* * *
- April 10, 01:57: Ego weapon sighted at the center
- April 10, 01:59: South Jeolla ■■■, GPS trace ■■
- ■■ traces found, unable to confirm ■■
- April 17: ■■■■ Special ICU at the center
- Surveillance cam■■ ■■ malfunction
- Audio recording functions in■■
- Only witness: Kang Yigeon, who was in a coma for 5■ days
- Possibility of mental ■■ disorders
- Frequent hallucinations reported ■■■, may have mistaken ■■ for reality ■■
- No trace found after ■■■ ■■■■ ■■■ |
“Ugh. This is hopeless.”
Because the Replica was a faulty version, more of the text became garbled over time.
It was hard to even decipher, and the drain on his mental power was too great, so Seohwa was about to shut it off when one more line appeared.
“Kang Yigeon is experiencing severe ■■ symptoms and may ■■■■ attempt suicide again. Observe closely.”
Seohwa’s heart sank.
Though the sentences were fractured, to Seohwa’s eyes, it read clearly:
“Kang Yigeon is suffering from severe depression and may attempt suicide again. Observe closely.”
“Kang Yigeon… is going to kill himself.”
-Kkyu?
Even though the D-Day Project report suddenly included Seohwa’s own tracking status and veered off into Kang Yigeon’s mental health, Seohwa didn’t find it strange.
He hadn’t yet realized that whenever something involved that man’s safety, his rationality simply vanished.
The little snake rubbed its scaly body against his finger, sensing something was wrong with its frozen owner—but all Seohwa could see in his mind was the phrase:
“Kang Yigeon suicide.”
“Are you satisfied?”
Go Junyoung, who had paused his writing, turned around to face the tall man who had been standing behind him, casting a large shadow the whole time.
The man gave a brief nod.
“Yes. That will do.”
Junyoung saved the report.
Still, the man continued staring at the screen.
Surely he wasn’t planning to stand there until the entire thing was finished?
It was too nerve-wracking to work under such pressure.
He hadn’t scolded him or reprimanded him, but just the presence of the man standing behind him was intimidating enough.
He had just returned from fieldwork and was about to start the report when Kang Yigeon walked in.
Though Junyoung was older, Kang Yigeon was an EX-class hunter and a much higher-ranked superior.
When Junyoung jumped to his feet and greeted him, Kang Yigeon gave a curt nod and asked:
“Were you writing a report?”
“Ah, yes. I was just about to start… haha.”
Junyoung then realized, belatedly, that his monitor was full of rambling, stream-of-consciousness text and hurried to erase it.
Fortunately, Kang Yigeon seemed uninterested in the diary-like entries that had been there before.
“I believe this report is to be submitted directly to the Guildmaster?”
“Yes… that’s right. Since the Guildmaster wants real-time updates, I need to submit the first draft today.”
“There is a section I would like you to include.”
“Ah, yes. Please go ahead.”
So Junyoung wrote down the information Kang Yigeon dictated.
The schedules of the terrorist group leaders and the D-Day Project were things Junyoung had already intended to include.
But then, at the very end, Kang Yigeon asked him to add a line about his own mental state, saying:
“He is suffering from severe depression and may attempt suicide again.”
That was… strange.
“Vice Guildmaster… are you doing okay lately?”
“Yes. I’m struggling.”
The words were devoid of emotion, but Junyoung couldn’t help but feel sympathy.
Even people who weren’t close to Kang Yigeon knew the truth.
He was a man who’d been in and out of psychological counseling since he was a child, living on anti-anxiety meds.
And ever since Haite disappeared three years ago, his anxiety had worsened significantly.
Junyoung himself was one of the rarer adults who had his emotions locked away.
Though things had gotten better with time, he still resented Seohwa.
Personally, he hoped that Seohwa would never appear in this world again.
But seeing the Vice Guildmaster suffer like this was just too painful.
So, he was sincerely doing his best to track down Seohwa.
“If it’s that bad, why not just directly ask the Guildmaster for time off? I’m sure he’d approve. You don’t have to wrap it around in a report like this…”
“This method is sufficient. Now, about that matter I requested previously—how is it going?”
“You mean the engagement story? I’ve been mentioning it everywhere as naturally as breathing.”
It wasn’t just today—some time ago, Kang Yigeon had made a very strange request.
“I have a fiancée.”
“Huh? Vice Guildmaster, what do you mean? A fiancée…?!”
“That’s a lie.”
“Huh…?”
“But I would like you to mention it around others as if it were true.”
“What are you even saying…?”
“Please casually say things like, ‘I wonder if Vice Guildmaster Kang Yigeon is out on a date with his fiancée right now,’ several times a day.”
“I don’t know what’s going on, but if I seriously say that everywhere, the entire world will know by the end of the day…”
“Only in front of Dongbaek team members who have signed a non-disclosure oath.”
“Ah, just in front of our team?”
“And sometimes, please mutter it to yourself when alone. For example, before entering the office or in the form of a diary on your work device. Something like, ‘Saw Vice Guildmaster Kang Yigeon’s fiancée today.’”
“How did you know I write diary entries on my computer?!”
“……”
It was a totally incomprehensible request.
But as Dongbaek’s team leader, who frequently dealt with confidential matters, Junyoung was used to such instructions.
And since it was a command from a superior, he obeyed.
Like a madman, he muttered to himself in the office,
“I wonder if Vice Guildmaster Kang Yigeon is having a nice date with his fiancée\~”
He said it before entering or leaving the office, and even to his subordinates:
“I wonder if Vice Guildmaster Kang Yigeon is having a nice date with his fiancée\~”
He’d followed the instructions so diligently that not long ago, even his team members had asked out of concern.
“Team Leader, have you been cursed or something? Like, if you don’t say ‘I wonder if Kang Yigeon is enjoying his dates with the vice guildmaster’s fiancé’ three times a day, your hair starts falling out…”
“How did you know I was borderline semi-bald?!”
“……”
“Thank you. I’ll count on you again.”
“It’s my job, after all. But seriously, why such a weird order…?”
“That’s a secret.”
Of course it is.
As he saw Kang Yigeon off, who said he’d be heading out, Go Junyoung casually asked,
“You really aren’t engaged, are you?”
Kang Yigeon gave him a look as if Junyoung had just asked whether the earth might be flat.
“I’m not.”
“If you’ve been feeling lonely lately, I could introduce you to someone nice…”
“I already have someone I love. As you know.”
Not just Junyoung—everyone in the world knew who Kang Yigeon loved.
How had that person managed to earn such deep love from a man like this?
He didn’t know the reason, but if they’d won his love, they ought to take responsibility…
Go Junyoung felt resentful toward Seohwa, who had taken the most important thing from this man and vanished without a trace.
“I’ll be counting on you again. Take care.”
“Yes, please take some rest, Vice Guildmaster.”
After seeing Kang Yigeon off, Go Junyoung rolled up his sleeves and sat down.
He planned to push harder for the implication—couched in official terms—that the Vice Guildmaster seriously needs a vacation.
His eyes burned with passionate determination.
∗ 🥦 ∗
Meanwhile, Kang Yigeon walked down the hallway, lost in thought.
He hadn’t told Go Junyoung the real reason for the report revisions.
It wasn’t for Simjin to read.
It was for Seohwa.
‘He must’ve made a copy.’
Kang Yigeon had assumed Seohwa couldn’t show himself because of a vow-binding oath.
If that were the case, and Seohwa was also tracking Gaius Jung, he’d likely infiltrate Danbaek’s confidential intel division—Team Dongbaek—for information.
So, Kang Yigeon had deliberately sent Go Junyoung on a long-distance mission, so his office would be frequently unoccupied.
To make it easier for Seohwa to sneak in.
He didn’t specifically order surveillance to be lax.
Because Seohwa was a mage with all ten types of magic.
There was nowhere in the world he couldn’t infiltrate.
Kang Yigeon also knew that Seohwa had a puppet version of Serien Ezeya.
He’d seen it a few times during training.
If, just as he expected, Seohwa had broken into Go Junyoung’s office and used Replica, then he would have been reading that report in real time.
That’s why he’d purposely used provocative terms like extreme depression and suicide attempt.
There was no room left to be picky about sympathy or pride.
When he reached the guildmaster’s office, a voice told him to enter before he even knocked.
Opening the door, Simjin greeted him with a tired face. Kang Yigeon didn’t sit down.
“Is this it?”
“Hold on. I’ve got three questions before I hand it over.”
As he reached for the documents on the desk, Simjin placed a hand on them first.
His eyes signaled him to sit.
Kang Yigeon furrowed his brows slightly and complied. Simjin raised one finger.
“First question. That bland-looking Death Cap mercenary—does he really have anything to do with Hunter Seohwa?”
“…No. He’s an utterly ordinary, insignificant person.”
“But didn’t you say his voice sounded similar to the one from the ICU?”
“I was mistaken. Totally different.”
Simjin tilted his head.
“That’s odd. Why is my mind-reading reacting right now? Almost like you’re lying.”
“Would I lie about something like this?”
* * *
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