Chapter 112: The Promised Hour

Yu Hui-ro shot upright at once. Having slept for so long, a wave of light dizziness washed over him, but he clenched his teeth and forced himself to stay lucid.

“What did you say?”

He asked again, trying to discern whether what he’d heard was nothing more than a hallucination born of desperation—or the truth spoken from Son Seong-cheol’s mouth.

Son Seong-cheol wore an anxious expression, chewing hard on his lips. Even though he’d come to this decision after a long struggle, he was already regretting the words he’d just spoken.

He wasn’t confident he could withstand the aftermath once this was set in motion. All he could do was let out heavy, toxic sighs, like cigarette smoke.

As Son Seong-cheol hesitated in silence, it was Yu Hui-ro who grew impatient.

“What did you just say?”

His voice came out hoarse and pitifully cracked. He licked his badly chapped lips, but even his mouth was parched dry, making it useless.

Seeing his gaunt appearance stirred pity in Son Seong-cheol. At last, he steeled his resolve. If he turned back now, these past few hellish days would only repeat themselves.

And if something were to happen to Yu Hui-ro… he knew he’d regret it for the rest of his life. He was far too ordinary to carry the weight of all this.

Maybe the real mistake had been getting carried away and taking a job at a center full of nothing but extraordinary people. Son Seong-cheol rubbed at his unshaven chin.

“I said… I’ll let you meet Sung Ji-woo.”

Even as he said it, he still wasn’t sure this was the right thing to do.

Life slowly returned to Yu Hui-ro’s previously vacant eyes. Watching that strange transformation, Son Seong-cheol added, half in resignation—

“You said you wanted to see him from the moment you were brought here. I told you I’d look into it. I didn’t really know how things worked here… anyway, I contacted him a while ago. He seemed really worried about you.”

“…You did that?”

“And he seemed to know.”

“Know what? Know what?”

Yu Hui-ro’s complexion drained white at Son Seong-cheol’s words.

“The experiments… and stuff like that. You know.”

Just saying those two words made his skin crawl. Son Seong-cheol scraped his tongue against his teeth, as if trying to rid himself of the sensation.

“He asked whether you were being put through that again… or if there was another reason. He also asked if someone else was going through it instead of you. I didn’t understand what he meant, so I couldn’t answer. But I found out recently. There’s a kid here. Looked about the same age as my own…”

Son Seong-cheol swallowed the rest of his words. While he lingered in sticky sympathy, Yu Hui-ro felt heat flare violently up to his scalp.

“He knows? All of it—Ji-woo hyung?”

“At least more than I do. …Come to think of it, I wonder where he heard it. They call it classified information here…”

The recovery room darkened in an instant. As if the light had been swallowed whole, the space chilled, and Son Seong-cheol shivered.

“W-What is this?”

“Ha…”

Bringing up another test subject all but confirmed it—Park Su-jin had to be the leak. He should’ve shut her up from the beginning.

But that wasn’t what mattered right now.

“Does he… want to see me?”

The only thing that mattered was whether Sung Ji-woo wanted to see him. Yu Hui-ro needed to know why the man who’d sent him here was worrying about him.

“…I think so. Probably.”

Caught off guard by the question, Son Seong-cheol answered uncertainly.

“When can I meet him?”

The moment Yu Hui-ro’s tone returned to calm, the room brightened again. Son Seong-cheol slowly relaxed his tense body and checked his phone.

As expected, there was a message from Sung Ji-woo—a reply to the one Son Seong-cheol had sent before entering the recovery room.

A time that would avoid the Association President’s eyes. A time with minimal commotion.

“Three a.m. Tonight.”

Between three and four in the morning was when researchers rotated shifts. Since this wasn’t a high-security or containment facility, their vigilance tended to be lax.

Either they truly didn’t know—or their long-standing contempt toward ability users, whom they viewed as nothing more than lab rats, had dulled their fear.

After all, guards who could be dispatched at the press of a button were always on standby.

But that also meant the guards wouldn’t come unless they were called.

For security reasons, the guards only monitored hallway CCTV footage. They had no access to labs, treatment rooms, or recovery rooms.

And they knew nothing about what actually happened inside this facility. Even if they did, they were expected to pretend they hadn’t seen or heard anything.

That was why Son Seong-cheol was gambling.

If he got caught, it wouldn’t end with a mere reprimand. He might lose his job—or worse, end up in court.

Calculating how much time remained until three a.m., Son Seong-cheol clenched his sweat-soaked fist.

“You can come out to the lounge, right?”

He didn’t know how far Yu Hui-ro’s permitted range extended. At that, Yu Hui-ro curled his lips upward, as if he’d just heard something absurd.

“Anywhere’s fine. Just say the word.”

Seeing him look ready to act immediately, Son Seong-cheol raised a hand to calm him.

“How can it not matter? Do you even know what state your body’s in?”

“Knowing doesn’t change anything.”

At Yu Hui-ro’s firm reply, Son Seong-cheol fell silent. He was right—knowing changed nothing.

Yu Hui-ro didn’t even have an official diagnosis.

That alone said everything about his situation. Son Seong-cheol mulled it over again—he would never truly understand their world.

After a short sigh, he spoke.

“They said they can come to the lounge, so don’t go wandering off. Act normal.”

“You worry about the strangest things.”

He knew it was unnecessary concern, but only after saying it out loud did Son Seong-cheol feel slightly at ease. He lingered as if he still had more to say, but in the end, he left the recovery room without another word.

Aside from flinching when he ran into a researcher in the hallway, it was a smooth exit. The researcher, trudging along with a chart and a tired face, didn’t even glance his way—passing him like a ghost.

What Yu Hui-ro was being given were suppressants.

Suppressants that could only stop him right before a rampage—barely keeping him alive.

At the Association President’s insistence that the weaker he was, the better, even that dosage had been steadily reduced.

Now, Yu Hui-ro understood.

The moment he pushed his abilities even a little too far, his body would collapse like falling dominoes.

And that “too far” was less than half of what he usually exerted in a gate.

Not a single word passed between the researcher and Yu Hui-ro. The researcher injected him with practiced indifference and disappeared.

Just like always.

After barely escaping the gate, the Gwangmyeong Guild dragged their exhausted bodies back to the general store. They were more mentally drained than physically. Lee Won-jae shuddered, swearing he never wanted to go through something like that again.

Chae Min-jung, on the other hand, shrugged, saying it was over now and hadn’t it been spectacular? Son Ji-hwan was busy inspecting his damaged weapons.

What had happened in the gate felt like a past life to Sung Ji-woo. Halfway through writing the clear report, his soul nearly drifted out of his body.

He couldn’t tell whether he was dreaming—or dreaming about dreaming. His body felt heavy, his thoughts muddled.

Noticing his state, Chae Min-jung quickly pulled the report toward herself. Interviewing Lee Won-jae and Son Ji-hwan, she efficiently filled in the blanks.

Sung Ji-woo answered her questions without protest. By the time the report was nearly finished, Chae Min-jung was even humming to herself, clearly pleased that everyone had made good use of the potions she’d provided.

She dug out a few herbs holed up in the store’s storage room and whipped up a fatigue-recovery potion on the spot. Naturally, it was nothing like the ordinary tonics sold in pharmacies.

True to its name as a potion, the moment they downed a glass, it felt as though every cell in their bodies awakened. Their minds cleared instantly, their sagging limbs lightened, stiff shoulders rolling smoothly again.

“Ahh, I’m drunk on my own potions and skill. Don’t you agree?”

After finally drinking one herself and checking on everyone’s condition, Chae Min-jung exclaimed in satisfaction. Sung Ji-woo smiled and nodded.

Her skill was impressive beyond argument.

“It was seriously amazing.”

“But no joke, you really do get drunk.”

“…Excuse me?”

“Look at Lee Won-jae. People with weak immunity are especially vulnerable. It’s mild, but there’s a bit of addictiveness too.”

Turning quickly, they saw it—just as she said. Lee Won-jae was wobbling, staring blankly into space with a goofy grin. Like a drunk, he swayed side to side, then hiccupped. His neck and face were flushed red.

“Of course, I didn’t intend it. But like most painkillers, they focus on minimizing pain—so they dull the senses and make you feel… kind of good. You know?”

No, he didn’t know. Sung Ji-woo looked uneasily at the potion he’d just happily drunk.

“Oh, Assistant Guild Leader, you’re high-rank, so you’ll be fine. Same with Son Ji-hwan.”

Lee Won-jae was the only B-rank among them. And he’d consumed a lot of Chae Min-jung’s potions from the very start of the gate.

“…He’s the one who needs potions the most.”

“Painkillers and recovery potions are the main issue. The others are fine. Stimulants just come with minor side effects—insomnia, palpitations, hallucinations, stuff like that.”

“Minor… side effects?”

“Compared to the others?”

What exactly did Chae Min-jung usually make? Sung Ji-woo shot her a slightly frightened look, and she deliberately smiled more cryptically.

“Wow, impressive.”

Son Ji-hwan watched with detached interest, like it was none of his business. Encouraged, Chae Min-jung launched into an excited ramble about potion varieties and unfinished recipes floating around the world.

Meanwhile, Lee Won-jae muttered nonsense about the world spinning, circling the table where the three were seated.

“…The world isn’t spinning. You are,” Sung Ji-woo said, grabbing Lee Won-jae’s arm and stopping him.

He sat him down beside himself and sighed.

“I was thinking of having a team dinner today… let’s do it another time.”

“Sounds good!”

“I’ll take Lee Won-jae home—”

Before he could finish, Sung Ji-woo’s phone began to ring.

And his body stiffened.

It was the call he’d been waiting for.