Chapter 22

“Checking each person one by one will take forever. Wouldn’t it be better to just group them and go all in?”

“…So you’re suggesting we observe them in groups?”

“Yeah. Instead of handling them sequentially, we should group at least five people at a time for investigation.”

Seo Ji-hyuk’s muttered words, spoken as if to himself, stung Kang Yu-han’s heart.

He knew Seo Ji-hyuk had taken on this perilous task just to expedite his discharge. Understanding that made it all the more painful for Kang Yu-han.

Through the north-facing windows of the research wing, which Seo Ji-hyuk passed by dozens of times daily, lay the remains of his parents in a sealed laboratory.

The very parents he had killed with his own hands. The tragedy had even caused him to partially lose his memory and significantly impair his Esper abilities.

“Yeah. If that’s the case, we should finish this as quickly as possible.”

Suppressing his bitterness, Kang Yu-han answered nonchalantly. He had become adept at hiding his emotions.

“Then how about this, Seo Ji-hyuk? I did some analysis and noticed these people—#9, #13, and #33 to #35. They all seem to have connections with one another.

If you look at the remarks in the notes column and their past work history, it’s clear they know each other well.

They’ve even given each other generous peer evaluations, so their relationships seem quite amicable.”

“Hmm… so, in short, they move as a group.”

“Pretty much.”

The list Kang Yu-han had compiled consisted of five individuals, all lower-ranking Guides with negligible abilities, mostly assigned to minor posts.

All five worked in fixed departments rather than on rotation, so their work hours and meal times were similar.

However, there was a notable difference between these individuals and Sergeant Kim. Their meal records showed no abnormalities, suggesting their appetites were still normal.

“What? So, maybe they’re not infected at all?”

“That could be true, but I still think they’re worth observing. We could use this as an opportunity to confirm if there are cases where individuals with normal appetites are still infected.”

Seo Ji-hyuk agreed, deciding to give the plan a try.

* * *

The next day, the observation began. At breakfast, lunch, and dinner, Seo Ji-hyuk and Kang Yu-han stationed themselves in a corner of the cafeteria to watch the five men.

Seo Ji-hyuk ate heartily while occasionally glancing at their targets, while Kang Yu-han, preoccupied with keeping an eye on the group, barely touched his food. Sometimes, they had to switch spots to monitor all five effectively.

‘Something’s off. They seem too normal.’

After three days of following them, no abnormalities were detected. Their behavior in the cafeteria was perfectly ordinary—they ate, talked, and acted like anyone else.

Could it be that they were in the early stages of infection, so the symptoms hadn’t surfaced yet?

Despite continued observation, no suspicious signs emerged. At this point, the only reliable method to distinguish between seemingly normal infected individuals and genuinely uninfected ones was to test them with the ampoule.

The problem was finding a natural way to test the ampoule. They couldn’t simply walk up to unsuspecting individuals and spray them, nor was it easy to set up a trap that would make them interact with the ampoule voluntarily.

Since the list of potential infected individuals was compiled from internal personnel, they had to proceed cautiously. If word got out that specific employees were being suspected of infection, it would cause chaos.

* * *

“Why is the food here so bad? We should’ve eaten at the second cafeteria.”

“We agreed to eat here today.”

Seo Ji-hyuk grumbled, poking at the oily sausages on his plate. Despite his complaints, he wasn’t a picky eater and could eat just about anything.

Recent external food supply conditions had been poor, leading to a noticeable decline in the quality of meals. Since the current president’s inauguration, agricultural production rates had plummeted, and the government struggled to manage even basic food supplies amidst widespread disaster.

While Kang Yu-han adapted to both scarcity and abundance without complaint, most people viewed the situation as a serious issue.

“Should we switch targets? There’s another group of candidates, after all.”

“Now, of all times?”

“Because we’re getting nowhere with this group. I think we might’ve hit a dead end here.”

“Hmm… let’s give it a little more time.”

Unwilling to discuss sensitive matters in a public space, Kang Yu-han suggested leaving the cafeteria.

Just as they were about to get up, Seo Ji-hyuk suddenly stood and pointed to a table diagonally across from them.

Target #9 was convulsing, foam spilling from his mouth as he collapsed. The loud crash of his chair and tray hitting the floor drew gasps and screams from nearby employees.

Lying prone on the floor, #9’s body jerked uncontrollably. It was unclear what had triggered the episode, but one thing was certain: they couldn’t let the other staff see this.

“Everyone, get out! Leave now!”

Seo Ji-hyuk barked, shooing people out of the cafeteria. Meanwhile, Kang Yu-han discreetly alerted the infirmary of the emergency and pulled an ampoule from his pocket.

Several others had gathered around #9, including #11 and #13—two more members of the observation group. Kang Yu-han realized he needed to separate them from the scene as soon as possible.

“Are you okay?”

“What’s happening to him?”

Seo Ji-hyuk approached the panicked #11 and #13, trying to calm them down.

“Get out.”

“Why should I!”

“Let go.”

The men, outraged at being thrown out, resisted. Seo Ji-hyuk, unwilling to argue, shoved them out of the cafeteria, barking at them to leave. Once Kang Yu-han confirmed they had exited the room, he opened the ampoule and poured its contents on the back of Target #9’s head.

“Argh! It burns!”

Blisters erupted across #9’s scalp and neck, bursting grotesquely. His cries sounded animalistic as he writhed on the ground, clearly in excruciating pain. Seo Ji-hyuk strode forward without hesitation, his presence emanating lethal intent.

“Wait!”

“What.”

“This case is different. You saw it too—he didn’t exhibit any signs of transformation earlier. We can’t handle this like last time. We have to try to save him.”

Kang Yu-han stepped in front of Seo Ji-hyuk. It was clear that #9 still retained some semblance of humanity—hadn’t he just cried out in pain moments ago?

Though it was just a theory, Kang Yu-han believed #9 might be experiencing acute transformation. If that were the case, perhaps there was still a chance to revert him to his original state with the right solution.

“Sa… save…”

#9’s trembling hand weakly grasped Kang Yu-han’s pant leg. His strength was feeble, but his desperate convulsions revealed the depth of his plea.

“See? He’s still alive!”

But that was as far as it went. Moments later, when #9 lifted his head, his mouth was dripping with saliva, his eyes gleaming with insatiable hunger. Grabbing Kang Yu-han’s ankle, he pulled him closer and opened his mouth wide.

‘I’ve made a mistake.’

For a split second, Kang Yu-han felt dizzy, paralyzed by the realization that he might be bitten by the Variant.

Suddenly, a loud *thwack* broke through the chaos. The sickening sound of #9’s head separating from his torso filled the air as blood gushed onto the floor.

“…”

Even in death, #9’s hand remained locked around Kang Yu-han’s ankle like a vice. Trembling, Kang Yu-han collapsed onto the floor and tried to pry the claw-like grip off his leg. However, the rigid fingers refused to budge, like iron shackles. A chill ran down his spine.

“I told you to keep your head straight, didn’t I?”

Seo Ji-hyuk yelled, his voice sharp with frustration. Kang Yu-han bit his lip, his chin trembling. Finally managing to free himself from the stiffened grip, he stared at the lifeless hand in horror.

But even if he could turn back time, he knew he would have acted the same way.

He had truly believed those hands were begging for salvation. He had trusted in his instincts and what he had always considered his greatest strength: quick, logical decision-making. Analyzing objective elements with cold rationality had been his method of survival and the foundation of his actions since that fateful day.

The day he had let his emotions take over, nearly pushing Seo Ji-hyuk to his doom. From then on, Kang Yu-han had vowed to act decisively, leaving no room for regret. He thought his detached demeanor would ensure that—but today, it was a glaring mistake.

The self-recrimination and confusion left Kang Yu-han feeling disoriented.

Was it because it was Seo Ji-hyuk? Did being near him dull his judgment, leaving him impatient and irrational? If so, he was repeating the same mistakes again, and that was unacceptable.

“Seo Ji-hyuk.”

“What.”

“If I act stupid like this again, hit me.”

“What?”

“Beat me senseless if I lose focus again. I think that’s what it’ll take.”

Kang Yu-han resolved to remain cold and rational.

He couldn’t afford to falter like this. He had to steel himself.

What Kang Yu-han wanted was to complete this mission with zero margin for error. Only by conquering the uncertainties before him could he give Seo Ji-hyuk the freedom he longed for.

Taking a deep breath, Kang Yu-han suppressed the chaos swirling inside him.