Chapter 95: The Silence Before the Truth

The moment they arrived at the emergency room, Yu Hui-ro was taken straight into an isolation ward. Normally, he was treated like a national hero—but in situations like this, he was handled as though he were a nuclear bomb. The hypocrisy made Ji-woo sick to his stomach, yet all he could do was pace restlessly in front of the isolation room.

After some time, a doctor emerged and permitted Ji-woo a visit. By then, all sorts of devices were attached to Hui-ro’s body.

Seeing him in a state no different from a critical patient, Ji-woo frowned deeply. The doctor stepped up beside him and spoke in a detached, professional tone.

“There are no abnormal findings. His ability metrics are irregular, but at present, we can’t identify the cause.”

“…What?”

Ji-woo asked again, wondering if he had misheard. The doctor continued calmly.

“Abilities vary so widely that there are many aspects medicine can’t explain.”

Ji-woo already knew that. Ability users were no longer rare, but medical progress lagged far behind. The fundamental problem was that abilities themselves couldn’t be scientifically explained.

No matter how renowned the scholar, all they could do amounted to thought experiments.

They could talk endlessly about the physics or chemistry applied to abilities, but when it came to their origin—or the very existence of ability users—everyone fell conspicuously silent.

The one thing that had been established was that abilities had numerical limits, and exceeding those limits could trigger a rampage.

“What about the risk of a rampage?”

Ji-woo did his best to remain calm. The doctor flipped through the chart, lips twitching as if hesitating.

Ji-woo urged him on with his eyes. The doctor let out a deep sigh before speaking again.

“Numerically speaking, this is already a situation where a rampage would be expected. His body passed its limit months ago. Honestly, it’s a miracle he’s been fine until now…”

“…But?”

“Strangely enough, there are no signs of an external rampage. It’s almost as if it’s being suppressed. Whether that’s due to the patient’s willpower or mental strength, we don’t know—but this definitely isn’t a typical case. If his body is self-correcting, that’s the best possible outcome, but… if not.”

While the doctor paused, Ji-woo adjusted his grip on Hui-ro’s hand. The warmth was still there, but there was no movement.

“If the rampage is progressing inward, then the patient is in serious danger.”

“…What do you mean, ‘progressing inward’?”

“Exactly what it sounds like. Instead of erupting outward, it turns inward. It’s a rare phenomenon seen in patients with trauma or phobias related to rampages—their ability begins harming the user themselves. Some call it a ‘silent rampage.’”

That meant Yu Hui-ro might be in a state of silent rampage.

A rampage was normally an organic stabilization response—releasing excess energy outward to exhaust the ability entirely.

Like a circuit breaker tripping when too much power was drawn.

Once the power shut off and turned back on, the body gradually returned to normal. What “gradually” meant varied from person to person. Some recovered in days. Others never recovered at all.

No one could predict which category Hui-ro would fall into.

Ji-woo looked at Hui-ro’s sleeping face. He looked so peaceful, as if completely unaware of what was happening to him. It made Ji-woo’s chest ache.

“…So are you saying Hui-ro is… dying?”

“That’s only a possibility. Just a possibility. We can’t jump to conclusions. There haven’t been any confirmed cases in Korea yet… and rampages themselves are rare.”

The doctor rambled on, clearly trying to reassure him. But even without that, Ji-woo was frighteningly calm.

He didn’t raise his voice like other guardians of emergency patients. He didn’t deny reality. He simply stroked Hui-ro’s hand in silence.

“For now, we recommend hospitalization to observe his condition.”

“…In the isolation ward.”

“Yes…”

The doctor hesitated but didn’t deny it. Ji-woo glanced around. The isolation room, enclosed on all sides by cold steel, felt suffocating and grim.

It felt less like a place meant to save lives—and more like a place that waited for people to die.

And he couldn’t stay here with him.

Which meant leaving Hui-ro alone.

“So even if he’s admitted here, there’s nothing more you can actually do, correct?”

Ji-woo asked quietly. The end of his sentence wavered slightly.

“Unfortunately… yes. If you wish, you may discharge him. Still, we recommend observing him for about three days and releasing him once his ability metrics stabilize.”

“No abnormal findings” also meant there was no justification to keep him. The doctor stood back, waiting for Ji-woo’s decision.

Ji-woo felt his heart sink heavily, as if he were personally deciding Hui-ro’s fate.

He had hastily taken on the role of guardian—but wasn’t sure he had the right to do so.

Then, one person crossed his mind.

“May I step out and make a call?”

“Of course.”

Leaving the isolation ward with the doctor, Ji-woo stripped off the stifling protective gear all at once. When he finally removed the mask, his sweat-soaked face was revealed.

He retrieved his phone from the locker and immediately called Park Soo-jin.

Maybe—just maybe—he knew something about this situation.

It was just a feeling.

No, it was hope.

Ji-woo hoped that Soo-jin knew something about Hui-ro.

Something Hui-ro had tried to hide. Something he didn’t want to talk about.

After a moment, a familiar voice came through the phone.

[-…Seong Ji-woo?]

“……”

Ji-woo slowly closed and opened his eyes, steadying his breathing as he gathered his thoughts.

[-You—you’re with Yu Hui-ro right now, aren’t you?]

Before Ji-woo could answer, Soo-jin spoke first.

So he did know something.

Ji-woo’s heart began to race. Hope welled up inside him.

[-The internet’s going crazy. They’re saying Hui-ro collapsed in a dungeon. Is that true? He’s okay, right? That’s just some kids making things up, right? Right?]

At the sound of Soo-jin’s voice—more anxious than his own—that hope vanished without a trace.

“Why… why….”

[-Hui-ro didn’t rampage, did he? Huh? He didn’t, right?!]

Soo-jin’s voice rose, almost accusatory. Ji-woo’s heart began to pound erratically. Pain spread through his chest, forcing him to bend over.

His legs gave out, and he sank to the floor. Soo-jin’s voice came again through the phone.

[-Why aren’t you saying anything…? Don’t tell me it’s true. Hui-ro is…?]

“Since it sounds like you already know,” Ji-woo said quietly, “I’ll just ask one thing.”

[-……]

“Hui-ro.”

Ji-woo let out a long breath.

“You already knew what condition he was in, didn’t you?”

[-…Yes.]

The confirmation came after a long pause. Ji-woo drew in a deep breath.

“Can you come to the general store?”

[-…Now? Is Hui-ro at the store right now?]

“No. We’re at the hospital, but I think it’d be better over there. I’ll head out now, so please wait.”

Ji-woo decided to discharge Hui-ro.

Staying in a hospital that could only “observe” felt worse than being with someone who actually knew something. He also vaguely remembered Soo-jin mentioning that he’d once studied medicine—before becoming a senior researcher at a lab.

[-…It’ll be hard for you to bring him alone. I’ll come pick him up.]

Soo-jin grasped the situation quickly, told Ji-woo to wait, and ended the call. Ji-woo didn’t refuse.

“Is it really that serious?”

At Ji-woo’s question, Park Soo-jin removed the stethoscope from his ears. His bag was stuffed with medical equipment—stethoscopes, blood pressure monitors—who knew where he’d gotten them.

“It’s hard to tell with just this. Physically, he’s not at his worst.”

“And the possibility of a ‘silent rampage’?”

“…About fifty-fifty.”

In other words, it could be—or it might not be.

Ji-woo pressed a hand to his throbbing head.

For the first time, he felt resentment toward Hui-ro—for saying nothing until things reached this point. To be honest, he was a little angry.

All because…

Because maybe that was all they were to each other.

And yet, he didn’t understand why that thought disappointed him so much.

Seeing Ji-woo’s troubled expression, Soo-jin let out a quiet sigh. What he was about to say weighed far heavier than what Ji-woo was already carrying.

“When I say fifty-fifty, I don’t mean rampage or not.”

“……”

Ji-woo looked at him, asking what he meant. Soo-jin glanced down at Hui-ro with a grim expression.

“It’s either a silent rampage—or a side effect.”

“A… side effect?”

Soo-jin’s face darkened. As he feared, Hui-ro hadn’t told Ji-woo.

Or maybe… he couldn’t.

That made Soo-jin hesitate. Did he have the right to reveal something Hui-ro had chosen to hide?

If Hui-ro wanted it concealed, there had to be a reason—and that reason deserved respect.

He didn’t want to burden him any further.

“What kind of side effect…? Why…?”

But looking at Ji-woo’s face, Soo-jin realized he couldn’t stay silent.

Ji-woo didn’t even seem aware of the expression he was making.

Soo-jin knew the two were close—but now, he wondered if their relationship went even deeper.

After hesitating, Soo-jin took out a syringe and some medication he’d debated whether to hide.

“What is… that?”

“Medication to slow the side effects. It’s probably already late, but it’s better than nothing.”

He snapped the ampoule open and filled the syringe with practiced ease. After swabbing Hui-ro’s arm, he injected it without hesitation.

Ji-woo frowned as he watched the plunger depress. Soo-jin wiped away the bead of blood with cotton and asked calmly,

“Have you ever heard of the HERO Project?”

Their eyes met a beat too late.