* * *

“The temporary lodging is in the National Awakener Security Agency’s residence complex. Their hunters will guard the entrance 24/7.”

“I thought you were supposed to be the one monitoring me, Mr. Kang Yigeon?”

“Of course, I’ll also be staying there.”

“Don’t tell me we’re sharing the same room?”

“We’ll have separate rooms.”

“Good. At least I won’t have to worry about being murdered in my sleep.”

Kang Yigeon didn’t answer.

He trusted his own self-control but wasn’t as sure about the hunters who would stand guard.

He had selected those with the greatest patience, but the mere fact that Seohwa would be out of sight might slightly dilute his hatred and anger, reducing the likelihood of danger.

“Oh, it’s been a while. This was my car before I had it replaced.”

At the parking lot, Seohwa cheerfully headed toward a sleek black car.

He hadn’t been told the model or license plate but approached it like an old friend.

He rattled the passenger door handle, then turned to Kang Yigeon when it didn’t open.

His gaze silently demanded, “What are you waiting for?”

Kang Yigeon pressed the button, unlocking the door, and Seohwa quickly slipped into the seat.

“Turn on the seat warmer. I get cold easily. Honestly, April isn’t spring—it’s late winter. It’s freezing.”

“……”

Kang Yigeon wanted to grab him by the hair, drag him out of the car, and throw him onto the parking lot floor.

Alternatively, he could set the entire car ablaze with him inside.

Yet he did neither.

Not out of reason or self-control, but because of the unexplainable stirring that arose upon seeing Seohwa sitting in the passenger seat of his car.

---

After arriving at the temporary lodging, Seohwa immediately began gathering information using the laptop, phone, and tablet PC provided.

Browsing the internet, he tracked how the Hate phenomenon was progressing.

Posts brimming with hatred and resentment flooded in relentlessly, making him shudder.

“Everyone’s itching to kill me. Scary. Shouldn’t you assign more guards to watch over me, Mr. Kang Yigeon?”

“……”

“Oh, wait. The extra guards would probably try to kill me too. Why is Kang Yigeon the only 100% rational person in the world…?”

Feigning sadness, Seohwa lowered his gaze playfully.

Despite his lighthearted tone, Kang Yigeon noticed the faint hurt lurking behind his words—something only his heightened sensitivity to emotions could pick up.

That fleeting wound quickly disappeared as Seohwa refocused on gathering data.

Kang Yigeon maintained a distance while observing Seohwa.

The playfulness in his demeanor faded.

His gaze fixed on the laptop screen, his posture leaned forward in concentration.

As his hair fell into his face, Kang Yigeon felt a simultaneous urge to brush it behind his ear—or to slash that pale nape with his flame sword.

Clenching his fists, Kang Yigeon held back.

When Seohwa accessed a secret cult’s online community, he almost jumped to stop him but relented after Seohwa explained he was merely analyzing their interpretation of the phenomenon.

Since they had arrived late in the evening, the day ended quietly.

The lodging had two bedrooms.

Kang Yigeon assigned Seohwa the inner one, while he stayed in the living room, awake all night.

His insomnia wasn’t merely because of Seohwa’s proximity—it was a long-standing condition rooted in profound loss.

Unless he kept himself busy, waves of emptiness crashed over him, overpowering his thoughts.

A void that had existed since childhood.

An inexplicable sense of loss and deep yearning.

The feeling of having let go of everything he once held dear.

What made him so different from others?

Had he committed some great sin in a past life?

Hit his head against a wall as a child?

Or was it an undefined mental illness?

What had he forgotten?

What had he lost?

What was he yearning for so desperately?

For 26 years, he had carried this unfathomable agony alone.

And then he learned of the previous loops—five of them—because of Seohwa’s presence.

This inexplicable loss was undoubtedly tied to those past timelines.

He wanted to grab Seohwa by the collar and demand answers: Was there something precious to me in the past loops?

Yet he feared the answer.

If Seohwa confirmed, “Yes, you had something precious and irreplaceable, and you lost it forever,” Kang Yigeon doubted he could bear it.

Not that he would ask.

Whenever he looked at Seohwa, anger and hatred consumed him, leaving no room for questions.

Seohwa, unlike him, was already fast asleep, breathing steadily.

How much did Seohwa trust him?

If what he said was true, Kang Yigeon must have hated him in every loop except the first.

Had he ever failed to restrain himself and killed him?

Kang Yigeon spent the first night wide awake.

---

The next day, Seohwa read a seemingly endless stream of news about politics, economics, and culture.

He started with the headlines from earlier this year, then worked backward to last year and the year before, eventually delving into articles from two or three decades ago.

The day after that, he checked out popular variety shows, songs, bestselling books, and box office hits.

By evening, Seohwa was still glued to his desk, engrossed in his research.

When he finally stretched after finishing, he smiled with satisfaction.

“Trends like accidents or viral memes are pretty similar in every timeline. Luckily, my memories are useful this time too.”

“Have there been timelines where that wasn’t the case?”

“Not really, except for the first loop. They’re usually quite similar.”

Seohwa chuckled lightly as he stretched.

“At first, I was shocked. In one timeline, I saved people during the Ulsan factory fire, but in another, it was Ukwon who did it, and in yet another, the director personally intervened. Or during the Jeju plane crash—though I was the first Hunter to arrive in the first loop, by the second loop, government officials handled the situation instead.”

“…….”

“Knowing that the world’s massive gears turn just fine without me… it was surprising, in many ways.”

Kang Yigeon, staring at Seohwa coldly, replied bluntly.

“Thinking the world would fall apart without you is an arrogant delusion.”

“You’re right. I’ve realized that after going through these loops. No matter how capable someone is, they’re still just an individual—a mere cog in this vast machine.”

Kang Yigeon had hoped his words would sting, but the opposite seemed true.

Seohwa showed no signs of hurt or disappointment.

Instead, he looked relieved, as if a heavy burden had been lifted from his shoulders.

“Still, even though cultural trends are similar, there are two particularly unique things about this loop.”

“What are they?”

“First, AlphaN has become much more advanced.”

AlphaN, an artificial intelligence, wasn’t purely a product of human scientific progress; it had been created with the help of the Conflux System.

Originally developed to predict dungeon occurrences, its rapid advancement had led to its integration into various fields like engineering and chemistry.

“Curiously, AlphaN gets smarter with each regression. In this loop, it’s become a very clever AI. In the last loop, it couldn’t predict gate occurrences at this point in time; it needed another year.”

“You call this an improvement? Its computational speed is absurdly slow.”

Though AlphaN was intelligent and accurate, it had a critical flaw—its computational speed was only about 1/50th of other AIs.

“This is a huge improvement. Last time, it took ten minutes just to exchange one line of chat.”

“You chatted with AlphaN?”

“People wouldn’t talk to me much, so when I was bored, I’d pass the time using AI chatbots.”

After a brief silence, Kang Yigeon remarked, “So, while you were letting the world end multiple times, you idled away chatting?”

It was an intentional jab, meant to wound.

When he saw Seohwa biting his lower lip, Kang Yigeon knew he’d hit his mark.

Seohwa gave a bitter laugh before replying.

“The second thing: the hatred for ‘Seohwa.’”

“…….”

“In the second timeline, it was like the mild annoyance of a friend calling you out of the blue when you’re trying to relax at home. By the third, it felt like that coworker who dumps work on you at 5:30 PM on a Friday. By the fourth, it was like a boss who sends you a message on Saturday saying, ‘Enjoy your weekend, but come straight to my office on Monday morning.’ By the fifth timeline, it escalated to a level where I felt like a psychopathic criminal who shouldn’t be allowed in society… but even then, it wasn’t as bad as now. Now, it’s like I’ve become an enemy who murdered their family.”

Kang Yigeon corrected him.

“Not just their family—more like the source of all evil bent on destroying Earth.”

“Yikes.”

Seohwa shivered lightly before continuing.

“The escalation isn’t linear—like 2, 4, 8, 16, 32HT—it’s exponential: 2, 4, 16, 256, 65,536HT.”

“HT?”

“Hatred Threshold. I coined it myself.”

“…….”

“Next, it’ll be 4,294,967,296HT. By then, even if I prove I’m from the future, no one will listen. This is my last chance.”

* * *