his silver hair faded into its usual ashy brown, and the tattoos vanished without a trace.
It was once again the intellectual Ian from Echo Team.
But when I didn’t respond and simply stared at him, he seemed bored and took the glasses off again.
* * *
The cave-type gate Yu-geon had entered was structured like a maze. In gates like that, you usually just have to keep one hand on the wall and follow it—eventually, you’ll find the exit.
The boss was probably in the chamber just before the exit. There were traps along the way, but he was making his way through them without much difficulty.
But gates always had their share of irrational variables. Just as the exit came into view, the ground suddenly heaved, the path was blocked, and the maze shifted.
Apparently, if you didn’t reach the exit within the time limit, the layout changed. After several attempts, he finally succeeded.
Once the boss was defeated, the maze that had surrounded him melted away like snow. Having run around all day, his T-shirt was soaked with sweat.
His body heavy with exhaustion, Yu-geon trudged out of the gate, when someone bumped into his shoulder and spoke to him.
“Hey. I heard you got paired up with Guide Gu Sa-weol again.”
It was Kim Han-sol, an A-rank nature-type Esper from Bravo Team. He was the same backstabbing rat who had tattled when Sa-weol put out a wanted notice to hunt Yu-geon down not long ago.
“Don’t talk to me.”
“You mad?”
Yu-geon ignored him and kept walking, but suddenly, he felt a presence surging at him from behind. Han-sol had condensed moisture in the air to form an ice chunk. Yu-geon deflected it by moving the surrounding rocks.
The ice and stone collided, shattering on impact. What could’ve been a lethal ability to someone else was just a trivial game between the two of them.
“Your control’s improved.”
“I’ve always been this good.”
Han-sol was the same age as Yu-geon but had been active at the Center for over four years. Still, since they were in different teams—and Han-sol had casually suggested dropping formalities—they got along like friends.
“You walked back to her on your own, didn’t you? Then it’s not my fault the pair bond was canceled.”
Han-sol sounded a little defensive. And to be fair, he wasn’t wrong.
Still, Yu-geon had tattled before he made the decision to return to Sa-weol. That was betrayal, no matter how you looked at it. Yu-geon glared at him sharply, and Han-sol just chuckled.
“So what happened? You two made up? You gonna pair again in two years?”
“No.”
“Then?”
“We decided to be each other’s closest colleagues.”
“So what were you before, if not colleagues?”
Han-sol raised an eyebrow, looking genuinely confused.
“Not just colleagues. Closest colleagues.”
Yu-geon corrected him, but Han-sol’s expression didn’t change. He still looked like he had no idea what Yu-geon was talking about.
Even when Alpha Team members asked, Yu-geon had given the same answer—and they’d all responded like Han-sol. They couldn’t grasp the difference between “colleagues” and “closest colleagues”…!
Even if others didn’t get it, to Yu-geon, that title held value. After fights, resistance, and reflection, he’d found the perfect compromise: “closest colleague.”
At first, he wasn’t sure if it was right. But with time, he’d become convinced—it was.
Being “closest colleagues” meant he could stay by Sa-weol’s side without being a burden. Within that boundary, whatever Sa-weol did, he wouldn’t be pushed away.
“Ji-soo said you’ve been digging your own grave real hard. Must be bad.”
“What? She said something?”
“She just said ‘digging hard.’ But even if she hadn’t, anyone in Branch A could tell you’ve been simping hard for Guide Gu Sa-weol.”
“……”
Yu-geon had nothing to say. But he didn’t really care. All that mattered was his relationship with Sa-weol. No matter what others thought, as long as the two of them were happy, that was enough.
He thought back to what happened recently at Emily’s house. That night, they’d spread snacks across the living room table and were drinking on the floor.
At some point, Yu-geon noticed Sa-weol sitting nearby, looking half-asleep with a bored expression. She looked like she might disappear into her room at any moment, like usual, so he quietly offered her his glass.
“Wanna try a sip?”
“Yeah, Sa-weol, try it! Yu-geon made it—seriously, it’s a whole new world!”
“No thanks…”
“Just taste it! You can activate your creature mode and detox it anyway.”
With Emily backing him up, Sa-weol eventually gave in and took a sip, though her expression showed clear reluctance. But after just one sip… she collapsed like she’d blacked out.
“Sa-weol. Are you okay?”
Yu-geon panicked and shook her by the shoulder. She was completely limp, not moving at all. Emily, just as shocked, checked to make sure she was still breathing.
But Sa-weol was just sound asleep, softly snoring.
Yu-geon hadn’t expected her to be that weak to alcohol. She’d told him she wasn’t, and she didn’t look like someone who would be.
“What do we do now…? How do you pass out after one sip?”
“She probably hasn’t been sleeping well lately.”
“Why? Something going on?”
Emily looked like she regretted saying it, her expression slipping.
That look made Yu-geon certain—something was going on.
She’d been stressed chasing down the culprit, sure—but it didn’t seem like something bad enough to keep her up at night…
