ADTDK — Chapter 4

Chapter 4

‘Guess not.’

A new personal record for the shortest relationship. Strictly speaking, it wasn’t even a relationship. You can’t say you dated someone you didn’t even have one meal with.

The incident happened just as Yoon-jo entered the restaurant with the man. He was watching the approaching server when his phone suddenly started vibrating like crazy. Beep, beep, beebeebeep—everyone’s phones in the vicinity blared with alert notifications.

Before Yoon-jo could even check his own phone, several people bolted. The elevator that he and the man had taken earlier opened again, and people rushed in in a panic.

“Let’s get out of here, now.”

The man, who had checked the alert, urged him. Only then did Yoon-jo glance at his screen. While everyone else’s phones had gone silent, his kept buzzing relentlessly.

[You are currently near a rampage-risk ability user.]

[Please contact the Incident Response HQ immediately according to standard protocol.]

The man glanced at the message and parted his lips, as if only now realizing where Yoon-jo worked. His hesitation didn’t last long.

“Sorry, but I’m heading out first.”

The man hurriedly ran toward the elevator. Just as he got in, a server who tried to enter after him was pushed back out by the overcapacity warning chime.

The restaurant, which had been playing upbeat music just moments ago, had turned into complete chaos in an instant. Fortunately, no fights broke out over the elevator. Maybe people realized it was faster to take the stairs, because they all rushed toward the emergency exit.

Yoon-jo was left alone before he knew it. Looking around the empty restaurant gave him a strange feeling. Was this what drama leads felt like when they rented out a restaurant to propose?

No time for useless thoughts.

‘First, I need to report to Incident Response.’

There was no need to dial 1172—the number he had mentioned multiple times during today’s lecture. PEC staff had their own internal line.

—Yes, this is Incident Response HQ. You’re Hyun Yoon-jo from the Education and PR Department, correct?

Before Yoon-jo could introduce himself, the operator confirmed his identity.

“Yes. I’m currently at—”

—You’re at the Elpida Building on Toegye-ro, Jung-gu, Seoul, right? Our system shows you’re inside the building. What floor are you on?

“The 8th floor. It’s called Open Door Restaurant…”

As soon as he read the name off the wall near the counter, the operator responded.

—That’s the top floor. Have you seen anyone inside the restaurant who seems like a rampage-risk ability user?

“No. There’s no one around me right now.”

—Understood. Can you evacuate via the stairs?

Yoon-jo approached the stairwell. A moment ago it had been full of people shouting and scrambling, but now it was quiet. He could hear voices faintly echoing from far below—probably people still making their way down.

In any case, there was nothing stopping him from descending.

“Yes.”

—Current time is 18:47. Response Team A is en route. Police are heading over to secure the area.

“Alright.”

—Mr. Hyun, please proceed down the stairs while observing your surroundings.

“Okay…”

PEC was a good workplace. They offered limited staff housing, guaranteed retirement, and comparatively high pay for a public institution. Even loan applications went more smoothly.

People in private companies often said there were no jobs better than PEC. But in truth, PEC had one fatal flaw.

‘The reason the salary is so good is because of the hazard pay.’

When PEC was first established, it suffered from a severe staffing shortage—especially for field agents.

One in ten people might have abilities, but the number of actual users was far lower. And not all registered ability users were employed by PEC.

To cover the whole country with such a small workforce, they had no choice but to send out non-ability users to the field. Even now, 30% of the response teams are specially trained non-ability users.

And even that wasn’t enough—so in certain situations, even office workers were called in. Like now. When someone happened to be right at the scene of an incident or accident, they were temporarily assigned to support field teams.

Compared to those early days, the staffing situation had improved, but the regulations hadn’t changed.

‘Why did I agree to have dinner here of all places?’

There was no point blaming someone who had already run off. Yoon-jo just reminded himself of PEC’s perks as he made his way down the stairs.

Of course, he wasn’t expected to fight a rampaging ability user. His job was simply to relay real-time information about the surrounding area until the field team arrived.

“Is that person still in this building? I mean, the rampage-risk ability user.”

—Yes. We don’t know which floor exactly, but their location is confirmed within the building. What floor are you on now?

“Seventh floor. Looks like most of the civilians have evacuated.”

Yoon-jo cautiously peeked inside the steel door someone had left open. Unlike the full-floor restaurant upstairs, this level was divided into several small offices sharing the floor.

“Is anyone there?”

He called out, just in case—but no answer came. He was about to ask whether he needed to go in and check when the operator spoke first.

—Ah, the field response team has just arrived. Mr. Hyun Yoon-jo, your priority now is to safely evacuate. Thank you for your assistance.

“Understood.”

Relief washed over him the moment he ended the call. He had pretended to be calm, but being alone in a potentially dangerous place had been anything but fine.

He hurried down the stairs. After descending about two floors, a breathless chuckle slipped out.

‘If Hee-moon hears about this, he’s going to flip.’

Jung Hee-moon was his friend and roommate in the PEC staff housing. They were the same age and got along well. Since Yoon-jo didn’t have many connections in Seoul, Hee-moon was probably his only real friend.

Hee-moon was always chasing after something exciting. He claimed it was because life was too boring, but he didn’t actually have much of a taste for risk. Every time Yoon-jo mentioned dating someone, Hee-moon would ask if he was out of his mind. Why that guy? Why that kind? Why someone like that? If he listened to all of Hee-moon’s advice, he’d never date anyone for the rest of his life.

If Yoon-jo told him he spoke with Incident Response HQ today, Hee-moon would be shocked. Maybe even a little jealous.

According to regulations, office staff can be dispatched to field sites, but in reality, it almost never happened. Rampage alerts themselves were rare, and the odds of a PEC employee being present at the site? Minuscule.

‘You’d be more likely to randomly run into a mental-type ability user on the street.’

Still, he decided to treat it as a rare and interesting experience.

While lost in thought, he reached the third floor. The sounds from outside were now just a few steps away.

‘Might as well grab some food to go while I’m nearby.’

There weren’t many good places to eat near the staff housing. If he picked up something around here—

“Just now…”

He stopped thinking. He thought he heard footsteps. Maybe he imagined it. But if he didn’t, someone might still be inside.

He hesitated briefly, then pushed the door open. The emergency exit was cluttered with junk. It looked like people had shoved everything to the sides in a panic while trying to escape.

‘Does no one follow basic safety procedures?’

Clicking his tongue, he stepped inside. The third floor was shared by two businesses—both franchise restaurants.

‘Braised chicken sounds good.’

He glanced at a name printed on the glass door and thought idly to himself. Then, he heard the footsteps again. He walked toward the sound. Hidden behind a large potted plant, he caught the shadow of a person.

“Is someone there?”

He only realized afterward that maybe he shouldn’t have called out. There was always a chance this wasn’t a straggling civilian—but the very person who triggered the alert.

Too late to back away.

The person stood up when he called out. It was a man. The cap he wore obscured his face from Yoon-jo’s angle, but the man had clearly seen his face.

Yoon-jo cautiously stepped closer, trying to decide what to say. They say if you want to catch a tiger, you have to enter its den. Even if you’re not trying to catch the tiger, turning your back to one is just asking for trouble.

Up close, the man’s face was smooth and youthful. Didn’t look that old—maybe a college student? A high schooler?

‘Doesn’t seem dangerous.’

He was quiet, sure, but there were none of the common signs of a user on the verge of rampaging. He wasn’t agitated or anxious.

“Uh, student?”

With nothing else to call him, Yoon-jo defaulted to “student,” then instantly regretted it. It made him feel too much like an old man.

“It’s not safe to be here. Want to come out with me?”

“Not safe?”

“You didn’t get the alert? There’s a risk of an ability-user rampage nearby.”

“…I got something like that.”

“Then why didn’t you leave? Were you scared?”

The man was taller than Yoon-jo, even standing close. But he could still be scared. Just because someone’s big didn’t mean they were brave.

Yoon-jo smiled warmly, trying to seem friendly.

“Hey, come on. Let’s go together. There are police outside, and PEC responders will be here soon too. You know PEC, right? The agency for ability-users. Not the bad ones—the ones who help.”

A quiet chuckle interrupted him.

Yoon-jo blinked and looked up. The man raised his head, and now his full face was visible beneath the cap.

He recognized him. With a weary sigh, Yoon-jo brought a hand to his forehead.

“…Right. They said the response team had arrived.”

He knew the face, but they’d never spoken before. It was a one-sided familiarity.

Seo Yi-jeong. Among PEC’s registered ability users, he was the most well-known. His powers were extraordinary, and he’d been involved in past incidents. PEC had him on constant watch.

‘Though he’s more infamous for other reasons outside PEC.’

Yoon-jo glanced sideways at Seo Yi-jeong’s face. He was incredibly good-looking. When only the lower half of his face was visible, he looked like a teenager, but with his eyes now visible, he clearly looked like an adult.

Standing in front of someone potentially more dangerous than any rampage-prone user, Yoon-jo had no idea what he’d even been saying. Flustered, he scratched the back of his neck.

“I’m probably getting in your way, huh? I’ll get going. Good luck with… everything.”

Seo Yi-jeong didn’t say anything. He just listened to Yoon-jo ramble. Yoon-jo shifted his eyes around awkwardly, then added,

“Take care of yourself.”