I looked down at my abdomen. It had long since healed, but the memory of the pain remained.
You’d think I’d get used to being pierced in the same spot, but pain isn’t something you “adapt” to.
Well, the act of being pierced?
That, I was unfortunately getting used to.
A month had passed since I woke up in this body.
The sheer physical agony of the first day had hammered home the reality of the situation, but I hadn’t entirely given up hope that I might wake up in my own body again.
Even if my old life was devoid of “dream and hope” (and a bank balance), it was better than this.
But after a month, I gave up on that hope.
I didn’t know how I became Kang Haeyong, and I certainly didn’t know how to go back.
I had to live as him.
Once I accepted that, I felt strangely light—maybe because of the healthy bank balance.
I had changed quite a bit in a month.
For one, I developed the mental fortitude to stay conscious even while having a hole in my gut at a Gate.
When I stopped fainting, Juhoon looked intrigued, but I didn’t care.
Another change was dealing with the family.
It wasn’t easy.
I had blocked them, but I’m sure the messages were still piling up.
Thankfully, the Center wasn’t a place civilians could just waltz into, even family.
It was the only thing about the Center I actually liked.
“Ah! Mnh…!”
“Ugh, starting again. Do they have to do that in the living room? Why can’t they stay in their own rooms?”
I sprawled out on my floor and shut off my senses.
Shortly after returning from a Gate, the three of them would call for their requested Guides.
Then, the living room would be filled with noises I didn’t want to hear.
I used that time to rest, knowing they’d all head out once the guiding was finished.
They claimed they needed to “blow off steam” after working hard at the Gate…
Blow off steam?
They let my blood do all the hard work.
I grumbled internally and closed my eyes.
Even if I didn’t faint, I was still exhausted.
No one could lose that much blood and not be tired, even an Esper.
Some time later, my eyes snapped open.
I must have drifted off.
I opened my senses; the house was silent.
“Haaa…”
The pain had subsided significantly.
I pushed my stiff body up from the floor.
Sleeping on the floor for a month had solidified my resolve to escape this storage room and find a house with a real bed.
I reached into my pocket and pulled out a small black bead.
I tapped the bead, and after some static, voices filled the room.
— Can’t we just clear the Gate normally?
— Are you crazy? Hey, Kang Haeyong. Do you not understand the situation? It’s already annoying enough taking in a leech like you who can’t even use his powers; do you expect me to put in that much extra effort? Me?
— But this isn’t right.
— What isn’t ‘right’? You lose a little blood and suddenly you’re the moral police? You’re the one who isn’t right. Shut up and stay in line. No one else will take you but us. Shut your mouth before I tear it open.
— STAB! Aaargh! STAB! Cough…!
The sound of flesh being pierced was vivid, followed by my own screams.
I winced.
I hated hearing it, but I needed the evidence.
Then came the sound of monsters swarming and Minjoon taking them out.
I wished I could have caught it on video, but this was the best I could do.
While Minjoon used my blood to clear the mobs, Seungmin and Juhoon handled the boss.
Their teamwork was perfect—if you excluded me.
“This should be enough… is today finally the day?”
Thinking about everything I’d endured over the past month made me feel strange.
It wasn’t over yet, but I was ready.
When I checked the contract, there were no specific clauses about bullying, but there was a section regarding “inhumane or immoral treatment.”
This was likely a remnant from the dark ages when Espers and Guides were subjected to horrific experiments.
It was just a footnote in the novel, but it was codified in the current contracts.
I planned to use that.
Workplace harassment and using an Esper’s blood as monster bait definitely qualified as inhumane.
Furthermore, the contract stated that the Center must provide housing and basic necessities that respect the individual’s opinion.
Meaning, I didn’t have to live in this prison-like storage room.
Kang Haeyong likely never saw his own contract because his mother had signed it for him while he was a minor.
She definitely wouldn’t have told him his rights; that’s why he was kept in this hole.
Originally, Haeyong hadn’t even been on this team.
But after other teams began to shun and despise his “Copy” ability, he became a “useless” entity passed around until Juhoon—the leader of the elite Team 1—picked him up.
Just so he could mold him into a tool.
“Let’s wash up first.”
Determined to say goodbye to this room today, I showered in the cramped bathroom and put on a clean uniform.
I packed the tattered one—it was evidence now—along with my phone and the recording bead, and stepped out.
I scanned the hallway, my brownish hair fluttering as I turned my head quickly to ensure no one was there.
I practically jogged to the front door.
Even though I knew the house was empty, I was terrified Seungmin might teleport in and grab me by the neck.
While Minjoon used words, Seungmin was the physical one.
He’d once come into my room and just started kicking me.
The bruises vanished within a day, but I’d recorded what I could.
I only regretted not getting a clear shot of his face while he was doing it.
“Refreshing.”
I didn’t know if it was the thought of escaping or the cool April breeze, but I felt great.
The weather was fickle; some days were hot enough for short sleeves, others chilly enough for jackets.
If it got too hot, I could just dull my senses—one of the few things I liked about this body.
I walked toward the Center with a light step.
As soon as I arrived, I went to the information desk and bowed to the same staff member who had helped me a month ago.
“Hello. Esper-nim… oh, from a month ago! About the contract, right?”
“Ah… yes. That’s right.”
“It’s been a while. How can I help you today?”
Haeyong hadn’t set foot near the Center for an entire month.
He knew Choi Juhoon had eyes and ears everywhere, and frequent visits might have made him suspicious.
Because of that, he assumed the receptionist wouldn’t remember him.
To his surprise, she recognized him instantly despite having seen him only once.
She greeted him with the same kind smile as before.
“Which floor is the Director’s office?”
“It’s the 8th floor,” she replied, her expression shifting to one of surprise.
“Do you have an appointment? It’s usually quite difficult to see the Director without one.”
She looked at him as if he were a brand-new, wet-behind-the-ears rookie asking to see the CEO on his first day.
It made sense; in a corporate setting, this would be like an intern charging into the Chairman’s office.
But Haeyong wasn’t a rookie.
He had been an Esper for three years, and although he “couldn’t use his powers,” he was still an S-class.
In this world, rank was power.
While a Chairman owns a company, a Center Director is essentially a high-ranking civil servant—a manager and operator.
Without a word, Haeyong smiled and slid his Esper ID across the desk.
The staff member, briefly dazed by the smile, snapped back to reality at the sound of the ID tapping the counter.
Her eyes went wide.
It was as if she’d discovered the “intern” she was talking to was actually a board member.
“Ah…! S-class…!”
There were only three S-class Espers in the Seoul branch and barely enough to count on one hand in the entire country.
Seeing “Field Team 1” on the ID, she realized he was the elusive third member.
Choi Juhoon and Yoon Minjoon were household names, but the third man was a ghost who only traveled between his home and Gates.
“I’ll be going now,” Haeyong said.
“Oh! Yes, of course! I’ll contact the Director’s secretary immediately. You can head straight up.”
“Thank you.”
As Haeyong stepped away, she dialed the secretary’s office.
The secretary was baffled—Choi Juhoon never sent word ahead like this—but she relayed the message to the Director nonetheless.
