I looked at her face.

That face, which had once made my heart flutter, hadn’t changed much, but the sea-like eyes now carried a vivid antipathy.

That was a good sign.

It meant she still harbored the elite pride of someone from our school.

She spoke with a sneer.

“I didn’t hide like you did.”

As expected of someone not used to keyboard battles—her emotions wavered easily.

Enjoying a rare moment of composure, I replied.

“That’s right. I did. Maybe I’ll go into hiding again if things go badly. I’m actually preparing for that.”

“Preparing?”

“Yeah. If things don’t go well, I’ll return to the bunker. I might just watch the world from there until every last human dies. I’ll see Red Archive fall apart too, which I know you’d love.”

“That game? I only pretended to play it. It’s basically dead already.”

Na Hye-in smirked bitterly as she glanced at her phone.

The phone’s basic functions still worked, but our message board didn’t.

Maybe that’s why?

[404 not found]

A familiar connection error had popped up on Na Hye-in’s screen.

“Good.”

She let out a deep sigh, then looked straight at me.

“Emily’s a girl from China.”

So she was finally ready to tell the story.

“She was such a bright, cute, lovely kid.”

A cheerful start.

But surely, it ends in a bad ending.

Hoping it wasn’t an explosive one, I listened to my old colleague’s words.

*

The deep ties between Korea’s political and business elites and China were well-known.

In the business world, those ties were even deeper—inevitable, really, given Korea’s economy was built on intermediate goods trade with China.

That’s probably why people could nonchalantly say war would never break out. But that isn’t what matters here.

What matters is that China’s upper class could also become Awakened.

Some, like Kang Han-min and Na Hye-in, were alpha-level Awakened.

The Chinese girl known only as Emily was one of the children of that upper class.

If she’d been the daughter of a regular migrant worker or city laborer, she’d have been dragged off without a trace, used as a test subject for the good of China’s 1.3 billion citizens. But being a child of China’s nobility disqualified her from such an “honor.”

Thanks to that, she passed through dozens of airport cameras equipped with China’s proud facial recognition tech, boarded a flight to Korea, landed at Incheon Airport, and was handed off to a suspiciously kind Korean who took her to a government-run shelter.

“Jin Meilin, I think? That might’ve been her real name. I don’t know exactly. But there was clearly a reason her real name couldn’t be revealed. So everyone just called her Emily.”

The exact timeline is unclear, but it must’ve been around when I was patrolling Paju with Lee Haeng-taek.

“I was in charge of her training.”

For a brief moment, regret flickered in Na Hye-in’s eyes as she gazed out toward the open sea.

At the time, Na Hye-in and Kang Han-min were already heroes widely known in China as well.

But when Emily came over, the Chinese government had already classified Awakened as threats, so all training had to take place inside Korea.

“She was smart, kind. But very lonely.”

Na Hye-in, absentmindedly twirling a lock of her hair—something she never usually did—added,

“She was... a bit of a bother.”

I’m that way myself, but Na Hye-in is also the independent, solitude-loving type.

We don’t know exactly what happened between her and Emily, but a girl like Emily, who craved companionship, wouldn’t have paired well with someone like Na Hye-in, who found people troublesome.

“...In the end, the kid went to Kang Han-min.”

The regret in Na Hye-in’s eyes deepened.

“I wanted to stop it, but I couldn’t. Everyone in the department knew how much she admired him.”

At the time, Kang Han-min’s popularity as a national hero was peaking.

The first over-level-10 Awakened.

A man who crushed hordes of monsters singlehandedly.

The one who would close the rifts and bring peace to humanity.

Na Hye-in held a similar rank, but unlike Kang Han-min, she wasn’t active publicly and lagged in field performance.

The differences in how often they appeared in media, the subtle deference they received in public—it was obvious.

It doesn’t take much imagination to guess how a starry-eyed girl would’ve seen Kang Han-min.

Not to mention, he wore makeup back then, had some cosmetic work done, and was managed by a dedicated coordinator.

Anyway, Emily ended up so close to Kang Han-min that people mistook her for his lover.

“There were rumors they slept together, but... who knows. Doesn’t really matter.”

Staring vacantly at the endless waves, Na Hye-in continued.

“...What matters is that Kang Han-min used her for his plan.”

Officially, the two were always paired as a set—Kang Han-min and Na Hye-in—but privately, they didn’t even follow each other on social media, let alone talk.

They weren’t on bad terms, but Na Hye-in instinctively avoided him, and he accepted that, creating a natural distance.

They didn’t have factions or spies either.

So there was no way for Na Hye-in to know what his plan was.

The only information she had was that Emily had been inside the rift for over a month.

Eventually, Na Hye-in asked Kang Han-min directly where Emily was.

“Oh? Her? Don’t worry. I don’t have feelings for her or anything. She’s just chasing after me on her own.”

“How’s she doing? The mission report says she’s been inside the rift for a month. Isn’t that dangerous?”

“She’s adjusting fine. She’s too lonely, but I’ll go comfort her.”

With a sly smile, Kang Han-min watched her reaction.

That’s when Na Hye-in said she felt a sickening sensation, like a snake slithering up her spine.

Yes.

Kang Han-min still had lingering feelings for her.

Knowing that made her pull even further away.

And a big part of that distance came from how he acted.

“She can’t live without me.”

Trying to provoke her when she didn’t even look his way.

Na Hye-in found it absurd, but she didn’t show it.

All she cared about was the safety of Emily—the Chinese girl no longer under her protection.

“At the time, they were researching whether long-term survival inside a rift was possible. You were the catalyst, Park Gyu. Because you survived nearly a month and came back. So they tested general civilians, then low-level Awakened, then regular Awakened. They even built this sci-fi-looking rift base like something out of a Mars movie.”

At the time, over-level-10 Awakened were incredibly rare and valuable assets.

Even with Woo Min-hee awakening and increasing the count, no one wanted to use someone that valuable in a risky experiment.

As cruel as it sounds, Emily was a suitable resource.

Kang Han-min used her repeatedly for those experiments.

Na Hye-in knew the full story but didn’t intervene.

A vague sense of resentment toward Kang Han-min, her closed-off nature that avoided trouble, and her strong exterior hiding a fragile resolve when it really mattered—all contributed to her inaction.

Then one day, Emily came to Na Hye-in’s dorm.

“Jiùmìng a!”

In pale terror, barefoot and in pajamas, she dove into Na Hye-in’s arms.

A terrible dread swept over her.

Emily’s tangled hair had lost its former texture. Her already slender body was now like a skeleton. Most of all, the sparkle in her eyes—once filled with confidence and affection—had vanished, replaced by a hollow gray anxiety.

Gently stroking her hair, Na Hye-in asked in Chinese,

“What happened?”

She says she used Cantonese then.

Cold on the outside but warm on the inside—that was her way of showing care.

The girl sobbed even harder and buried her face deeper into her chest.

“He’s trying to turn me into a monster. That man... he’s trying to make me a monster!”

“A monster?”

At the time, the exact nature of the Nemesis-type wasn’t widely known.

At least not its connection to humans.

Na Hye-in tried to calm her and seek other explanations.

“I knew Kang Han-min was up to something, but I ignored it. No, maybe I looked away on purpose. But once it came to this, I had to face the truth. I had to see it.”

Someone like Na Hye-in couldn’t possibly be unaware that Kang Han-min was plotting something.

In fact, she had access to most projects.

But not his.

Kang Han-min had locked it.

That was strange.

On paper, she and Kang Han-min were equals and teammates. There should’ve been no barrier between them.

While Emily tried to calm down, Na Hye-in kept trying to access the records. But the database denied her every time.

Then, almost on a whim, she searched for the girl called Emily.

And realized something.

The girl called Emily... didn’t exist in the records.

She was a non-person.

A void.

Kang Han-min showed up not long after.

“Emily, you in there?”

Relaxed. Expression unreadable. That was how he spoke.

Na Hye-in glared at him with hostility.

He didn’t care.

He even stood on tiptoes, trying to peek past her into the house.

“What are you doing?”

She snapped.

“What do you mean?”

“I asked what you’re doing to Emily.”

“Nothing.”

“Look me in the eye.”

She growled, her voice low like thunder.

At last, he looked at her—but then quickly looked away.

Whether it was because he couldn’t handle her gaze or had something to hide, she /N_o_v_e_l_i_g_h_t/ couldn’t tell. But one thing was certain.

He backed down.

From the beginning, they’d stood on completely different social rungs.

Na Hye-in—top caste. Kang Han-min—bottom.

That inferiority and power dynamic still carried real weight, even after the world had changed.

“...I’ll come back later.”

She had protected her.

Breathing a silent sigh of relief, Na Hye-in watched him leave—

When something ghostly gray brushed past her.

Emily.

“Oppa!”

She clung to Kang Han-min’s arm.

At that moment, Na Hye-in didn’t know what to think.

Emily turned and looked back.

Those hollow eyes were no longer human.

Words like brainwashing, gaslighting, coercion stormed through Na Hye-in’s mind.

In silence, Kang Han-min glanced at her, then walked forward with Emily.

Watching the girl who once cried in her arms walk away, Na Hye-in knew—she’d never see that girl again.

“Hey.”

She barely managed to speak.

Both turned to look at her.

First, Kang Han-min’s gaze.

She turned away.

Then Emily’s.

Short, but it pierced like the gaze of a student to her teacher.

Na Hye-in hesitated—

But said nothing. Just bowed her head.

“...I should’ve stopped her. But I didn’t.”

And so the girl called Emily disappeared.

From all records. From reality.

Na Hye-in never spoke of it again. Neither did Kang Han-min.

With a long sigh, the tale of the girl named Emily ended in hollow silence.

“It wasn’t brainwashing or coercion.”

Na Hye-in gave a lonely smile.

“She had no other choice. From her point of view... there was no other option but to follow him.”

Na Hye-in could have given her another choice.

But she didn’t see it either.

Because her own perspective wasn’t so different from Emily’s.

“Kang Han-min isn’t like us.”

Her eyes met mine, her expression changed.

“He’s insane. Completely insane. No one can understand what’s going through his head. Who could interpret a madman’s dream?”

“Is that so?”

A sudden certainty washed over me.

Maybe... Na Hye-in was the key to meeting Kang Han-min.

“I want to meet Kang Han-min.”

“Kang Han-min?”

She looked at me like I’d lost it.

“Didn’t you hear what I just said? He’s not like us. He doesn’t even see the world the same way. Even Jeong Dae-kyung changed after meeting him!”

Her shoulders trembled slightly.

I knew.

She feared him more than anyone.

“I never told you all this until now... for your sake.”

“...Really?”

“There’s nothing good to gain from meeting him. Last time you were lucky. Next time, you won’t be.”

My mind was made up.

Honestly, I’d been preparing for this one moment all along.

“I want to hear Kang Han-min’s truth.”

“Park Gyu...”

“I don’t like him either. He makes me uneasy. But he’s the only one who can solve our—humanity’s—problem.”

“This time... you might die.”

I scoffed.

“Me? To someone like that?”

Na Hye-in looked straight at me.

In that moment, it felt like I saw the future.

Yes.

Maybe she was about to unleash a shockwave. Maybe it was her way of sending a signal through the rift that had torn open the world.

BOOM!

A shockwave like a tsunami shattered the silence.

She probably meant to demonstrate the gap in our power—to make me give up.

At this range, such a shockwave would normally be lethal to someone like me.

But what awaited me was—

“...”

Another discovery.

“?”

Na Hye-in stared at me in disbelief.

Then another strange flash passed through my mind.

BOOM!

A second, even stronger shockwave—pure over-level-10 Awakened energy—shook the entire building.

“...”

The old me might’ve fainted or at least staggered from the impact.

But not anymore.

“Park Gyu... you?”

Unlike Na Hye-in’s flushed, shocked, and invigorated face, mine remained calm.

I smiled.

“I think I’ve changed a bit.”

At the crossroads Lee Haeng-taek had pointed to, I didn’t go right.

I went left.

Whether it was the right choice, I’m still not sure.

But one thing is clear.

I, Park Gyu, seem to have gained some kind of immunity to the mystery that is the rift.

And some stories only begin when both sides stand as equals.

Watching as the past vibrancy slowly returned to her shocked eyes, I asked,

“How can I meet Kang Han-min?”

I’ll find my path.