Inside the armored transport, the hum of the engine was the only clean, steady sound. Everything else felt crowded: clipped radio chatter, the distant wail of sirens weaving through the city.

Yoon Seon barely noticed any of it.

He sat by the window, his knees drawn in slightly, hands locked together in his lap. He wasn’t trembling, but he wasn’t still either—just somewhere tight in the middle, jaw clenched, eyes locked on the blur of passing buildings.

Across from him sat Woo Taeo, posture straight, legs slightly parted, hands resting against his knees. He hadn’t looked at Seon since they boarded the car. He read from a tablet, silent and composed, as if the world wasn’t tilting sideways outside.

The third person—the loudest presence in the car—sat in the front passenger seat, back angled toward them.

Director Hwang.

He didn’t bother to soften his voice.

“The situation at Ilhwa Public Beach has escalated again,” he briefed, flipping through his own files. “As of 9:12 AM, the growth rate of the Abyss distortion surpassed Level 6. Rescue teams have pulled sixty-seven civilians so far, but monsters are emerging faster than expected.”

Seon’s fingers twitched.

He kept his eyes on the window.

Taeo didn’t move.

Director Hwang continued, “The government has approved the deployment of all available A-Class and above. Additional backup is on-site but unable to enter until we stabilize the upper perimeter.”

Again, silence from both of them.

Director Hwang turned slightly, eyes shifting to the two young men over the rim of his glasses.

“Yoon Seon.”

Seon didn’t turn.

It took a moment before he responded, quiet and flat:

“…Yes.”

“You will be entering the Abyss once the first containment layer is secured.”

A small pulse of light blinked on Seon’s wrist—his stability bracelet reacting to the spike in his vitals.

Taeo noticed.

Director Hwang noticed.

But Seon didn’t react.

“In addition,” Director Hwang went on, “before you are cleared to advance, you are required to undergo full stabilization.”

Now Seon finally turned, barely.

His eyes were unreadable.

“…I don’t need it.”

Director Hwang’s tone hardened.

“This is not an option. Not today.”

“I said I don’t—”

“This is an S-Class Abyss, Seon.”

That shut him up.

Director Hwang looked straight at him—stern, unflinching.

“And your mental barrier readings have been unstable since Monday. We are not sending you in like that.”

Seon swallowed once but didn’t argue. He only turned his face away again, back toward the window and the disappearing skyline.

Taeo finally lifted his gaze from the tablet.

“You expect me to perform a full stabilization on an S-Class Esper inside a moving car?” he asked calmly.

Director Hwang didn’t flinch.

“I expect you to be ready to do it the moment we arrive.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“It’s the one you’re getting.”

Taeo’s jaw ticked just slightly—a quiet annoyance. But he didn’t push further.

Seon sat back in his seat, letting the quiet press down on him like weight.

He exhaled slowly, barely audible.

Director Hwang turned to Seon again.

“We’re not repeating what happened with Ji-an.”

Taeo’s eyes flicked up sharply.

The name sat heavy in the air—too heavy for such a small car.

Seon’s entire posture stiffened, like someone had driven a pin into his spine. His bracelet blinked again, brief and purple.

He didn’t answer.

He didn’t even breathe for a moment.

Director Hwang continued, unaware or uncaring about the tension he’d just carved open between them.

“I should not need to remind you,” he said, voice low, “that your last S-Class entry resulted in your guide’s disappearance.”

Taeo’s fingers paused over the tablet.

Guide?

Ji-an was Seon’s guide?

There was nothing about that in the public records he’d scanned.

Nothing in the internal files either.

And the way Seon’s jaw clenched—

The way his shoulders tightened—

It wasn’t professional.

It wasn’t normal.

It was personal.

Very personal.

Director Hwang went on, softer this time:

“You lost consciousness. The entire team lost contact with both of you. When we retrieved you… Ji-an wasn’t there.”

Seon shut his eyes briefly.

Not long enough to look vulnerable.

Just long enough to soundlessly say: please stop talking.

Taeo watched him quietly.

Not with empathy.

Not even with curiosity.

More like… analysis.

A puzzle piece that wasn’t fitting anywhere he expected.

The transport turned sharply, leaving the highway. The streets opened into a coastal district—Ilhwa. Normally a place of food stalls, umbrellas, families with beach towels.

Today it was barricades, smoke, and flashing emergency lights.

The glow of the Abyss hovered faintly in the sky, a rippling violet stain that distorted the air above the shoreline.

They were still kilometers away, yet Seon could already feel it—like cold fingers gripping the edges of his mind.

Director Hwang tapped his earpiece.

“Team Alpha, report.”

Crackling static filled the car for a second, followed by a strained voice:

“Director—monsters just breached the second fence. We’re holding them, but we need reinforcements.”

“Maintain formation. We’re arriving shortly.”

The Director lowered his hand.

“Listen carefully, both of you,” he said. “When you exit this vehicle, the situation will escalate quickly. Do not get separated from the main group. And you—” he looked at Seon, “—will not enter the Abyss unless stabilized.”

Seon said nothing.

Taeo leaned back slightly, watching him.

Director Hwang turned to Taeo next.

“And if he refuses, you override him.”

Seon’s head snapped toward him.

“You’re not forcing—”

“You don’t make that call,” Director Hwang said sharply.

Taeo held Seon’s gaze for the first time since morning—steady, calm, nearly bored.

“I won’t force anything unless necessary,” he said quietly. “But don’t give me a reason to.”

Seon scowled and looked away again.

The Director exhaled.

The exhaustion crept into his voice, even if he tried to hide it.

“You both know how dangerous this is. We can’t afford another—”

He stopped himself, choosing his words more carefully.

“…incident like last time.”

Seon’s stomach twisted.

Taeo filed the reaction away silently.

Ji-an.

The previous guide.

The missing guide.

There was a story there—

and Taeo intended to learn it.

The coastline came into view as they crossed the final checkpoint.

Ilhwa Public Beach was unrecognizable.

Sand had become cracked, warped ground. The shoreline glowed with a sickly purple sheen. Trees bent in impossible directions. Pieces of abandoned stalls smoldered. People were still being escorted onto ambulances.

Above it all, the Abyss door pulsed—large enough to swallow a warehouse whole.

Dozens of Espers gathered near the command tents. Some strapped weapons to their belts; some received emergency injections; others tightened their gloves or adjusted their harnesses. Guides hurried between them, checking vitals, coordinating teams.

It was chaos.

It was fear.

It was the exact kind of place Seon never wanted to return to.

The transport slowed, then rolled to a full stop.

Director Hwang unbuckled immediately.

“Both of you, out.”

Seon’s grip tightened on the door handle for a moment—brief hesitation—before he pushed it open and stepped into the noise, the heat, the tension.

Taeo followed behind him, landing lightly on the gravel.

Director Hwang slammed the door shut and signaled for a nearby officer.

Within seconds, two assistants rushed over with equipment.

Espers turned to look at Seon.

Guides murmured when they saw Taeo.

The two S-Classes had arrived.

The battlefield shifted around them like a held breath.

And through all the noise—

all the footsteps and shouting and weapons loading—

Taeo leaned in just slightly toward Seon, voice low and calm.

“Ji-an,” he said.

“Who were they to you?”

Seon froze.

Just for a beat.

Then he walked forward, not answering a single thing.

Taeo watched his back.

So that was how it was going to be.