Bang!

At the sudden loud noise, Ju-eon jerked his head up to see Han-ol standing beside the wall he had just punched.

“I didn’t explain all this so you could wallow in useless sentiment.”

Instead of answering, Ju-eon bit his lip. The thought that Ju-eon’s appearance might topple the tower he had painstakingly built sent Han-ol’s anger surging to the top of his head, prompting him to slam his fist into the wall.

“D*mn it.”

Ju-eon stayed silent in the face of Han-ol’s irritated sigh. Soon, Han-ol seemed to realize he had gotten too worked up and pressed his lips together. He had said far more than was necessary.

“Um…”

Regardless, there was nothing Ju-eon could do to help Han-ol right now. Han-ol must have realized that by now.

Ju-eon could only cling to the faint hope that if Han-ol found no use for him, he might just let him go. Addressing the now slightly calmer Han-ol, Ju-eon cautiously spoke up.

“If you let me go now, I promise I won’t report this.”

Ju-eon tried his best to sound polite as he attempted to reason with Han-ol.

“Report?”

At Ju-eon’s earnest tone, Han-ol tilted his head back and burst out laughing. The blatant absurdity in his laughter made Ju-eon’s expression harden. The thought of escaping easily quickly vanished. By the time Han-ol’s laughter subsided, Ju-eon had already lowered his head in defeat.

Han-ol grabbed Ju-eon’s chin and forced him to lift his head. One cheek flushed red, but overall, his face remained pale and clear. He had seemed like someone capable of understanding the situation well, but this unexpected naivety caught Han-ol off guard. For a moment, he wondered if Ju-eon pretended to be clueless, but his face showed no signs of deceit.

“You want me to let you go because I misunderstood?”

“…Yes.”

Quick-witted but overly optimistic—it was almost laughable.

“You’re seriously saying that?”

“…Yes?”

“I don’t hold a grudge against you, but I still can’t just let you go.”

“……”

“Myung-hwon must already know you’ve disappeared, and even if I let you go, admitting I was mistaken, do you think Myung-hwon would forgive me?”

“I… I’ll explain it to him! He’s kind, so if I tell him it was all a misunderstanding, I’m sure he’ll…”

Han-ol looked Ju-eon up and down. It wasn’t true that Myung-hwon had tried to screw him over. But the situation had already spiraled out of control. Clearly, Myung-hwon would never forgive someone who had touched his reverse scale.

“Kind?”

The word slipped out as a sneer before he could stop himself. Kind Myung-hwon. Of all the descriptions he had heard, that was the one that least matched him.

After Ju-eon disappeared, there had been a time when Han-ol mentioned him to Myung-hwon.

‘It’s not like he just left. He’s dead, so why are you still in the agency?’

It hadn’t been to provide information but rather a suggestion that joining AGT would be a better option for him. Han-ol simply couldn’t understand why Myung-hwon continued to stay in the agency, clinging to something so futile.

Han-ol couldn’t tell what Myung-hwon was thinking because his gaze had been as cold and flawless as ever, revealing no cracks. What Han-ol didn’t know was that Myung-hwon’s impeccable exterior was a deliberate facade, concealing his true feelings.

Instead of a response, what Han-ol received was an attack. It happened the moment he saw the flash of light in Myung-hwon’s hand.

Boom! Boom! Boom! Boom!

Before he could react, searing heat grazed past his shoulder.

Crack. Crackle.

Looking back, he saw that an entire section of the wall had been blown away. Flames licked at the exposed steel beams within the destroyed wall.

Cough.

Ash flew into his face, forcing him to cough.

You must never remind a beast that it has been left completely alone. Han-ol had learned that lesson the hard way, at a considerable cost.

‘Hey.’

‘I wasn’t wrong, was I… Ugh.’

Sizzle—

With a single explosion, an entire section of the wall had been obliterated. Even though the ability hadn’t directly hit him, the heat as it passed by was enough to burn his skin, leaving it stinging.

‘Shut up.’

The voice, devoid of any inflection, carried a thick, murderous intent. The heavy, sunken gaze bore down on him, suffocating him with its weight. This was someone who could almost kill a person with just a single word.

The mere memory of that calm fury sent chills down his spine. Han-ol absentmindedly rubbed his smooth cheek as he muttered to himself.

He knew Myung-hwon wasn’t some fool who would sit idly by, waiting for help. But Han-ol had his own circumstances to consider.

“I don’t think Myung-hwon will ever come back to our side.”

After Ju-eon disappeared, the tenuous connection that had barely held Myung-hwon to them had been severed. Now that Ju-eon had returned, could that connection possibly continue?

‘Not a chance.’

Myung-hwon had willingly entered the agency, a place he despised, to live a peaceful and uneventful life by Ju-eon’s side—the life Ju-eon had always wanted. Now that Ju-eon was back, Myung-hwon would cut off anything that posed even the slightest risk, and AGT would undoubtedly top that list.

This time, Han-ol wasn’t mistaken. His prediction stemmed from years of observing Myung-hwon. It seemed so obvious that calling it a prediction felt unnecessary.

“If I let you go now, it’ll be even harder to approach you next time.”

Though Han-ol’s tone sounded light, almost casual, Ju-eon sensed the weight behind his words. He prayed the conclusion wouldn’t be the worst-case scenario.

“How much does Myung-hwon love you?”

“What are you—!”

“I’m curious how much Myung-hwon is willing to sacrifice for you.”

Ju-eon squeezed his eyes shut. The vivid image of impending misfortune twisted his face into a grimace.

The dim lighting in the room deepened the shadows cast by Ju-eon’s figure. He wanted to disappear into those shadows and die. The thought that his existence burdened Myung-hwon suffocated him.

**

As always, exceptions exist, and most exceptions are privileges reserved for the elite.

“Any updates?”

While all reporters had their internet and phone access restricted, the same didn’t apply to those attending the meeting.

‘At least that’s a relief.’

If he hadn’t been able to make contact and was forced to stay trapped here for hours, Myung-hwon would have stormed out long ago. Seo Yun-jin continued speaking, trying to keep Myung-hwon from making an emotional decision.

“There’s no news yet, but the person we planted on their side wouldn’t have missed anything unusual. Even if they haven’t found him yet, it’s not a problem.”

“……”

A hostage’s value lies in their being alive. It was best to assume Ju-eon was safe until they made contact. Fortunately, her reasoning seemed to have worked.

Tap, tap.

Long, elegant fingers rhythmically tapped on the desk. It was better to present a realistic perspective than to offer vague reassurances.

“Ahem.”

In the past, people around him might have taken the hint, but everyone seated at the long table had been involved in the L Hotel dungeon incident.

Though they had lost consciousness as soon as the dungeon appeared and remembered little of the incident, the media later reported that it had been an S-class dungeon. They all felt grateful to have escaped unscathed, without casualties. Most of them felt indebted to Myung-hwon for their lives and busied themselves trying to gauge his mood, knowing that he would soon be at the center of the emerging power structure once the new laws were enacted. Among them were the chairman of L Corporation and his assistant, Lee Ho-yun.

“Ahem.”

Yeo Ji-woong cleared his throat, and the others quickly averted their gazes.

“In Korea, ability users are still classified as public servants, but since the manifestation of abilities isn’t a matter of personal will, it’s unreasonable to force them into government service.”

“But considering the dangers posed by dungeons, isn’t it natural for them to contribute to the state? Taking responsibility for their abilities is only fair.”

The debate between the two opposing views grew intense, with no sign of pretense. As the heated discussion continued, the meeting temporarily adjourned for a break. Seo Yun-jin tapped Myung-hwon on the shoulder and gestured toward the private lounge attached to the meeting room.

Click. Once the door closed and they were alone, Myung-hwon dropped the composed mask he had been wearing and urgently asked, “What’s the situation?”

Seo Yun-jin hesitated briefly before deciding it wasn’t her place to choose. The decision had to be Myung-hwon’s.

“…It seems AGT is responsible.”

Seo Yun-jin ran a hand through her hair and sighed.

“What are their demands?”

Myung-hwon thought of Han-ol, who had once been his older brother. Everything was his fault. He should have been more cautious, but his trail had been discovered, and Han-ol had learned that Ju-eon was alive. Han-ol was sharp enough to notice the subtle changes in Myung-hwon’s behavior after Ju-eon’s return. Myung-hwon could vaguely guess what Han-ol was thinking.

“Their demand is for you to use your ability inside this building before the meeting ends.”

“Ha.”

Myung-hwon’s ability was explosions. Using it here, against civilians, could only mean one thing.

“You’re not going to do it, right? They’re asking you to kill everyone in this building!”

“……”

“This is completely insane.”

They were essentially asking him to become an international terrorist. Though Seo Yun-jin spoke with rising agitation, Myung-hwon couldn’t answer hastily. He couldn’t lose Ju-eon again. He understood that Han-ol had been pushed to the edge, and when cornered, Han-ol was the kind of person who could act unpredictably.