Chapter 5.

A moment later, the sound of running water came from the shower.

Left alone in the room, Kang Yu-han stood in a daze for a moment before loosening the towel around his waist and neck and began dressing.

After putting on his clothes and finally adjusting his uniform tie, he glanced at his neck. Fortunately, the shirt collar was wide enough that, with the top button fastened, the red marks were concealed.

‘Is he pretending not to remember, or does he truly not remember?’

Staring at his unusually pale face in the mirror, he recalled the events of the night before, but the answer eluded him.

Just earlier, Seo Ji-hyuk had acted exactly as he usually did—gruff, dismissive, and indifferent, barely looking at him with anything other than a hint of disdain. It was nothing new.

Yet, something about it made his chest tighten. Kang Yu-han shook his head, deciding not to think about it any further. His mind was already tangled, and there was nothing he could do to change the situation.

Before Seo Ji-hyuk could finish his shower, Kang Yu-han grabbed his briefcase and left the room.

* * *

In the conference room, only two people from the previous day’s group—Center Chief and Dr. Yoon—were present, waiting for Kang Yu-han and Seo Ji-hyuk. Dr. Yoon handed him a warm cup of coffee and asked,

“Where’s Major Seo?”

“He’ll be here shortly.”

The center chief interjected,

“You two started living together yesterday, didn’t you? How is it?”

“Well… it’s manageable.”

“You’re not using separate rooms, I trust?”

“Of course not. We’re in the same room.”

“Hmm, right. I wouldn’t expect Major Kang to lie. As I mentioned, it’s important for you to maintain close physical proximity.”

“…Yes.”

There was no way he could mention that the closeness had been far more than he’d bargained for. Kang Yu-han directed his gaze to the stack of documents placed at his seat on the conference table.

“All right, let’s begin the briefing…”

Dr. Yoon was interrupted by the sound of the door swinging open.

“I’m here.”

“Oh, arriving on time for once,” Captain Kwak chided.

Seo Ji-hyuk glanced briefly at Kang Yu-han before dragging a chair over and dropping down right beside him. As his familiar scent, mixed with a hint of cologne, wafted over, Kang Yu-han held his breath, feeling a strange warmth emanating through the Esper uniform beside him.

Unable to shake the sensation, he shifted his chair slightly, creating a bit more space between them. Seo Ji-hyuk, resting his chin on his hand, cast an unblinking gaze in his direction, but Kang Yu-han kept his eyes firmly fixed on the table, refusing to look his way.

“All right, now that we’re all here, let’s begin. Dr. Yoon, please start the briefing.”

The center chief removed his glasses and gestured toward Dr. Yoon, who switched on the microphone at his seat.

“As you’re aware, new ‘Variants’ have recently been appearing around Jongno District. Please refer to the documents I’ve distributed. We’ve analyzed the frequency and locations of these incidents.”

Kang Yu-han leafed through the documents, glancing occasionally at the personal monitor displaying additional reference material. After much debate and varying opinions from different sectors, it seemed the new terminology had settled on “Variant,” rather than referring to them as infected individuals or patients.

It made sense—calling them infected or patients implied they were still human, a view society had largely abandoned.

Thinking he’d sighed quietly, Kang Yu-han was surprised when Seo Ji-hyuk nudged him with an elbow. Startled by the unexpected contact, he widened his eyes and looked over at Seo Ji-hyuk, who met his gaze without a word.

Their eyes locked briefly, and in that moment, Kang Yu-han saw something flicker in Seo Ji-hyuk’s eyes—a glint of that same predatory look from last night, buried deep within his gaze. A shiver ran down his spine, and he quickly looked away. After that, Seo Ji-hyuk didn’t touch him again.

Dr. Yoon’s briefing was brief but packed with unsettling details.

The first new Variant sighting occurred 15 days ago in Eunpyeong-gu, where a single entity was found and immediately neutralized.

Three days later, two additional entities were discovered and eliminated in the same area, but autopsies revealed no significant findings—no virus, no unusual cells.

Seven days ago, four entities appeared in Gangbuk-gu, with three eliminated on sight while one escaped.

Four days ago, five entities surfaced in Jongno-gu and two more in Gangbuk-gu. Of these, only one was successfully neutralized, with six escaping.

One day ago, a single entity was sighted again in Eunpyeong-gu but evaded capture. Three more appeared in Gangbuk-gu, and despite immediate action, two remained at large, forcing the district’s residents into bunkers. Another was found hiding in a home, reported by a neighbor, and subsequently eliminated by the response team.

When Dr. Yoon finished, a tense silence filled the room. Even Seo Ji-hyuk had nothing to say.

Breaking the silence, Kang Yu-han spoke.

“This is more serious than we anticipated.”

Dr. Yoon seemed to breathe a sigh of relief as if grateful for someone voicing the concern. The center chief took up the conversation.

“We can’t say for sure at this stage, but we’re beginning to suspect a possible *organized effort* behind these incidents.”

Kang Yu-han blinked, taken aback by the implication more than the contents of the briefing itself.

“Organized effort? Do you have evidence of such a thing?”

“The sudden emergence of so many entities in the same region is unprecedented. Plus, without a virus or any biological factor to spread the infection, it’s implausible that they’re spreading on their own. This leads us to suspect that someone may be deliberately exposing these new Variants in specific areas,” the center chief explained, his sharp gaze glinting behind his glasses.

The implication of intentional exposure suggested a powerful, malicious force behind the Variants.

“This is exactly why I paired the two of you together,” he added, glancing between Seo Ji-hyuk and Kang Yu-han.

Seo Ji-hyuk, still propping his chin on his hand, appeared indifferent.

“Espers pairing with Espers—it might seem unconventional to some,” the center chief continued, directing a pointed look at Seo Ji-hyuk, who had been idly doodling on his documents.

“No one else could handle this. I’m asking you both to make this work.”

For the first time, there was a hint of genuine urgency in the center chief’s voice.

* * *

“They could’ve at least assigned us a guide. What’s the point of partnering us with an Esper who’s no help at all?”

Seo Ji-hyuk’s grumbling voice followed Kang Yu-han as they left the conference room. He didn’t bother to reply.

As the two walked down the hallway, they attracted curious glances from passersby. Kang Yu-han was used to such attention; it was common for people to look at them, especially since both were known as striking figures within the center. Some faces flushed at the sight of them together.

Most women, however, seemed to take in Kang Yu-han with lingering glances, only to cast quick, nervous looks at Seo Ji-hyuk before averting their eyes.

‘Do they avoid looking at him because his expression is so intimidating?’

Kang Yu-han couldn’t tell what expression Seo Ji-hyuk was making behind him, but it hardly mattered now. He had too many tasks to focus on, and far too little information.

‘Focus on work. Just on work.’

Seo Ji-hyuk hadn’t brought up last night at all. A confusing mixture of hope that Seo Ji-hyuk truly didn’t remember and fear that he was only pretending swirled inside him. But either way, confronting him directly was not an option.

“I’m heading out.”

As soon as they reached the lobby, Seo Ji-hyuk strode outside without hesitation, likely to smoke. For a heavy smoker like him, the long meeting must have felt interminable.

Kang Yu-han watched him disappear, then turned away and continued toward his destination.

Rounding a corner, he spotted a promotional poster for the Esper-Guide Center on the wall. It featured none other than Seo Ji-hyuk, wearing his uniform and holding a shotgun. The image was unforgettable—especially his eyes, which held that same dangerous glint, as if capable of consuming anyone who dared look too closely.

…Though, he hadn’t been this intense back at the Academy.

Lost in thought, Kang Yu-han was startled by a familiar voice behind him.

“Yu-han?”

“Oh, Sunbae.”

It was Shin Yi-jun, one of his Sunbae classmates from the Academy. Smiling brightly, Yi-jun strode over to him.

“What brings you here? Had a meeting?”

“Yes. The center chief called for a meeting this morning.”

“It’s nice to see you after so long.”

“Likewise.”

“If you’re really glad to see me, how about showing it on your face? Are you actually happy to see me?”

Kang Yu-han hesitated, unsure of how to respond, and awkwardly puffed his cheeks before letting them deflate. Yi-jun chuckled, clearly amused.

Yu-han had no idea, but to those who knew him well, his occasional moments of awkwardness were oddly endearing—a contrast to his cool demeanor. Yi-jun, who had watched over him for a long time, found it charming.

“Anyway, you haven’t had lunch yet, have you? Come eat with me.”

Just as Kang Yu-han was about to respond, a whiff of cigarette smoke drifted over, followed by Seo Ji-hyuk’s voice.

“I’m afraid that’s not possible.”

“Oh… Do the two of you have something to do?”

Yi-jun asked, his brows knitting slightly as he glanced between them, waiting for an answer.

“No, it’s not like we—”

“Despite both being Espers, we are paired partners. We have confidential matters we can’t discuss in front of others. It seems we’ll have to excuse you, Sunbae,” Seo Ji-hyuk interrupted, giving a mischievous smile that betrayed nothing of his intentions.

Kang Yu-han felt thrown off. He hadn’t been briefed on any such matter and had no idea what Seo Ji-hyuk was talking about.

As he turned to question him, Seo Ji-hyuk casually slung an arm over Kang Yu-han’s shoulder, pulling him close. The weight and solidity of his arm took Kang Yu-han’s breath away for a moment.