I couldn't trust Woo Min-hee, so I attempted communication as far from my territory as possible, in a barren wasteland.

“Wait there. I’ll send someone to get you.”

Since the Gukwiwon had relocated to Jeju Island, the fate of those left behind seemed bleak.

Even the once-prominent Kim Daram had gone missing.

Searching for her name in Failnet turned up nothing, even within its vast sea of information.

Woo Min-hee was different.

She still had power.

A helicopter showed up just to fetch me to the meeting spot.

“Are you Mr. Park Gyu?”

“Yes, that’s me.”

“Please board. Director Woo Min-hee is expecting you.”

So, she had climbed the ranks.

I wondered what kind of agency she was heading now, but seeing the tight-lipped soldiers and their averted gazes, I figured it was better to ask her directly.

The helicopter took me to Incheon.

Now the de facto capital of South Korea, Incheon had replaced the destroyed and abandoned Seoul.

More than anything, it was the sea that drew people to Incheon.

The harbor was teeming with ships. People were welding on the decks, loading cargo, and preparing for departure.

The destination? Jeju Island.

Although the Gukwiwon, which controlled Jeju, hadn’t made any official statements, the government was reportedly preparing to send a massive fleet of dozens of ships there.

Countless people loitered along the pier, watching the workers or wandering aimlessly without a clear purpose.

At the far end of the pier stood a research facility without a signboard.

“This is it.”

This monochrome concrete building appeared to be the agency Woo Min-hee was directing.

Inside, bright white lights and spotless white tiles greeted me.

“You’re Mr. Park Gyu, correct?”

A bespectacled woman I’d never seen before greeted me.

“Yes, that’s me.”

“My name is Kim Soo-jin. I’m here to guide you on behalf of Director Woo Min-hee.”

“Where is Director Woo Min-hee?”

“She’s currently out. I don’t expect her back today, so I’ll be handling this instead.”

I followed Kim Soo-jin into the research facility.

Inside, people in white lab coats were bustling around with documents and laptops.

As an outsider, I couldn’t tell what they were so busy with, but the constant phone calls and the way they hammered away at their keyboards suggested they had plenty to do.

Then again, a quick glance revealed people gathered in corners, holding coffee cups and chatting, or lounging in chairs with their eyes closed.

It was hard to tell if they were truly swamped or just pretending to be.

As we walked further in, we passed a room filled with kids who looked to be around middle school age. Their curious eyes followed us as we walked by.

I waited until we were out of their sight before asking Kim Soo-jin, “Why are there so many kids here?”

“They’re new recruits for the Guard.”

“The Guard?”

“Yes.”

“I heard they’re demolishing it tomorrow.”

“That’s the old school in Seoul. The new one on Jeju is being set up to train children with Awakener aptitude into new hunters. Our facility is responsible for finding, recruiting, and protecting talented children for that purpose.”

“So, all those kids are going to Jeju?”

“Some of them might. They’ll have to pass various tests first.”

“Psychological resonance tests, for example?”

“Yes. You seem well-informed.”

Kim Soo-jin glanced at me for the first time, a flicker of displeasure in her eyes.

It was clear she didn’t want to say more, and I decided not to push it.

After that, we walked a long distance in complete silence.

As we went deeper into the facility, the smell of disinfectant grew stronger, mingled faintly with the stench of corpses.

“This is the place.”

She led me into a dimly lit room.

Several researchers, their eyes hollow, were staring at monitors.

They didn’t even glance up when we entered.

In one corner of the room, medical beds were crammed together. On each bed lay a body, its face covered with a cloth.

“They’re zombies,” Kim Soo-jin said, not looking at me.

That might be true, but why did their small, cold hands look so human?

The face of the boy who had once handed me a laptop flitted through my mind.

Beyond the room filled with corpses was an eerily quiet hallway lined with numerous doors, each with a small bench outside.

A tall girl, who looked to be in her late teens or early twenties, was the only person sitting in the hallway.

When she saw Kim Soo-jin, she bowed her head slightly.

“Any improvement?”

At Kim Soo-jin’s question, the girl gave an awkward smile and shook her head.

Kim Soo-jin opened the door next to her.

“This is it.”

A man sat at a desk, perfectly upright.

It didn’t take long for me to recognize him.

“Instructor Jang.”

It was Instructor Jang Ki-young.

Completely unharmed, as if untouched by time.

But something was off.

Even as the door opened and I called out to him, he didn’t respond.

“Instructor?”

I tried again.

His piercing eyes, which had earned him the nickname “Tiger Instructor,” were unchanged, but his pupils were dull and cloudy.

“…”

Like a soulless husk, my old mentor sat there, scribbling in a notebook.

But nothing he wrote made it onto the page.

Scratch, scratch.

The notebook was already full, and the pen he held had long run out of ink.

“Haah…”

Kim Soo-jin let out a sigh beside me.

“Still no response. Let’s go.”

“I’d like some answers.”

Judging by her face, my glare must have been intimidating.

For the first time, a shadow of fear crossed the otherwise rigid expression of Kim Soo-jin.

*

On the CCTV screen, Jang Ki-young looked perfectly normal.

He flipped through a book while seated at his desk, occasionally standing with his hands clasped behind his back to pace the narrow room. At times, he would lie down on the bed and stare blankly at the ceiling for minutes on end.

“So that’s what happened.”

Jang Ki-young had turned his insane ideas into reality—the ones he had once mentioned to me: death, mutation, and resurrection.

Unfortunately, his experimental attempts had yielded no results.

“This is the outcome,” Kim Soo-jin said, handing me a sheet.

Black.

The same color as Suer’s and mine.

I silently observed my mentor on the low-resolution screen.

“At first, his condition was fine. He spoke, ate, and even moved about normally. But then his condition rapidly declined, and he ended up like this.”

“…Is it dementia?”

“It’s worse. He’s neither alive nor dead right now.”

As I listened to her explanation, I finally noticed it:

Jang Ki-young’s fingers were missing a few joints.

It must have been from frostbite during the last severe cold wave, forcing him to amputate.

“So, he’s a human and a zombie at the same time.”

What’s the difference between the two?

I had killed countless zombies, but I’d never drawn a strict line between humans and zombies.

If something that was clearly dead stood up, moved, and attacked people, that was a zombie to me.

Kim Soo-jin’s distinction, however, was much more specific.

“A zombie, by current definition, is a human corpse with ceased heart and brain activity, reanimated by mutation factors causing abnormal biological processes in the brain and organs.”

She showed me a few visual documents.

“As you can see, mutation factors have induced abnormal changes in Jang Ki-young’s brain and organs. Do you see the protrusions here?”

“Yes.”

“But he’s alive. His heart beats, and his brainwaves are normal. Whether by brain death theories or cardiopulmonary cessation theories, Jang Ki-young is technically still human. Yet, as you can see, he’s in that state.”

I looked back at the CCTV screen.

Jang Ki-young sat upright, his trademark stiff posture, staring blankly into the air with sunken, hollow eyes. He chewed his lips incessantly, his expression suggesting anger.

Was he truly angry?

And if so, at what?

If I were in his position, I’d be confused.

After all, the one he should be angry at is none other than himself—the man who destroyed his own life pursuing powers he could never obtain.

Kim Soo-jin turned to me.

“The reason you were called is because you’re one of Jang Ki-young’s acquaintances. Director Woo Min-hee specifically requested it.”

She sighed shallowly, her gaze drifting to the file she was holding as if the weight of the situation was draining her.

“But it seems you’ve had no better luck. You couldn’t bring back what Jang Ki-young has lost.”

“Is that so?”

“There’s no need to be disheartened. You saw the tall girl outside, didn’t you?”

“Yes.”

“She’s Jang Ki-young’s daughter. He adored her so much he fought his ex-wife for custody. And yet, he doesn’t even recognize her now.”

I asked for a moment alone to talk to his daughter.

She was still sitting on the bench, staring at her phone.

When I got closer, I saw the Failnet logo.

John Nae-non.

Even here, his influence reached.

She was scrolling through the [Celebrity News Board].

“Hello,” I greeted her.

She looked up at me blankly, tilting her head slightly before her eyes widened in recognition.

“Oh!”

“What is it?”

“Are you one of my dad’s students?”

“Good guess.”

She quickly tapped on her phone and showed me a photo.

“This was you, right? The one standing next to my dad?”

The photo showed a younger Jang Ki-young, still in his thirties, standing proudly beside his students.

“He always said you were his proud students.”

I couldn’t help but chuckle at the photo.

Perhaps it was my overly rigid posture that made me laugh, or maybe it was seeing Kim Daram looking so awkward, Lee Sang-hoon clinging desperately to the prettiest female classmate, Woo Min-hee striking a model pose off to the side, and Gong Gyeong-min crossing his arms in a bizarre fighting stance.

But most strikingly, at the farthest edge of the group, stood Kang Han-min, slouching with a shadow of unease on his face, slightly separated from the others.

That guy.

So he had come for the group photo after all.

I had thought he skipped it.

“So, you must know my name too, then?” I asked after a moment.

“Nope. I don’t. My dad showed me photos of his students but never mentioned their names. The savior, Kang Han-min, must be one of them, though!”

Her eyes sparkled suddenly.

“Are… are you Kang Han-min?!”

“No, I’m not anyone that impressive.”

“Right, I guess someone that amazing wouldn’t be hanging out here.”

From the start, something about her had struck me as odd:

She showed no sadness. Not even a trace.

“Are you okay?” I asked.

“About what?”

“Aren’t you worried about your dad?”

“Not really. I haven’t seen him since elementary school. You know what he was like, don’t you? That temper of his.”

“…It was bad,” I admitted.

“Exactly. You wouldn’t understand unless you’d experienced it yourself. Ugh.”

She rolled her eyes and tapped her chest as if exasperated by old memories.

“Why are you here, then?”

I asked, even though I already knew the answer.

“The communication’s good here, the meals are decent, but mainly, I’m trying to get to Jeju.”

She handed me a resonance sheet.

Unlike her father’s, which remained black even in his current state, hers had shifted to a faint pink.

“Oh, I didn’t know it could turn this color.”

“You don’t know the gradient? Black, blue, red, gray, white?”

“White is the best, I assume?”

“Exactly!”

“And where are you?”

“Probably somewhere between red and gray. They say gray is the safety zone, but I’ve got my dad, so…”

She glanced at the closed door behind her with a bitter smile.

“They said if my dad wakes up, they’ll let me into Jeju on a special admission. That lady, Woo Min-hee, promised me.”

“Lady? Isn’t she more like an aunt than a sister?”

“She looks good for her age. You’re pretty rude, huh?”

“…”

I said my farewells to the unnamed girl and returned to Kim Soo-jin.

“What will happen to Instructor Jang now?”

Kim Soo-jin hesitated, clearly searching for a way to soften the blow.

“Just be honest. I’m ready to accept whatever it is.”

At that, she finally answered.

“We’ll dispose of him.”

“…Dispose of him?”

“Even if we don’t, he’ll likely turn into a zombie soon. He hasn’t eaten or drunk anything for four days now.”

She sighed and added, “Frankly, it might be better for him to find eternal rest than to wander around like a ghost.”

I never got to see Woo Min-hee.

I spent the night in the comfortable accommodations she provided, had a decent meal, and reflected on my situation.

It was clear to me now:

I wasn’t important to her.

She had called me here on a whim.

To her, I was nothing more than that.

“Professor…”

Lying on the bed with sunlight streaming in at an angle, I whispered the callsign once spoken with reverence.

The man who had given me that name would soon be disposed of.

Coincidentally, the time of Jang Ki-young’s disposal coincided with the dynamite demolition of my alma mater.