The door closed with a sound that was too soft to be accidental.
Not a slam.Not a lock.
Just a final click that told Joon-seok exactly how much choice he still had.
Very little.
The man who had introduced himself as "Central Operations" did not extend a hand. He didn't need to. His presence already carried authority heavy enough to replace formalities.
"Please remain calm," the man said. "This is still an evaluation."
Joon-seok's gaze shifted—not to the man, but to the C-rank behind him.
The hunter stood stiffly, hands clenched at his sides, eyes unfocused like someone who'd just woken from a nightmare and wasn't sure which parts were real yet.
The thread hadn't disappeared.
That was the problem.
It hadn't strengthened either.
It just… remained.
Like a wire left plugged in.
"You said no direct link," Joon-seok said.
The handler from earlier stood off to the side, tablet in hand, expression composed. "And you weren't informed of one."
"That wasn't my point."
The man from Central Operations watched him closely. Not aggressively. Not defensively.
As if he were observing a mechanism under stress.
"Words matter," the man said. "So does phrasing."
Joon-seok exhaled slowly. "You induced it."
"We created conditions," the man corrected. "You responded."
Behind him, the C-rank swallowed.
"I—I felt clearer," the hunter said hesitantly. "Like I knew what to do before I thought about it."
Joon-seok turned his head. "Are you hurt?"
"No. Just… tired."
That confirmed it.
The link wasn't symmetric.
"Name," Joon-seok asked.
The handler hesitated. Just a fraction of a second too long.
"Park Min-jae," she said.
Min-jae nodded quickly, like he was afraid not to.
Joon-seok filed the reaction away.
"This test is over," Joon-seok said.
The man from Central Operations smiled faintly. "That wasn't a request."
"I'm aware."
"You are currently under Association jurisdiction."
"I am currently under White Fang's protection."
The air shifted.
Not mana.
Politics.
The handler glanced between them, fingers tightening around her tablet.
The man's smile didn't fade. "Temporary jurisdiction supersedes guild protection in evaluation scenarios."
Joon-seok looked at Min-jae again.
The thread stirred slightly at the shift of attention.
He pulled back immediately.
"Then remove him," Joon-seok said. "You have your data."
The man studied him. "You're concerned about collateral."
"I'm concerned about consent."
That earned a pause.
A real one.
"Escort Hunter Park out," the man said eventually.
Min-jae blinked. "S-sir?"
"You did well," the handler said smoothly. "You'll be debriefed."
Relief flooded Min-jae's face so fast it was painful to watch.
As he was led away, his eyes flicked back to Joon-seok.
Grateful.
Uncomfortable.
Attached.
The door closed again.
The thread loosened.
But it didn't vanish.
Silence returned.
Heavier now.
"You could have refused," the man said.
"So could you."
"Yes," the man agreed. "But then we wouldn't be talking."
Joon-seok finally met his gaze fully.
"Who are you?"
"Director Han Seong-min," the man replied. "Central Operations Division."
Another Han.
Unrelated.
That alone was mildly irritating.
"Let's be clear," Seong-min continued. "You were not summoned today to be detained, dissected, or coerced."
"Reassuring."
"You were summoned to be understood."
Joon-seok didn't respond.
Understanding was rarely benign.
Seong-min gestured toward the room. "What you did back there—do you consider it activation?"
"No."
"Intentional?"
"No."
"Repeatable?"
Joon-seok hesitated.
That was answer enough.
Seong-min nodded slowly. "You didn't link to the hunter. You corrected the situation around him."
"That's one interpretation."
"It's the correct one."
The handler's stylus paused mid-note.
"Your sister has been very careful," Seong-min said. "She's kept you out of direct exposure. Minimized classification risk."
"She didn't need your approval."
"No," he agreed. "But she has our attention."
That was the first real threat.
Not loud.
Not explicit.
Just… present.
"Here's the issue," Seong-min continued. "Support abilities scale outward. Combat abilities scale inward. Yours doesn't scale."
Joon-seok said nothing.
"It reframes," Seong-min said. "That's rare."
"It's not a category."
"Everything becomes one eventually."
The handler cleared her throat. "Director, Central has received a request."
Seong-min raised an eyebrow. "Already?"
"Yes."
She turned the tablet so both men could see.
White Fang insignia.
Priority channel.
Se-rin.
Joon-seok didn't smile.
But something in his posture shifted.
Seong-min observed the change with interest.
"She's fast," he said. "As expected."
He looked back at Joon-seok.
"This is where things get delicate."
"Usually when people say that," Joon-seok replied, "they mean they're about to push anyway."
Seong-min smiled.
"Yes."
The tablet chimed again.
Another request.
Then another.
Guild leadership escalation.
Association cross-review flags.
The system was waking up around him.
Joon-seok felt it—not the thread this time, but attention converging.
Too many eyes.
Too little distance.
Seong-min straightened his cuffs.
"You're going to leave today," he said. "With your sister."
"That's not generosity."
"No," Seong-min agreed. "It's pacing."
He stepped closer.
Lowered his voice.
"But next time," he continued, "we won't need to induce conditions."
Joon-seok held his gaze.
"Next time," he replied, "I won't need to react."
For a moment—
Just a moment—
Seong-min looked genuinely pleased.
Se-rin arrived without announcement.
One moment the corridor outside the evaluation room was empty, the next it wasn't. No raised voices. No hurried footsteps. Just a subtle shift in how the staff straightened, how conversations died halfway through sentences.
Joon-seok felt it before he saw her.
The thread didn't react.
Something deeper did.
The doors opened.
"Director Han," Se-rin said evenly. "You're exceeding the scope of your directive."
Han Seong-min turned, calm as ever. "Guildmaster Seo. You're earlier than expected."
"I don't wait when my family is involved."
The handler stepped back automatically.
No one had ordered her to.
Se-rin entered the room fully, eyes sweeping once—equipment, personnel, camera placement. Her gaze paused briefly on Joon-seok.
He was unharmed.
Standing.
That was enough.
"For the record," Se-rin continued, "White Fang did not authorize live-condition induction."
Seong-min folded his hands. "And Central Operations did not violate any statute."
"Yet."
The word landed cleanly.
Seong-min smiled faintly. "You raised him well."
That earned him Se-rin's full attention.
"Say what you want," she said. "Do not speak as if you had a hand in it."
Seong-min inclined his head. "Fair."
He gestured toward Joon-seok. "Your brother presents an operational anomaly."
"He presents a liability," Se-rin corrected. "To anyone who thinks in shortcuts."
"That's one way to phrase it."
"It's the accurate one."
Joon-seok remained silent.
Not because he was intimidated.
Because speaking now would change the balance.
And Se-rin was better at this than he was.
"You induced an uncontrolled response," Se-rin said. "With a junior hunter."
"We monitored vitals," Seong-min replied. "Risk remained within acceptable parameters."
"You don't get to define acceptable for my people."
Seong-min's eyes flicked to Joon-seok. "He doesn't seem offended."
"He doesn't need to be," Se-rin said. "I am."
A beat passed.
Then Seong-min sighed.
"This isn't a power grab," he said. "It's damage control."
"From what?" Se-rin asked.
"From what happens when someone else figures him out first."
Silence followed.
Not because the argument ended—
Because it landed.
"You think you're protecting him," Seong-min continued. "But you're isolating him. You're forcing every interaction to become political."
"That's your world," Se-rin replied. "Not his."
"It will be," Seong-min said. "Sooner than you want."
Joon-seok spoke.
"You're afraid of escalation."
Seong-min looked at him. "Yes."
"Then stop pushing."
Seong-min smiled slightly. "That's not how prevention works."
Joon-seok nodded once. "Then you already failed."
That earned a pause.
Not a theatrical one.
A genuine recalculation.
Seong-min turned his attention fully to him now.
"You realize," he said, "that what you're doing isn't support."
"I know."
"It's not command either."
"I know."
"And it isn't control."
Joon-seok met his gaze steadily. "Then stop trying to name it."
Seong-min held his stare for several seconds.
Then chuckled softly.
"You're going to be a problem."
The handler's tablet chimed again.
She stiffened. "Director. Central advisory flagged a secondary anomaly."
Se-rin's eyes narrowed. "What anomaly?"
The handler hesitated.
Then turned the screen toward them.
A short clip played.
Dungeon footage.
Not today's.
From two days ago.
Different location.
Different team.
Same pattern.
A hunter hesitated.
Then corrected—without instruction.
Without visible support.
The correction was subtle.
But unmistakable.
Joon-seok's stomach tightened.
"That's not possible," Se-rin said.
Seong-min's expression sharpened for the first time.
"Unless," he said slowly, "the effect doesn't require proximity."
The room went very quiet.
Joon-seok felt it then.
That faint pull again.
Not toward a person.
Toward a memory.
The dungeon.
The moment.
The overlap.
He closed his eyes briefly.
Too late.
"That hunter," Se-rin said, voice controlled, "was never near my brother."
"No," Seong-min agreed. "But he was near someone who was."
The implication hung between them.
Not contagious.
But transferable.
Se-rin turned to Joon-seok.
Her voice softened, just slightly. "Did you notice anything after the dungeon?"
He hesitated.
Then shook his head.
"Not consciously."
She nodded.
But her hand tightened at her side.
Seong-min straightened.
"This changes our timeline," he said.
Se-rin's eyes flashed. "You don't get to accelerate."
"I don't get to stop it either."
They stared at each other.
Two people used to winning different kinds of wars.
"Here's what will happen," Se-rin said finally. "My brother leaves. Now."
"And afterward?" Seong-min asked.
"Afterward," she replied, "you stay away from him unless I'm present."
Seong-min considered.
Then nodded.
"For now."
They left together.
No escorts.
No restraints.
Just tension following them down the corridor like a shadow.
As the doors slid shut behind them, Joon-seok exhaled slowly.
"I didn't mean to—"
"I know," Se-rin said immediately.
She didn't look at him.
Which meant she was angry.
Just not at him.
Outside, the city felt louder than before.
More crowded.
More aware.
They walked in silence until they reached the vehicle.
Before getting in, Se-rin stopped.
"Listen to me carefully," she said.
He did.
"There are S-rankers who can destroy cities," she continued. "There are others who can rewrite battlefields."
She finally looked at him.
"And then there are people who change how power moves."
He swallowed.
"That's you."
The car door closed.
As they pulled away, far above them, systems recalibrated.
Guild strategies shifted.
Association models updated.
And somewhere deep inside Joon-seok's awareness, something quiet adjusted its parameters.
Not activated.
Not announced.
Just… prepared.