Chapter 98: The Consent Form

“Ha… what kind of bullshit scheme is this now?”

Yu Hiiro let out an irritated sigh, his face clearly annoyed. But the Association Chairman continued as if completely unfazed.

“When an experiment subject tries to imitate being human, things are bound to go wrong. Don’t you think?”

“……”

“You were born in a laboratory, and you’re destined to end your life in one. It’s about time you stopped wandering around outside. You’re not some adolescent brat going through a rebellious phase.”

Perhaps convinced that Yu Hiiro was finally in the palm of his hand, the Chairman looked downright smug.

“It must’ve felt good while you were throwing your weight around—without even realizing what state your body was in. Thanks to that, we were able to pick you up quite easily. A net gain for us.”

Abandoned. Picked up. None of the Chairman’s words made any sense to Yu Hiiro.

“So why am I here, then?”

“I just told you. That shop owner dumped you, so we picked you up.”

“…What?”

“Blackouts, rampages—just hearing about it tells you how it’d end. How was he supposed to handle that? An experiment subject with an unknown origin living in his house.”

“…Don’t tell me. You told him?”

The sentence was vague, but the Chairman simply curled one corner of his lips upward in silence.

“I asked if you told him.”

“You don’t seem to think that hiding the truth all this time was the more shameless thing. By now, he’s probably furious, feeling betrayed that you deceived him.”

“…Give me my phone.”

Even as he told himself that Seong Jiwoo wasn’t that kind of person, Yu Hiiro’s heart sank with terrifying ease.

When it came to anything involving Seong Jiwoo, he had no immunity at all.

“I don’t believe you. Give me the phone. I’ll contact him myself.”

“That’s an interesting thing to say. You’ve only just woken up—you don’t seem to grasp your situation yet. Stop talking nonsense.”

“……”

“You already know that contact with outsiders is strictly forbidden here.”

Yu Hiiro ground his teeth, unable to suppress the surge of contempt. So this was why they’d locked him in here.

The prohibition on outside contact was an unspoken rule of the laboratory—absolute, with no exceptions.
People inside used radios or call devices, but even those had never been given to him.

“Then let me out. If everything you’re saying is true, I can just go check for myself.”

“It’s pitiful to see you struggling to deny reality.”

The Chairman clicked his tongue and signaled to a researcher beside him. The researcher opened the file he was holding, flipped through several pages, then pulled one out.

That sheet of paper was thrust in front of Yu Hiiro’s eyes.

A consent form for his transfer to the laboratory.

Under the line marked Guardian Representative was the neatly written name: Seong Jiwoo.

Written in his unmistakably honest handwriting—so familiar that Yu Hiiro couldn’t deny it even if he wanted to.

During his time in X-Gate, the letters Seong Jiwoo had sent him were what he’d clung to. The same careful script, the same three characters written neatly on every envelope and at the end of every letter.

It really was Seong Jiwoo’s hand that had sent him here.

Yu Hiiro’s thought process slowly ground to a halt. As his thoughts stopped, his senses sharpened instead.

The hard bed.
The blinding lights.
The sharp smell of chemicals.
And the hostile gazes fixed on him.

“……”

Things that were familiar—yet felt more alien than ever.

Yu Hiiro fell straight back into the powerless days of his past. His eyes dulled, clouded over.

“Finally obedient. Move him.”

Even at the Chairman’s mocking words, Yu Hiiro remained silent—like a soldier who had completely lost the will to fight. A syringe pierced his arm yet again, and before long, his vision blurred.

As he heard the clatter of wheels rolling beneath the bed, he vaguely realized he was being taken somewhere.

When Yu Hiiro opened his eyes again, he was back in the recovery room—as if nothing had happened.

It felt like someone had carved time itself out of his life. Gripping his hazy consciousness, he had to think for a long while about whether this was reality or not.

But as always, the place he woke up in was reality.

Yu Hiiro let out a weak, dry laugh—so close to a cough it barely counted as laughter.

“You’re still good at turning people into broken trash…”

A cracked, miserable voice slipped out. His throat was so rough that even speaking hurt.

If he really wanted to, he could destroy this entire laboratory. He could smash every one of those bastards’ heads open.

And yet, strangely, he had no strength at all.

He had struggled so desperately to escape the Association’s shadow, but learned helplessness weighed heavily on him, crushing him down.

You’re useless. You can’t do anything.

A grotesque voice—whose it was, he didn’t know—seemed to buzz in his ears.

Lying still, Yu Hiiro thought about death, and about the end.

After a long while, the conclusion he reached was simple.

He wanted to see Seong Jiwoo.

“……Ha.”

He’d sighed so many times now that he’d lost count. Seong Jiwoo dragged a hand over his dry, haggard face.

He didn’t know how many days had passed. Ever since handing Yu Hiiro over to the Association, all contact had been cut off. The last news report claimed that Yu Hiiro had suspended activities due to a sudden physical issue, that it wasn’t serious, and that he was recovering.

That vague, glossed-over line from the anchor was the last update Seong Jiwoo had heard.

“Are you okay?”

Lee Hyerin looked just as worried. She and Shin Yoonjae had rushed over from the provinces as soon as they heard, saying they were concerned about the two of them.

They said that ever since the Dohwari Gate incident, they’d even volunteered to clean up provincial Gates. Most of them weren’t anything special, but they were tedious, thankless jobs—ones the Hunter Association wouldn’t even bother allocating a budget for.

Yet despite meeting again after so long, none of them had the energy to reminisce. Without even exchanging proper greetings, they went straight into talking about Yu Hiiro’s condition.

As unfortunate as it was, Seong Jiwoo couldn’t tell them the truth. Yu Hiiro’s hidden past was something the Association had demanded absolute secrecy over—going so far as to make him sign a nondisclosure agreement.

At least the secrecy didn’t cover the fact that Yu Hiiro had been taken by the Association itself—only the deeper reasons behind it.

“I really don’t know who the Association even exists for anymore,” Shin Yoonjae muttered, handing Seong Jiwoo a cup of water.

Seong Jiwoo just held it. His throat was burning with thirst, but it wasn’t something water could fix.

“They make it sound nice, calling it the Hunter Association. But how many real hunters are actually there?”

Just as civilians couldn’t understand espers, espers couldn’t understand civilians. And even ordinary espers and hunters couldn’t fully understand one another.

They were all human—but instinctively, they divided friend from foe. They constantly needed reassurance about who was on their side, and wouldn’t hesitate to attack others for the sake of their own safety.

Seong Jiwoo now stood at that crossroads.

He had to decide who was his enemy—and who was his ally.

No… maybe it was already too late.

Driven by the single desire to save Yu Hiiro, Seong Jiwoo had handed him over to the Association. And as if they’d been waiting for that very moment, the Association severed all lines of contact.

Whenever he reached out, he was met with excuses—wrong department, unable to connect—nonsense that went nowhere.

The only consolation was that there had been no news of Yu Hiiro’s death yet.

It was miserable, but choosing a profession that constantly stood one step away from death made it painfully real: Yu Hiiro could die at any time.

And the last image Seong Jiwoo had of him was practically that of a corpse.

“…He’s alive. Right?”

“What? Yu Hiiro? Of course he’s alive! What are you even thinking?” Hyerin snapped, sensing his fear.

“You shouldn’t say things like that so lightly.”

“Yeah, honestly, it’s not like he’s someone who’d die easily. Blackouts aren’t even that rare among hunters…”

“Exactly. One of our guild members blacked out recently and just took some leave. Don’t worry for nothing.”

That was true. Blackouts weren’t uncommon—Seong Jiwoo had experienced one himself. Like Hyerin said, after a few days of rest, people usually recovered completely.

But that was only if you didn’t know Yu Hiiro’s circumstances.

What Yu Hiiro was suffering from wasn’t a simple blackout—it was a side effect.

One born not of his own will, but of others’ desires.

Knock, knock, knock.

At that moment, hurried knocking echoed through the shop. Seong Jiwoo shot to his feet.

Forcing his exhausted body to move made his head spin. He barely managed to stay upright, gripping the doorknob.

When the door slowly opened, Park Sujin stood there—her expression resolute.

Yu Hiiro opened his eyes again.

He couldn’t remember whether he’d fallen asleep, passed out, or been anesthetized. His eyes simply opened by inertia.

It was pitch-black night, with no moonlight filtering in. Yet Yu Hiiro clearly saw a wavering silhouette by his bedside.

Before he could even think, a desperate voice burst from his lips.

“…Hyung?”

The long, stretched shadow shrank instantly, as if it had been an illusion. A small silhouette suddenly leaned into his field of view.

“…Hyung!”

The shout echoed his own words back at him.

Standing there was a boy with an unfamiliar face.

Wearing the same experimental uniform as Yu Hiiro.