Chapter 33

When you can’t figure out the situation, it’s best to keep your mouth shut until the other party reveals more information.

I remained silent and looked at the Chairman of the Advisory Board, prompting him to speak.

“Speak, Professor. How much do you remember?”

“Hmm.”

The Chairman, who had been wearing a stern expression, chuckled at the vague response. It seemed like he was telling me not to make absurd moves and to simply tell the truth.

That sneer of Yu Hye-won’s must have come from her father.

“If you don’t remember, you wouldn’t have come here.”

I still couldn’t grasp the Chairman’s intentions. If this were a situation where I had to probe first, it would make sense. But since he asked me how much I remember, I shouldn’t speak rashly.

“Listen, Professor. Or rather… Gracesteel.”

“You know my callsign.”

“Of course. There’s no way I wouldn’t.”

The Chairman chuckled lowly as he slapped his knees with his hands.

“It appears you’ve figured out that Han Taewoo and Seo Jia were on the same team.”

The names of Han Min-ha’s parents…

So this person truly is Sikrito, and my parents were Sikritos as well.

What I had seen in the Document Storage wasn’t an illusion but a real fact.

“Tell me, Soo-hyun. How much do you remember?”

By now, the Chairman had dropped the formalities and changed how he addressed me.

“Your silence probably means you don’t trust me, right? It’s understandable given the situation, with a secret organization’s authority figure persistently questioning your past.”

The Chairman accurately read my inner thoughts and slowly sipped his tea.

“However, trust me. Only then can I tell you what you seek.”

“What exactly do I seek?”

“That strange recurring dream of yours. That’s what it’s about.”

At that moment, I subconsciously fortified my Mental Barrier.

Could this person be using telepathy?

I’ve heard that extremely rare among heroes is the ability to read minds. Though it’s just a rumor, given that special abilities of heroes often manifest unpredictably, it’s not impossible.

But I have an ultimate defensive skill—the Mental Barrier. This barrier can repel all mental intrusions.

And more importantly, I felt no signs of an attack.

Which means the Chairman likely knew about my dreams even before this.

But I haven’t mentioned them to anyone.

How does he know?

“You must be shocked. That I know this much.”

“Dreams are common.”

“Yet dreaming of screaming while watching a falling meteor isn’t. Isn’t that so?”

Uh… He knows everything.

The Chairman spoke softly, looking at my expression.

“I’ve disclosed everything I know so far. Now it’s your turn to tell everything, Hyun.”

“Just one question first. Was I Sikrito?”

“You were Sikrito.”

“I see…”

It’s clear he knows everything about me.

He’s the only one who can tell me about my past. I have many questions for him.

To get answers, it seems I should answer his questions first.

—

I recounted everything.

About how meeting Han Min-ha brought unexpected symbols to mind.

How hearing the names of Han Min-ha’s parents almost shattered my Mental Barrier.

From there, the recurring strange dreams began.

And then, while investigating Han Min-ha’s parents’ past in the Document Storage, I saw a vision.

It turned out Han Min-ha’s parents had once been on my team.

The Chairman listened silently until I finished.

“That’s all.”

“I see.”

The Chairman picked up his teacup, only to realize it was empty, and stood up to instruct someone via the intercom to bring more. Once seated again, he asked:

“How is Han Min-ha?”

“Didn’t you hear everything from your daughter?”

“No, that child tells me almost nothing about the Academy. Except asking me to pressure the Academy into letting her be your guidance student, she’s never called.”

Ah, so that incident was due to Yu Hye-won’s scheming.

“So, does Han Min-ha have no clue how to use Aura?”

“Yes, I only assume it’s related to their parents’ disappearance or death.”

“Understandable. Is it reasonable to aim to make such a person an S-rank hero…?”

The Chairman rested his elbows on the armrest and pressed his temples with his fingertips.

“Alright, it’s my turn to answer your questions. But first, I have a question for you.”

“Yes?”

“Are you satisfied being a professor?”

A question with unclear intent.

In such circumstances, the appropriate response is either to stay quiet or to dismiss it with a smile.

“Ha-ha, well…”

“Hmm, I see.”

The Chairman didn’t seem to dwell on my ambiguous reply.

“Alright, Hyun. Since you’re curious about your past and I expect it to cause you difficulties, it would be better to resolve your questions now.”

Just then, a staff member arrived with a fresh pot of tea, this time a cold green tea instead of the earlier hot one. After a few sips, the Chairman began.

“You were recruited into Sikrito right after graduating from Graford. You were chosen to be a support hero because it was thought that an underutilized defense specialist would be highly effective.”

“So I was a Supporter.”

“Yes. You were the one safeguarding your teammates from behind. You worked with Han Taewoo and Seo Jia for quite a while, as you know.”

That was the general gist of what I had already guessed and wasn’t particularly surprising.

I stayed quiet, waiting for him to continue.

“You three were exceptionally close, unlike the other teams. If a stranger saw you, they’d have thought you were siblings. But for some reason, after Han Taewoo and Seo Jia died, the team disbanded.”

“So, Han Min-ha’s parents… it wasn’t a disappearance but a death.”

“Of course. Otherwise, why would the orphan’s pension have been given?”

“But you mentioned an unknown reason. Does even the Organization not know what happened?”

“Wouldn’t it make sense? If we had all the answers, wouldn’t we have already wiped out all the Villains’ hideouts by now?”

That’s unfortunate.

I was hoping to understand what happened in my past—how Han Min-ha’s parents met their end.

“The Organization still hasn’t figured out what defeated your team so helplessly. However, since you’ve started recovering your memories, there’s something we want to confirm.”

“You wish me to recount that situation. Unfortunately, I have no memories of it.”

“You might remember something if you watch the Bodycam footage.”

That’s right.

Heroes wear suits with Bodycams attached. These devices record missions, serve as evidence in case of civilian damages, help analyze Villains’ combat techniques, and contribute to numerous other purposes.

The footage I showed the freshmen during the Initial Assessment came from deceased heroes’ Bodycams. Han Min-ha fainted after watching it, likely overwhelmed by the thought that her parents met a similar fate.

Viewing the footage of their last moments could be valuable. Of course, it would also include my own Bodycam recording. There’s no harm in watching it.

“I’ll take a look.”

The Chairman brought a laptop and placed it on the table. After plugging in a secure USB module and scanning his fingerprint, he accessed a highly secure system likely used by Sikrito.

Navigating through complex paths, he entered passwords and authentication keys multiple times to open a folder containing classified video files.

Is it safe to store important files like this on a computer?

“Shouldn’t this be stored in a more secure way, like in video tapes in an underground bunker?”

“Why stick to old-school methods when technology has advanced?”

“Ah, right.”

The Chairman delved into a subfolder, scrolling through various files before stopping at one. The only information on the file was the date, and the thumbnail showed a black background with “TOP SECRET” written across it.

“There are a total of three files. Refresh your memories carefully while watching.”

The Chairman opened the first file.

The laptop screen revealed a snow-covered, rugged mountain range, viewed from the sky. Peaks and ridges quickly passed through the screen, indicating we were flying.

At that moment, static-like radio chatter could be heard from the speakers.

“Report status, each of you.”

The sound immediately reminded me of the vision from the Document Storage. It was Han Min-ha’s father, Han Taewoo.

“Velvet Butcher. Altitude fine. Heading fine. Vital signs fine.”

That was Han Min-ha’s mother, Seo Jia.

“Gracesteel. No issues.”

That’s my voice.

Hearing my own voice was slightly odd, but there was no mistaking who I was, with the callsign and everything.

“Hey, you brat. Don’t you know to do a formal report? Who said you could shorten it?”

Han Taewoo’s teasing voice was audible over the radio.

“Are you trying to enforce discipline now, senior?”

Both of us arguing back and forth.

Huh… In the past, I was… somewhat brighter than I am now.

“Quiet! There’s some biological activity detected behind that ridge.”

Seo Jia interrupted us, enforcing radio silence.

“If we keep going this way, we’ll be exposed soon. Should we land here and proceed on foot?”

“Agreed. Everyone, prepare to land.”

The Bodycam angle changed, and both the mountain and the sky filled the screen as we slowly descended. As we landed with a sound of squishing snow, the camera shook slightly before settling.

“Can you see that mountain? It’s behind it.”

Seo Jia’s arm in a suit suddenly appeared on the left side of the screen, pointing to a steep rocky mountain.

“Then let’s head there. We’ll assess the situation and move in accordingly.”

From the right came Han Taewoo, also dressed in a suit, walking nonchalantly forward.

“Finally, an easy mission. Let’s enjoy the walk.”

“When have you ever been diligent?”

“Hey, look at this kid talking back to their senior like that?”

We trudged through snow up to our ankles toward the target mountain.

—