Chapter 6

“Hey, Major Seo.”

“Well, I guess it can’t be helped. See you next time, Yu-han!”

With his characteristic cheerful laugh, Shin Eui-jun walked down the center of the hallway, disappearing into the distance. Kang Yu-han, momentarily dazed, looked up at Seo Ji-hyuk, who was half a head taller than him, and glared.

“What’s this about? Some kind of classified mission? I didn’t get any new orders. Did something suddenly come up?”

Saying this, Kang Yu-han naturally pushed Seo Ji-hyuk’s arm aside. The close warmth between them dissipated, allowing his startled heart to calm slightly.

It had been just the previous night when Seo Ji-hyuk had kissed him without warning.

For Kang Yu-han, who could still feel the heat of Seo Ji-hyuk lingering in his memory, even the smallest glance or touch from the man sent his senses into overdrive, as if every cell in his body were on edge.

“No. Nothing.”

“Then why did Sunbae Eui-jun…?”

“Just because.”

“What are you even saying? Are we having a meeting or not?”

“We’re not.”

“What?”

“I lied.”

Seo Ji-hyuk shrugged his broad shoulders, his expression indifferent, like someone watching a boring TV show. Without another word, he turned on his heel and strode down the hallway.

Is he kidding me? What an unbelievable guy.

Kang Yu-han bit the soft inside of his cheek hard, glaring daggers at Seo Ji-hyuk’s retreating figure.

“Haah…”

It wasn’t the first time that just seeing or thinking about Seo Ji-hyuk made his stomach churn as if weighed down by something. Despite that, the artificial pairing and their new status as roommates had sparked a strange sense of anticipation. His heart had raced just because Seo Ji-hyuk had approached him and interrupted his conversation with someone else.

Correction. I’m the real idiot for letting myself get rattled by his antics.

Checking the time, he saw it was lunchtime. Might as well eat. Kang Yu-han made an effort to push aside his thoughts and headed toward the cafeteria.

* * *

For Kang Yu-han, eating alone in the communal cafeteria was a routine he was well accustomed to, long before he entered the Esper Officer Academy at nineteen.

Ever since his earliest memories around the age of three or four, Kang Yu-han had been without parents, raised in a state-run childcare facility. From those early years, he had eaten alone. Sitting across from someone to exchange trivial or warm conversations during a meal? That kind of interaction simply didn’t exist in his world.

His childhood at the facility had been far from easy. In the early years, all the children were preoccupied with surviving hunger and cold. But as they grew older, a social hierarchy emerged within the facility—a division between those who played leader and those who chose to follow.

Kang Yu-han had no desire to belong to either group. That refusal earned him several beatings, and eventually, he was transferred to another facility after things escalated.

As he grew older, his pale skin, delicate neck, and slim ankles began to attract unwanted attention from some of the other boys.

Whenever he was subjected to crude taunts, Kang Yu-han never held back—his fists landed squarely on their faces. When another boy tried to provoke him, he responded the same way, retaliating fiercely and refusing to back down. As a result, Kang Yu-han was always alone.

That remained the case until he discovered his talent for fencing at sixteen.

Those were the good times.

Looking at the small knife in his right hand, Kang Yu-han let out a bitter smile. Today’s menu included pork cutlets, and the cafeteria had provided dull, tiny Western-style knives, their poor quality leaving him strangely melancholic.

The days of holding a fencing saber taller than most people were long gone.

After Variants emerged and turned the world upside down, the sports industry collapsed. Sports requiring large crowds, like baseball and soccer, were the first to go. With international exchanges ceasing, disciplines like ice skating, fencing, and track and field also disappeared.

Korea no longer had a fencing federation, nor did it host any competitions. As for the teammates who had once sweat alongside Kang Yu-han… his last memories of them were of their transformation into Variants.

‘Enough. Stop thinking about it.’

Why was his mind so cluttered today? Perhaps keeping busy would banish these thoughts, but ever since teaming up with Seo Ji-hyuk, he found himself reflecting more often, revisiting the past.

After mechanically shoveling the distributed meal into his mouth, Kang Yu-han wove his way through the crowded cafeteria tables and headed toward the dish return area.

He placed his tray on the conveyor belt at the return station and moved toward the coffee corner near the exit, only to spot a familiar figure. It was Lieutenant Lee, who managed the T/F team’s administration.

“Lieutenant.”

“Major.”

Lieutenant Lee turned around quickly. He looked utterly exhausted, and the tray in his hand appeared barely touched, as if he hadn’t eaten a thing.

“You left that much uneaten?”

“Ah… I didn’t have much of an appetite.”

Lieutenant Lee avoided even looking at his food as he lazily placed his tray on the conveyor belt and followed Kang Yu-han.

“No appetite? Is it because T/F work has been too exhausting lately?”

“Not really.”

“Then why?”

“…If I’d known you’d be here, Major, I would’ve waited. The food might’ve tasted better.”

“What?”

Lieutenant Lee muttered softly.

“My appetite is back.”

“What?”

“I’m hungry.”

Lieutenant Lee murmured again, not just once but two or three times, repeatedly saying he was hungry under his breath. It was enough to catch Kang Yu-han’s attention.

“Oh, come on. You should go back and eat now.”

“No, lunch break is over. I need to get back upstairs.”

Since Lieutenant Lee worked in a department directly under the Center Chief’s office, his division was known for its strict rules about attendance. Still, skipping meals entirely seemed extreme, especially when his complexion looked so poor.

Kang Yu-han felt a twinge of sympathy. At the same time, he understood that Lieutenant Lee’s work was essential for relaying missions swiftly to Seo Ji-hyuk and himself. It couldn’t be helped.

After parting ways with Lieutenant Lee near the elevator, Kang Yu-han got himself a cup of black coffee from the machine. Though the underground location allowed no natural sunlight, the artificial lighting created the illusion of daylight streaming through the fake windows, complemented by a few synthetic trees.

As he stared at the artificial greenery, preparing to take a sip of his now-cooled coffee, an ear-piercing siren suddenly blared. Startled, the paper cup slipped from his hand, spilling coffee all over the floor. He didn’t even have time to process his surprise or confusion. His senses were on full alert, with his hearing sharply focused.

“Emergency!”

“It’s Number 9!”

The Espers and guides in the cafeteria sprang into action, rushing out in droves. The hallway was instantly abuzz with noise and movement.

“Did the team leader contact you?”

“Not yet!”

“They’re telling us to stand by.”

“Does that mean in the bunker?”

“No, no such instructions.”

Espers and guides anxiously checked their wrist communicators, some attempting radio calls. However, instructions varied by team, and in many cases, there were no orders at all.

The lack of coordinated response wasn’t due to a lack of training. Within the Center, there were multiple types of sirens, each corresponding to different situations—ranging from routine notifications to severe incidents. There were a total of eight types of alarms.

But this siren, the Number 9, was unprecedented. It was the first time Kang Yu-han had heard it since joining the Center.

Soon, a chilling announcement came through the speakers, accompanied by the vibration of his wrist communicator, which now displayed bright red text.

[Unidentified threat detected within the Center. Maximum alert level.]

His body moved on instinct. Without looking back, Kang Yu-han bolted toward the emergency exit and shoved the door open. Though no specific orders had come through, he knew he had to head to the upper levels, specifically to the Center Chief’s office.

It would take less than ten minutes to reach the office by sprinting up the stairs. Racing up like a sprinter, he panted heavily with every step.

All the while, the deafening siren blared without pause, drilling into his ears.

Taking two steps at a time, he reached the top of the stairs and kicked open the emergency door. What awaited him was an unexpected sight.

The hallway leading to the Center Chief’s office was blocked by armed personnel. Were they securing the area? He assumed as much at first, but he quickly realized otherwise when one of the guards spotted him and immediately stepped forward to block the entrance with a stern expression.

“Access is restricted.”

“What’s going on?”

“I don’t know. We were just ordered to secure this area.”

Kang Yu-han glanced at the personnel enforcing the blockade. They were all rookie Espers, newly recruited. Their young faces were taut with fear and tension.

“Who gave the order?”

“That… it was the Chief Secretary.”

The Chief Secretary referred to Lieutenant Colonel Kim, the Center Chief’s closest aide and right-hand man.

“The Chief Secretary, you say. Is he inside?”

“Uh… well, it’s a bit… difficult to say.”

“Did he evacuate?”

“No, that’s not it.”

“Then why are you guarding this area?”

“Th-that’s… also difficult to explain.”

The disjointed answers made Kang Yu-han furrow his brows. Judging by the hesitant replies, it was clear that the Chief Secretary wasn’t present. If so, why were armed personnel stationed here, restricting access to the area?

There was only one answer: something dangerous was inside, something that must not be allowed to get out.

The higher-ups must’ve lost their minds. Ignoring the Esper in front of him, Kang Yu-han dashed diagonally to the side. Spotting a gap, he effortlessly leaped over the perimeter line blocking access.