113

Would telling him everything be beneficial to the mission?

Or would it be safer if he, too, remained ignorant—just like everyone else?

In the long run, drawing the leaders’ attention might be strategically valuable for the mission. But regardless of what new truths he revealed or how unique he might be as a guide, there was no guarantee that any of it would keep him safe.

And if his safety wasn’t guaranteed, then neither was Baek Sa’s—who would be out there on the same missions as him.

In this era of the unknown, Ha-gyeom’s enemies weren’t the beasts from a world not yet fully understood. No, they were the leaders of District 0, who exploited innocent espers and civilians alike.

That’s why the truth was a double-edged sword. In front of these powerful people, it might become a weapon to protect Baek Sa and himself—but just as easily, it could become a reason to be used and discarded.

Ha-gyeom glanced at the mirror behind Baek Sa. He didn’t need to consider every leader behind the glass.

If he revealed part of the truth only to Assemblyman Tak, it could be a good opportunity to gain his trust. If Tak recognized his value and couldn’t contain his hunger for power, then the day Ha-gyeom faced the central leadership might come sooner than expected.

While Ha-gyeom was lost in thought, Baek Sa’s gaze sharpened. He asked again.

“Any lifeforms aside from the monsters?”

Baek Sa didn’t want to reveal what he had felt in front of Arang when she woke. Even if he pushed hard now, Ha-gyeom knew well that Baek Sa wasn’t hoping for a full confession.

“There was nothing definite. It felt like I was standing in a place where shimmering haze kept rising… It was all so disorienting, and just maintaining my resonance was painful.”

“Then what about the wounds on your body?”

“I don’t know that either.”

“How did you come back out?”

“That wasn’t by choice. I was unconscious when it happened—how could I remember what went on while I wasn’t even awake?”

Even to his own ears, it was a dull testimony. He could already picture the leaders beyond the mirror shaking their heads and leaving the room. If Assemblyman Tak had been among them, he would surely be the most disappointed.

“No other guide has ever made a phenomenon disappear before.”

The statement came from Baek Sa—breaking the pattern of dry, routine responses with something distinct. Now Ha-gyeom could picture those leaders returning to their seats, curiosity rekindled.

“Maybe it just happened to fade on its own. Got proof I was the one who made it disappear?”

What was he trying to get at?

“So you’re saying you weren’t aware of the disappearance while inside the phenomenon?”

“Of course not. I didn’t even know how much time had passed.”

Baek Sa had always been difficult for Ha-gyeom to read—especially when he walked the line between truth and deception like this. It felt like holding a ball that could bounce in any direction. Ha-gyeom didn’t believe Baek Seung-woo had completely disappeared, but whenever Baek Sa acted as the loyal weapon of District 0, he couldn’t help but feel disoriented.

That was why Ha-gyeom’s gaze faltered for a moment. For a while, both of them studied each other as if weighing something silently.

“Then let me ask a different way. Why do you think the phenomenon disappeared?”

It felt like Ha-gyeom was the only one nervous. Still, he crossed his arms smugly, pretending confidence on the outside.

“How should I know? What, you want to hypnotize me and find out?”

When he stretched his shoulders and played up his nonchalance, Baek Sa’s expression turned crooked.

“What? You think I can’t?”

“…What?”

“If I had to, I could even torture you to get the answer—”

“…What?!”

Ha-gyeom leapt from his seat before he even realized it. As if Baek Sa would really go that far—he hadn’t expected it at all.

While Ha-gyeom stood stunned, Baek Sa casually rubbed his chin and stood. He walked around the table, lowered himself beside Ha-gyeom, and reached out to touch the boy’s forehead under his bangs.

“You still have a fever.”

The unexpected familiarity of the gesture made Ha-gyeom’s eyes flick about in alarm. There were already enough rumors about the two of them—touch like this wasn’t going to help. Being seen like this in front of who-knew-how-many people watching was too much.

Just then, someone knocked on the door.

“All the leaders have left. Only Dr. Cha remains. You can wrap up now…”

With Tae-seong’s report, the question mark floating over Ha-gyeom’s head immediately vanished. He narrowed his eyes slightly. Of course—Baek Sa, being an esper, could sense the presence of people beyond the wall. He had approached Ha-gyeom only after confirming everyone else had gone.

It was a little infuriating, but Ha-gyeom didn’t want to cause a scene in front of his hyung. He replied with a calm voice that didn’t match his expression.

“It’s just a mild fever. I’m not sick or anything.”

The way Baek Sa’s gaze turned warm had been a mere instinct—but Tae-seong, still watching from outside, interrupted.

“I’ll wait outside.”

Since Baek Sa’s back was to the door, only Ha-gyeom could see Tae-seong retreat with a grimace on his face.

Even while Tae-seong had distracted him for a moment, Baek Sa hadn’t taken his eyes off him. His voice dropped.

“Is there anything else you want to say—just to me?”

The hand that had left Ha-gyeom’s forehead now gently wrapped around his wrist. His gaze didn’t seem to be targeting the truths Ha-gyeom had kept hidden—but still, Ha-gyeom grew anxious. He feigned ease and shook his head.

“At least… not here.”

Even if the leaders were gone, Dr. Cha and the surveillance systems remained. That’s why he said it.

Baek Sa didn’t press further and remained seated for a while. The warmth spreading from where he held Ha-gyeom’s wrist only hinted that he was holding something back.

---

That night, while asleep, Ha-gyeom found himself unable to move, as if his entire body were bound by the vivid memory replaying in his mind.

He stood alone in an immeasurable space, glowing red like fire.

The place was soaked in dampness, like the inside of some beast’s gut, and grotesque sounds echoed from time to time, so loud they felt like they might rupture his eardrums. Strangely, maintaining his resonance wasn’t difficult, but the energy within him remained unstable. The alien landscape and overwhelming solitude made his throat and chest ache, as though something were squeezing them tight.

In reality, Ha-gyeom was drenched in sweat, clutching at his bedsheet in a crumpled fist. The low groans that escaped him were too faint to be heard outside his private room.

In the dream, he wandered for what felt like ages through a crimson space as dark as a photo lab, though there was no telling how much time had passed. Pain of unknown origin left him gasping shallow breaths as he walked endlessly. It felt like he was circling the same place over and over, but standing still wouldn’t help him find a way out either.

Sweat trailed down his neck, soaking it. Every step forward felt like forcing his way through a wall of wind, requiring effort just to keep moving.

He kept blinking, trying to focus his wavering vision, and continued on toward what he guessed was a deeper part of the space.

Screeech—!

It was then that a strange, alien sound tore through the air, and massive beasts suddenly surrounded him. They weren’t the heavy, sluggish monsters he’d seen on Earth. These moved so fast they were almost impossible to follow with the eye. Every time a rush of wind swept past, it shredded his suit and skin alike.

He couldn’t think straight. The violent wind stirred up by the creatures threatened to suck him in completely. A piercing, metallic screech—like nails raking over steel—screamed on without end. It felt like only a matter of time before he’d be torn apart.

‘…!’

Ha-gyeom swung his arms wildly, as if swatting away a flock of birds. His hand reached instinctively for his holster, but the idea of using his gun felt useless from the start.

Was it anger at him for trespassing into their territory? Were these monsters even capable of such thought? As he thrashed and questioned everything, a cold sensation began to spread from his fingertips and toes.

At first, he didn’t recognize it as goosebumps—it didn’t belong in this hot, wet place. But soon, the sensation grew so strong it hardened his skin, and he realized his whole body had been overtaken by it.

Around the same time, the monsters began to slow.

The swirling wind came to a halt, but Ha-gyeom couldn’t move a muscle.

Because… something in the darkness was watching him.

No—“someone” implied a person, and he didn’t know what to call this presence.

But he could clearly see something flickering in front of him.

And then—they made eye contact.

Immediately after, he heard something—not the howling of monsters, but a voice, a language.

‘…!’

But Ha-gyeom couldn’t understand it.

He was completely trapped—by something impossible to describe, something that couldn’t even be called a shape.