Chapter 45: A Second Chance and a Fading Past

Following the mentally draining interview with Dr. Nam, my head began to throb, forcing me to remain in the recovery room for a considerable period. Perhaps it was the succession of startling revelations, but even after consuming painkillers, the information Dr. Nam had imparted spun relentlessly in my mind, causing a persistent ache.

‘How could he have deceived me so flawlessly?’

The undisclosed existence of the headquarters, the tales surrounding Jung Eui-chan the Esper, and Yoon Geon-woo’s current predicament—there was no shortage of astonishing details. Yet, the most profound shock of all was undoubtedly Ajusshi’s true identity.

In retrospect, I found myself questioning why I hadn’t pieced it together earlier. I had personally witnessed Ajusshi employing multiple abilities, yet it hadn’t occurred to me to link that to the possibility of him being an S-rank Esper.

‘Now I understand why Yoon Geon-woo despises Ajusshi…’

I vividly recalled Yoon Geon-woo’s venomous snarls, demanding to know if I was the Director’s lackey whenever I approached him. Back then, his behavior had baffled me, but now, a sliver of understanding for his emotions began to dawn.

While I wasn’t privy to the full intricacies, I couldn’t help but suspect Ajusshi’s influence had been at play in young Yoon Geon-woo’s confinement within the Ability Center.

As the head of the headquarters and Yoon Geon-woo’s father, he would have possessed ample authority to make such decisions.

‘Once I return to school, then…’

Leaning against the recovery room bed, my thoughts drifted to Yoon Geon-woo. Having inadvertently stumbled upon the hidden depths of his situation, I felt a renewed urge to help him, more actively than ever before.

It wasn’t out of a desire for him to become a valuable Esper, as the headquarters and Central Center so desperately wished.

I simply wished to stabilize his chaotic contamination levels.

If possible, I hoped he would attend his classes punctually and grow into an Esper capable of fully mastering the immense power he possessed.

As I made this solitary vow in a situation that offered me no personal gain, Han Seon-ho’s voice, tinged with what sounded like anger, echoed in my mind.

“I still don’t understand why you, Sogum, go to such lengths for Yoon Geon-woo.”

As Han Seon-ho had pointed out, there was no imperative for me to proactively dedicate myself to Yoon Geon-woo. It might sound callous, but when measured purely by gains and losses, his words held true.

Yet, had my motivations been solely driven by personal gain, I would never have attempted to guide Yoon Geon-woo in the first place. Was it not the high probability of him being the Esper destined to rampage at the graduation ceremony that had initially compelled me to guide him?

For reasons unknown to me, I had returned a year into the past. It was as if… I had been granted another opportunity.

That thought had surfaced after the initial bewilderment, when I first grasped the reality of my regression. I desperately wanted to seize this golden opportunity to prevent my classmates, whom I regarded as family, from suffering death or injury.

Unlike that day, which so often haunted my dreams, this time… I believed I might actually be able to protect them.

‘Yes, unlike with Eun-i… this time will be different.’

To delve into Eun-i’s story, I needed to travel far back into the past.

****

Eun-i and I, identical twins from birth, were abandoned as infants and subsequently raised in a government-affiliated childcare facility.

Reportedly, the only thing left with us at the time was a small note, simply stating: ‘Sogum (right/elder twin), So-eun (left/younger twin).’

With no surname specified, the teachers at the facility, after much deliberation, decided on ‘So’ as our family name, assigning us the given names ‘Sogum’ and ‘So-eun’ respectively.

Naturally, such an unusual naming often led to us being teased as we grew older.

Children would often jest, “How can someone’s name be ‘Salt’?” There was even an instance when a peer bit my wrist, claiming they wanted to taste if I was truly salty.

Though minor commotions regarding my name were a constant feature of my childhood, I genuinely grew to love the name Sogum.

After all, wasn’t my name one of the precious few gifts bestowed upon me by parents I would never know? Though, of course, the greatest gift of all was entirely separate.

‘That would be, my So-eun.’

As So-eun and I aged, we grew increasingly alike.

Our faces were identical, and our heights consistently similar. While I was subtly stronger and taller than Eun-i, these differences were so negligible that they were practically secrets only we shared.

The only discernible difference was a small mole on our faces: I had one near my right eye, while Eun-i had a distinct one precisely at the left corner of his mouth.

“I’m Sogum.”

“And I’m So-eun. Can you tell us apart now?”

When we would point to the moles on our respective faces and pose the question to our friends at the facility, most would nod, indicating they finally understood.

Thereafter, the small moles on our faces became the distinguishing markers, so our striking resemblance never caused us significant inconvenience.

However, much like any similar institution, our facility had its share of issues, both minor and significant. There were instances of older children bullying without cause, or scuffles among those desperate for the attention of the facility teachers.

Unlike the other children, Eun-i and I served as each other’s steadfast pillars of support, and consequently, we rarely felt hardship or loneliness. With two identical twins always together, other children found it difficult to provoke us.

As we continued to grow without incident, some children were adopted into loving homes, while others who manifested as ability users gained admission to the SAA.

We were particularly close to an older boy, a few years our senior, and it was his manifestation as an Esper and subsequent departure for the SAA that first made us aware of the specialized schools for ability users.

“Sogum, So-eun! Big brother is an Esper!”

“An Esper? Like the people on TV? Is big brother one of them?”

“Yes! Big brother is going to an ability user school to study now.”

“An ability user school?”

“I hope Sogum and So-eun can come to the same school as big brother later. They say you can earn a lot of money there.”

Having manifested as an Esper, our older brother departed for the SAA immediately, and we never saw him at the facility again. Initially, we felt a pang of envy and sadness at the departure of our close friend, but as time wore on, those feelings faded.

The talk of Espers and Guides—those topics constantly discussed in the media—felt incredibly distant to us, whose entire world revolved around the confines of the facility.

We had a far more pressing concern: the matter of adoption.

In truth, during our younger years, our neat appearances often attracted prospective adoptive parents.

However, the prospect of adopting two children was often daunting, and prospective parents usually wished to adopt either Eun-i or me, separating us. Each time, I staunchly refused, declaring I could never be separated from my twin.

“Sogum, could you please listen to the teacher just this once?”

“No. It’s not acceptable. I don’t want to go alone, and I certainly don’t want Eun-i to be sent away by himself.”

“Sogum. Simply because your adoptive homes might be different doesn’t mean you’ll never see each other again. Perhaps it would be best for both of you to go to good homes and receive abundant love from your new families.”

“Eun-i’s family is me. If we can’t go together, then it’s better if we don’t go at all.”

Despite my resolute stance, on occasions when truly promising opportunities arose, the facility teachers would try at length to persuade me.

I consistently asserted that I could never be happier anywhere if it meant being separated from Eun-i, leaving the teachers with no choice but to eventually concede.

Of course, at the time, I genuinely believed Eun-i shared my sentiments. After all, we had been each other’s sole family since the moment we were born.

Eun-i and I rapidly grew older, never finding a suitable adoptive home. What had once been our strength—being two—paradoxically became the very reason we lost our chance at a home. By the time I grasped this truth, we were already of a certain age. It was then that the real trouble began.

When Eun-i turned ten, his physical condition began to deteriorate sharply. From that point onward, he was transferred to a medical center affiliated with our facility.

Whenever I visited Eun-i, he was invariably either deep in a drug-induced sleep or groaning in pain. On occasion, he would talk in his sleep, murmuring for ‘Mom’ or ‘Dad’ and expressing how much he missed them.

Though I visited Eun-i every single day, my name never once surfaced in his sleep-talk. It was then that a stark realization struck me: Eun-i had, in fact, yearned for adoption.

Yet, despite this realization, there was absolutely nothing I could do. I simply continued to visit the sleeping Eun-i daily, speaking to him, engaging in one-sided conversations.

This was my silent atonement for thwarting Eun-i’s deepest desire, and I suspected he had, perhaps, vaguely sensed it. The truly significant problem, however, erupted after Eun-i had suffered for a full year, precisely when we turned eleven.

On that very day, during our annual routine check-up, I discovered that I had manifested as a Guide.

“Oh my, you’re a B-rank Guide.”

“…Pardon?”

“Congratulations. Given the scarcity of Guides, you’re likely to receive excellent treatment in the future.”

When I was first handed the examination results, an individual, whom I presumed to be external medical staff, offered their congratulations. Unable to fully grasp the implication of their words, I simply murmured my thanks and accepted the paper.

The instant I unfolded the results, I immediately comprehended the true meaning behind the medical staff’s words.

Attached to the back of the physical examination report, a document I had never seen before, was a new sheet:

[Manifestation Confirmation Notice]

[Trait: Guide]

[Rank: B-rank]

There was no need to read it in detail. I had no intention of leaving the facility without Eun-i, so I immediately crumpled the paper.

However, contrary to my feelings, manifesting as a Guide was not something I could simply ignore or pretend hadn’t happened.

My examination results had spread throughout the facility the very same day, regardless of my wishes.

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