The next day at school was a study in silent power shifts.
Park Ji-hoon was a ghost. His confidence, once an oppressive aura, had crumbled into a brittle, watchful anxiety. The Analytical Eye revealed him to Jack as a walking constellation of fear—violet threads of paranoia coiled around his head, a pulsing, sickly yellow orb of dread where his stomach would be. He flinched at loud noises, his eyes constantly darting, searching for the invisible threat that had upended his world. He no longer held court in the hallways. The pack of followers had thinned, sensing weakness.
Choi Seung-min limped, a constant, painful reminder of his humiliation. His aura was a murky brown of simmering resentment and shame, shot through with jagged red spikes of pain from his ankle. He still trailed after Park, but the dynamic had soured; it was the loyalty of a cornered animal, not a proud lieutenant.
Lee Min-ji was trying to reinvent herself. She had shifted her social orbit, attaching herself to a different, less volatile group. Her aura was a slippery, shifting silver—opportunism and self-preservation. She avoided looking at Jack altogether, but the Analytical Eye caught the quick, guilty glances she threw at Kang Da-wool, who now walked the halls with his head a fraction higher.
Jack moved through it all like a neutral current. He wasn't "Min the Victim," but he wasn't trying to be "Jack the Predator" in the open. He was a quiet, unsettling constant. He answered questions in class with a calm, unnerving precision that made teachers pause. He navigated the cafeteria, a place Min had once dreaded, with a detached efficiency, choosing an empty table and appearing utterly unbothered by his isolation. His Basic Stealth skill, combined with his natural coldness, made him seem to absorb the light and sound around him, creating a pocket of quiet.
The System was pleased.
[System: Social destabilization of primary targets is proceeding efficiently. Psychological torment metrics for Park Ji-hoon are rising (Estimated Suffering: 34%). Proceed.]
But the cost was becoming clearer with each passing hour. The memories of Min were no longer just files to be accessed; they were becoming sensations. Jack would feel a sudden, sharp loneliness in the middle of a crowded hallway—Min's loneliness. He'd feel a phantom ache in his wrists when he saw a certain brand of sports watch—the kind Park wore. The emotional bleed was constant.
He was in the library during a free period, ostensibly researching for a history project, but in reality, using the school's network to dig deeper into Park's father's political circles. The data packet the System had provided was a roadmap to a corruption scandal involving city contracts. It was perfect leverage, but Jack needed something more immediate, more visceral for the System's new task.
A shadow fell over his table. He looked up, his expression blank.
It was Kim Tae-shik, Mr. Kim, their homeroom teacher. He held a book, but his posture was awkward.
"Lee Min-hyun-seong," he said, using the full name. His aura, as seen through the Analytical Eye, was a dull gray of professional duty, layered over a deep, rusty orange of personal cowardice. A thin, fragile blue line of something else—perhaps a long-buried conscience—flickered weakly.
"Sir."
"I... noticed your recent participation in class has improved." Mr. Kim's voice was carefully neutral. "It's good to see you... applying yourself."
Jack said nothing, just watched him.
The teacher shifted uncomfortably under the flat gaze. "The... incident last week. With Park and the others. I heard... rumors. I want you to know that if there are any problems, you should come to me. Or to the guidance counselor."
Where were you before? The thought wasn't just Jack's. It roared up from the depths, coated in Min's bitterness. Jack felt his throat tighten.
"The problems have been here for a long time, Mr. Kim," Jack said, his voice low and even. "You've been here every day. Did you need a special invitation to see them?"
Mr. Kim's face flushed, the gray aura rippling with streaks of embarrassed red. The flickering blue line of conscience snuffed out completely, replaced by a defensive, hardening brown. "Mind your tone. I am trying to help. There are procedures. Accusations need proof."
"Proof," Jack echoed. He glanced down at his computer screen, where a news article about municipal ethics was open. He looked back at the teacher. "Some things are visible if you choose to look. Other things are only visible when it's too late to pretend you didn't see."
He closed his laptop with a soft click. The sound was final in the quiet library.
Mr. Kim stood there for a moment, his mouth a thin line, then turned and walked away, his aura now a stormy mix of anger and unresolved guilt.
[System: Direct confrontation with Target 4 (Mr. Kim). Status: Neutralized through verbal counter. Psychological damage minor but cumulative. Proceed to next phase of assigned mission: 'Delving into Darkness.']
The mission. Proof of Park's illegal activities. Jack had a lead. The photo from the secret club was a key. The System had tagged the club's logo. A few hours of deep, anonymized digging that night—using techniques that felt like putting on a familiar, bloody glove—led him to a name: "Vortex." An underground club for rich, bored teenagers, known for parties where the lines of consent and legality were famously blurred.
Getting in would be impossible for Min's body. But he didn't need to get in. He needed to catch Park going in, or better yet, coming out.
He began tracking Park's social media—not the public profiles, but the ephemeral stories, the tagged locations in posts by his dwindling circle of hangers-on. A pattern emerged: Friday nights. A neighborhood across the city, known for its warehouses and new, clandestine venues.
Friday arrived. Jack told his mother he was staying late for a "study group." The lie came easily, mechanically. She just nodded, that same look of confused relief on her face.
He didn't go to school in his uniform. He wore dark, nondescript clothes from Min's wardrobe—a black hoodie, gray jeans. He used a small amount of money Min had saved to take a bus across the city. The Analytical Eye, though temporary, was active. It turned the city into a map of emotional auras, helping him avoid attention. He looked for the bored, the angry, the predatory—the kinds of people who would notice a lone teenager.
The warehouse district was a maze of shadows and echoing music from different sources. He found the location—a non-descript metal door with a bouncer, tucked between a shuttered auto shop and a graffiti-covered wall. A faint, pulsing bassline came from within. This was "Vortex."
Jack melted into the shadows of the opposite alleyway. He was a statue. Hours passed. Groups of well-dressed, artificially aged teenagers came and went, laughing too loud, their auras a kaleidoscope of hedonistic yellows, reckless oranges, and predatory reds.
Then, just past midnight, a familiar black sedan pulled up. Park Ji-hoon got out, followed by two older boys Jack didn't recognize. Park's aura was a frantic, discordant mix: the yellow fear was still there, but overlaid with a desperate, glittering purple—the need to escape, to feel powerful again. He was trying to reclaim his kingdom in this pit.
Jack's phone—a cheap burner he'd acquired—was ready. He took pictures from the darkness: Park arriving, Park being greeted familiarly by the bouncer, Park disappearing inside. Good, but not enough. The System wanted proof of illegal activity.
He waited. The night grew colder. The memory of Min whispered of warm beds and crushing loneliness, but Jack silenced it.
It was nearly 2 AM when Park stumbled out, not with the two older boys, but alone. He was disheveled, his movements uncoordinated. He leaned against the wall, fumbling for something in his pocket. Jack's lenses, even in the low light, caught it: a small, plastic bag with a few white pills. Park popped one into his mouth, dry-swallowing with a grimace.
Bingo.
Jack raised the phone, zooming in. The click of the digital shutter was silent. He took several: the bag, Park's face as he took the pill, the empty bag being shoved back into his jeans.
[System Alert: Primary evidence acquired (Substance abuse). Secondary objective available: Escalate. Follow. Document further degradation. Potential for evidence of distribution.]
Jack considered. The mission was to acquire proof. He had it. But the System was right. This was a crack in Park's armor. He could widen it.
As Park began to stagger down the street, Jack followed, a wraith in the darkness. He used the Basic Stealth and the environment, his small size an advantage. Park was heading not toward a main road, but deeper into the warehouse district, toward the river.
He stopped behind a dumpster, pulling out his phone again. He was texting someone, his face illuminated by the screen, twisted in frustration. Then, he pulled out the bag again. It wasn't empty. He had more. He looked around furtively and then slid the bag under a loose brick in a crumbling wall.
A stash spot.
Jack waited until Park, having made his call, stumbled away toward the sound of distant traffic, presumably to get a cab. Once he was gone, Jack approached the wall. He didn't touch the bag. Instead, he took detailed pictures of its location, the specific brick. Then, from another angle, he took a close-up of the bag itself through the gap. The pills were clearly visible, stamped with a tiny, stylized "V."
[System: Evidence tier upgraded. Proof of possession and intent to distribute inferred. Location documented. Mission 'Delving into Darkness' is 92% complete. Recommend retrieval of substance for absolute verification. Risk: High.]
Retrieval meant touching it, leaving potential DNA. Too risky. He had enough. The photos, the location, the timestamp—it was a damning package. He could anonymously tip off the police and watch Park's world burn. But that was a blunt instrument. Jack, and the System, wanted something more precise.
He returned to the bus stop, the city sleeping around him. In his mind, he began to craft the next move. He wouldn't go to the police. He would go to Park. The photos, the stash location—they would be new levers. Tools to steer Park's suffering in the direction the System demanded.
As the first light of dawn painted the sky gray, Jack arrived home. He slipped inside, silent as the ghost he was becoming. In his room, he transferred the photos to a secure, encrypted drive. The temporary Analytical Eye skill faded, leaving his vision mundane but his mind sharp with victory.
[System: Mission 'Delving into Darkness' - COMPLETE.]
[Rewards Granted: 'Analytical Eye' skill is now PERMANENT. New skill unlocked: 'Presence Forgery' (Beginner). Allows user to significantly reduce noticeable presence in crowded or chaotic environments for short durations.)]
[New Objective: Utilize acquired evidence to apply targeted psychological pressure on Target 1. Design a 'scene' of consequence that amplifies his fear and guilt. Connect it to the memory of the original victim (Min).]
Jack lay on his bed, the new skills settling into his consciousness like cold water. The Analytical Eye was now his. He could see the cracks in the world. And Presence Forgery... that was a piece of his old self, returned.
He looked at his hands—Min's small, slender hands. They were no longer just the tools of a trapped victim or a possessing killer. They were becoming the instruments of a very specific, very cruel form of justice.
He had the weapons. He had the targets.
Now, it was time to stop merely threatening and start truly sculpting their ruin.
And as he finally closed his eyes, the last thing he felt was not Jack's cold satisfaction, but a deep, sorrowful pull from within—a whisper from Min that was growing harder to ignore: "Is this what I wanted? Is this any better?"
The war outside was progressing. But the war within the body of Lee Min-hyun-seong was just beginning to rage.