Chapter 99: HERO Project 02

“What?”

Yu Hiiro frowned deeply. Since the day he was born, he had never once seen a child in this place.

That alone made the kid feel profoundly out of place. And yet—there he was, wearing such a bright, innocent expression.

Something like this couldn’t possibly exist here.

Regardless of Yu Hiiro’s reaction, the child who had shoved his face right up close rolled his eyes around in curiosity. He examined Yu Hiiro’s face carefully, then broke into a grin.

“Hehe.”

…Was the kid a little slow?

“What do you want?”

Despite Yu Hiiro’s clearly unfriendly tone, the child didn’t retreat. If anything, his eyes sparkled even more brightly.

“You’re Hero, right, hyung?!”

“…What?”

“A hero! The hero who bravely defeats enemies!”

Yu Hiiro seriously considered the possibility that the child wasn’t in his right mind. You know—like people who spout nonsense while half-delirious after general anesthesia.

The fact that the kid was wearing an experimental uniform only made that assumption feel more plausible.

“Ha… who’s your assigned researcher?”

He wasn’t interested in whatever ridiculous experiment the Association was running this time. With an irritated look, Yu Hiiro searched for whoever was responsible.

But the moment he spoke, the child lifted a finger to his lips.

“Shh. I snuck out, so I can’t get caught.”

“…What?”

Did this kid have any idea how many CCTV cameras were installed here? Yu Hiiro stared at him in disbelief.

That was when he noticed the needle marks—grotesquely dense—embedded all over the child’s thin arms. Some spots had dark bruising, clearly from failed injections. Just looking at them made his skin ache.

It was a pain Yu Hiiro knew all too well.

A pain no amount of painkillers could erase.
A sensation like someone tearing his heart apart.
Moments where it felt as though his organs—and then his entire body—were burning away.

Yu Hiiro’s mood plummeted. He deliberately turned his gaze away, pretending not to see the child’s injuries.

They were traces of a past he never wanted to face again.

But the child didn’t seem bothered in the slightest and began chattering away.

“I begged and begged the researchers until they told me you were here! But they wouldn’t let me see you! Even though they promised! So I couldn’t take it anymore and came myself!”

“……”

“You’re my hero, hyung.”

Yu Hiiro quietly studied the child’s face.

He had never wanted to be anyone’s hero—except Seong Jiwoo’s.

Yet people had labeled him whatever they pleased.
National hero.
People’s hero.
Savior of Korea.

No one knew what his hunter name truly meant.

It was a name meant to mock those who had tried—and failed—to forcibly turn him into a hero.

At that moment, Yu Hiiro’s gaze darkened.

HERO PROJECT.

The name of the experiment he’d grown sick of resurfaced in his mind.

And along with it, the number “02” printed beside the file the Chairman had shown him.

“02…”

Yu Hiiro muttered under his breath. The child tilted his head.

“Huh?”

“So you were Number Two.”

HERO Project’s second test subject.

Knock, knock.

“Chairman, this is Son Seongcheol.”

Unable to receive any updates after Yu Hiiro was transferred, Son Seongcheol finally came to the Chairman’s office himself.

“Come in.”

The moment permission was granted, Son Seongcheol opened the door—and found the Chairman seated not behind his desk, but on the guest sofa.

He’d heard rumors that the Chairman had been in a good mood lately, but he hadn’t believed them. Ever since Son Seongcheol joined the Association, he had never once seen the Chairman in a good mood.

And yet now, the man looked like a venomous snake drained of all its poison—lounging lazily as he savored his coffee.

“What brings you here?”

When the Chairman needed something, he summoned Son Seongcheol without explanation. Now he was treating him like a discarded puppet with cut strings—it was absurd.

Still, Son Seongcheol kept his expression spotless and bowed apologetically.

“Ah, yes. Thank you for granting my sudden request.”

“Spare me the pleasantries. Between us, what need is there?”

Between us.

That strangely familiar phrasing made Son Seongcheol’s brow twitch. Between what us? A nobleman and his servant, maybe.

“After Yu Hiiro was transferred, I haven’t been able to see him even once.”

“…And?”

The Chairman responded indifferently and took a loud sip of coffee. The noise made Son Seongcheol swallow dryly.

“Even if the position is mostly ceremonial, I am still his assigned manager. I believe I should at least be informed of his status—”

“There’s no need.”

“…Pardon?”

“I said you don’t need to know.”

“…Excuse me?”

Surely he’d misheard. But the clarification only made things worse. Son Seongcheol’s professional mask cracked, revealing genuine confusion.

“But I’m his manager—”

“Hah. I thought you had good sense when I assigned you. Do you know why I made you Yu Hiiro’s manager?”

“…I don’t.”

In truth, he could guess. Because he was easy to handle. Because he had no backing. Because he was expendable. But he couldn’t say that aloud.

The Chairman pressed his fingers hard between his brows, his good mood already evaporated back into irritation.

“I heard you knew your place.”

That was the one answer Son Seongcheol had hoped wouldn’t come.

“And now, it seems you’re trying to overstep it.”

The relaxed tone carried a faint but unmistakable killing intent. Son Seongcheol lowered his head deeply, wetting his parched lips.

The Chairman took another noisy sip of coffee.

“If you’re that desperate to see his face, I’ll let you come along.”

He gestured to a secretary who seemed to have appeared out of nowhere. The secretary immediately replied, “I’ll prepare everything,” and disappeared.

Rising leisurely and slipping on his suit jacket, the Chairman spoke casually to Son Seongcheol, who still hadn’t lifted his head.

“Of course, whatever you see there—you didn’t see it. Whatever you hear—you didn’t hear it.”

Son Seongcheol narrowed his eyes instinctively, failing to grasp the meaning at once. The Chairman clicked his tongue.

“Some people insist on choosing the hard road when an easy one’s right there.”

The moment Son Seongcheol stepped into the laboratory, he would never return to his old life.

The Chairman knew that—and chose to bring him anyway.

Cowards like Son Seongcheol couldn’t wield a knife even if you handed them one. More often than not, they only ended up cutting themselves.

Even if he learned a massive secret, he’d tremble in fear, never knowing when it might tighten around his own neck.

And that would make him far easier to control. He wouldn’t pull pointless stunts like this again.

Unaware of any of that, Son Seongcheol silently followed behind the Chairman.

From the dead of night until dawn broke, the child chattered nonstop. Yu Hiiro tried several times to kick him out—but it was useless.

Since even getting out of bed was difficult, he had no choice but to listen to the endless rambling. Most of it didn’t even stick.

All he gathered was that the kid had just entered middle school, and that it had been a year since his experiments began.

“…You weren’t made here?”

The child’s story was strange—undeniably so.

He claimed he wasn’t an artificially created human born of genetic manipulation. He spoke casually of having a father. A mother. He even said he’d lived outside the lab before.

It was a life completely unlike that of Yu Hiiro—Test Subject 01—who had never once stepped outside the laboratory before middle school.

Then was this child really Test Subject 02?

“Made? What do you mean? Hyung, you weren’t listening to me, were you?!”

…What did it even matter?

A sense of futility washed over him. Yu Hiiro closed his mouth and lay back, staring blankly at the ceiling.

Suddenly, the child’s face popped into view again. Yu Hiiro extended a shadow and lifted him into the air. Dangling midair, the kid yelped in surprise—then burst into laughter, saying it was fun.

Annoying. Truly.

“Go already.”

Holding back the curse that nearly slipped out—because the kid was, at least, a child—Yu Hiiro gently set him down by the door.

But the kid came sprinting back like he had boosters strapped to his back and grabbed onto the bed rail.

“Whoa, that was insane! Hyung, you’re amazing! Way better than rides—like, a hundred, a thousand times better!”

“……”

“I’ve only been to an amusement park once. Like five years ago? I was too short back then, so I couldn’t ride the tall ones. But now I totally could!”

And just like that, he veered off again.

Yu Hiiro sincerely wanted to press the emergency call button. Maybe because of some flimsy sense of kinship as fellow test subjects, he didn’t actually want the researchers to drag the kid away in restraints—so he endured it.

But he was reaching his limit.

“Anyway, the researcher said once I fully recover and my ability stabilizes, I’ll be allowed to go outside! So when that happens, hyung—want to go to an amusement park together?”

“…Why would I go with you?”

Yu Hiiro let out a heavy sigh. Responding to such nonsense was giving him a headache.

“My stamina’s way better now! I can walk for three hours easy. Before the surgery, even thirty minutes was hard…”

“……”

The more he listened, the stranger the story of Test Subject 02 became.

“When I had surgery, the chief researcher told me I could become like you. Since you succeeded, I’m sure I will too!”

Ridiculous.

Not even worth responding to.

And yet—why did his mouth feel so bitter?

Yu Hiiro remained silent.

“…I’ll succeed, right?”

The faintly anxious voice wavered, as fragile as the first light of dawn breaking beyond the window.

“……”

The years Yu Hiiro had spent as a failed experiment, a useless defect, flashed through his mind.

The child in front of him was undoubtedly another victim caught in the Association’s schemes.

The claim that Yu Hiiro’s experiment had succeeded was a blatant lie.
The promise that he’d be released after recovery—another lie.

Yu Hiiro had burned research data to escape the Association and chosen the gray zone of being a Hunter, believing that once his name became known, the Association wouldn’t be able to treat him lightly.

And yet—here he was again.

The shackles the Association had fastened around him were far stronger, far more tenacious than he’d thought.

Yu Hiiro stared silently at the child, who still dreamed of a hollow hope.

What he saw reflected in that face—
Even he didn’t know.