Chapter 3

Even after all these years, Seo Ji-hyuk still harbored a deep resentment toward Kang Yu-han, who had stolen the guide that had once seemed like his savior.

It wasn’t as though they’d ever gotten along well before; they’d always had a habit of clashing, like two stones constantly bumping against each other. He was just an annoying thorn in Seo Ji-hyuk’s side. But losing his guide to Kang Yu-han had intensified that irritation into outright loathing.

What infuriated Seo Ji-hyuk most was Kang Yu-han’s unflinching, indifferent response to his protests. If he’d offered even a flimsy excuse, it might have stung less.

When Seo Ji-hyuk had demanded to know why he’d taken ‘his’ guide, Kang Yu-han had simply sneered.

“Let’s get this straight. It’s not ‘your’ guide; it’s ‘mine’.”

From that day on, Seo Ji-hyuk felt he’d crossed an unbridgeable divide with Kang Yu-han.

That smirking bastard—stealing his guide and pretending to be all high and mighty. Just seeing that smug face made him feel sick, but right now, retirement mattered more.

How long would it take to complete the mission? With no clear statistics on how many Variants were out there, it was anyone’s guess.

His head throbbing, Seo Ji-hyuk decided a cigarette break on the rooftop might clear his mind. As he climbed the emergency stairs, he shook his cigarette pack, plucking a pale cigarette to chew on, his face a picture of weary disgust.

* * *

The center, consisting of ten floors above ground and three below, saw far more activity than its exterior suggested.

For security reasons, all critical facilities were buried underground, making it hard to notice the scale of the place, which was as vast and equipped as the now-destroyed Seoul City Hall.

Entry and exit were tightly restricted, with any outside travel allowed only for missions or essential business. Some grumbled that it felt like being in Shawshank Prison, but nowhere else in Korea was as secure as this fortress.

Moving between floors required passing through multiple fire doors and security checks, a tedious process but a minor inconvenience compared to the chaos outside.

Inside Seoul, particularly within the Special Control Zone, the constant reappearance of Variants made life feel like a battlefield. People were exhausted from dashing to bunkers daily, subsisting on emergency rations, and then finally returning home, only to repeat the cycle the next day.

“Fingerprint verified. Please proceed.”

Following the mechanical voice’s prompt, Kang Yu-han moved forward. The stringent security wasn’t just to protect Espers and guides.

It was also to screen out potential Variant infiltrators. Even the Esper-Guide Center wasn’t immune to the threat of disguised Variants sneaking in.

“Please open your eyes. Iris scan in progress.”

A device resembling an X-ray machine projected a blue light onto Kang Yu-han’s eyes.

“Verification complete. No Variant symptoms detected.”

The machine announced this in a cheery tone. Blinking to clear the faint stinging sensation, Kang Yu-han recalled a news report from earlier that morning.

It was a case already resolved, with the report filed to the center. A Variant had been hunted down and killed after hiding for months in a residence in Gangbuk-gu.

The Variant had taken the form of a seemingly ordinary young man in his thirties. His parents had hidden him carefully, allowing him to evade detection for a long time.

A suspicious neighbor finally reported them, and when the “disposal team” stormed in, the Variant’s parents had fiercely resisted.

“Don’t take my son away! He’s not a monster!”

His mother had screamed in desperation.

But then, she had tearfully confessed, her voice hauntingly lingering in his mind, admitting that she’d been sneaking out at night to bring her son corpses to feed on.

‘Claiming he’s not a monster… can’t blame her for that.’

Kang Yu-han understood them. Just because someone’s beloved partner or family member turned into a monster overnight didn’t mean the love or closeness could be erased right away. Outwardly, they still looked like the person they’d always known.

Kang Yu-han had experienced this too. When friends he’d known for years turned into Variants, he hadn’t felt disgusted or fearful. It was as if they could revert to ordinary humans at any moment. He knew all too well the feeling of clinging to that small hope day by day.

However, with Variants now indiscriminately killing, few shared Kang Yu-han’s sentiment. For most, a monster was a monster, no matter how it looked, and it had to be killed without hesitation.

The center embodied that stance.

‘For the safety of our citizens, we will eradicate every last Variant.’

That was the slogan the center chief proclaimed at every press conference.

For the Espers and guides, annihilating the Variants was more than a duty—it was a wish. Especially for those who had lost family and friends, the sentiment was stronger.

Seo Ji-hyuk, in particular, was outspoken about his stance.

“Just because a monster wears a human mask doesn’t make it any less a monster.”

That’s what he’d said once, cuttingly, during a disagreement with Kang Yu-han. In his view, they were unmistakably monsters, requiring no further deliberation.

“Verification complete. You may now enter.”

Lost in thought, Kang Yu-han had reached the final checkpoint to his quarters. He nodded slightly and continued toward the annex.

The building housed research staff, doctors, Espers, and guides. After navigating his way through, he took the elevator to the sixth floor. It was silent, fitting for the nearly vacant “royal” floor.

Room 609.

Running his fingers over the engraved numbers, Kang Yu-han bit his lip.

He would be living here with Seo Ji-hyuk. Most likely until Seo Ji-hyuk’s retirement.

And… until Kang Yu-han’s death.

* * *

The thick metal door creaked open, revealing a dark room. Seo Ji-hyuk hadn’t arrived yet.

‘He’s probably out drinking all night again.’

Seo Ji-hyuk’s behavior was predictable. If he had a mission the next day, he’d drink to excuse himself from it, and on nights without one, he’d make up some other reason to indulge in a boisterous binge. He always went to the rowdiest, cheapest bars in the Special Control Zone. Kang Yu-han, who disliked noisy crowds and rowdy drinking, never joined him.

Except once.

It was during their early days as recruits, in a rare lull between Variant attacks, when a group of them had decided to go out drinking together.

Kang Yu-han had ended up sitting beside Seo Ji-hyuk, silently sipping on bitter, cheap beer. The garish lights and deafening music were far from his taste.

Irritated by his quiet drinking, Seo Ji-hyuk had leaned over, as if to offer a piece of advice.

“Hey, don’t you know how to have fun? You’re so damn boring.”

“And there’s a specific way to have fun?”

“Of course!”

Back then, Seo Ji-hyuk’s eyes had been slightly glazed. His usually sharp tone came off as oddly mellow and simple.

“Here’s a tip. In places like this, you start by spotting the prettiest girl.”

“What?”

“For the record, I have high standards, so I’ve never seen a girl here that catches my eye. Guess it’s because the drinks are so cheap—quality here is pretty low.”

“And then?”

Kang Yu-han narrowed his eyes at Seo Ji-hyuk, wondering what he intended to do after finding the so-called “prettiest girl.” From his perspective, the whole idea sounded lowbrow and repulsive.

“Wait, no… I see one.”

“Who?”

“There she is. The pretty one.”

“What the—!”

It happened in an instant. Smelling heavily of alcohol, Seo Ji-hyuk cupped both of Kang Yu-han’s cheeks in his large hands, holding him firmly, preventing any escape.

As Seo Ji-hyuk’s face leaned in closer, Kang Yu-han, too stunned to react, dropped his beer glass, which shattered with a loud crash, drawing the attention of those dancing nearby.

Yet Seo Ji-hyuk didn’t stop, closing the distance until their lips met briefly. After the kiss, he smiled with his eyes closed, even whispering into Kang Yu-han’s ear.

“So… who are you again? You’re beautiful… feel like I’ve seen you somewhere.”

He’d kissed him without even realizing it was him. How humiliating had it been? It certainly hadn’t been a pleasant experience.

Looking around the cold, silent room, Kang Yu-han clenched his fists so tightly that his nails left marks on his palms.

Two beds stood side by side, separated by a single nightstand no more than 60 cm wide. In other words, there was only 60 cm of distance between them.

‘Have we ever been this close before?’

He couldn’t tell whether to feel bitter or resigned. Seo Ji-hyuk would likely despise this situation, restless and struggling to escape.

But if someone asked how he felt about sharing quarters with Seo Ji-hyuk, Kang Yu-han would be left with silent contemplation and countless tangled thoughts.

It wasn’t something he could sum up in a single word. It was a mess of conflicting emotions—a clump of hardened, gritty feelings, like a lump of mud mixed with too many shades and textures. A jumbled heap of trash, really.

At some point, he’d given up on defining these feelings.

Kang Yu-han chose the bed on the inner side of the room and placed his bag on it. The bed was small compared to his height, but it didn’t matter for a temporary lodging. He could sleep just about anywhere, after all.

He began unpacking his modest belongings. Since he didn’t expect the cohabitation to last long, he’d brought only the essentials.

As he folded his clothes neatly into the drawers and hung his uniform in the closet, he kept reminding himself:

Don’t let unnecessary things distract you.

The only thing he needed to focus on was completing the mission. After that, there would be no need to ever face Seo Ji-hyuk again.

And that was what he genuinely wanted.