Lee Taeseong stared at the man before him.
“…….”
A man with jet-black hair as dark as ebony and golden eyes that radiated an otherworldly glow. He was dressed in a black coat and black gloves, with a cross-shaped necklace hanging around his neck. His height was similar to Lee Taeseong’s.
Looking down at him, the man spoke.
“A singularity, is it?”
His deep, resonant voice was striking.
His features were striking enough to draw attention, yet his expression was nonexistent—almost as if an emotionless doll stood before Lee Taeseong.
And yet, Taeseong sensed something else.
Fatigue? Resignation? No, something similar, but distinctly different.
If he had to put it into words…
Disinterest.
‘There’s no energy coming from him. Not even a hint of presence when he approached this place.’
It was eerily quiet—so much so that he wondered if he was standing before an ordinary human.
But his Devouring Sense warned him.
That thing… is something you cannot consume.
“Who are you?”
“Lee Han.”
A name he had heard before.
‘Lee Han? Where have I heard that name before?’
And then—
As if naturally surfacing in his mind, Choi Harin’s voice echoed in his memory.
—His rank is technically Alpha. In the Tree’s hierarchy, Alpha is the highest rank. So yes, technically, that’s correct, but… hmm… how should I put this? They’re actually beyond that. Even among Alphas, they exist on an entirely different plane of existence. In the first place, they aren’t even administrators.
Apostles.
The twelve chosen candidates designated as successors of Root, the highest decision-making body of the Tree.
People who wield absolute authority, unrestricted by rules or regulations.
Entities with the highest security clearance within the Tree.
And also, the Tree’s executives.
Officially, Lee Han’s position was that of an Executive Director.
—I’ll be visiting you soon, Administrator Lee Taeseong.
“Are you an Apostle?”
“I am.”
Their gazes locked.
Lee Taeseong tried to heighten his senses and look into the man, but he still felt nothing.
The absurd sensation of facing someone who was clearly standing there, yet seemed absent.
‘What… is this?’
Lee Han, too, kept his gaze fixed on Taeseong.
His golden eyes—dyed with an mysterious radiance—seemed to peer beyond Taeseong’s outer shell, straight into his very being.
“…….”
Then, Lee Han was the first to speak.
“I’d like to have a conversation.”
Lee Taeseong gave a slight nod.
“Fine.”
An Apostle outranked even a Branch Director, yet he didn’t seem to care about Taeseong’s informal tone in the slightest. As if such trivial matters didn’t concern him at all.
“We’ll change locations.”
Lee Han removed his glove, revealing five fingers adorned with various rings. His hand was covered in unfamiliar symbols, densely inscribed across the skin.
Then, he casually waved his hand through the air.
“Transference.”
And in an instant, both of them vanished.
Left behind in the isolation chamber was only Oh Haeyoung, sleeping soundly, oblivious to the world.
“Mmm… hmph…”
The familiar uneasiness of spatial movement washed over him as Lee Taeseong opened his eyes.
“This place…”
The space around him was vast and open. A cool breeze swept past him. In the distance, he saw snow-covered peaks and clouds drifting lazily.
Crunch. Crunch.
As he took a few steps forward, the sound of snow squashing underfoot reached his ears.
Though he wasn’t sure of the exact location, it was clear—this was the peak of a mountain.
He glanced around, but the one who had transported him here was nowhere in sight.
All he could see was a small wooden cabin standing alone in the middle of the snow-covered landscape.
Without hesitation, Taeseong headed for the cabin.
Creak.
As he pushed the door open and stepped inside, he saw Lee Han sitting at a wooden dining table. From a fireplace in the corner, the sound of crackling flames filled the quiet space.
In stark contrast to the image Lee Han projected, the inside of the cabin felt surprisingly… human.
“Is this your home?”
At Taeseong’s question, Lee Han simply nodded instead of answering.
On the table, two steaming cups sat before them.
‘Tea?’
Seeing that he had prepared it in advance, Lee Taeseong thought Lee Han might be more considerate than he had initially assumed.
Still gazing absentmindedly out the window, Lee Han spoke softly.
“Sit.”
Taeseong immediately took a seat.
Reaching for the cup before him, he took a sip—
“…….”
A sharp bitterness spread across his tongue.
This wasn’t tea.
It was alcohol.
And a particularly strong one at that.
‘Do people normally drink vodka warm?’
Since he wasn’t well-versed in alcohol culture, he simply thought it was personal preference.
Silence settled between them.
Both men quietly sipped their drinks without exchanging words.
Meanwhile, Taeseong sorted through his thoughts.
‘He seemed to recognize the woman in the red dress. He called her filth from the outside. What did he mean by that?’
‘He was also the one who smoothed over the commotion I caused at the Japan branch. That might not be difficult for an Apostle, but why go to such lengths for someone he’s never even met before?’
After some deliberation, Taeseong finally spoke.
“Since we’re here to talk, mind if I ask you a few things?”
“…….”
Lee Han nodded. He was a man of far fewer words than Lee Taeseong had been at the beginning.
Taeseong suddenly thought that this man’s everyday life must be unbearably boring compared to now. Perhaps the only reason he had even been summoned here was due to a faint trace of curiosity.
“What is an Apostle?”
“A proxy of the Tree.”
“A proxy?”
“…….”
“Are Alpha-grade administrators different from Apostles?”
“They are.”
“I’ve heard that Apostles are ultimately classified as Alpha-grade as well… Is that true?”
“They are only publicly declared as Alpha. An Apostle is just an Apostle.”
Hearing that, Taeseong considered the possibility that some of the information Choi Harin had given him was incorrect.
While she did handle a vast amount of intelligence as the next Director of Intelligence, she was still merely at a team leader level.
Taeseong now understood that there were countless pieces of information inaccessible to her due to security clearance restrictions.
“Do you know about the concept of ‘+’ and ‘-’ in entity grading?”
Lee Han nodded.
“How many pluses do you have, then?”
Taeseong asked this to gauge, even roughly, the strength of an Apostle.
“None.”
“None?”
Nod.
“Isn’t that just slang created for the administrators convenience?”
“That’s how I understand it.”
Lee Han gazed directly into Taeseong’s eyes and spoke in a low voice.
“Administrator Lee Taeseong. How many Alpha-grade entities do you think exist within the Tree?”
“…….”
“To classify them all, Mother introduced a new system. Not some trivial wordplay with pluses and minuses.”
Lee Han waved his hand in the air.
In an instant, hundreds—no, thousands—of entity management reports flashed before Taeseong’s eyes.
The grades inscribed on them ranged from ‘Alpha I’ in order to ‘Alpha X.’ A total of ten levels.
Taeseong was taken aback.
It wasn’t the existence of a new grading system that shocked him—it was the fact that there were enough Alpha entities within the Tree to necessitate ten different levels.
‘All of these… are actually managed?’
Among the reports that briefly flashed by, he even spotted one for Park Woo-man, the Korean branch director. His grade was ‘Alpha II.’
Suddenly, Park Woo-man’s words resurfaced in his mind.
—I am among the weaker Alpha-grade administrators.
Now, Taeseong finally understood what that meant.
If someone like Park Woo-man, who had demonstrated such overwhelming power, was only an ‘Alpha II,’ then what kind of beings existed above him?
‘This is… just the tip of the iceberg.’
This information was classified, known only to key figures among administrators and staff.
In Korea, only Park Woo-man, the Director of Intelligence, and a select few Alpha-grade administrators were aware of it.
The reason was simple.
It was a measure to prevent the administrators morale from plummeting.
A precaution to ensure that no one else would feel the crushing weight of realization that Taeseong now felt.
‘I thought I had a decent understanding of the Tree, but I was gravely mistaken. There’s no telling how many more monstrous beings exist.’
If even Taeseong was overwhelmed by such thoughts, what would happen if Epsilon- or Delta-grade administrators found out?
They would be consumed by indescribable despair and helplessness.
Earlier, Lee Han had said that Apostles were different from Alpha-grade administrators. Officially, they were announced as Alpha-grade, but in truth, an Apostle was just an Apostle.
“Then… does that mean you are above Alpha?”
“…….”
Lee Han remained silent.
Taeseong took that as his answer.
‘An Apostle is an Apostle.’
Not an ‘Alpha I’ or an ‘Alpha X’—just an Apostle.
That was his grade.
Taeseong sensed that asking further wouldn’t provide any particularly useful information.
‘But why is he being so cooperative?’
Since arriving here, he had been the one incessantly firing off questions. And Lee Han, almost excessively so, had answered them all.
Even though Lee Han had no real reason to do so.
Taeseong spoke up.
“I heard you helped lower my disciplinary level. Before asking why, I should first express my gratitude. Thank you. Thanks to you… I was able to return to Korea safely.”
“Are you curious? About why I spared you?”
“Of course.”
Lee Han’s gaze locked onto Taeseong.
“Your grade is Sigma.”
“Sigma-grade? What’s that?”
Oh Haeyoung had once briefly mentioned it, but Taeseong couldn’t recall.
“An irregular personally designated by Mother. A singularity.”
This was the first time he was hearing this.
‘I’m… Sigma-grade?’
Lee Han continued.
“Judging by your reaction, you didn’t know.”
Taeseong, still flustered, nodded.
“…I just heard about it now.”
Lee Han spoke indifferently.
“Is that so? Well, this is my first time seeing you, too.”
Taeseong’s gaze naturally drifted to Lee Han’s wrist.
Engraved on his wrist was the number ‘999.’
“Even across 999 lives.”
