When Haeyong stepped off the elevator on the 8th floor, he was met by a secretary who stood up so fast she nearly knocked over her chair.
She looked at him as if he were a trespasser.
To her knowledge, Kang Haeyong had never visited this office in three years.
“I’m here to see the Director. Is she in?”
“I—yes! Just a moment!”
The secretary finally realized that the S-class Esper the lobby had mentioned wasn’t Choi Juhoon, but Kang Haeyong.
She knocked on the heavy doors and disappeared inside for a moment before returning to usher him in.
The office was massive, occupying nearly the entire floor.
It felt far too large for just one person.
“Kang Haeyong…?”
“Hello, Director. I am Kang Haeyong.”
“Welcome. Please, have a seat.”
Director Shin Hyunjoo welcomed him, but her expression was lukewarm—reluctant, even.
She watched the man sit across from her.
She remembered the day three years ago when news of a new S-class awakening had reached her; she had cheered.
But that interest had died the moment it became clear he couldn’t actually use his abilities.
She hadn’t seen his face since the initial contract signing and the subsequent team assignment meeting.
‘Was he always like this?’ she wondered, tilting her head.
Back then, she had dealt mostly with his mother while Haeyong sat hunched over, staring at his fingers.
“What brings you here without an appointment? It would have been better to relay this through Team Leader Choi Juhoon.”
Shin Hyunjoo was an ordinary person, not an Esper or a Guide.
She often felt slighted when powerful ability-users acted entitled, and the fact that this particular Esper was “useless” only made her more irritable.
“What I have to say is quite important. I would appreciate it if you could call in the General Manager of the Esper Department as well.”
Shin Hyunjoo’s eyebrow twitched.
‘Is he looking down on me because I’m not an ‘awakened’? Does he refuse to speak unless another ability-user is present?’
“It’s not that I don’t trust you, Director,” Haeyong added calmly.
“It’s because the truth needs to be verified.”
“…Fine. But if this turns out to be trivial, there will be a price for wasting everyone’s time.”
“I understand.”
Haeyong had been prepared to threaten to transfer to another branch or even another country if she refused, but she complied more easily than expected.
While they waited for General Manager Yoo Junghyun, the secretary brought tea.
Shin Hyunjoo sipped hers while sizing Haeyong up.
She felt a pang of regret; if only he could use his powers, this branch would be unstoppable.
As the only branch with three S-classes, her pride was at stake.
The reason the Director was a civilian was to maintain neutrality between Espers and Guides.
Years ago, the rights of Guides were non-existent compared to the world-saving Espers.
But as persecution led to a shortage of active Guides, the government stepped in with protective laws.
Now, while becoming an Esper was mandatory upon awakening, becoming a Guide was a choice.
Knock, knock.
“Director, General Manager Yoo Junghyun is here.”
“Send him in.”
A middle-aged man with a stern expression entered.
He gave a sharp nod to the Director and sat across from Haeyong without a word.
“Now then,” Shin Hyunjoo said, gesturing toward Haeyong.
“The General Manager is here as requested. Let’s hear this ‘important’ story.”
Haeyong had two reasons for requesting the General Manager.
First, he knew Shin Hyunjoo was under Choi Juhoon’s thumb.
Juhoon was a wind-user, but he also possessed a secret B-class mental ability: brainwashing.
He used it to ensure people believed only his version of the truth.
Mental abilities, however, don’t work well on those of a similar or higher rank.
Second, Yoo Junghyun himself was a mental-type Esper with the ability to detect lies.
It was the very reason he held his position.
Even though Haeyong was a higher rank, Yoo Junghyun’s ability to discern the truth of spoken words was absolute.
“Please listen to this first. I’ll speak once it’s finished.”
Haeyong pulled the black bead from his pocket.
Both the Director and the General Manager frowned; the bead was clearly made from Gate residue, but it lacked the Center’s official mark.
“Yes, I obtained it illegally,” Haeyong admitted.
“I’ll accept punishment for that later.”
“What on earth is—”
Shin Hyunjoo’s voice cut off as Haeyong tapped the bead.
As the recording played, her face turned pale.
The voices were familiar, but the content was horrifying.
The Team 1 Espers were intentionally wounding Kang Haeyong to use his blood to lure monsters?
That wasn’t just a violation of protocol; it was a fundamental breach of human rights.
It was strictly forbidden.
When the sounds of screams and monster roars ended, Haeyong switched to his phone, playing a month’s worth of recordings detailing the constant verbal and physical abuse.
The sounds of impact were unmistakable.
“This… this must be a fabrication, Esper Kang Haeyong,” Shin Hyunjoo said, her voice sharp.
“You shouldn’t try to frame your teammates like this.”
Even with the evidence, her loyalty to Choi Juhoon was a fortress.
It was starting to crack, but she still wanted to believe him.
After all, Juhoon was the one who had “generously” taken Haeyong in when no one else would.
“It is not a fabrication,” General Manager Yoo Junghyun interrupted, his voice heavy.
“Esper Kang Haeyong is telling the absolute truth.”
Haeyong clenched his fists.
Someone finally believed him.
This was the one thing the original Kang Haeyong could never have done.
Shin Hyunjoo let out a low groan.
The evidence was undeniable now.
She considered calling Choi Juhoon in to explain, but even she wasn’t foolish enough to put the victim and the perpetrators in the same room.
“…What is it you want?” she asked.
It was a difficult situation.
There had never been a formal disciplinary case for bullying within an elite team before.
Espers were notoriously individualistic; they usually didn’t care enough about each other to even bother with bullying.
Haeyong looked at her.
He could still see the lingering doubt in her eyes—the lingering effects of Juhoon’s brainwashing.
“First, I want to be removed from Team 1. And I want a new place to live. According to the contract, the Center is obligated to provide housing that meets the Esper’s needs.”
“That’s… correct,” she whispered.
“I’ll handle the team reorganization,” Yoo Junghyun added, finally joining the conversation.
“Is there a specific team you’d like to join?”
He was stunned that an Esper had been subjected to this for so long without fighting back.
“It’ll be the same no matter what team I go to,” Haeyong said firmly.
“I want a new team created. A team of just one person. Me.”
Yoo Junghyun frowned.
Creating a new team wasn’t hard, but a one-man team was unprecedented.
“Since I can’t use my powers properly yet, I won’t be entering any Gates for the time being. If I’m put in another team, there’s no guarantee this won’t just happen all over again.”
It was exactly as expected.
Yoo Junghyun scanned the list of active teams while considering what kind of environment Haeyong needed.
There wasn’t a single place that looked like a good fit for him.
In that light, Haeyong’s suggestion made sense.
Most Espers were notoriously indifferent to others; a one-man team wouldn’t even register on their radar.
“Very well. We’ll do as you wish. Is there anything else?”
“Is a transfer out of this branch possible?”
Shin Hyunjoo looked troubled.
Although he hadn’t specified who should be moved—the victims or the perpetrators—a transfer for an S-class Esper was a bureaucratic nightmare.
It would trigger rumors of internal discord and provide endless fodder for gossip-mongers.
For the Director, it meant a mountain of paperwork.
More importantly, she would never allow an S-class to be handed over to another branch on her watch.
When she remained silent, Haeyong gave a small, knowing nod.
He had anticipated this.
While moving away from those three—or having them moved—would have been ideal, he knew the politics involved.
It was frustrating, especially when he thought about the original protagonist, but he had to accept it for now.
“I… I hope you understand the Center’s position,” Shin Hyunjoo said, choosing to defend the institution’s stance rather than offer an apology.
“Tell me something else you need, Esper Kang Haeyong.”
She seemed more interested in protecting her own reputation than acknowledging the three years of hell Haeyong had endured.
It made him wonder if her coldness was truly the result of brainwashing or if this was just who she was.
“Then I’ll leave the disciplinary actions for those three in your hands, Director. I trust you’ll be fair.”
“Ah… yes. Of course.”
By leaving the specifics to her, Haeyong had actually made things more difficult.
He knew a simple pay cut wouldn’t bother them, and they weren’t children who could be forced to write apology letters.
Even if they did apologize, there would be no sincerity in it.
The original Kang Haeyong hadn’t forgiven them even at the moment he decided to end the world; this Haeyong saw no reason to demand empty words.
“Since you can’t enter Gates for now, instead of just a one-man team, how do you feel about moving to the Internal Support Team?” Yoo Junghyun asked.
“The Internal Support Team?”
“As you know, the Support Team isn’t divided into strict sub-units. It consists of healers, elemental users who aren’t suited for physical combat, and mental-types. It’s a small group, so you won’t find it crowded or uncomfortable.”
“That… sounds perfect. Thank you.”
Haeyong hadn’t even considered the support wing.
He bowed his head in genuine gratitude, leaving Yoo Junghyun looking slightly taken abashed.
