Chapter 58: The Truth That Burned Behind Him

The following day, the head researcher arrived with a lawyer to see Yoo Hee-ro.
They came to inform him that researcher Yoo Ji-eun had left behind an inheritance in his name.

“I’m truly sorry….”

The head researcher apologized with a heavy expression.
He had joined the project midway and had been fairly close to Yoo Ji-eun.

The sudden death of a close colleague must have come as a great shock—his face looked pale and drawn.

Yoo Hee-ro sat silently with an indifferent expression, reading through the documents placed before him.
They stated that all of Yoo Ji-eun’s assets, including her insurance payout, had been inherited by Yoo Hee-ro.

The day of the incident.

‘Something feels off….’

Deeply immersed in her work, Yoo Ji-eun sensed something amiss.
She had always known the other researchers weren’t particularly friendly toward her, but recently the ostracization had intensified.

She hoped it was just her imagination, but a few days earlier, it even seemed as though someone had secretly broken into her office.

While her nerves were already on edge from that incident, Yoo Hee-ro’s scheduled regular experiment began…….

“I’ll excuse myself to the restroom for a moment.”

Again.
Again.
In the span of three hours, five researchers had already left claiming they needed the restroom.
No matter how generously she tried to interpret it, this was strange.
Even the researcher who had left earlier still hadn’t returned.

“Oh, sure. Go ahead.”

They sent each other off as if nothing were wrong.
Yoo Ji-eun quietly looked down at Yoo Hee-ro, who lay sleeping neatly on the operating bed.

“HPEX-78, medication is ready.”

If only he would go berserk here.
Then these cowards might tremble in fear, abandon the research, and run.

Startled by her own horrible thought, Yoo Ji-eun shook her head.
She scolded herself for wishing such a curse on a child who was already suffering.

‘I’m sorry, Hee-ro.’

In the end, Yoo Ji-eun’s curse-like wish did not come true.
Even after administering high-intensity drugs, Yoo Hee-ro lay there with a calm expression.
Nothing had changed.

“What are the ability fluctuation readings?”

“……Around five percent. Negligible.”

“I knew it.”

Yoo Ji-eun let out a sigh.
She was drawing ever closer to confirming her hypothesis.
The reason Yoo Hee-ro couldn’t use his abilities wasn’t due to physical limitations or bodily factors…… but psychological ones.

But she knew that if she voiced this theory, they would push Yoo Hee-ro into extreme situations to forcibly draw out his powers.
And so, Yoo Ji-eun had no choice but to remain silent.

‘Am I supposed to just watch him become addicted to drugs like this?’

Recently, Yoo Hee-ro had begun showing signs of drug dependency.
He complained of dizziness, suffered from insomnia at night, and when he did manage to sleep, he thrashed in deep nightmares.

His digestive system was completely ruined—he couldn’t properly swallow food, and essential nutrients were being forcibly administered through glucose injections.

“……End the experiment. Move the test subject to the recovery room.”

After a full week, the experiment—one she had lost count of—came to an end.
There were no results.

“Good work. Everyone, head back.”

Even after exchanging farewells, the researchers—who normally would have returned straight to their quarters—began gathering in small groups.
When the youngest researcher, who had been cleaning up last, slipped away without even saying goodbye while stealing glances at her, Yoo Ji-eun made her decision.

‘We leave now.’

She rushed down to the recovery room, hoisted Yoo Hee-ro onto her back, and ran to her office.
She opened her suitcase and began stuffing in important items.
Focused solely on gathering everything related to Yoo Hee-ro, she couldn’t pack a single personal belonging.

It was far earlier than planned, but if not now, it would become impossible forever.
There was no time to hesitate.

“Let’s go. Let’s go out and live together.”

Yoo Ji-eun murmured as she looked at Yoo Hee-ro’s sleeping face.
Unfortunately, right after that, flames began to rise within her office.

“I never expected something like this to happen.”

The head researcher said in a tormented voice.
An accident.
At the time, Yoo Hee-ro believed those words.

Afterward, the head researcher took responsibility and left the facility of his own accord.
At the same time, the HERO Project was unofficially suspended.

But most of the researchers remained and continued their work.
They clung stubbornly to the belief that the project—into which they had poured their entire careers—had to succeed.

Like creditors, they demanded countless things from Yoo Hee-ro.
They even went so far as to arbitrarily designate him as a test subject for their personal experiments.

They tightened their control over him further, and there was no one left to protect him.
The fact that he endured without begging for his life or apologizing seemed to irritate them all the more.

Yoo Hee-ro broke.

Several years later, when Yoo Hee-ro became a second-year high school student, he learned the full truth of that day.

A newly assigned researcher was placed in the restored office that once belonged to Yoo Ji-eun and delivered her suitcase to Yoo Hee-ro.
The suitcase was partially melted and heavily scorched, but its contents remained relatively intact.
Like thieves with guilty consciences, the researchers had hastily cleaned up the fire scene, allowing this to slip through.

“I don’t know what’s inside, but it felt wrong to throw it away. That’s why I called you.”

“……Thank you.”

Dragging the suitcase back to his school dormitory, Yoo Hee-ro carefully read through its contents.
They detailed everything—from his birth up to that very day.

Inside was a USB containing a letter from Yoo Ji-eun.
The letter began with an apology and continued with words written in preparation for the worst.

She wrote that she intended to report the truth of the experiment to the outside world.
She knew the chances of success were slim and that it could put her in danger, but she couldn’t just stand by and watch.

She wanted to do something—anything.
If something happened to her, or if Yoo Hee-ro ended up in danger because of her, she asked him to forgive her.

Below that was an unfulfilled wish—to give him an ordinary life outside the research facility.
If everything went well, she wrote that she wanted to hear him call her “Mom” just once.
And finally, she confessed the words she wanted most to say: “I love you.”

She wrote that she cherished him deeply and hoped he would be happy.
That was how the letter ended.

That winter, Yoo Hee-ro went berserk.
Having lost all reason, he tore the researchers apart and killed them.
It was a brutal description, but not a metaphor.
The research building was reduced to ruins, and the school also suffered catastrophic damage.

But even that failed to quench the agony and thirst built up over the years.
After personally destroying everything connected to the HERO Project, Yoo Hee-ro was left with an endless emptiness.

To him, the world itself was hollow.
White snowflakes drifted indifferently through the pitch-black night sky.
Unidentified blood seeped into the pristine snow.

Even after emptying his stomach, Yoo Hee-ro continued retching.
He couldn’t endure the revulsion.
In his bloodshot eyes, there was nothing but darkness—nothing else remained.

And so, he decided to erase this horrific world altogether.

He barely remembered how he had forced his way into the X-gate.
By the time he regained his senses, he had already reached the 120th floor.

A blizzard raged, and the world was silent.
Just like that day when he had gone berserk.

No grand resolution was needed.
Yoo Hee-ro fought something there for a long time—and finally won.

When he destroyed the gate core, a blinding flash of light erupted, so intense it nearly stole his sight.

Just when he thought everything was finally over—
Yoo Hee-ro opened his eyes once more.

He had returned to being eighteen years old.
To a time when he could change nothing in his life.
Not even the death of Yoo Ji-eun, who was his mother only on paper.

He didn’t even feel angry.
He was simply curious.
Why repeat such meaningless time?
What could possibly change?

Yoo Hee-ro believed his life had ended along with the gate that day, so regression was useless to him.
Even the desire for revenge had been erased—he was completely empty.

Why now of all times.

What was he supposed to do at this point?

It was almost amusing to watch the people he had killed act as if nothing had happened.
Their continued treatment of him as a foolish, weak test subject felt trivial.

Each day was unbearably dull.
So he decided to do things he hadn’t done in his previous life.
If he didn’t like the outcome, he could just wipe it all away again like before.

Mentoring was one of those choices.

“You’re…… Yoo Hee-ro?”

And that was where he met Sung Ji-woo.
In truth, Yoo Hee-ro already knew who he was.
Ranked third in the individual hunter rankings.
An eccentric among eccentrics who belonged to no guild.

Sung Ji-woo was frequently mentioned in the news and newspapers, yet strangely, he had never appeared at any official events.
He had never once shown his face at award ceremonies hunters were desperate to attend, and the number of public interviews he gave was remarkably small.

To think he would meet Sung Ji-woo like this.

“Yes, sunbae.”

It was a bored curiosity.
Yoo Hee-ro wondered what someone—who had been among the hunters completely wiped out because they failed to catch a rookie ability user—could possibly teach him.

And so, Yoo Hee-ro began to play the role of his past self once more.