His eyes drifted back to the screen, locking onto the precise coordinate where the Cult Leader pulled the corrupted Esper into his chest, offering his own frame as an absolute sanctuary.
The high-necked, hyper-conservative collar of the vestments contrasted sharply with the extravagant luxury of the silver embroidery trailing down his robes.
Even the faint, blurred silhouette of his physical frame captured through the heavy layers of silk appeared mathematically perfect.
He violently tore his eyes away from the screen, his breathing heavy as he fought to restore his mental barriers.
Throughout years of enduring agonizing, bone-deep neurological pain, he had never once compromised his integrity by resorting to black-market narcotics or illegal dampening agents to mute the noise.
Yet, his current psychological behavior was completely indistinguishable from that of a common, terminal addict wallowing in withdrawal.
Swearing an absolute mental vow that he would never initialize the file again, Gi Junghyuk proceeded to cycle the video three more times.
The moment the final loop concluded, a cold, predatory resolve solidified behind his eyes.
He reached forward and violently hammered the intercom toggle to summon his secretary.
“You requested my presence, Executive Director Ki?”
“Where did you acquire this file?”
“……Pardon?”
Entering the inner sanctum, Secretary Oh blinked rapidly, momentarily caught off-guard by the blunt, high-velocity query.
But the moment his vision locked onto the electronic tablet clenched firmly in Gi Junghyuk’s hand, a flash of profound shock lit up his eyes.
He had been entirely certain his superior would throw the hardware directly into the shredder without a single glance; this outcome shattered all calculated predictions.
“I asked you to identify the source of this asset.”
“……Ah. Yes, sir. The infrastructure of Exalted Church permits a select pool of uninitiated civilians to schedule a formal observation session prior to taking their final vows. One of those authorized observers secretly utilized a sub-miniature recording device to harvest that raw data.”
“Was this observer an active member of the press?”
Gi Junghyuk extracted the data line before the secretary could even formulate the explanation.
Recognizing his superior’s razor-sharp analytical processing, Secretary Oh nodded in rapid confirmation.
“Yes, sir. That is correct. The asset was an investigative journalist who successfully infiltrated the lower block under a false identity. Given that the rumors surrounding Exalted Church have been escalating rapidly across the sector, the media outlet was desperate to secure a high-value expose.”
Gi Junghyuk remained silent, his manicured fingers beginning to tap a rhythmic, calculated pattern against the marble surface of his desk.
The secretary watched the display intently, completely aware that the Executive Director’s brilliant corporate mind was currently mapping out a complex matrix of strategic calculations.
Though he had only served as his official secretary for a few years, he had monitored Gi Junghyuk’s trajectory since their youth; he knew the man’s psychological configuration inside and out.
Against all empirical odds, the Executive Director had developed a severe, hyper-fixated interest in the cult.
Whether that interest would yield a destructive or constructive outcome remained to be seen.
“Is this the very first time an internal video asset has breached their perimeter?”
“To the absolute best of our intelligence, yes. The organization has historically been surrounded by an immense volume of unsubstantiated ghost stories, but prior to this exact file, zero physical recordings have ever successfully cleared their internal security protocols.”
“For an organization that maintains an absolute, iron-clad information bottleneck to suddenly permit a high-value security leak of this caliber…….”
Gi Junghyuk’s gaze dropped back down to the frozen image of the Cult Leader pinned to the glass.
Whether the footage itself had been subject to digital manipulation remained unverified, but one operational variable was abundantly clear: the leak was entirely intentional.
The organization had deliberately allowed the file to clear their perimeter.
The question then shifted: what was the strategic objective behind releasing this specific payload at this exact point in time?
He stared deeply into the frozen frame, tracing the lines of the robed figure holding the weeping devotee.
Simply to accelerate public recruitment?
No, that hypothesis lacked structural weight.
Exalted Church was already an exponential growth anomaly—a rapidly ascending religious juggernaut that was devouring market share across the sector on a daily basis.
Their data curve indicated they had expanded their total asset mass tenfold in a matter of years, spawning numerous localized branch temples across the map.
If public relations weren’t the primary catalyst, then this leak was designed to target an entirely different demographic.
It wasn’t an advertisement meant for the masses; it was a highly specific, custom-tailored lure meant for a singular class of asset.
And if that were the case……
Gi Junghyuk’s eyes locked onto the elegant hand of the hidden figure.
“……The Cult Leader.”
“Sir? Did you issue a directive?”
“It is nothing. Shift your focus back to the core dossier. Do we possess any actionable intelligence regarding his background or identity?”
“Negative, sir. Absolutely zero data exists within the public or private sectors. The moment the file flagged my interest, I executed a deep-system scan through our corporate intelligence networks, but the query yielded a total null return. It is as if the individual simply materialized inside the temple structure, entirely devoid of a historical footprint.”
An absolute phantom—a classic, textbook prerequisite for the supreme leader of an extremist syndicate.
Gi Junghyuk maintained his unblinking stare on the robed anomaly for a long, heavy silence before finally dropping his request into the room.
“The formal observation protocol you referenced. What are the specific chronological markers and operational requirements to secure entry?”
“Why are you asking for the procurement details…… Wait. Executive Director, don’t tell me you intend to……?”
“You were the asset who deliberately introduced this unscientific variable into my office, Secretary Oh. Expressing shock at this stage of the calculation is highly redundant.”
“No, I recognize that, sir. But…… do you truly intend to physically attend an observation session inside an extremist cult’s central sanctuary?”
“I am quite certain my vocalization was entirely clear.”
“Ha…….”
Secretary Oh let out a hollow, completely stunned breath, his professional composure briefly fracturing under the absolute weight of the reality.
He had brought up the rumor purely as a desperate, last-resort gamble because he could no longer bear to watch his superior’s physical vessel systematically decay under S-rank corruption—but to see the clinical, hyper-elite Gi Junghyuk actually commit to infiltrating a cult chapel was mind-boggling.
Then again, the raw data displayed on that tablet was undeniably revolutionary.
Whether it was an elaborate optical illusion or an unclassified anomaly, a miracle capable of violating the laws of cellular decay was a variable that demanded immediate investigation.
“I will personally initiate a high-priority clearance check and finalize the logistics within the tightest possible timeframe, sir. While formal initiation into their higher orders requires extensive background vetting, securing a standard observer slot should present zero significant obstacles for our corporate resources.”
“See to it immediately.”
“Yes, sir. I will take my leave.”
Executing a precise bow, the secretary exited the space, the heavy glass doors sliding shut behind him.
The vast executive office fell back into a dense, suffocating silence, broken only by the rhythmic sound of Gi Junghyuk’s low respiration.
Staring fixedly down at the static screen, his finger moved deliberately, pressing the digital initialization toggle once more.
As the visual data began to fluidly track across the screen, he raised his hand, his thumb lightly tracing down the smooth glass interface, following the exact contour of the Cult Leader’s robed shoulder.
And at that exact microsecond, a violent, uncontrollable anomaly flared within his physiology.
Gi Junghyuk’s dark, elite irises abruptly bled into a brilliant, terrifyingly vivid shade of crimson, before shifting back to their standard hue a fraction of a second later.
As he sat alone in the silent heart of his corporate empire, staring obsessively at a faceless phantom on a screen, the Executive Director remained entirely blind to the underlying mechanism driving his sudden madness.
He failed to realize that his brain was not experiencing a psychological breakdown.
It was the raw, primal biology of an S-rank Esper—unconsciously responding to the absolute, undeniable call of its destined Guide.
