Chapter 97: The Price of Being a Secret

Over the past few days, the Association President’s visits to the research institute had noticeably increased. A few low-ranking employees asked Son Seong-cheol what was going on, but he didn’t know anything himself, so he had nothing to tell them.

Then, late last night, the Association President called him and bluntly ordered him to bring Yoo Hee-ro in. He’d already confirmed that Yoo Hee-ro was at the general store—Son Seong-cheol was to inform the shop owner and transport Yoo Hee-ro to the lab.

Son Seong-cheol already knew, from the news, that Yoo Hee-ro had collapsed in a dungeon. But he never expected it to become his assignment. He’d assumed that his title—Yoo Hee-ro’s “manager,” impressive in name only—had effectively ended when Yoo Hee-ro finished clearing the X-Gate and graduated.

Yet the Association President continued to summon him whenever anything involved Yoo Hee-ro. The excuse was that Yoo Hee-ro himself was classified information, and that too many people couldn’t be allowed to handle him.

Ironically, that so-called classified information hadn’t even been disclosed to him, the manager. How he was supposed to protect a secret he didn’t know was beyond him.

On top of that, dealing with Yoo Hee-ro—who didn’t get along with the Association President—was no easy task. The president couldn’t handle him either and kept dragging Son Seong-cheol into it, then expected him to manage somehow. It left Son Seong-cheol harboring unspoken resentment.

Still, what choice did he have? When told to jump, he had to jump. He had a family to support on his small but precious salary. And so, swallowing his bitterness, Son Seong-cheol headed to the general store early that morning.

Forcing an awkward smile at the clearly unwelcoming Seong Ji-woo, he was eventually guided to the room where Yoo Hee-ro lay.

“……”

He’d already had a bad feeling after hearing that Yoo Hee-ro collapsed in a dungeon—but seeing him lying there like a corpse left Son Seong-cheol speechless.

The Yoo Hee-ro he knew had only ever been one of two things: a monster in the X-Gate, mercilessly slaughtering everything alone, or a cold-faced young man outside, acting entirely on his own whims.

But the Yoo Hee-ro before him now was defenseless and powerless, as if all life had drained from him.

“You said he was classified as high risk for rampage or something like that.”

“……Yes.”

He answered, but the Yoo Hee-ro lying there looked as far from rampaging as possible.

“You said you’re his manager—are you a doctor?”

“I’m not. But we plan to hand Hunter Yoo Hee-ro over to doctors. The Association has reliable specialists in Esper medicine. Once we get him there, finding a solution shouldn’t be difficult.”

Son Seong-cheol recited exactly what he’d been instructed to say. He’d also been told to pressure Seong Ji-woo—warn him that Yoo Hee-ro might die at any moment if they didn’t move him immediately—but he didn’t want to go that far.

Maybe it was the accumulated strain of the past few days, but Seong Ji-woo looked utterly exhausted, both physically and mentally.

From their previous meeting, Son Seong-cheol knew that Yoo Hee-ro cared deeply about Seong Ji-woo—but he hadn’t expected the feeling to be mutual.

Objectively speaking, Yoo Hee-ro wasn’t the type who formed relationships easily. It was hard to imagine him caring for anyone at all.

There was also something inhuman about him—something chilling.

An instinctive sense of distance, of unease. Yet perhaps because Seong Ji-woo looked at him with such concern, Yoo Hee-ro now seemed… ordinary.

Like a young man in his early twenties.
Inexperienced. Naive about the world.

Maybe that was why—

“He’ll be fine. The higher-ups won’t let such a valuable asset die. No matter what happens, Yoo Hee-ro will live.”

Words no one had asked for spilled out of him. The moment he finished speaking, he realized it—but he didn’t regret it.

The Association would save Yoo Hee-ro. He was the first successful result of a one-of-a-kind project, and the Association was already figuring out how best to broadcast that success to the world.

Whether it was fortunate or unfortunate for Yoo Hee-ro, even if he were terminally ill, the Association would scour the entire globe to keep him alive.

Son Seong-cheol didn’t know the details of the experiments either. All he knew was the publicly disclosed framework: a genetic modification experiment aimed at creating artificial Espers.

The Association had slapped the title of “manager” on him while keeping its mouth firmly shut about the experiments themselves. But that wasn’t strange. That was just how the Association worked.

Still, one thing bothered him.

During the planning stage, the government had rejected the request for support. The reasons: a low probability of success and ethical concerns.

Even so, if the Association pushed forward with the research… that must mean they addressed those issues.

No matter how infamous the Hunter Association was, surely they wouldn’t violate research ethics outright.

“Interesting. You’re saying the most obvious things.”

Seong Ji-woo’s voice snapped Son Seong-cheol out of his thoughts. He met Seong Ji-woo’s sharply gleaming eyes.

“If you weren’t going to save Yoo Hee-ro, you wouldn’t have sent anyone in the first place.”

As if threats of fines or prison meant nothing at all.

For a moment, Yoo Hee-ro overlapped with him.

Back in high school, when the fire at the research wing was brought up, Yoo Hee-ro had said this:

‘Sounds good. Getting arrested for arson and spending a few years inside doesn’t sound that bad right now.’

It was one of the many moments that made Son Seong-cheol think Yoo Hee-ro didn’t quite feel human—not youthful bravado, but genuine indifference.

Not a trace of guilt on his face, despite it being an incident that could’ve cost lives.

And now, that same sense of déjà vu came from Seong Ji-woo.

Different—yet alike.

Not all Espers were like this.

What had made them this way?

“Yes. Then we’ll prepare for transport.”

Son Seong-cheol texted the people waiting downstairs. They’d likely arrive with a stretcher any moment now.

“Before you take him, there’s something I want to ask.”

“Yes. Go ahead.”

“If we leave now, how long until he can come back?”

“Ah…”

He didn’t actually know. But admitting that would make him look irresponsibly unprepared. Son Seong-cheol quickly did some mental math.

“Probably… about a week.”

Within a week, he should wake up. He was an S-rank Esper.

“And one more thing.”

“Yes?”

“I’ll be allowed to visit him, right?”

He wasn’t sure about that either—but figured it wouldn’t be an issue. There was no reason to ban visits.

“Yes.”

Only then did Seong Ji-woo step aside. Soon, people entered through the back door, lifted Yoo Hee-ro onto a stretcher, and carried him away.

Seong Ji-woo kept staring long after they disappeared.

The familiar stench of chemicals stabbed into his nose. His facial muscles tightened, and only then did Yoo Hee-ro realize he’d been frowning.

“……”

At the same time as that realization, his vision brightened. His mind felt hazy, as if under anesthesia.

Still, the familiar white ceiling was unmistakable. His senses awakened one by one. The surroundings were silent—he could only hear his own breathing.

A familiar sense of resignation wrapped around his body. Just as he was about to close his eyes again, Yoo Hee-ro froze.

Then his eyes flew open. Before his brain could process anything, his heart began pounding violently—so much that his chest ached.

Because……

He was in the recovery room—the place he stayed after experiments ended.

A place he hadn’t seen since middle school. A place he believed he would never return to.

“f*ck……”

A dry, cracked voice spilled out. But that didn’t matter. He gasped for breath as his heart tightened.

The last memory resurfaced.

The dungeon.
The heat engulfing his body.
The overwhelming exhaustion.
His consciousness drifting away.
The strange sensation of body and mind splitting apart—

And then……

Waking up in a space from the past.

Did I… come back again?

Yoo Hee-ro thought he’d regressed once more. Immense helplessness and despair crushed him.

“Haah…”

Pinned beneath the remnants of the past, he didn’t even have the strength to struggle. He swallowed the groan rising in his throat—and suddenly felt unbearably miserable.

He already knew the previous regression hadn’t been for his sake. There wasn’t a single future he could change with his own hands.

If anything, it felt like a cruel punishment. If he’d never met Seong Ji-woo, this new life might’ve ended as nothing but torment.

No—maybe that was the problem.

Maybe taking something far beyond his station was the sin that made him lose Seong Ji-woo.

Where was he now? If this were middle school again, there would still be years before they met.

Could he endure that long?

Yoo Hee-ro’s eyes began to die, turning pitch black.

Click.

Just then, someone opened the recovery room door. Yoo Hee-ro turned his head.

An unfamiliar face.

“Hunter HERO has awakened.”

With a stiff expression, the man reported Yoo Hee-ro’s condition to someone else. He approached and mechanically checked Yoo Hee-ro’s temperature and vitals.

Meanwhile, Yoo Hee-ro thought.

The title Hunter HERO.
And a face he didn’t recognize.

The conclusion came quickly.

He didn’t know why he was back in the recovery room—but he hadn’t gone back in time.

That alone was oddly reassuring. Yoo Hee-ro let out a hollow laugh.

“Please remain still.”

The man’s rigid tone betrayed his tension. His fingers trembled as he took Yoo Hee-ro’s blood pressure, his eyes flicking repeatedly to the emergency call button.

He was ready to press it the moment Yoo Hee-ro resisted or used his ability.

Seeing his thoughts written plainly on his face, Yoo Hee-ro sneered inwardly. If he’d wanted to kill him, the man would’ve been dead before he even touched the button.

Annoyed, Yoo Hee-ro relaxed and stared at the ceiling. Seeing that, the man’s movements sped up.

“Call someone.”

Yoo Hee-ro spoke in a low voice. He hadn’t raised it—but the man flinched violently.

“……Someone?”

“Someone I know.”

First, he needed to meet someone who could explain what was happening. The Association President. The lab director. Anyone.

“Ah… he’s on his way.”

The moment he finished speaking, the Association President walked in through the open door. Thinking that the man could never be a decent human being, Yoo Hee-ro pushed himself upright.

After days like this, his whole body ached—using his muscles at all was exhausting.

“I hear you’re in terrible shape. You didn’t need to welcome me so enthusiastically.”

The audacity was almost impressive. Welcome him? Who was welcoming whom?

Dragging him here against his will—and the reason was obvious.

“I’ll collect the price later.”

Yoo Hee-ro raised one eyebrow.

“We’ve invested a lot in you.”

“Sounds like I asked you to.”

Even at the sarcasm, the Association President didn’t blink. Smiling as if he held all the cards, as if Yoo Hee-ro had just told a joke—

“So? How does it feel to be abandoned by someone you trusted?”

At those words, Yoo Hee-ro stared at him, his face utterly blank.