Category: A doomsday-level returnee devours calamities

It’s been twenty years since I was dragged into this cursed dimensional shift and brought to this world.

I survived purely on the determination to return home, trudging through each day. But despite my efforts, I couldn’t find even the faintest clue on how to go back.

Why did I have to go through this?

Out of all the people in the world, why me?

I had no answers.

So, I cursed and prayed to every god I knew, day after day. Like a madman, I threw hash words steeped in hatred, then broke down in tears, pleading to be sent back home.

But nothing changed.

My life was consumed by rage and hatred.

I wandered the world like a vengeful ghost, my hands stained with the blood of countless beings.

Then, I found a sliver of hope.

There was a rumor about a beast from ancient times sealed atop the highest mountain in this world. Even if it was just a story fabricated by some bored gossip, it didn’t matter.

As long as there was even a shred of possibility, it gave me the strength to face another day.

---

[So, a bold human has come to me.]

The voice boomed like a thunderclap, shattering my eardrums. Despite knowing it was bound and unable to move, my body trembled uncontrollably just from standing before it.

[Have you come all this way to ask for something so trivial?]

The Primordial Wolf, a being from this world’s mythology.

A creature that was once a mere beast but grew continuously through its innate hunger, ultimately devouring even the sun itself, according to the legends.

“Yes, that’s right. I am not of this world. For decades, I’ve wandered in search of a way to return to the world I came from, without finding even the faintest clue. Then I heard a rumor of an exalted being imprisoned here, and so I came.”

[Ah, so that’s why you smell so foreign. You’re a drifter. Is that why you yearn so desperately to return?]

“Yes. Can you do it?”

[Do it? Do you dare to ask such a question of me, a lowly insect?]

Suddenly, pain exploded in my chest, and I collapsed to the ground, letting out a strangled groan.

“Gah…!”

My face turned pale in an instant. I clawed at the ground, twisting and writhing, but no matter how hard I struggled, I couldn’t breathe.

[Tsk, pathetic worm.]

Finally, the pressure lifted, and I sucked in air, gasping desperately.

“Hah… hah…”

[If you want to return to your world alive, you should learn to watch your tongue. Do you think that just because I’m in this state, I can’t snuff out a little bug like you?]

“…My apologies.”

[To answer your question: yes, it is possible. But only if I were in my full form. That cowardly lot of gods tore my body apart and left me in this state. If it weren’t for them, such a feat would be simple. Do you understand what I’m saying?]

The ancient myths spoke of how the gods, fearing the wolf’s power, tore it limb from limb and sealed it away.

It was clear to me that this was no idle lamentation but a veiled suggestion.

“If you can send me back, I’ll do whatever it takes. What must I do?”

[At least you’re quick to catch on. I shall grant you my authority. With it, you will gather the fragments of my body scattered across the world. When my form is whole once more, I shall break free from this accursed prison and personally grant your wish.]

“Understood.”

From that day onward, I became the Apostle of the Primordial Wolf.

It was a decision I would come to regret more than anything else in my life.

---

“The Primordial Wolf…”

I replayed the memories I had just recovered, as vivid as if I had just woken from a dream.

This time, I was certain: these memories were from after I was swept up in the dimensional shift.

My entire body buzzed with vitality, a feeling I hadn’t experienced before. Was this another side effect of regaining my memories?

In those memories, I had conversed with a mysterious being known as the Primordial Wolf. Judging by the circumstances, it seemed I had become its servant, though I couldn’t recall what happened next.

The memory cut off there.

More pressing than that was the sudden return of these memories.

What had triggered them?

Reflecting on the recent events, I found the answer.

“When I swallowed the crystal embedded in Dueokshin’s chest, the memories came flooding back.”

It could only have been that.

But what exactly was that crystal?

I racked my brain for answers, but no clues emerged.

If I had seen it from the start, that would be one thing—but it had only started bothering me partway through our conversation. Worse, my actions in taking it weren’t even conscious decisions; they felt like primal instincts.

A sudden scream tore through my thoughts.

“You filthy human! What have you done to me?”

Only then did I truly process what I had done.

“…It was a mistake.”

“A mistake? You dare call that a mistake? What kind of trickery have you done?”

A thought crossed my mind.

“Can ghosts feel pain? I was under the impression you didn’t experience such things. Why, then, were you writhing in agony?”

“…”

The boy had no answer.

Even he didn’t know why. All he knew was that the moment my hand touched his chest, an unbearable, searing pain coursed through his entire being.

It was a pain unlike anything he’d ever felt before.

For the first time in its existence, the malevolent ghost that fed on the fears of humans felt fear itself.

And I knew it.

“You… are afraid of me.”

“H-How could you possibly…”

“Ah, so this is what it feels like. This is how it’s done.”

CRUNCH!

A sickening sound echoed as the boy’s head was crushed into a bloody mess.

“…!”

Moments later, I coughed up a mass of dark red blood.

“Cough!”

Looking at the blood-stained hand, I mused.

“The strain on my body is significant.”

It had been an experiment. I hadn’t expected it to actually work.

“I didn’t think it would… but it did.”

Though I didn’t know why, ever since recovering that memory, I had gained access to a portion of Duokshin’s powers.

I suspected it was related to my recovered memories, but I couldn’t be certain.

One thing was clear: no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t wield those powers as freely as Duokshin himself.

At least, I now had a new ability.

“Interesting. I can see the manifested fear through my eyes.”

I couldn’t crush heads as easily as Duokshin, but I could easily sense whether my opponent feared me.

“How… how do you have that power…?”

The boy’s head, crushed just moments ago, was now restored. Duokshin, born of fear, was nearly immortal.

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t know? Are you mocking me?”

“If I wanted to mock you, what could you do about it?”

At my cold stare, Duokshin flinched.

“…”

Once, he was a being so powerful he was called the King of Ghosts. But now, he was no more than a powerless spirit, stripped of his strength and skulking in fear.

Taeseong spoke calmly.

“I have no reason to mock you. I simply answered that I don’t know because I truly don’t.”

The ghost spirit, left speechless, nodded slowly.

Just as Taeseong thought the conversation was over and turned to leave, someone knocked on the door.
Knock, knock.

Before he could open it, the door swung open.

Standing there was a woman whose unforgettable appearance left an indelible mark on anyone who saw her. She was known as the “White-Eyed Queen,” a Gamma-level administrator and the person responsible for testing Taeseong. She gazed at him intently.

“Wolf.”

Taeseong bowed his head silently. As a subordinate of the Tree, he owed her respect as his superior.

He moved to pass her and leave the room, but paused briefly. He considered warning her about the peculiarities of the ghost’s abilities in case something went awry.

However, he soon dismissed the thought.

“She’s a Gamma-level administrator. She’ll handle it. She didn’t even seem fazed.”

Hoping he wouldn’t hear the sound of a head being crushed, Taesung left the room.

---

The next day, Taeseong was summoned to Harin’s office as soon as he arrived at work.

Knock, knock.

“This is Taeseong Lee. May I come in?”

“Come in.”

Opening the door, he saw Harin seated as usual, chain-smoking.

“Take a seat wherever you’re comfortable.”

Once Taeseong sat down, Harin asked,

“Coffee? Tea?”

“I’m fine, thank you.”

Taking her last puff, Harin savored it before exhaling the smoke and sitting across from him. Crossing her legs, she regarded him carefully.

“First, let me start by thanking you. Thanks to you, the unidentified entity ‘Head-Crushing Boy’ was contained without incident.”

“That’s good to hear.”

“And thanks to you identifying its true name, the entity has been officially renamed as ‘Dueokshin.’”

“…”

“Aren’t you curious about the classification it received? That thing, the anomaly that killed thirteen members of the search team in the abandoned hospital?”

“Not particularly.”

Harin clicked her tongue, muttering, “No fun,” before continuing.

“Gamma level. My personal opinion is that it doesn’t quite deserve that classification since its method of neutralization is so clear. But the higher-ups apparently disagree. I assume they factored in the entity’s danger level and potential impact. It’s just a guess, though. What do I know about the minds of our esteemed executives? I’m just a grunt, after all. Gotta follow orders, right? Ugh.”

“Maybe the strength and the level of threat aren’t the same thing,” Taeseong offered.

If Dueokshin were to appear in the middle of a city, the massacre it would cause would be unimaginable. Anyone who felt even a shred of fear would have their head crushed.

“Exactly. Now that the small talk’s out of the way, let’s get to the main point. Starting today, you’re being reassigned to the Management Team 4 as an administrator. You’re also being promoted from Epsilon to Delta. All of this comes directly from the higher-ups, so no objections will be entertained. Congratulations.”

“When I first joined, I was placed in a search team. Why change me to the management team now?”

Harin smirked, raising a brow in disbelief.

“Were you not listening to a word I just said? The anomaly you captured is classified as a Gamma-level entity. On top of that, you’ve proven your capability as an administrator. Of course you’re getting promoted and reassigned—it’s only natural. You should feel proud. This is the fastest promotion in the history of the Tree. Celebrate it.”

After a moment of thought, Taeseong asked seriously,

“How much higher do I need to go?”

“What?”

“How much higher do I need to go to surpass you?”

Harin looked flabbergasted.

“You’re talking about me? Seriously?”

“Yes.”

Snorting in disbelief, Harin crossed her arms.

“Wow. You’ve got big dreams. Just because I keep saying I’m a grunt, you think I’m easy to surpass? Let me set the record straight—I’m the youngest team leader in the Information Department. Youngest. Team. Leader. I’m even considered a strong candidate for the next department head. You think you can aim higher than me? You’d need to become an executive at the very least. Got it?”

“An executive, then. Understood.”

Harin stared at him, dumbfounded, before sighing.

“Whatever. Talking to you is exhausting.”

“Can I leave now?”

“Not yet. There’s one more thing.”

Lighting another cigarette, Harin took a long puff.

Sssss…
…Whooo.

“We’ve found your sister.”

Taeseong asked again, his curiosity piqued. It was the first time he had heard such a name, likely unfamiliar even if he had retained his memory. Unless one was fond of ghost stories or folklore, the term would seem utterly alien.

“Dueokshin…?”

“That’s right. Humans call me that.”

Dueokshin, or Dueoksini.

Commonly mistaken as the leader of goblins, this was a misconception, spread and distorted as stories spread and mutated across the internet and among gossip-loving storytellers.

“What does it mean?”

“Exactly what it sounds like—a spirit that crushes human skulls.”

Taeseong murmured to himself, “A spirit that crushes human skulls…” The name was unfamiliar, but undeniably intriguing. The concept of such a spirit and its chilling nickname caught his attention.

“And you, human—what is your name?”

“Lee Taeseong.”

“Lee Taeseong… Such a lofty name for a mere human.”

Ignoring the obscure remark, Taeseong voiced another question that had formed in his mind.

“Why couldn’t you crush my skull, then?”

The question was blunt, almost audacious. Considering the fact that administrators had been killed in the very room where they were speaking, Taeseong’s inquiry bordered on reckless.

The boy—no, Dueokshin—smirked. It was laughable, the absurdity of the question itself. But the query also reinforced what he had already realized.

This human was not afraid of him. Not in the slightest.

And for that reason, no matter how much effort he exerted, he could not kill this man.

“It’s because you don’t fear me.”

“Because I don’t fear you? What does that have to do with you being unable to crush my skull?”

“You are unlike other humans. Most humans feel fear simply by facing me. They tremble at the realization of my existence, at encountering something beyond their comprehension. Their thoughts turn to death, and they succumb to terror.”

“Go on.”

“But you… you feel no fear of me at all. More precisely, you seem to lack any fear of death altogether. The world is inherently incomprehensible. Trying to understand the incomprehensible is pointless, much like humans themselves. Most are nothing more than worthless worms. Yet, once in a while, anomalies like you or that other one appear—creatures that surpass the limitations of your species.”

“That other one? So I’m not the only human like this you’ve encountered?”

“In all my time on this earth, there have been only two humans who did not fear me: you, Lee Taeseong, and a lunatic who fancied himself a righteous thief. Truthfully, I’m still unsure about him. He was undoubtedly human, but he didn’t seem like one. Honestly, he was a true monster—just wearing human skin.”

“Then doesn’t that make him no different from you? Was he even human to begin with?”

“Not much different, perhaps. But he was certainly human. As I said, he possessed a strength so extraordinary it defied belief, but human nonetheless. And yet, I’d say you give off an even stranger aura. Are you sure you’re human?”

Taeseong was reminded of a similar question he had been asked before.

“Oh, Pinocchio… Now that I think about it, there was that incident,” he thought.

When Oh Haeyoung had asked him if he was human, he had answered yes. Yet, Pinocchio’s nose had grown longer.

“I am. No doubt about it.”

His parents had birthed him, and his younger sister was living proof of his humanity. If he wasn’t human, what else could he possibly be?

“Are you sure you’re not mistaken?”

Though the boy’s eyes were covered, Taeseong felt as though he was being examined under an intense gaze.

“Perhaps. But at the very least, I think of myself as human. If I’m not, I suppose the truth will come out eventually.”

Taeseong responded with honesty.

He might not be human. But so what?

It wasn’t something he could determine right now, and even if he wasn’t, it wouldn’t change much. With no memory of who he was, he had far more pressing concerns.

“I wonder, though. Why is it that neither you nor that thief fear me?”

“Why would I?”

He had no other answer. He didn’t understand why one would need to fear this. The very premise of the question was lost on him.

“I was born from the fear of humans. Death is my father; despair, my mother. I was nurtured by fear and instigated fear throughout the world.

To humanity, I am an unavoidable calamity. Do you think a mere human can resist the rain or stop the wind?”

“……”

“From the beginning of time, when humans encounter the unknown, their first reaction is fear. Fear of unseen disasters, fear of strange creatures, fear of mysterious illnesses, fear of inexplicable headaches. It was from such fears that I, Dueokshin, was born. If you are truly human, facing me should trigger an instinctive terror within you. Do you believe a human can stand before a natural disaster and feel nothing?”

“Fear… So that’s your essence. In simple terms, those who fear you die?”

“That’s right.”

“So that’s why the team leader, the other members, and even the administrators who entered this room all died?”

“Indeed. They all feared me.”

“By that logic, as long as I don’t feel fear toward you, you’re powerless against me.”

“Correct.”

“Why are you telling me this so freely? What’s in it for you? Surely, you gain nothing by revealing such a weakness.”

The boy burst into laughter, catching Taeseong off guard.

“What’s so funny?”

“Did you not hear what I just said? I am calamity itself. I am fear. Knowing what I am won’t stop humans from fearing me. Do you think humans wouldn’t be afraid of an earthquake or a typhoon just because they know it’s coming? Don’t delude yourself. Just because you’re special doesn’t mean others are, too.”

“A spirit born from fear with such a loose tongue. How amusing.”

“What did you just say?”

“Oh, you heard me? My apologies if you did.”

Infuriated, the boy wished more than anything to crush Taeseong’s skull at that moment. But he couldn’t. Taeseong felt not the slightest trace of fear.

“I will kill you someday.”

“Do your best.”

Taeseong stared at the boy, his thoughts racing.

“Still… What on earth is that thing?”

Taeseong noticed something that had been bothering him ever since he entered the room and began speaking with Dueokshin.

The glimmering crystal embedded in the ghost’s chest.

It looked like a tiny, glowing dot that constantly shimmered. Staring at it caused Taeseong’s heart to resonate strangely, beating as if in response.

He hadn’t noticed it during their first battle in the abandoned hospital. Taeseong didn’t know why he could suddenly see it now, but one thing was certain.

He needed to remove it.

And…

He needed to consume it.

“What… What are you doing all of a sudden…?”

This wasn’t a decision—it was primal instinct.

By the time he realized what was happening, his body had already acted on its own.

“Gaaaahhhh!”

Dueokshin, who hadn’t so much as uttered a sound before, let out an anguished scream, filled with pain. Even though an evil spirit like him wasn’t supposed to feel pain.

“It hurts! It hurts! It hurts! It hurts! It hurts! It hurts! It hurts!”

The spirit writhed and twisted in torment, his body trembling violently.

“It hurts so muchhhhh!”

But Taeseong didn’t stop. He continued what he was doing, ignoring Dueokshin’s agonized cries. His mind was still rational, but his body was no longer under his control.

All that drove him now was a instinct, unshakable urge: this had to be done.

Taeseong tore the crystal from Dueokshin’s chest. Without hesitation, he brought it to his mouth.

“… …”

Crunch.

The moment his teeth crushed the crystal, Taeseong felt as though his entire body was being consumed by fire. It was as if he’d been thrown into the flames of hell itself. The pain was so agonizing that he doubted even the torments of the underworld could surpass it.

But he didn’t utter a single groan.

Instead, he kept chewing. And when he was done, he swallowed.

Gulp.

And at that instant, countless visions flooded Taeseong’s mind.

Memories.

They were fragments of the memories he’d lost.

---

A man with a weary, battle-worn face.

Though his features were sharper and darker than now, it was undeniably Taeseong.

Drenched in blood, he ascended a snow-covered mountain, his body weighed down by an arsenal of weapons strapped to his back and waist. He looked like a vengeful spirit or a demon from hell.

“Hah… Hah… This is really getting old.”

The mountain he climbed was the tallest in this world, its slopes blanketed in pristine snow that sparkled blindingly under the sun. The scenery was breathtaking, yet no one in their right mind would dare set foot here.

The mountain was infamous not for its height, but for its danger.

The Demonic Abyss.

That was its other name.

From the base of the mountain to its peak, the slopes teemed with all manner of terrifying creatures. The higher one climbed, the more numerous the monsters became, their strength and ferocity multiplying exponentially.

No human would voluntarily enter this mountain unless they wished for death.

No one—until Taeseong.

“Finally.”

At the summit, Taeseong drew a sword from his waist and swung it into the empty air.

“… …”

Ten seconds passed, and nothing happened. Yet Taeseong remained motionless, his gaze fixed on the space where his sword had struck.

Then it appeared.

The air cracked open along the path of his swing, revealing a colossal gate.

Taeseong had cleaved through the eternal ice that sealed it shut.

With no hesitation, he opened the gate and stepped through.

Step. Step.

The straight path stretched endlessly before him.

How long had he walked?

A day? Two?

Perhaps even longer. But Taeseong had no concept of time.

Eventually, he reached his destination.

The first thing he saw was a massive paw—so enormous it defied belief.

Its sheer size made it hard to believe it was part of a living being. Taeseong briefly doubted if this could even be called a “paw.” It felt more like he was standing before the side of a mountain.

But then he saw the claws.

Each claw was as large as a rocky peak, and upon closer inspection, their nature as claws became unmistakable.

Taeseong tilted his head back to look up. Even then, the creature’s head was too far away to see.

Had it not been bound, this entity would have been impossible for him to even gaze upon like this. Taeseong knew this all too well.

Which is why he understood that he had only one chance.

“Oh ancient wolf, the eldest of your kind…

Please return me to the world I belong to.”

What had just happened?

Every time he blinked, the heads of his comrades exploded. Brains and blood splattered in every direction.

Splat!

A sticky liquid drenched Taeseong’s face. He raised a hand and wiped the blood off his face. Despite the gruesome scene unfolding before him, his expression remained calm. He simply surveyed his surroundings, as if trying to grasp the situation.

The bodies of his comrades, their heads crushed like deflated balloons, collapsed limply to the floor.

Taeseong was the sole survivor.

Well, if the boy with the split mouth could be considered a survivor, then there were technically two. Whatever the boy truly was, he certainly wasn’t human.

“The team leader said he was a Delta-level operative,” Taeseong recalled.

If something had managed to crush the team leader’s head in an instant, it was safe to assume it wielded power well beyond that level.

He knew the recon team wasn’t made up of combat specialists. But there was no time to dwell on the nuances.

Taeseong quickly drew his pistol and, without a moment’s hesitation, pulled the trigger.

Bang!

The bullet tore through the boy’s head.

For any normal human, that would have been the end. But the boy, who was clearly far from human, remained completely unscathed.

He turned to Taeseong, still grinning, as if to mock the attack.

“…”

Realizing the gun was useless, Taeseong discarded it without hesitation.

Instead, he unsheathed two daggers from his belt, holding one in each hand.

Tap-tap-tap!

Before his mind could issue the order, his body moved instinctively, executing the most efficient course of action for the situation.

He sprinted forward, closing the distance in a heartbeat, and leapt into the air. With a fluid motion, he aimed a kick at the boy’s head.

Taeseong’s movements were clean, precise, and impossibly efficient—far beyond what one might expect from someone suffering from amnesia.

“…”

Though the kick seemed to land squarely, Taeseong felt as if he’d struck empty air.

“Physical attacks don’t work either?”

But it wasn’t over yet. Determined to continue his assault, Taeseong moved to slash with his daggers.

Before he could strike, his body was suddenly flung backward.

It felt as though he’d been hit by an invisible force, like a car crashing into him.

He twisted midair, landing in a controlled roll and coming to a crouch.

“An unseen force…?”

Pain flared in his side, a dull ache from the impact.

On top of everything else, Taeseong now knew the boy—or rather, the creature in the form of a boy—could manipulate some kind of invisible power.

Yet even in the face of this dire situation, Taeseong remained unshaken. He didn’t falter, only analyzed. He focused on one question: How can I defeat it?

Steadying his breath, Taeseong gripped his daggers tighter. A faint blue aura began to ripple from the blades.

The boy, still smiling, tilted his head slightly, his expression subtly changing to one of curiosity.

“…Why are you still fine?”

For the first time, the boy spoke, his tone mixed with confusion.

The meaning behind his question was clear:

All the others died instantly. So why is your head still intact?

The boy couldn’t comprehend it. In his long existence, he had never encountered someone immune to his abilities.

…Or had he?

Now that he thought about it, there was one faint, distant memory.

“There was a thief… a self-proclaimed vigilante from Joseon…”

Before he could delve deeper into that memory, it happened.

Slice!

The boy’s right arm was severed, disintegrating into black smoke before it could hit the ground.

“How…?”

For the first time, there was genuine surprise in the boy’s voice.

And then, the memory clicked.

The vigilante had been like this one. Despite his power, he couldn’t crush the man’s head, no matter how hard he tried. That man had easily severed his limbs and then warned him:

“Pitiful demon who feeds on human fear. Today, I grant you mercy and let you live. But mark my words: if I hear that you’ve harmed humans again, I will obliterate you entirely. Do you understand?”

Now the boy understood.

Why his power didn’t work on Taeseong.

Why he felt a sense of déjà vu.

“You…” The boy’s voice trembled. “You don’t fear me, do you?”

Taeseong remained silent, his expression cold and calculating.

The boy’s words weren’t wrong. Taeseong didn’t fear him—or anything else.

Fear, for most, comes from the unknown. Fear of death? It’s the uncertainty of what lies beyond that terrifies people. Fear of ghosts? It’s the lack of understanding of what they are and why they exist.

But Taeseong was different.

He didn’t fear death.

Was it because of his amnesia?

Could forgetting erase even the primal instinct of survival?

The answer to that question was something only Taeseong himself knew.

“Why does that matter to you?” Taeseong finally spoke, his tone sharp and dismissive.

Even as he spoke, he was calculating his next move. Whatever this creature was, its curiosity was irrelevant.

The only thing that mattered was killing it.

Because Taeseong still had unfinished business in this world.

And now was the moment to strike.

Taeseong seized the opportunity, exploiting an opening and moving forward. His movements were so swift that an ordinary human couldn’t even track them with their eyes. The keen edge of his blade sliced through the boy’s shoulder.

Then his other arm.

His chest.

His side.

His legs.

Strike after relentless strike rained down, the glowing blue aura of his sword tracing arcs through the air. With every cut to the boy’s body, a black, smoke-like vapor surge out.

“……”

Time blurred as the assault continued.

Eventually, the boy’s body, once formidable, had shrunk to resemble that of a child barely four or five years old.

“Why… do you not fear me?” the boy asked, his voice tinged with confusion.

Taeseong gazed at the diminished figure, his face blank and emotionless.

‘Even after piercing the heart or severing the neck, it won’t die.’

Realizing that no amount of cutting would end it, Taeseong turned and approached the body of his late team leader, Choi Han-seong. Kneeling, he searched through Han-seong’s belongings.

‘As I thought, he had it.’

Han-seong who was eager for recogniztion had carried the device Taeseong sought—restraints designed specifically for containing such entities.

These restraints were not ordinary. Taeseong knew their effectiveness firsthand, having once worn them himself as a temporary containment subject.

Carrying them back, he placed the restraints on the boy. For whatever reason—whether it was the damage from the fight or a resigned acceptance—the boy did not resist.

‘Better safe than sorry.’

Still wary, Taeseong made a quick decision. He plunged his sword into the boy’s head.

Thunk!

Restraints or not, the creature was an unknown variable. Its inability to die was proven; thus, rendering it as powerless as possible was the best course of action.

‘It doesn’t even seem to feel pain.’

Not that it mattered to Taeseong whether it did or not.

“Now, what to do about this thing…”

As he considered his options, Taeseong suddenly thought of Ho-jin, who was waiting back in the vehicle.

“Contacting the company is probably the best move,” he muttered.

With the boy in tow, Taeseong dragged him back to the vehicle, explained the situation to Ho-jin, and provided a summary to the organization, Tree.

Before long, administrators and cleanup crews dispatched by Tree arrived. While the cleanup team handled the bodies and aftermath, the administrators escorted Taeseong, Ho-jin, and the restrained “Head-Crushing Boy (provisional)” back to headquarters.

---

Operation: Abandoned Hospital Sweep
Search Team 2
Total Members: 15
Casualties: 13
Survivors: 2

---

Upon returning to headquarters, Taeseong had a brief conversation with Choi Harin before heading to the temporary containment room.

“…Sigh. Taeseong, I’ve got so many questions for you that I could probably fill a mountain, but unfortunately, we’re short on time right now. So let’s save the detailed talk for later. For now, I need you to handle that unidentified entity you brought in.”

“Isn’t that a job for the management team?”

“It is… Normally, yes. And believe me, I wouldn’t want to ask you to do this, but we don’t have much of a choice. No one else can deal with it. The upper-level administrators are swamped with their own issues, and if we send in Delta-grade managers, they’ll just get their heads crushed like before…”

“Like before?”

“Yeah… Two Delta-grade managers already went into the containment room and got killed. Their heads were destroyed, just like you reported. Based on what we’ve pieced together, it’s probably a type of vengeful spirit (akgwi), but there’s so little we know about it. If we send anyone else, it’ll just be a waste of lives… You’re the only one who fought it and came back unharmed. Please, just this once, help us out, okay?”

“…Fine. I’ll go. What do you need me to do once I’m there?”

“Not much. Just talk to it, like Haeyoung did with you when you were in temporary containment. And if you can, gather some information about it.”

---

Arriving at Containment Room E-12, Taeseong hesitated outside the door.

‘The restraints should be on it, so how did those managers still end up dead? Then again, why am I still alive when the others weren’t?’

He reached for the door, but it opened on its own, and a figure stepped out—a person in full protective gear carrying a large bag slung over their shoulder.

“A cleaner?”

The cleaner gave a small nod, and Taeseong returned the gesture before stepping inside.

‘Wait… Why was that cleaner unharmed?’

The thought lingered in his mind, but he decided to focus on the task at hand. Taking the seat where Haeyoung had once sat during his own containment, he found himself overcome with an odd sense of déjà vu.

“Another human has come… Wait, it’s you.”

“Yes, it’s me.”

The boy was now fully restrained, his every movement bound. Taeseong stared at him for a moment before speaking bluntly.

“What are you?”

“…I don’t know. The only thing I know is that I was brought into existence by you humans.”

“Do you have a name?”

“A name? Are you referring to what humans called me?”

“Yes. Anything you can remember. Speak.”

After a pause, the boy finally answered.

“Dueokshin.”

The name was unfamiliar, but a deep sense of unease crept over Taeseong.

“That is what humans called me.”

“……”

“Senior?”

Ho-jin froze in place like a statue at the sight of the hanging teammates. His pupils trembled faintly.

Drip. Drip.

The blood dripping without pause mocked him, staining the floor in a deep crimson.

“Young-chul… Pil-s0… What the hell happened? Why are you like this…?”

Their heads had been crushed beyond recognition.

However, their uniforms and the radios scattered on the floor made it clear who they were.

“Senior, I’ll report this to the team leader immediately.”

Despite Taeseong’s words, Ho-jin didn’t respond. No, it was more accurate to say he couldn’t respond.

Although the situation was horrifying, reporting it took priority, so Taeseong contacted the team leader.

“Guys… You were talking about a welcome dinner for the rookie, weren’t you? Pil-so, weren’t you getting married next year…? Why, why did it end up like this…?”

As a member of “Tree,” Ho-jin knew that losing comrades was an inevitable reality of their line of work. He also understood that the next one to die could just as easily be him.

But knowing and experiencing it firsthand were completely different matters.

The scouting team under the intelligence department was tasked with identifying, investigating, and discovering strange occurrences across the country. While their missions carried risks, fatal outcomes were rare compared to other departments directly managing entities.

Yet, seeing his comrades’ deaths in such an inexplicable, grotesque manner was a shock that Ho-jin wasn’t prepared for.

“Ugh!”

Unable to suppress the nausea, he began to vomit.

As he struggled, the team leader, Choi Han-seong, and the other team members arrived, one by one.

Their reactions were not much different from Ho-jin’s, except Han-seong, who remained unusually composed.

“Ah, shit… What the hell is going on…?”

“T-T-Team leader… Young-cheol and Pil-so…”

“I knew something was off with those two, fooling around earlier. I just didn’t expect this…”

“Rookie, did you report this immediately after finding it?”

“Yes.”

Han-seong walked through the group and crouched to inspect the blood pooling on the floor. His gaze shifted to the bodies hanging from the ceiling.

The corpses were mixed, regardless of gender or age, all with the same crushed heads and suspended like bats.

Even more bizarre was the ceiling itself.

They weren’t tied or hooked; it was as if their feet were glued directly to the surface. There was no visible mechanism or support holding them there.

After taking in the scene, Han-seong muttered bitterly, “First, we need to recover the bodies.”

Continuing the operation or not, leaving their comrades like that was unacceptable.

Two team members tried to pull Young-cheol and Pil-so’s bodies down from the ceiling, but no matter how much strength they used, they wouldn’t budge.

Even with their superhuman strength, far beyond an average adult man, the bodies remained stuck.

Eventually, Han-seong intervened personally, and only then were the bodies freed.

“What’s the plan now, Team Leader?” one of the members asked.

“Shouldn’t we just abort the operation and head back to HQ?”

Taeseong scanned the faces of the team members.

Excluding Han-seong, most looked pale, their expressions a mixture of fear and shock.

The death of comrades they’d worked alongside for years—under circumstances both gruesome and inexplicable—was enough to send the team into panic.

I understand, but their mental resilience is too weak. Continuing the mission in this state would be pointless.

Finally, Han-seong spoke up.

“The operation continues.”

“Team Leader! Young-cheol and Pil-so are dead, and you’re saying we keep going?”

“And what do you propose we do instead?”

“……What?”

“I said, what’s your alternative? Did you join this organization thinking no one would ever die? Or that the risks didn’t apply to you because we’re in one of the safer departments? Did you think you could get by without putting in any real effort forever?”

“That’s not what I meant…”

The protest trailed off.

Because, deep down, that’s exactly what they had come to believe over time.

“You’re not the only one grieving Young-cheol and Pil-so’s deaths. I’m just as angry and terrified as the rest of you, to the point where I want to run out of here right now. But I have a responsibility to keep going.”

Han-seong’s gaze bore into each team member.

“Young-cheol and Pil-so’s deaths prove something is happening here. It could be the work of an unidentified entity from a rift. If we abandon the mission now and it causes harm, who will answer for it? If lives are lost because we didn’t act, how will you live with yourselves? Especially when there’s a village just downhill from here.”

The room fell silent.

Han-seong’s voice was steady and resolute.

“None of you signed up for this job without knowing the risks. This isn’t about being a hero or a martyr; it’s about doing the job we chose to do. If you can’t handle that, you can leave. But as long as you’re here, remember this: our work ensures the safety of others. If we fail, innocent people—perhaps your own family or friends—will pay the price.”

“…Understood, Team Leader.”

Taeseong observed the scene quietly.

He hadn’t expected Han-seong to demonstrate this level of leadership, especially under such dire circumstances.

He’s surprisingly capable in situations like this.

While the others seemed inspired by the speech, Taeseong remained skeptical. To him, Han-seong’s words felt more like a cover for ulterior motives.

Why is he so adamant about continuing? Is it really just responsibility?

Fragments of overheard conversations between Ho-jin and Han-seong replayed in Tae-seong’s mind.

—With solid results, that damn woman won’t be able to mess with me anymore.
—Once you climb the ranks, it’ll be smooth sailing. I’ll support you all the way, Team Leader.

Perhaps my gut feeling is right… But it changes nothing. He’s still the leader.

“Kim Ho-jin! Kim Ho-jin!”

“…Yes?”

“Snap out of it! How long are you going to act like this?”

“S-Sorry.”

Ho-jin’s pale face and trembling hands betrayed his fragile state.

With a sigh, Han-seong shook his head.

“This won’t do. You, recover the bodies and stay with the vehicle.”

“N-No, I’ll continue the search!”

“Search? Look at yourself. You’re in no state to do anything. Just follow orders and wait in the car. Someone needs to transport the bodies anyway.”

“…Understood.”

Ho-jin glanced back at Taeseong with a worried expression, but Taeseong merely nodded slightly in acknowledgment.

“That guy’s great at everything, except his fragile mental state,” the team leader murmured with regret once Ho-jin had moved out of earshot.

“Alright! Let’s resume the search. If anyone has objections, speak up now!”

“No objections, sir!” the team shouted in unison.

Taeseong regrouped with the team leader, and together they scoured every corner of the second floor. Despite an hour of meticulous searching, they found nothing of significance. Now, only the third floor and the rooftop remained unexplored.

Before proceeding, Han-seong sent a radio message to the sub-team searching the first floor.

Static crackled.

[Sub-leader, any findings?]

The team held their breath, awaiting a response. The horrific events from earlier had left them all on edge.

Static crackled again.

[We found some documents related to this hospital, but nothing else noteworthy.]

Relief swept through the group, and they exhaled collectively.

[Understood. Continue searching a little longer. If there’s nothing further, regroup with us. We’re heading to the third floor. Report immediately if anything comes up.]

[Understood, sir.]

Han-seong ended the communication, and the team cautiously moved to the third floor. This time, instead of splitting up, they moved together, vigilantly checking every direction.

The heavy atmosphere was noticeable, suppressing any unnecessary chatter. As a result, the silence on the third floor was almost suffocating, broken only by the sound of their careful footsteps and shallow breaths.

Time passed, and the sub-team from the first floor eventually joined them.

“Team Leader, only the rooftop remains now.”

Han-seong nodded silently. The third floor was surprisingly clean compared to the others—no graffiti on the walls, hardly any trash, and no signs of disturbance.

“We’re heading to the rooftop now. Stay sharp and be prepared for anything.”

Aside from Taeseong, the rest of the team looked visibly tense.

With Han-seong leading, the team climbed the stairs cautiously.

Thud. Thud.

When they reached the rooftop, they found the door already open.

Han-seong froze in place at the entrance.

“Stop.”

At that single word, everyone halted immediately.

In the weighty silence that followed, the only sound was the pounding of their own hearts, drumming against their ribcages like a panicked beat.

“…Unidentified entity spotted ahead,” Han-seong said, his voice low.

At the far end of the rooftop stood a figure resembling a child, their back turned toward the team.

The team tensed, fingers instinctively moving to their triggers.

“It’s… a child?” the sub-leader muttered, his voice filled with disbelief.

Looking closer, they saw it was indeed a boy, likely no older than a fourth or fifth grader, standing motionless and gazing outwards.

As the realization dawned on them, murmurs broke out among the team.

“It’s just a kid. Put your guns down, everyone.”

“Are you insane? Look around you! Does this seem like the kind of place a normal kid would be? Especially one this young?”

“Y-yeah, but what if he’s just a kid who wandered in here playing around?”

“Team Leader, what’s the plan?”

Ultimately, the decision rested with Han-seong.

There’s no way a kid in a place like this could be normal. This is definitely an unidentified entity, Han-seong thought. The question now was whether to retreat or attempt to capture “it.”

If he could secure this entity and deliver it to headquarters, the rewards would be massive—possibly even a transfer to the management division.

Han-seong made his decision.

Approach first and assess the situation. If things go south, buy time for the others to retreat.

He had prepared for situations like this, even packing a special restraint device for entities.

“Team Leader?”

Ignoring his subordinates’ protests, Han-seong began walking toward the boy, every sense on high alert for any potential threat.

“Hey, kid,” Han-seong called gently.

“…”

The boy remained silent, his back still facing them.

“Kid, how’d you get up here? Where are your parents?”

“…”

No response.

Han-seong’s grip on his weapon tightened. His gut told him this wasn’t human, but he kept probing for any signs of communication.

“Kid, I’m not here to hurt y—”

Suddenly, the boy’s head twisted around—an unnatural 180 degrees—to face Han-seong.

Human body could never achieve such a movement.

The boy grinned, his mouth stretching unnaturally wide, the corners splitting all the way to his ears.

“…Found you.”

CRACK!

Han-seong’s skull shattered instantly.

“Team Leader!”

Before anyone could react, the sub-leader and the teammate next to him met the same fate.

“Wh-what the hell is—”

One by one, the rest of the team’s heads exploded, leaving no time for screams or resistance.

Choi Han-seong, his face filled with urgency, slapped the cheek of his fallen teammate and shouted.

“Lee Chan-hyuk! Lee Chan-hyuk, you bastard! Snap out of it!”

“T-Team Leader…”

“Yeah, that’s right! Chan-hyuk, it’s me! Are you finally coming to your senses? Do you recognize me?”

“My cheek…”

Choi Han-seong looked at his teammate with a worried expression.

“Your cheek? What about your cheek?”

Suddenly, the fallen Chan-hyuk shot up and shouted.

“It hurts so much!”

At that, the other team members around them burst into laughter.

“Hahaha! Team Leader! That bastard is acting. He’s been going on and on about pretending to be possessed by a ghost before we got here!”

“Hahaha! Team Leader, you really fell for it this time!”

“Look at that guy’s acting skills. He’s getting better, huh? Hey, you should quit the company and seriously consider becoming an actor.”

Choi Han-seong stared at Chan-hyuk, bewildered. Chan-hyuk grinned mischievously, rubbing his reddened cheek.

“Team Leader, did you really think I passed out? How was my acting? Amazing this time, right?! You slapped me so hard I almost actually lost consciousness!”

“…Chan-hyuk.”

With a heavy sigh, Team Leader Choi Han-seong exhaled deeply.

Startled by the unexpected reaction, Chan-hyuk asked cautiously.

“…T-Team Leader? Are… Are you mad?”

“You son of a bitch! How many times have I told you not to joke around in the field!”

Choi Han-seong reached out and put Chan-hyuk in a headlock. Though his words were harsh, his face had a mix of relief and laughter.

“Ow, ow! That hurts! It really hurts, Team Leader!”

“Does it hurt? Does it? This is pain? My heart hurts more, my heart!”

“Ow! It really hurts! I surrender! I won’t play pranks like this ever again!”

“Surrender? Surrender is casual speech, you bastard!”

As the two scuffled, Taeseong, who had been watching, turned to Ho-jin and asked.

“Judging by their reactions, it seems like they pull pranks like this often.”

“Oh, yeah. The team members are usually pretty playful, and sometimes they tease the Team Leader like this. Like I said earlier, the Team Leader may seem stern on the outside, but he’s soft at heart, so he usually takes it in pace.”

“Isn’t it dangerous to joke around like this while on duty?”

“Well… yeah, but everyone here is experienced enough to know when it’s appropriate. Don’t worry too much. If anything happens, the team will have your back.”

Ho-jin’s reassurance took on an entirely different meaning in Taeseong’s mind.

Even with his memory completely wiped, Taeseong was certain of one thing. Back when he was in the military, he would never have allowed such pranks in the field.

No matter how close people were personally, such antics were unacceptable during operations. Taeseong judged the prank to be an action that should never occur during a mission.

‘No matter how friendly you are in private, you must draw the line in professional work. And yet, these people…’

Taeseong shook his head. After all, he wasn’t the one in charge of this team. The one leading them was Team Leader Choi Han-seong. He was merely a new recruit; it wasn’t his place to interfere. If something happened, he could just get himself out of there. He was confident in his ability to protect his own life under any circumstances.

Taeseong wasn’t the kind of person who would care about the lives of strangers he’d just met.

The playful air vanished from Choi Han-seong’s face. The other team members also became serious. It was as if a switch had been flipped, and they transformed into entirely different people.

“Alright, enough joking around. We’re starting the search now, so stay alert. Keep a close watch on your surroundings.”

“Yes, sir!”

“Louder!”

“Yes, sir!”

Choi Han-seong led the team from the front, followed by the deputy team leader and the other members. Taeseong and Ho-jin took positions at the rear. The playful atmosphere from earlier was replaced by a serious one.

Step. Step.

One of the team members climbing the hill glanced at the approaching abandoned hospital and muttered.

“No wonder there are so many ghost stories about this place. Just look at it. Doesn’t it look like a hundred ghosts could show up?”

“…Agreed. It’s seriously creepy. The atmosphere is so damp and heavy—it’s unsettling.”

“Right? Ever since I got here, my head’s been hurting. Is it just me?”

“Hey, you too? I’m not kidding. My head’s been throbbing since earlier—”

Suddenly, a flock of crows swarmed above the abandoned hospital, letting out eerie cries. There had to be dozens of them, at least.

Caw! Caw!

“Ah, damn it, that scared me!”

“Pfft. Hey, aren’t you the son of a shaman? How can you be so scared? We’re employees of Tree, for crying out loud. You can’t get spooked by ghosts or rumors, right?”

“Who’s scared? I’ve identified so many entities already. I was just startled, that’s all.”

From the front, Choi Han-seong’s voice rang out.

“Quiet in the back.”

“…Yes, sir.”

The search team reached the top of the hill, revealing the full view of the abandoned hospital. Next to it stood the massive carcass of a dead tree, long deceased even before the hospital was built.

Even the seasoned search team, with their experience in countless operations across the country, felt a chill in this hauntingly eerie place.

According to Ho-jin, the site was originally a mental hospital. There were rumors of a deranged doctor conducting experiments on the patients here, but such stories were often exaggerated.

“What are you all standing around for? Planning to camp here overnight?”

Choi Han-seong stepped inside the hospital, and the others followed.

They arrived at the first-floor lobby.

Inside, the hospital was pitch black, with no light penetrating the space.

“Flashlights on.”

Click.

As the beams lit up the corridor, the details of the interior began to emerge. Smashed furniture, shattered glass, and trash scattered across the floor. Unidentifiable liquids seeped from cracks in the walls, and the ceiling was covered in cobwebs and insects.

One team member pointed to a wall.

“This… Team Leader, take a look at this.”

On the wall, a long message was scrawled in red spray paint, the words jumbled and incomprehensible:

Turn back or die. Help me. Save me. I don’t want to die. Please…

The chaotic and disturbing words trailed off into an unintelligible mess.

Choi Han-seong frowned deeply at the sight.

“…I can’t understand a single word of this.”

“There’s more over here. It says ‘Go back.’ And next to it, ‘A cool guy was here.’”

The surrounding walls were littered with vulgar graffiti and obscene words.

“Judging by the looks of it, some kids came here for a haunted house adventure and decided to mess around.”

“Yeah, that’s typical. At that age, they think leaving marks like this makes them look cool.”

“Right. I’ll check deeper inside. Everyone, split up and search. Ho-jin, make sure to keep an eye on the rookie.”

“Yes, team leader!”

“If anything happens, report immediately over the radio.”

Following Han-seong’s orders, the team dispersed and began their search. The two members who had been joking earlier headed up to the second floor.

Taeseong and Ho-jin moved toward the last room at the end of the first-floor hallway. The sign on the door read Examination Room.

Creeeeak.

The door opened with an eerie, unpleasant sound.

“Someone must have lived here.”

“It sure seems that way.”

Inside, piles of blankets lay in one corner, coated with thick dust that suggested they had been untouched for years. Nearby were discarded items like instant noodle cups, utensils, newspapers, and medicine packets. The walls were covered in mold, and the air reeked of decay—a place abandoned yet filled with traces of life.

“In places like this, it’s common for homeless people or criminals with nowhere else to go to take shelter,” Ho-jin said.

Taeseong nodded. That must have been the case before rumors and ghost stories drew people here. Such abandoned buildings were perfect for fugitives trying to stay hidden.

Crackle.

[Team leader… on the second floor… @@#&$… found…]

A voice crackled through the radio, but interference made it hard to understand.

[There are corpses! Not just one or two!]

[Got it. We’re heading up now.]

Taeseong and Ho-jin hurriedly left the room and joined Han-seong. The group moved up the stairs to the second floor. Other team members had already armed themselves with firearms and knives, but Han-seong stood out with a unique weapon—knuckle dusters.

“Close-combat specialist, huh?” Taeseong mused.

According to Ho-jin, those knuckle dusters were Han-seong’s personal equipment, marked with a serial number and requiring special approval to use. His rank was Delta, the same as Oh Haeyoung.

Interesting, Taeseong thought. A Delta rank indicated someone at least as skilled as a top operative, despite Han-seong’s seemingly grumpy exterior.

Holding the familiar weight of his pistol brought a strange comfort to Taeseong, reminding him of his time as a soldier.

The team reached the second floor, but when Han-seong called out for the team members who had sent the radio message, there was no response.

A teammate clicked his tongue in frustration.

“Ugh… Team leader, are those guys messing around again?”

“Those idiots still don’t get it, do they…” Han-seong growled, his irritation clear. But first, finding them took priority.

“Search the second floor. When you find them, give them a good punch and drag them back. That’s an order.”

“Understood.”

Once again, the team split into groups. Ho-jin stayed with Taeseong, feeling responsible for looking after the rookie.

As they walked through the left corridor, Ho-jin muttered, “This is strange.”

“What’s strange?” Taeseong asked.

“Young-chul and Pil-soo like to joke around, sure, but not to this extent. And pulling a stunt like this during an operation, over the radio? It just doesn’t add up.”

Drip. Drip.

The sound of droplets echoed faintly through the corridor, coming from the far end.

Taeseong walked toward the source of the sound without hesitation.

“Hey, Taeseong! Slow down!” Ho-jin called after him, but Taeseong paid no mind.

At the end of the corridor, he stopped in front of a puddle on the floor.

“This is…”

A dropped radio lay on the ground nearby.

The smell of rot.

Drip. Drip.

The droplets weren’t water. Taeseong realized the source in an instant.

“Blood.”

He instinctively drew the knife from his belt, the motion fluid and natural. Though his grip tightened, there was no immediate need to strike. Instead, his eyes fixed on the ceiling above.

“This… isn’t good.”

Suspended upside down from the ceiling were dozens of corpses, their heads crushed and mangled as if crushed by tremendous force.

Among the bodies, Taeseong spotted two familiar faces—the team members who had sent the radio message.

“Ho-jin. I’ve found the second-floor search team.”

Taeseong, who had officially become an employee of Tree, moved out of the temporary quarantine facility and into a dormitory for staff. At last, his grueling life as a quarantined entity was over. It was something to celebrate, but the conversation with Choi Harin tempered his enthusiasm.

―Still, Mr. Taeseong, you said you wanted to be a manager, didn’t you? I was surprised by your proposal, but honestly, it’s not a bad deal for us either. We’ll accept your offer. For two years, just as you suggested, you’ll work as an employee of Tree and contribute to the world. In return, we’ll provide all the support you mentioned.

Their words were polished, but from the beginning, the answer had already been decided. Taeseong merely chose the option they presented. However, this outcome was also part of his plan.

“Two years… Fine, just as you’re using me, I’ll thoroughly use you.”

The present became the past, and the water was already spilled. Rather than regretting the time gone by, he resolved to focus on what he could do now.

If he couldn’t avoid it, he’d exploit it. He would maximize the use of their resources and influence.

For himself alone.

“What was her name again? Lee Sooah, wasn’t it?”

It was the name of his younger sister, as conveyed by Choi Harin.

“Lee Sooah…”

Taeseong slowly repeated her name, savoring it.

It felt strange—familiar, nostalgic, yet distant and foreign.

According to the information Harin shared, Lee Sooah was the only family Taeseong had left. When he asked about other family members, Harin told him about his parents, who both passed away on the same day shortly after he disappeared.

The cause of death? She hadn’t mentioned it. Whether she knew and deliberately withheld it or truly didn’t know, Taeseong had no way to discern.

…The death of his parents.

It was shocking news, but Taeseong reacted more calmly than expected. This was because he had no memory of them. However, this lack of reaction also made him question himself.

Was it normal not to feel even a hint of sadness for one’s parents, no matter the memories? Shouldn’t some instinctive grief emerge simply because he was their son?

“Maybe I’ve already gone mad,” he thought.

He didn’t feel nothing, but his reaction was far removed from how most people would respond to such news.

“Why was I swept up in that dimensional shift?”

“What exactly happened there…?”

“What did I experience during my time as a soldier…?”

“Or rather, am I even truly human?”

The most frustrating thing about his cursed amnesia was how it left Taeseong himself in the dark.

“Why did something like this have to happen to me…?”

Sighing deeply, Taeseong shook off his tangled thoughts. He knew from experience that dwelling on such questions only led to an endless spiral of negativity. The more he focused on such thoughts, the more they chained him to despair.

Rising from his seat, Taeseong opened a meal box on the dining table.

“Not bad… better than I expected.”

He began eating with enthusiasm.

Crunch. Crunch.

As Choi Harin mentioned, both the dormitory and meals were provided free of charge. The stir-fried pork lunchbox he was devouring was one of the perks Tree offered its employees, and it was well-received for its surprising quality.

After finishing his meal almost too quickly, Taeseong retrieved a can of beer from the refrigerator, popped it open, and took a long, satisfying sip.

Gulp. Gulp.

The icy carbonation sent shivers through his body. Pain and pleasure were said to be two sides of the same coin; the burning sensation in his throat reminded Taeseong that he was alive.

“Much better than the quarantine facility, that’s for sure.”

His gaze drifted to the living room.

The apartment was still empty, as he had just moved in, but it was furnished with all the essentials. Though some of the furniture had been left behind by the previous occupant, Taeseong wasn’t bothered.

The space was modest—around 15 pyeong(49.5 square meters)—but it was more than enough for one person.

The employee dormitory, despite its rundown exterior, was surprisingly clean inside. The only drawback was the lack of soundproofing, as it was an old-style corridor apartment.

Taeseong’s unit, 301, was at the end of the hall.

“…”

While sitting at the table, he suddenly heard what sounded like a woman crying.

“The neighbor?”

The sobs lasted for about five minutes before fading away. Taeseong, who generally didn’t concern himself with others, dismissed it as someone in the next apartment dealing with their troubles.

After all, considering the strange and horrifying entities they had to face daily, crying at home seemed understandable.

“Whoever it is, they must have it tough too.”

Just as he considered going to bed, the doorbell rang.

Ding-dong!

Walking to the door, Taeseong opened it.

“…Manager Oh Haeyoung?”

Standing there was Haeyoung, who seemed startled by the sudden opening. She wasn’t in her usual black suit but wearing a casual oversized T-shirt and slippers—clearly dressed for comfort at home.

“Ah, Mr. Taeseong! H-hello!”

“What brings you here?”

“I heard you became a Tree employee! So, as a gesture of congratulations…”

Taeseong’s eyes fell on the black plastic bag in her hand. The aroma of fried chicken wafted from it.

“…Come in.”

“Thank you!”

Haeyoung sat at the dining table while Taeseong fetched two cans of beer from the fridge.

“Will you drink?”

“Of course! Thank you!”

As Taeseong handed her a beer, she passed him a chicken drumstick.

“A trade, is it?”

“You give, and you get!”

Smirking, Taeseong bit into the drumstick.

Now, they were no longer manager and entity but colleagues in the same organization.

The two chatted over beer.

“So, how did you find me here?”

“Oh! Team Leader Choi Harin told me! She said you became a Tree employee and moved into the staff dormitory. As a fellow employee and neighbour, I thought I’d come say hi!”

“Neighbour?”

“I live in 303!”

“That explains the outfit…”

Taeseong suspected her assignment nearby wasn’t coincidental, but he didn’t voice his thoughts.

“I see. Well, I appreciate the gesture. By the way, I heard you wrote a favorable report about me. Thanks to you, I’m here enjoying chicken and beer.”

“Hehe, it’s no big deal… I’m glad it worked out. You were the first humanoid entity I managed since becoming a manager.”

“Is that so? Is that why you evaluated me positively?”

“Ah, no! Not just because of that. As your manager, I knew better than anyone that you weren’t dangerous. I couldn’t stand to see you treated unfairly because of upper management’s misguided decisions.”

“I appreciate it. Regardless, I owe you a debt. I’ll repay it in some way.”

“A debt? No, really, you don’t need to! I did it because I wanted to.”

“Let me decide that.”

“…Alright.”

As their conversation flowed, Taeseong suddenly recalled the crying he heard earlier.

“You said you live in 303, right?”

Haeyoung, her cheeks flushed from the alcohol, nodded.

“Yes.”

“Then do you know anything about the woman next door?”

“The woman next door? You mean 302?”

“Yeah. About five minutes before you arrived, I heard a woman crying from there.”

“Ah, come on, Mr. Taeseong… Don’t joke around!”

“Joke? Why would I joke about that?”

“Because it doesn’t make sense. No one lives in 302.”

“No one lives there? That can’t be right. I clearly heard crying. Is it possible you’re mistaken? Maybe a new tenant moved in without your knowledge…”

“No way. I would know if someone new moved in—I’m in charge of our floor’s roster.”

Taeseong murmured, puzzled.

“Then was it my imagination? That’s hard to believe…”

He was certain he heard it.

A woman sobbing.

“Maybe you imagined it, Mr. Taeseong? 302 has been vacant for over six months.”

“…Fine, maybe I was mistaken.”

---

Sipping his beer, Taeseong fell silent.

The next day.

Information Team 2 Leader Choi Harin’s office.

“Not the management team, but the search team…?”

“Yes, that’s correct.”

“Why?”

“Orders from above.”

“…Understood.”

Taeseong couldn’t understand it, but when someone mentioned it was an order from higher-ups, he didn’t have much else to say.

Sitting at her desk, Choi Harin lit a cigarette as she always did.

Fwoosh.

With a blank expression, Harin stared at Taeseong intently.

“By the way, Taeseong.”

“…”

“Are you unfamiliar with formal speech? Now that you’re under Tree, and in the search team no less, I’m your direct superior. Yet, as a former soldier, you still use informal language?”

The search team was an organization under the Intelligence Division.

“…”

When Taeseong silently looked at her, Harin spoke in an unusually cold tone.

“Aren’t you going to answer?”

“…Yes.”

“You were in the military before, so you know, don’t you? The hierarchy in an organization is absolute. Follow orders properly from now on.”

Taeseong nodded.

“Respond verbally.”

“…Yes.”

Only then did Harin smile in satisfaction.

“Alright, do well on your first assignment, Taeseong. I’ll be watching with high expectations.”

Without replying, Taeseong left the room. Harin, who had secretly feared Taeseong might react unpredictably, let out a sigh of relief.

‘Gotta establish dominance early, one way or another.’

But at that moment, Harin was completely unaware of what would come of this in the future.

Lee Taeseong was a man who never forgot even the smallest favor—or grudge.

---

A man in his mid-30s, wearing a friendly smile, extended his hand for a handshake. Taeseong grasped it and introduced himself.

“Oh, so you’re the new recruit? Nice to meet you. I’m Choi Han-seong, team leader of Search Team 2.”

“I’m Lee Taeseong.”

“Ah, you’re one of the returnees, right?”

“That’s correct.”

“Let’s see… your rank is…”

The man glanced at some paperwork, and his face immediately darkened.

“Epsilon? Sigh… I’ve been asking for decent recruits because we’re short-staffed, and they send this? This blatant disregard… That damned woman…”

The teammate standing beside the man skillfully tried to calm him down. The natural ease of the gesture suggested it wasn’t the first time.

“Ah, boss, don’t let those Intelligence slackers stress you out again. Every time we get worked up, it’s only bad for us. How about we make a solid achievement this time and shake things up?”

“Right… achievements… If we deliver results, that damned woman won’t dare act up anymore.”

“Exactly. And you’re a Delta rank, boss! It’s just bad luck holding you back. Once you focus, your promotion is a given. When that happens, I, your loyal Kim Ho-jin, will make sure you walk nothing but a flower-strewn path!”

The team leader, now in a much better mood, laughed heartily.

“Ho-jin, you’re the best!”

“Of course, boss. Look at this guy—he doesn’t seem so bad at a second glance, does he? As his senior, I’ll train him thoroughly and turn him into a proper asset. So don’t worry about him!”

“Alright, sounds good! Let’s get moving immediately!”

“Wait… is the newbie coming with us…?”

“Of course! When have we ever gone easy on a rookie? Just get him in the car already.”

“Alright then, I’ll take him in my car!”

“Good.”

Ho-jin led Taeseong to the car. Once Ho-jin was seated in the driver’s seat, Taeseong climbed into the passenger seat. Although Ho-jin hadn’t said a word on the way here, he began talking as soon as the car started moving.

“Feeling overwhelmed on your first day? I was like that too when I started. They just told me to get in the car without explaining a thing. I was sweating bullets back then… You’ll get used to it soon enough.”

“Yes.”

“And, about earlier—sorry for that. The boss gets sensitive when it comes to issues with Intelligence. I was just trying to keep him in a good mood, so don’t take it personally.”

“Yes.”

“He might seem harsh at first, but he’s actually a softie. He really takes care of his subordinates. A few days in, and he’ll probably start calling you his precious rookie.”

“…”

Ho-jin turned out to be far chattier than Taeseong had expected. Though Taeseong initially replied out of politeness, he soon fell silent.

‘You’d think he’d run out of things to say by now…’

Still, Taeseong didn’t find it unpleasant. At least Ho-jin was considerate enough to apologize to a subordinate, something he could have easily skipped. Taeseong also realized that Ho-jin’s constant chatter was likely an attempt to ease his nerves.

‘He must think I’m anxious about the first mission.’

Ho-jin was clearly someone who naturally cared about others.

“Don’t stress too much. Our job is just to confirm whether there’s a rift or not.”

Ho-jin explained the mission:

The operation involved 15 personnel.

The target was an abandoned hospital in the Gwangju district of Gyeonggi Province, near Gonjiam-eup.

They had received information about strange occurrences in the area.

Their task was to secure the vicinity, investigate the phenomena within the hospital, and look for signs of a dimensional rift.

That was Search Team 2’s mission.

“Stick close to the boss. He’s a Delta rank, after all. Alright, we’re here.”

Ho-jin and Taeseong got out of the car. The other team members were already present, surveying the area. The team leader spotted Ho-jin and nodded in greeting, to which Ho-jin responded cheerfully.

Scanning the surroundings, Taeseong noticed the abandoned hospital on a hill. Its eerie exterior was something like a horror movie set, but beyond that, it exuded an indescribably unsettling atmosphere.

From the moment he arrived, Taeseong had the distinct feeling of being watched. The sensation was too blatant to dismiss as mere paranoia.

However, no matter how much he heightened his senses, he couldn’t identify the source of the gaze.

‘Ultimately, I’ll have to go inside the hospital…’

It was then that a team member suddenly collapsed to the ground, screaming.

“Arrgh! Aaaargh! Aaaaaahhh!”

Alarmed, the team leader rushed over.

“What’s going on? What happened!?”

“Ugh… T-team leader…!”

The team member writhed in agony, his eyes rolling back as if possessed. He coughed violently, choking out fragmented pleas.

“Please…! H-help me…”

“Found me? Are you talking to me?”

“Wolf.”

“Wolf? What are you talking about all of a sudden? Do you know me?”

“…”

Taeseong questioned her, but the woman didn’t respond further. She just stared at him with her emotionless eyes.

‘Is she mentally ill?’

Confused, Taeseong glanced toward Oh Haeyoung, but her reaction was no different from his—perhaps even more bewildered.

‘What kind of nonsense is this all of a sudden?’

Is she saying all men are wolves? Or is she accusing me of looking at her lecherously? Could she possibly be using that as a pretext to get rid of me?

As his mind wandered through absurd thoughts, the woman tapped the mirror with her finger.

“…”

It seemed she was telling him to focus on the mirror instead of his thoughts.

‘She’s so self-centered.’

Taeseong shook off his distractions and turned his attention to the mirror.

A mirror that reveals the essence.

Taeseong didn’t fully understand what he was, either. He assumed he was human but couldn’t be sure. Perhaps he was an alien from some distant planet, with purple blood coursing through his veins while resembling a human on the surface.

‘Well… having experienced dimensional travel, I’m already far removed from being an ordinary human.’

“Do I just need to look at it like this?”

The woman nodded.

Taeseong stared into the mirror for about ten seconds, but nothing happened. All it reflected was his own face—a face with delicate features for a man. Though his sharp eyes gave off a somewhat fierce impression, he was close to being handsome.

‘No matter how much I sleep, these dark circles never go away.’

As idle thoughts filled his mind, Taeseong suddenly felt his strength diminishing.

Alarmed by the unexpected phenomenon, he tried to steady himself, but his uncooperative body refused to move as he wished.

“What the hell is going on…”

His legs wobbled, and the woman’s figure before him blurred into three.

He was gasping for air, his head spinning.

“Haah… haah…”

Supporting himself with one hand on the floor, he barely registered Haeyoung’s faint voice calling out to him. She seemed to be shouting something, but he couldn’t make out the words.

“What did you… do to my body…”

Those were his last words before losing consciousness.

---

Haeyoung, knowing what was happening, didn’t take any action. Instead, she was surprised by an unexpected difference.

“Is it normal for him to last this long? It’s been at least 15 seconds, hasn’t it?”

In response to her question, the woman shook her head.

“Thought so… I’m not mistaken, right?”

The woman nodded.

“Then why could Taeseong hold out that long? Oh, is that an inappropriate question?”

“Willpower.”

“Willpower? Ah, so his mental strength must be incredible. Thank you for explaining!”

When Haeyoung bowed deeply, the woman’s lips curled into a slight smile before returning to her usual stoic expression.

Haeyoung had a personal reason for her curiosity. She, too, had undergone the same test, only to faint as soon as she saw the mirror. Yet Taeseong lasted over 15 seconds, which left her puzzled.

Naturally, Haeyoung, like every “administrator” here, was an individual entity. Though her test had some differences in detail, the core evaluation process was the same.

Every “administrator” in this place was an individual entity. The only reason they were not isolated like the other entities was that they had been deemed suitable. At their core, they were not fundamentally different.

The office workers handling administrative tasks, however, were entirely ordinary humans without any abilities.

“Taeseong, see you later!”

---

All around was enveloped in pitch-black darkness.

If there was such a thing as an abyss, this must be it.

An endless fall into a lightless void.

Where it led, he could not know.

Who he was, he did not know. Why he was here, he did not know.

Suspended in a world of forgotten stillness, he drifted, observing and contemplating, maintaining a faint sense of self.

Like a lone soul abandoned in a boundless, windless ocean.

Or perhaps such a vast and immense sea could not even exist.

This place was chillingly cold and eerily silent.

“…”

A world of nothingness.

Suddenly, a shiver of fear coursed through him.

How much time had passed?

A day? A week?

A month? A year?

A century? A millennium?

A hundred millennia?

Perhaps an eternity had passed—an incomprehensible amount of time beyond human reasoning.

“Hu…man.”

After countless cycles of thought, his faint self-awareness resurfaced, reminding him that he had been human.

At that moment, a distant point of light flickered. It was so far away that gauging its distance seemed impossible, yet it also felt impossibly close.

Light.

Then, as if resonating in unison, thousands, millions of points began to shine.

Through the darkness, countless stars gleamed.

Only then did Taesung realize where he was.

“…”

At the heart of the vast expanse of the universe.

Floating in the unknown center of an endlessly expanding cosmos.

Multicolored waves of light converged and swirled into a single entity.

Though it soon took form, Taeseong, a mere human, could not comprehend what it was.

He was but a speck of dust drifting in this place.

Recognizing it as a transcendent being with will, not merely a phenomenon, was enough to make every cell in his body scream in terror.

Reverence.

That was the only word that could describe what he felt.

Awe-inspiring, brilliant, terrifying, and incomprehensible.

“…”

It opened its mouth—or at least, there was no better word to describe it.

Its size surpassed oceans, towering over mountains. Even these comparisons fell short, confined by the limits of his human imagination.

…Gulp.

The being devoured him, and only then did he realize—

The entire universe was but a part of its body.

---

“Taeseong! Taeseong! Are you awake?”

When he opened his eyes, Haeyoung’s face was the first thing he saw, filled with uncharacteristic worry.

“Where… am I?”

“A temporary quarantine facility. Are you feeling okay?”

His back was soaked with sweat, as if he had been submerged in water.

‘Was that a dream?’

His trembling hand clutched his chest as he took slow, deep breaths to calm himself.

Once he had steadied himself, he asked Haeyoung, “How long was I out?”

“…A week.”

“A week?”

“Yes…”

“Is it normal to be unconscious for a week after taking this test?”

“…Most people are out for a day at most. I don’t know why, but you seem to have lasted much longer.”

He had assumed only a few hours had passed, but hearing it had been a week left him stunned. Still, there was something even more pressing.

“What were the results of the test?”

“You passed… but…”

“But what?”

Haeyoung hesitated, her unease evident.

“That is…”

The quarantine room door opened as if on signal.

“Haeyoung, I’ll explain the rest. Could you step out for a moment?”

“…Yes.”

Casting a worried glance at Taeseong, Haeyoung reluctantly left the room. From her expression, Taeseong could sense it—

Something had gone terribly, catastrophically wrong.

“Long time no see, Taeseong.”

“…It has been a while.”

Harin sat down at the table, habitually lighting a cigarette. Noticing Taeseong, she offered one.

“Would you like one?”

“…Thanks.”

He accepted it without hesitation.

Even if his memories were hazy, his body hadn’t forgotten how to smoke.

“…”

“…”

Awkward silence.

Inside the temporary isolation room, the only sounds were the occasional crackling of burning tobacco and their periodic breathing.

Harin, having finished her cigarette, broke the silence.

“Entity name: White Snow Queen. Gamma-class administrator. One of only three hundred rare individuals in the Korean branch. She’s also the one overseeing your test, Mr. Lee Taeseong.”

“Why bring that up all of a sudden?”

“When you saw her, did nothing come to mind?”

“What are you talking about…?”

“Doesn’t the name White Snow Queen evoke anything?”

“I don’t know.”

Harin sighed, muttering, “I suppose it’s possible, given the memory loss.” Then, with a serious expression, she continued.

“Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs.”

“A fairy tale?”

Harin nodded.

“Yes. She claims to be Snow White from that fairy tale.”

“She claims she’s a fictional character? That’s absurd—”

“Whether it makes sense or not isn’t the issue. The point is that someone claiming to be a fairy-tale character exists and actually possesses extraordinary abilities.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

“Isn’t it fascinating? That fairy-tale characters exist and wield mysterious powers?”

“…”

A sense of dread washed over him.

“In this world, there are countless incomprehensible beings that defy conventional logic. And we are perpetually short on manpower.”

“…”

“Mr. Lee, will you lend us your strength—”

Taeseong cut her off.

“Hold on. Let me speak first.”

Though momentarily flustered, Harin quickly regained her composure.

“Go ahead.”

Taeseong spoke slowly.

“I want to be a manager of the Tree.”

Harin’s eyes widened.

“…That’s unexpected. I didn’t think you’d bring it up yourself.”

“But I have conditions.”

“Conditions?”

“The contract period is two years. After that, it will be subject to mutual agreement.”

Harin smiled, intrigued.

“And?”

“During that time, the Tree must provide full support to help me recover my lost memories and find my family.”

“And why should we do that?”

“Because I believe I’m worth it.”

“This feels less like a request and more like a threat. Is that just my imagination?”

“Your imagination.”

“And what if we refuse?”

“Then I’ll consider alternatives.”

For a fleeting moment, Taeseong deliberated.

Was it the right choice to kill the woman before him or take her hostage?

‘At this range, it’s enough. Twist her neck and crush her temple immediately. After that…’

Harin’s calm voice interrupted his thoughts. Her expression showed not the slightest disturbance.

“I’d advise against any reckless ideas.”

“…Can you read minds?”

“If I could, would I still be sitting here? Look in the mirror and see the expression you’re wearing.”

He had only been weighing his options. He had no intention of acting on them.

“Think of it as self-defense.”

“You’re surprisingly brazen. Still, it was wise not to act. You’d have regretted it. Or, well, that’s something you’d need to be alive to feel.”

Though her words were grim, Taeseong brushed them off.

“What are the test results?”

“Unfortunately, you failed by one point. Your administrator, Oh Haeyoung, submitted a report arguing you’re a safe entity, but the higher-ups didn’t accept it.”

As expected.

“If I don’t become a manager, I’ll be either contained or terminated as an entity.”

“Correct.”

Harin didn’t deny it.

“Still, you offered to become a manager, didn’t you? I was honestly surprised, but it’s not a bad deal from our perspective. We’ll accept your proposal. Two years, as you said. During that time, work under the Tree and contribute to the world. In return, we’ll fully support your requests.”

“Fine.”

“Oh, and of course, you’ll receive a normal salary. If needed, we can also provide housing and meals.”

“…”

“But from now on, as a manager of the Tree, you must adhere to company regulations. Any violations will result in warnings, and repeated offenses will force us to act according to protocol.”

“Protocol, huh. Got it. Mind if I say something?”

“Go ahead.”

“If you break the terms of our contract or play games with me… you’ll regret it. I’ll make sure of it.”

His tone carried an unshakable certainty, sending chills through Harin. Unconsciously, she swallowed hard before replying.

“Understood.”

“By the way, what’s my rank?”

“Epsilon. As you know, it’s the lowest rank.”

“I see.”

Despite having toyed with Delta-class administrator Oh Haeyoung, Taeseong showed no interest in his rank.

Moments later, staff arrived to escort him away.

As of this moment, he was no longer an “isolated entity” but a “manager,” so there was no reason for him to remain.

Alone in the isolation room, Harin finally let out a sigh of relief.

“Hah…”

Her back, damp with cold sweat, clung uncomfortably to her shirt.

Her trembling hands reached instinctively for another cigarette. Though she had maintained a composed façade in front of Taeseong, she had desperately wanted to flee the entire time.

‘Just looking at him made my knees weak. Is that thing even human?’

Harin buried her head in her hands, ruffling her hair in frustration.

“Hah… This place is such a mess. I should really just quit.”

Pulling out a document from her pocket, she reviewed it again, doubting her own eyes despite having read it countless times.

No. 0625
Sigma-level dangerous entity
Entity Name: The Returned, Lee Taeseong
Disguised Rank: Epsilon

“Sigma-level… It actually exists.”

In over a decade of working here, she had never encountered a Sigma-class entity.

No matter how much she pondered why he was assigned such a rank, she couldn’t reach a conclusion. After all, the authority to make such decisions rested solely with the higher-ups.

She was merely an executor of orders.

The directives from above were clear:

1. Officially announce the Returned, Lee Taeseong, as an Epsilon-class entity.
2. By any means necessary, bind him to the Tree.

“‘Risk level: immeasurable. Further evaluation required’…”

Taeseong and Haeyoung clashed simultaneously, as though synchronized.

Boom!

The deafening roar that echoed through the room seemed far too intense to have come from mere weapons colliding, causing the walls to tremble. Both Taeseong and Haeyoung shared similar thoughts.

“I expected the administrators to be particularly strong, but this exceeds expectations.”

“I figured a former soldier and returnee would be formidable, but to hold his ground against me wearing Delta-class gear?”

The tense standoff of strength was broken in an instant.

It was Taeseong who deliberately withdrew first.

Using Haeyoung’s force against her, he twisted his stance into a circle, then swiftly struck upward with his blade while creating distance between them. His movements, though rapid, were seamless and fluid.

“Her strength is at least a level—no, two levels above mine.”

His wrists ached already. Despite their brief contest, lasting less than two seconds, Taeseong was certain that matching strength with her was futile.

If he stubbornly resisted, his wrists might shatter before he could make another move.

“But my speed far surpasses hers.”

Through their clash, he instinctively knew.

Haeyoung was inexperienced in combat.

While her physical abilities displayed superhuman performance far beyond any ordinary human, they were just raw power.

Unrefined strength without proper control could often backfire.

“Each of her strikes is devastatingly powerful, but she’s still unpolished.”

In stark contrast, every motion of Taeseong’s body was as natural as flowing water.

It was as though a fish out of water had finally returned to the sea.

Before he could even think, his body reacted. His instincts dictated the next move, the most efficient action, and the optimal path forward in the current situation.

Taeseong was a fish in water.

Bang!

“Ugh.”

A massive noise erupted as Haeyoung was flung into the air.

The spot where she had been standing bore a small but deep footprint, a testament to how much force she had exerted.

“Hyaaaah!”

Letting out a strange battle cry, she plummeted downward, her massive axe aimed directly at Taeseong’s skull, brimming with lethal intent.

Watching this, Taeseong realized.

If that strike landed, he’d die.

No healing, no recovery. Just death.

If he was struck, there’d be no chance for survival. Healing wouldn’t matter because he’d already be dead.

Thus, Taeseong chose to evade.

“Your movements are too exaggerated.”

A simple shift of his weight was enough to sidestep her blow, letting it miss entirely. Frustrated, Haeyoung gritted her teeth and continued swinging her axe furiously.

“Taeseong! Stop dodging like a rat and fight me head-on!”

But Taeseong had no intention of being struck by such reckless swings.

He skillfully kept his distance, staying just out of reach, his movements deliberate and precise.

“You fight so dirty!”

A stream of “compliments” poured from Haeyoung’s mouth.

Whenever there was an opening in her wild attacks, Taeseong countered without hesitation. Over time, small and large wounds accumulated on her body, and soon, she was drenched in her own blood.

“Haa… Haa…”

Haeyoung was visibly exhausted, her breathing heavy, while Taeseong looked as fresh as if he’d just started.

It was only now that his body felt fully warmed up.

“Are you going to keep going?”

Rather than answer, Haeyoung let out a guttural scream and charged at him. Despite her blood loss and injuries, her spirit burned brighter than ever.

Her fiery determination starkly contrasted with her usually gentle demeanor, and Taeseong couldn’t help but admire her internally.

But he had no intention of dragging things out any longer. It was time to end it.

“A few cuts won’t stop her… I’ll probably have to sever both her arms. I’ll make it as clean as possible to ensure they can reattach them without issue.”

It was a chilling thought, though logical given the safety measures and healing facilities she had mentioned earlier.

Despite the gruesomeness of his decision, Taeseong remained resolute.

“Left side, now.”

Evading her axe, Taeseong kicked hard at Haeyoung’s left ankle. Her balance faltered from the unexpected blow, and Taeseong seized the moment.

With practiced ease, he raised his sword.

An invisible energy surged along the blade’s edge.

Some called it aura. Others, sword energy.

Its name didn’t matter.

What mattered was its devastating potential—cutting nearly anything it touched. Instead of pondering what it could slice through, it was better to consider what it couldn’t.

In short, if Taeseong willed it, almost anything could be cleaved.

“Simple enough.”

With supreme focus, Taeseong felt time itself slow to a crawl.

Though only a second had passed, the heightened clarity of his mind made it feel far longer.

Without hesitation, he swung his blade.

Swish!

A clean, decisive motion without wasted effort.

Slash!

A crimson line appeared on both of Haeyoung’s arms before blood sprayed into the air.

Thud.

Her severed arms fell to the floor.

Just as Taeseong had hoped, the cuts were impeccably clean.

Haeyoung collapsed to her knees, looking up at Taeseong. Her wounds continued to bleed profusely, yet she managed to smile weakly as she spoke.

“Taeseong, you’re… really strong.”

“Just luck. More importantly, where are your colleagues? You’re losing too much blood.”

“They… they’ll be here soon, I think…”

Haeyoung’s face was pale, and her body trembled, likely from the cold caused by her blood loss.

“It’s… a strange feeling, you know? Not having arms where they’re supposed to be… Hehe…”

“Stop saying nonsense.”

Taeseong quickly tore off part of his sleeve and began staunching her wounds.

It was a bizarre sight—the one who had inflicted the injury now tending to it. But Tae-sung wasn’t one to dwell on such things.

“…You’re… really kind, Taeseong…” Haeyoung murmured weakly as her consciousness began to fade.

Haeyoung lost consciousness before she could finish her sentence.

Taeseong picked her up and placed her severed arms on her abdomen. Then, he walked toward the center of the room.

Step, step.

Suddenly stopping in his tracks, Taeseong stared into the air and spoke.

“How long do you plan to just watch? Are you waiting for her to die?”

As expected, there was no reply.

Moments later, a medical team and several administrators entered the room. Taeseong submitted without resistance, allowing himself to be cuffed and blindfolded again before being transported back to his original isolation cell.

One administrator glanced at the spot where Taeseong had stood.

“Hey, Assistant Lee! What are you doing over there?”

“…Something seems off.”

“Off? What do you mean?”

“Didn’t the returnee who was just transported seem like he was speaking to us earlier?”

“What? Come on. That must’ve been a coincidence. Why are you overthinking it?”

“…Probably.”

“If he really had the ability to sense spirits, don’t you think he would’ve made it obvious from the start?”

“You’re right… I guess I’m just being paranoid.”

“Exactly. You’ve been cooped up in here too long. Take a break outside or something.”

Taeseong’s gaze had been directed toward where Assistant Lee’s spirit companion was positioned.

Spirits were imperceptible to most people unless they had innate spirit affinity or heightened senses.

“Yeah, it’s probably just my imagination,” Assistant Lee muttered as they left the room.

---

Two days passed since the combat test, and Haeyoung finally reappeared.

Her usual cheerful demeanor immediately put Taeseong at ease.

“Taeseong! Have you been doing well? You must’ve been bored without me these last two days!”

“I managed. Are you… okay?”

“Of course! I’m super tough, you know!”

“That’s a relief.”

Haeyoung exaggeratedly patted her chest. Despite being known as the top combatant among her peers, her petite frame and youthful appearance made the gesture more adorable than intimidating.

“So, what’s on the agenda today?”

“You’ve worked hard, Taeseong! Now, there’s just one last test, and then you’ll finally be free!”

He now understood the implication behind those words. The final test would determine whether he was deemed safe.

If he passed, freedom awaited.

If not, he wouldn’t just remain in temporary isolation—he would be permanently confined in a true containment facility or quietly disposed of.

‘I won’t let them take me out without even knowing who I am.’

There was no way he would go down without a fight.

“Does that mean the person in charge is finally coming?”

“Yes! And get this—they’re one of only 300 Gamma-level administrators in the entire Korean branch! Isn’t that amazing? A Gamma level! So cool! My dream is to become a high-ranking administrator like them one day!”

“Gamma, Delta… what exactly do these classifications mean? Some kind of code system?”

“Oh, kind of! Basically, it’s a system to categorize both containment subjects and administrators by risk level. It starts at the lowest level, Epsilon, and goes up to Delta, Gamma, Beta, and Alpha. I’ve also heard of special exceptions like Sigma level, but I don’t know much since I’m still a newbie. Hehe.”

“You said it’s based on risk level. Does that mean it reflects combat ability?”

“Not necessarily! Even if a subject’s combat power is low, their risk level could be high due to other factors. It’s a comprehensive evaluation of potential danger, not just raw strength.”

“So, they just vaguely call it ‘risk level’ without clear criteria?”

Hayeong nodded with a sheepish look.

“Yeah, everything about the levels is decided at the top. I heard you need to be at least Gamma level to access that kind of information.”

“I see.”

“Sorry I can’t be of more help.”

“No, you’ve helped plenty.”

Just then, a knock echoed at the door. Haeyoung rushed to open it and greeted the visitor with utmost respect.

The person who entered was a woman with snow-white hair as pristine as eternal ice. Her beauty was so striking that it felt otherworldly, as though she were the embodiment of light itself.

Dumbfounded, Haeyoung belatedly offered her greeting. The woman, however, responded with only a subtle nod before her translucent gaze shifted to Taeseong.

Likewise, Taeseong stared at her.

She exuded an aura so mysterious that the room seemed to drop several degrees in temperature as soon as she entered.

Abruptly, she pulled something out from her possession.

Seeing the object, Taeseong murmured in confusion.
“A… mirror?”

The woman nodded slightly.

Before she could explain, Haeyoung chimed in excitedly, “Taeseong! That mirror has the ability to reveal the essence of things! Looking into it will be your final test!”

“All I have to do is look?”

“Exactly!”

“That’s simple enough.”

A mirror that reveals essence—such a concept belonged in the realm of fiction. But at this point, dismissing it seemed more absurd than believing it.

Taeseong directed his gaze toward the mirror.

At that moment, for the first time, the woman’s lips moved.

“Found you.”

For a few days, Taeseong underwent simple tests and had various conversations with Oh Haeyoung.

To be honest, the tests were so easy they were barely worth calling “tests.”

According to Haeyoung, there were tests that all individuals were required to take, as well as tests tailored specifically to each person.

The tests Taeseong had been taking seemed to fall into the latter category.

Though the core tests were still pending, they couldn’t proceed without the designated personnel, as it was beyond the abilities of a novice administrator like Oh Haeyoung.

“What was the name of that test again…? Ah, MBTI test? Yes, it was something like that. I still don’t understand why they’d bother with such a pointless test.”

Haeyoung’s excited face flashed through his mind:
“Mr. Lee Taeseong! There’s no better way to understand someone’s inner self than this test! You have to take it!”

He had taken the test due to Haeyoung’s earnest pleading, but in reality, it was solely to satisfy her curiosity.

Naturally, the MBTI personality test wasn’t part of the formal evaluations conducted by the Tree organization.

It wasn’t until much later that Taeseong discovered this fact.

---

“Whew… whew…”

Taeseong exhaled heavily, having just completed 500 one-handed push-ups in a handstand position. Beads of sweat dripped from his forehead onto the floor.

His upper body, marked with mysterious scars, was a tapestry of well-defined muscle.

“Now I feel warmed up.”

For Taeseong, this was an adequate warm-up, leaving him in a refreshed mood.

“I’m a soldier, huh…”

Over the past few days, through his conversations with Haeyoung, he had learned something new about his past:

He was a soldier.

Rank: Captain.

His unit, however, remained undisclosed, even to Haeyoung.

And one more thing—

“Family.”

No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t conjure their faces.

They were shrouded in a hazy mist, as if deliberately erased.

Were they truly his family?

The word family felt foreign as it left his lips.

But he had to return.

The singular thought lingering in his otherwise empty mind—

Perhaps it stemmed from a longing for his family.

Taeseong’s gaze shifted to the iron door.

“She’s late today.”

Though there was always some variation, Oh Haeyoung typically arrived around this time.

Yet, she was nowhere to be seen, even ten minutes past her usual arrival.

“Did something happen?”

As if responding to his concern, the iron door creaked open.

“Greetings.”

Standing there was an unfamiliar administrator.

He looked to be about 180 cm tall, dressed in a black suit and sunglasses, which obscured his facial features.

His presence exuded a heavy, inexplicable air.

Taeseong said nothing, merely staring at the man.

“…”

“…”

The silence grew thick and sharp, almost suffocating.

Surprisingly, it was Taeseong who broke the stillness.

“Who are you?”

“I am the newly assigned administrator.”

“What happened to the previous one?”

“The previous administrator…”

The man in the black suit trailed off before suddenly removing his sunglasses. Where his eyes should have been were only grotesque stitch marks.

Though his face was horrifying enough to make anyone’s heart sink, Taeseong’s expression remained unchanged.

Noticing this, the man’s lips curled into a faint smile as he continued,

“They’re dead.”

“…Dead?”

“Yes, it’s a rather common occurrence here. Especially among rookie administrators—it happens frequently. While it’s unfortunate, one must quickly move on to adapt to this place. The higher-ups don’t pay us so handsomely without reason. It’s all hazard pay, you see.”

“…”

“You seem quite surprised. But it’s nothing to be so shocked about. Do you know the percentage of first-year administrators who make it to their fourth year?”

Taeseong kept silent, his lips pressed tightly together. The administrator, however, continued speaking, unconcerned.

“Less than one percent. Which means the remaining ninety-nine percent either die or quit. Isn’t that fascinating? What kind of job has such a statistic?”

“Are you sure they’re dead?”

“Absolutely. There’s no mistake in such matters—”

At that moment, the iron door swung open again.

Peeking her head in, Oh Haeyoung alternated her gaze between Taeseong and the man in the black suit before speaking.

“Senior?”

“Uh… Oh Haeyoung?”

“What are you doing here?”

“This is my assigned room, isn’t it?”

Only then did the man in the black suit realize his mistake.

He began muttering nonsensical excuses before hastily fleeing the room, clearly embarrassed.

Apparently, he had confused Taeseong’s room with another, resulting in the mishap.

“Mr. Taeseong, that must’ve been shocking! I think my senior got confused and thought this was the other room. Hehe, sorry about that!”

“It’s not your fault. It’s your idiot senior’s.”

“Haha, he’s usually so meticulous… I guess he made a rare mistake today.”

“Can I ask you something?”

“Of course! Anything!”

Haeyoung, as cheerful as ever, beamed at him.

“Is the administrator of the next room dead?”

“…”

As if to confirm his words, Haeyoung remained silent.

She tried to explain with an awkward smile, but she soon realized it was pointless, muttering bitterly with a resigned look.

“…Yes, that’s what happened.”

“Did you know them?”

Haeyoung nodded.

“They were my colleague from training.”

“A shame.”

“…It is.”

The black-suited manager’s earlier mistake had been the location of the room, but it seemed unlikely that the information he provided was false.

‘He said the probability of a first-year administrator becoming a fourth-year one is less than one percent. It’s safe to interpret that as meaning this place is extremely dangerous.’

Haeyoung, trying to change the mood, forced a bright tone as she raised her energy.

“Ah, Mr. Taeseong! There’s a new test scheduled for today!”

“A new test?”

“Yes! It’s a combat capability test.”

---

Taeseong was taken to a training ground specifically designed for the combat capability tests of humanoid entities.

While the facility boasted many different types of training areas, this one was built solely for this purpose.

“You can take off your blindfold and handcuffs now, Mr. Taeseong!”

Removing the blindfold and cuffs, Taeseong looked around. A spacious, open field greeted him.

All four walls were pristine white, and the floor was scattered with various weapons: swords, spears, bows, axes, and more.

“Do you see the weapons below? You can choose any one you like!”

Notably, Haeyoung was dressed differently than usual, wearing loose-fitting athletic wear instead of her usual suit. She wielded a massive axe in both hands, the only detail that seemed out of place.

“Am I supposed to defeat you?”

“Ding ding! Correct answer!”

To his growing disbelief, he was brought to this strange room, bound and blindfolded, only to now face the task of defeating his manager. Taeseong, already familiar with the absurdity of this organization, could only sigh.

“…Is this a normal part of your job?”

“Hehe, not really… but it happens sometimes. What can we do? Orders are orders.”

Orders are orders.

That magical phrase that crushes the spirit of every employee.

“So, it’s not technically your responsibility.”

“No comment!”

Taeseong sighed deeply.

“Ah, just to reassure you, you don’t need to worry about me at all! I may not look it, but I’m pretty sturdy! I was top-ranked in combat ability among my peers during training, so you’ll have to really aim to kill me to succeed! And don’t worry, we’ve got every safety measure in place. All injuries will be fully treated by our team!”

As she explained, Taeseong noted that the safety measures were primarily focused on Haeyoung’s well-being.

Nearby, four Delta-level agents and one Gamma-level agent were stationed, monitoring the situation from a secure room.

Despite being an Epsilon-level administrator, Haeyoung’s combat skills were said to rival those of a Delta-class.

She was also equipped with four pieces of Delta-grade gear specifically for this test.

“So, neither of us will die, is that correct?”

“Yes! Exactly!”

Concluding that following the rule was the easiest course, Taeseong quietly selected a weapon.

His choice was a longsword. It wasn’t a deliberate decision; his instincts had simply guided his hand.

As his fingers wrapped around the hilt, a sudden sensation coursed through him—a surge of energy paired with a flicker of memory.

---

An aged man with streaks of white in his hair swung a sword.

His weathered face bore the marks of time.

Rain or shine, wind or lightning, the man tirelessly trained.

Always in the same place, always facing the same direction, he swung his sword.

What did he seek to cut?

Time passed, and while much around him changed, the man remained constant, his routine unwavering. His graying hair turned snow white, and the boy who once stood by his side embarked on a journey of his own.

All that remained was the old, worn sword in his hands.

Still, the man never stopped.

Until finally—

“At last… I’ve finally cut it…”

The mountaintop he had been facing for decades split diagonally.

“Helena… Are you watching? I did it. I kept my promise…”

Those were his last words.

“Now… I’m coming to see you.”

---

‘Is that…my memory?’

The bizarre experience left Taeseong shaken. The memory felt too fragmented and alien to be his own.

Even the old man in the vision seemed worlds apart from him.

But one thing was clear: something had changed.

Gripping the sword, it felt strangely familiar—as if he had wielded it for decades.

Testing it out, Taeseong swung the blade through the air.

Whoosh!

Whoosh!

“Wow, Mr. Taeseong! You’re really good with a sword! As expected from a former soldier, you must have picked up weapon skills along the way! Did they teach you how to use longswords in the military?”

Of course not.

Her comment made him wonder if she was confusing the military with a martial arts academy.

Though he couldn’t pinpoint the exact cause, it was undeniable that the strange memory had altered something within him.

And whatever it was, he knew it would work to his advantage.

“You said I should fight as if I mean to kill you?”

“Yes!”

“I’ll try my best.”

The unspoken “to ensure you don’t die” was left hanging in the air.

Taeseong and Haeyoung silently stared at Pinocchio’s elongated nose.

“……”
“……”

‘Am I not human?’

‘But he’s definitely a returnee… Does this mean he only looks human but is actually something else entirely?!’

Both were equally taken aback by the completely unexpected result.

One was grappling with doubts about his own identity, while the other was overwhelmed by the discrepancy between the information provided and the reality before her.

If Lee Taeseong were truly some otherworldly entity cloaked in a human shell, his threat level would skyrocket beyond current estimates.

Depending on the situation, Haeyoung, as his handler, might be forced to exercise her authority and execute him on the spot.

As a new manager with little experience, Oh Haeyoung struggled to hide her bewilderment and eventually asked bluntly:

“Mr. Lee Taeseong, are you really not human?!”

“…For now, I believe I am human.”

Even if she asked him, there was no way he could answer definitively. Taeseong firmly believed he was human and had no knowledge of such organizations existing in the first place.

With most of his memories gone, he had no idea what kind of world he came from or why he ended up here.

Haeyoung, who had gradually regained her composure, suggested cautiously:

“Then… let’s try asking the question another way?”

“Go ahead.”

“Mr. Lee Taeseong, are you not human?”

“I am human.”

Without prompting, they both glanced at Pinocchio.

Contrary to expectations, Pinocchio’s nose remained still.

But this result only served to confuse Haeyoung even further.

‘What’s going on?! Is this a normal occurrence? I heard from my seniors that Pinocchio has never been wrong before…’

---

Entity No. 1004: Lying Boy.

Classification: Epsilon.

Commonly referred to as Pinocchio.

When its owner asks a question, the entity can determine whether the respondent is truthful. However, the reason for its Epsilon-level classification is a critical limitation:

It can only be used up to 20 times per month. Exceeding this limit causes the entity to go berserk, disregarding truth or lies entirely. During such episodes, it seeks out humans to replace its missing body and interrogates them relentlessly. If it detects a lie, it uses the liar’s body as its new torso.

The exact conditions under which its nose grows are still unclear.

When berserk, its classification rises to Delta. Subduing it requires at least five Epsilon-level managers.

‘Only one use left…’

Although she maintained a cheerful facade, Haeyoung remained on high alert, ready to act in case of an emergency. Despite being new, she was still a manager and had responsibilities to uphold.

“…Is that thing really functioning properly?”

“Y-Yes?! I-I think so…”

“For whatever reason, I believe I’m human. Whether you choose to believe me is entirely up to you.”

Taeseong expressed his thoughts calmly. Watching him, Haeyoung couldn’t help but feel a pang of guilt.

However, guilt was guilt, and work was work. As a professional, Haeyoung knew she had to keep the two separate.

Raising a single finger, she energetically declared:

“Then let’s conduct one last verification!”

“Alright.”

“Mr. Lee Taeseong! Are your parents human?”

Taeseong gave her a bewildered look.

‘Parents… They probably are.’

Though he couldn’t remember them, Taeseong remained confident in his humanity and simply answered:

“…Yes.”

Haeyoung cast a sidelong glance at Pinocchio.

Once again, Pinocchio’s nose didn’t grow. This confirmed that his statement was truthful.

Though not a perfect verification, this level of evidence was sufficient for her.

‘If his parents are human, then Mr. Lee Taeseong must be human too, right? Anyway, we’ve used up the last question… It should be fine now. What’s the worst that could happen?’

Haeyoung was far more optimistic than her seniors would have been.

“This seems sufficient! Verifying your humanity was our top priority.”

“Confirming that I’m human was your top priority? Then does that mean there are beings here who aren’t human?”

“Yes, that’s correct! Besides humans like us, we manage a wide variety of entities. Overseeing them is our job as managers!”

Haeyoung confidently smiled, clearly proud of her work.

“You refer to this place as ‘Tree.’ What exactly does Tree do? Is it some kind of secret experiment facility?”

Taeseong’s question made Haeyoung laugh like a child.

“Ahahaha! Secret experiments? Mr. Taeseong, you must read a lot of novels! Hahaha!”

“……”

“Tree’s mission is to ‘contain,’ ‘protect,’ and ‘transport’ every anomaly in this world. To put it simply, we’re working tirelessly to maintain world peace!”

World peace…

“Anomalies? What exactly are those?”

The smile on her face faded, replaced by a serious expression.

“Monsters, creatures, unidentified lifeforms, ghosts, urban legends, someone’s delusions, myths, internet rumors, spiritual beings, entities from other dimensions, possessed individuals, returnees, regressors, demons, angels, gods, phenomena, blessings, curses, supernatural abilities, and more—those are what we call anomalies. To be honest, I don’t fully understand it either. Hehe.”

“……”

“All I know is that these things could harm ordinary people, and it’s our job to prevent that.”

Although her explanation was vague, Taeseong began to piece together the bigger picture.

“Does the Tree organization exist only here, or are there branches elsewhere?”

“Of course! Tree has branches all over the world. This is the Korean branch since we’re in Korea! Officially, we operate under the name ‘Tree Corporation.’ It’s just more convenient that way. Hehe.”

Unable to hold back, Taeseong commented dryly:

“Is it really okay to share this information with me so freely?”

Haeyoung’s large eyes grew even wider as she realized her mistake.

“Oh! Was I not supposed to say that?”

“What’s the point of asking me?”

After a moment of serious contemplation, Haeyoung smiled and said:

“It’s fine! Part of a manager’s job is to take care of the mental well-being of contained entities! This counts as part of my duties!”

‘Is she overly optimistic… or just plain foolish?’

It could very well be both. Regardless, she seemed like a helpful ally to Taeseong, so he decided to make the best of the situation. Greed, after all, leads to ruin.

“Good to know. Do most returnees experience symptoms similar to mine?”

“Symptoms? Oh! You mean memory loss?”

Taeseong nodded.

“Well, some returnees do lose memories, but I’ve never heard of a case where someone lost nearly everything like you have!”

‘So, I’m special.’

With no memories to rely on, Taeseong was left wondering who he had been and why he had come here.

Whether he had a family,
where he went, for how long, and what he did there—along with why and how he managed to return—remained mysteries to Taeseong.

He couldn’t recall a thing.

All he had left was a nearly programmed resolve to return, his name, and his age.

Even those scraps of information felt like they could be false.

Seeing the shadow cast over Taeseong’s face as he sank into his thoughts, Haeyoung shouted in a hurry,

“D-don’t worry too much! Our doctors say it’s likely just temporary aftereffects of dimensional travel. They’re confident your memories will naturally return over time! The Intelligence Division is also investigating your past, so hang in there!”

“…Thank you.”

Taeseong gave a faint smile.

Surprised by his unintentional expression, Taeseong seemed momentarily startled, and Haeyoung cheerfully exclaimed,

“You smiled! Just now, didn’t you? Did you know that’s the first time you’ve smiled while talking to me?”

Though Haeyoung seemed a bit dim-witted, Taeseong couldn’t help but think she was genuinely pure-hearted.

Of course, this could have all been an act to lower his guard.

From his conversation with Haeyoung, Taeseong learned one more piece of information:

Returnees weren’t as common as he had initially thought, and their experiences were never consistent.

Every individual had unique settings: the time, place, life circumstances, and even the abilities they gained in those other worlds varied greatly.

No noticeable pattern had ever been identified.

It was all random.

Some might spend ten years in another world, while others might live a hundred years there.

What those worlds were like, what they did, and how they returned—everything was different for each person.

Dimensional shifts had first been observed quite a while ago, but the information was tightly controlled by governments to avoid chaos.

It was only natural. Publicly revealing such knowledge would surely lead to uproar.

The scale of influence exerted by the organization called “Tree” intrigued Taeseong.

“Tomorrow, we’ll officially start your tests. For now, rest up! See you tomorrow, Mr. Taeseong!”

---

Knock, knock.

“Come in.”

“Team Leader, here’s the requested file on Mr. Taeseong.”

“Thanks for your hard work.”

“You’re welcome. I’ll be off, then.”

The second information team’s leader, Choi Harin, took one last puff of her cigarette before turning her attention to the file her subordinate had brought.

“Reported missing in 2015…”

The current year was 2025, meaning Taeseong had been missing for exactly ten years.

However, that didn’t necessarily mean he had spent ten years in another world.

Time often flowed differently for those swept into dimensional shifts compared to time on Earth.

“Family…”

Father: Lee Wangbok.

Mother: Kim Youngja.

Both were marked as deceased.

Date of death: April 20, 2019.

Both parents had passed away on the same date.

Whatever had happened to them during Taeseong’s absence, they hadn’t lived long enough to see their son again.

“What a tragedy.”

That was all she thought of it.

The fates of those caught up in dimensional phenomena—whether “Possessed,” “Regressors,” or “Returnees”—rarely ended happily.

Tales of war heroes who saved other worlds but couldn’t adjust upon their return, or regressors driven to insanity by repeated cycles, were surprisingly common.

Rustle.

“Oh…? A younger sister?”

Her hand flipping through the papers quickened, her eyes scanning the contents with growing intensity.

“Lee Sooah. Why does that name sound familiar…?”

Her movements froze.

“Wait a second…”

---

Name: Lee Taeseong.
Age: 28.
Occupation: Soldier.

“What the hell?”

Below this was a section marked as ‘Level 1 Classified Information.’

Rank: Major (Pending Promotion).

“This guy was military? And how in the world do you guarantee a promotion to Major by age 28? What kind of missions did he complete?”

---

• Team Leader, Counterterrorism Response Unit, HID Special Operations.
• Participated in classified Korea-U.S. joint operation, ‘Guardian.’
• Deployed in the “Red Dawn” mission at Lidenmann (Successfully rescued all hostages / Zero casualties).
• Neutralized the extremist militant group “JSS.”
• Conducted rescue operations for South Korean citizens during the South Sudan civil war.
• Assassinated Don Salamanca, leader of the international terror organization “Salamanca.”

---

• Awarded the Taeguk Order of Military Merit (1x).
• Awarded the Eulji Order of Military Merit (2x).
• Awarded the Hwarang Order of Military Merit (4x).