“So...” Eun-Ho drew in a slow breath before continuing, “you’re saying... You’re going to turn down the promotion to permanent full-time employee?”

Saito nodded, his face still as rough and intimidating as the first time they’d met. “Yeah.”

“Just to confirm, is this actually allowed?” Eun-Ho asked.

“The hostess said it’s possible,” Saito replied. “But there’s no going back afterward.”

“So you’re volunteering to return? After seeing what that looked like?”

His answer came with pauses, but no hesitation. “... Yeah.”

“What are you thinking?” Eun-Ho asked quietly. Turning down the permanent full-time status didn’t make sense to him. “Are you planning to take down the system or something?”

Is this rebellion? An act of defiance? If so, it’s a foolish one, Eun-Ho thought.

He thought that if Saito truly wanted to destroy the system, then joining the headquarters as a permanent full-time employee was the smarter move.

You have to understand how the machine works before you can break or escape from it.

However, Saito’s reply went in an entirely different direction. “I’m the only one the remaining Japanese can rely on.”

“What?”

That line sounded strangely familiar.

“They’re all looking at you.”

“... What?”

“Doesn’t matter if you think you’re weak. To them, you’re the strongest, most reliable person left.”

Oh, that’s what I said earlier, Eun-Ho thought.

“Most of the people from our district can’t fight properly,” Saito went on. “If I don’t stay, they’ll all die.”

“That doesn’t mean you have to sacrifice yourself,” Eun-Ho countered.

“... I brought this on myself. I relied too much on my own power and never gave the others a real chance to fight.”

Eun-Ho opened his mouth to respond but closed it again. A decision made at the cost of one’s life left no room for outside opinions. Even so, he couldn’t bring himself to offer any comforting words like “You made the right choice,” or “It might not be so bad.” After all, he knew he would never have made that choice himself.

Then Saito gave a faint, bitter smile. “You said it yourself, didn’t you? A man shouldn’t abandon his people.”

“And besides, how am I supposed to trust a man who abandons his own people?”

“You’re right. I wasn’t thinking about that... I’ll remember your words.”

He was throwing Eun-Ho’s own words right back at him.

Ha... So he really took that to heart.

Apparently, he took it harder than Eun-Ho had realized. Maybe he should’ve kept his mouth shut back then.

I’d better stop meddling in other people’s lives from now on...

At the same time, Saito’s expression turned serious. “I heard that there were a lot of Koreans who awakened their abilities.”

“Yeah,” Eun-Ho replied. “That surprised me too.”

According to the report he’d stolen from the twins, Koreans had the lowest awakening rate.

“Among East Asians, particularly Koreans, mental resilience tends to be high due to their competitive environments, but they exhibit lower physical adaptability. Simulations indicate that the probability of awakening unique abilities is the lowest among this group, a result attributed to societal norms that discourage individual expression...”

Yet here they were.

Then, with a thoughtful frown, Saito made an unexpected claim. “I think... It might be because of you.”

“What do you mean?” Eun-Ho asked, frowning.

“During the tug-of-war and during the Siege Warfare today, too. Maybe seeing how desperately you fought to survive pushed them to awaken their skills.”

They awakened their abilities because of me? Eun-Ho thought.

That couldn’t be right.

“It’s all their own effort,” Eun-Ho replied flatly.

“There’s still a chance,” Saito said. “Having a leader who can turn even a speck of hope into something solid as a rock. Maybe that will give them the drive to keep going.”

Eun-Ho shook his head, dismissing it as nonsense. However, Saito just smiled faintly and stood up.

“It’s late. I should go.”

He looked resolute and determined.

As Eun-Ho watched him head for the door, he said quietly, “You’ll make it. You’ll survive.”

Click.

Saito stopped just as he was stepping out. “... You think we’ll ever meet again?”

“I’m sure we will,” Eun-Ho said.

Saito shot him a questioning look, as if to ask how can you be so sure?

“Well... We’re coworkers, aren’t we?” Eun-Ho said lightly.

That earned Eun-Ho a short, incredulous laugh. Somehow, the fierce gleam in Saito’s eyes, along with the scar cutting across his cheek, seemed softer.

“When that day comes,” he said, “I’ll be stronger.”

“... Just don’t die before then,” Eun-Ho replied.

Saito’s back grew smaller as he walked away down the hall. Then, Eun-Ho leaned his forehead against the open door. They hadn’t even been particularly close, yet his mind felt uncomfortably tangled.

If it were me...

He stood there for a while, thoughts unraveling like a knot of threads slowly coming loose.

A familiar voice called out. “Eun-Ho?”

“Oh, hi Ji-Eun.”

She stood in the hallway, dressed in comfortable training clothes. Her short hair was still damp, perhaps on her way back to her room after washing up.

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

“Oh, nothing,” he said quickly.

He started to return into his room, deciding there was no need to worry her. However, Ji-Eun caught the edge of his sleeve.

Rustle.

“You look... Troubled,” she said softly.

“Do I?”

“I don’t know what’s on your mind, but...” She met his eyes squarely, her round pupils reflecting the dim light of the hallway. “Do what your heart tells you.”

“My heart?”

“Yeah. It’s not like the world isn’t already over, right?”

It’s not like the world isn’t already over...

She wasn’t wrong.

Still, that’s not really something someone as decent as her should be saying, he thought with a faint laugh.

He cracked a wry smile and muttered, “What if I really take that to heart and start going off the rails?”

Ji-Eun just grinned, utterly unbothered. “Don’t worry. No matter how reckless you get, I don’t think you could ever cause any real trouble.”

“You trust me too much.”

“Then don’t trust me too much either,” she shot back playfully.

Her lighthearted teasing, instead of prying questions, made him oddly grateful.

“Ji-Eun.”

“Yeah?”

Before he knew it, the words slipped out.

“Would you like to go for a walk?”

“Huh?”

“The garden out front. You said it looks prettier at night, didn’t you? We couldn’t go last time because you were drunk.”

“R-right now?” she stammered, eyes widening like a startled rabbit.

Ah. Maybe that was too thoughtless. It’s nearly midnight, after all. Asking her to go somewhere now was probably rude. She looked ready for bed.

“Ah... You’re right, it’s too late. Sorry. Forget what I just s—”

Flustered, Eun-Ho turned to retreat into his room. Just as his hand touched the doorknob, Ji-Eun caught his wrist.

“W-well, it’s not like we’re going anywhere far...” she mumbled, her ears flushed red. “Let’s go for that walk.”

***

Morning had come and it was 9:00 AM.

“Young Man! Did you get good sleep?”

“Good morning, Hyungnim!”

The survivors gathered in front of the dormitory courtyard, faces bright and refreshed. Of course, that freshness melted away the moment the announcement echoed across the plaza.

[Attention, all new employees from Sector 13.]

[Project OJT will now begin.]

[Follow your mentors’ instructions, experience real fieldwork, and complete the OJT Trial successfully!]

“... What the hell?”

“It’s another trial? Are you kidding me?!”

People erupted in disbelief. Among them, Yeo-Jin blinked, confused.

“OJT? What’s that?” she asked.

“It’s like hands-on training at a company,” Eun-Ho explained.

On-the-job training was a program where new hires were assigned to actual departments to experience real work firsthand.

“In big companies, they usually rotate you through several departments.”

“Several departments?” Yeo-Jin repeated nervously.

“Yeah. Not sure how it’ll work here, though.”

At that, her expression stiffened with unease.

[Individual doors will now be generated.]

Pop! Pop! Pop! Pop! Pop...

One by one, doors materialized out of thin air.

[Lee Eun-Ho]

[Min Yeo-Jin]

[Kim Yul]

...

Each door had a name written across it.

“Don’t tell me we’re being split up into different teams?”

“Wait, what about Yul?!”

Han-Wool immediately looked around in panic. There wasn’t anyone to ask for help, but instinct drove him anyway.

This is dangerous.

No one knew who these so-called mentors were or whether this OJT trial was something a five-year-old could even survive. Probably thinking the same, Han-Wool’s hands trembled as he gripped Yul’s small shoulders.

“Yul, remember how I taught you to send a message to Daddy?”

“Yup! I can do it! Message!” the little girl chirped proudly.

However, unlike his daughter’s confidence, Han-Wool’s face was lined with dread and for good reason. Every message Yul had ever sent was full of gibberish.

- To: Lee Eun-Ho

- From: Kim Yul

- Message: dgl elkjga wed wljd

“Yul, don’t just press random buttons, okay? It’s better if you use your voice instead—”

“Mm! Yul can talk too! Taaalk!” she declared, stretching the word proudly.

While Han-Wool fought to maintain his composure, another small voice quietly joined in.

“... I’ll place a grand match,” Wei murmured.

“Huh?” Han-Wool blinked.

“If she’s unable to participate, I’ll know right away.”

Han-Wool’s eyes widened, his fear melting into pure relief. Then, he dropped to one knee and pulled the boy into a sudden, crushing hug. “T-thank you! Thank you so much! If anything happens to Yul, can you tell me right away?”

Wei froze, his usually blank eyes flaring open like a startled cat’s. For a moment, it was as if this was the first time in his life anyone had ever hugged him.

“Uh, I got it, so maybe let me go.”

“You’re such a good kid. Thank you. Really, thank you...” Han-Wool said, his voice trembling with relief.

Wei’s muffled grumble followed, barely audible. “... This is nothing though.”

Then the cold, mechanical voice of the system cut through the moment.

[Time is up.]

[Proceed to your assigned department.]

All emotions including fear, gratitude, and relief were swept away by the announcement.

“... Let’s go,” Eun-Ho said quietly.

Click.

He opened the door and took his first step forward into his new company life.

“Everyone, stay safe,” he called back.

“Yes, Hyungnim!”

“You too, Eun-Ho!”

***

“What are they saying?”

“Can you hear anything?”

In front of the Investigation Bureau’s main conference room, a young man pressed his ear against the frosted glass door.

“Shh,” he hissed, motioning for his fellows to quiet down.

“... That’s why our side should... ... handle it.”

“And what exactly... mean by that?”

The conversation inside came through in fragmented pieces, just enough to tease at meaning, but not enough to satisfy.

If only they’d speak a little louder...

The young man leaned in closer, his glasses clinking faintly against the glass.

“If you don’t like that, then just hand over one of your outstanding employees.”

“What do you mean?! We’ve gone through all this trouble to bring him here, and now you’re telling us to just give him up? How does that make any sense?”

“I don’t care. We’re not backing down. That’s final.”

They were talking about Lee Eun-Ho, the outstanding employee of Earth. They could only be talking about Lee Eun-Ho, the one every department was fighting to claim for his OJT assignment.

Normally, once a newcomer completed training, they’d be placed in the department that handled their OJT. Therefore, these departments were trying to grab him early, hoping to secure a permanent placement later. It made sense they wanted to build a rapport now, especially since outstanding employees were given the rare privilege of choosing their own department. Still, this level of arguing was rare.

“This isn’t fair! It’s our turn this cycle! Why is an outstanding employee being assigned to Division 9 again?!”

Even the sight of people raising their voices was rare. After all, with a hundred new hires every intake, it wasn’t uncommon for a few capable ones to show up.

“You do realize we’re about to launch a new project, don’t you? We need to start preparations early.”

A new project?

The eavesdropper’s shoulders twitched as he straightened his glasses.

The fellow beside him furrowed his brow. “What’s that about? Didn’t they say you were the one leading the new project?”

“... This is the first I’ve heard of it.”

Could they seriously be planning to saddle me with a rookie for my first solo assignment? No way.

He thought that was absurd. The guy was still practically fresh out of Earth—or so he thought, until he heard the next line.

“Isn’t there an assistant manager in Division 9? Just let him handle it!”

“Jeong can’t do it alone!”

“Excuse me?”

“He’s sharp, sure, but he is still too inexperienced. The outstanding employee has combat ability too, so they’ll make a good pair.”

What? Cheong Jeong, the youngest analyst in Division 9 of the Investigation Bureau’s Data Analysis Department, felt his face scrunch up like crumpled paper.

His fellows couldn’t help but chime in.

“Looks like the rookie’s gonna steal your spotlight, huh?”

“Man, after all the hoops you jumped through to get that solo project... That’s rough.”

“Forget it,” said Cheong, pushing himself away from the door with a curt motion, “... What happens if someone fails their OJT trials?”

“Huh?”

“There were a few in our intake who didn’t complete theirs,” Cheong Jeong continued. “What happened to them?”

The fellow beside him frowned, as though recalling something unpleasant. He leaned in close and whispered, “Well... Their department placements were canceled, and they were disposed of.”

“Disposed of,” Cheong Jeong echoed softly. Then he tilted his head, his eyes glinting. “You mean turned into materials, right?”

He was referring to the kind that never even got the chance to start a new life.

“... Yeah. Quality materials are always in short supply.”

“Hmm. I see. Alright then. Let’s go,” Cheong said, smiling faintly.

It wasn’t a kind smile. There was something oily and malicious in the way his lips curved.

“You’re not seriously planning to make the rookie fail on purpose, are you? If anyone finds out—”

“Relax,” Cheong Jeong said, waving a hand as he strode down the hall. “I’m not stupid.”

Then, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose, he said, “We’ll make it look natural.”

His eyes glimmered behind the lenses, cold and predatory.