The air inside the auditorium had grown unmistakably heavier.

  After the phrase abnormal conglomerations of souls was spoken, no one spoke right away.

  “Then.”

  Agnes’s voice cut through the silence—cold, precise.

  “Why weren’t those thought-forms retrieved?”

  “Isn’t that your responsibility?”

  The hall stiffened.Silence snapped into place.

  One employee drew a breath and stood.

  “With our current manpower… retrieving thought-forms that have turned demonic within such a short window is, realistically, extremely dangerous.”

  He hesitated, then continued carefully.

  “And our descent time to Earth is strictly limited.At most, two hours—by the Hour of the Rooster.”

  As he sat down, another employee rose from a different section.

  “The strength of the thought-forms themselves is also an issue,” he said flatly.

  “They grow stronger over time.More violent. More unstable.”

  “Some cases have already reached a level beyond what our forces alone can handle.”

  That was the trigger.

  Chairs scraped back. One after another, employees stood, voices overlapping as the room began to unravel.

  “And there’s more!”

  One voice cut through the noise.

  “There are rumors that among Retrieval Division staff—after certain operations—some personnel never returned.”

  The auditorium rippled.

  The shattered silence was replaced by a different kind of murmur—lower, sharper, spreading fast.

  Agnes was on her feet in an instant.

  “Wait.”

  The room froze.

  “Is that true?”

  Her gaze locked onto the Director.

  “Director.After retrieval operations—have there been personnel who failed to return?”

  She paused, then pressed him, her voice low and controlled.

  “In the official reports submitted to Headquarters, there is no mention of any such incidents.”

  She continued without breaking eye contact.

  “And the existence of thought-forms themselves has not, to date, been reported to Headquarters either.”

  The Director said nothing.

  Agnes didn’t wait.

  She tapped the in-ear communicator at her ear.

  “Helena. Agatha.”

  Her tone remained steady—unshaken.

  “Review all situation room records.After Retrieval Division operations, check immediately for any reports of personnel who failed to return.”

  A brief pause.

  Then Agatha’s voice came through, crisp and unmistakable.

  “Captain.”

  “In all situation room records reviewed so far, there are no records whatsoever of Retrieval Division personnel failing to return.”

  The weight in the auditorium deepened instantly.

  As the atmosphere began to fracture again, the Director seized the microphone and raised his hand.

  “That concludes today’s meeting.All personnel—dismissed.”

  Low murmurs followed as staff filed out.The Director caught Agnes’s eye and gave a subtle nod.

  “Captain. Come to my office. I’ll explain.”

  They moved through the thickened air and into the Director’s office.

  You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

  The moment the door closed, Agnes spoke.

  “Director.Why were the ‘non-returning personnel’ mentioned in the meeting—and the thought-forms—not reported to Headquarters?”

  “This is a serious matter.”

  At her tone, the muscles in the Director’s face tightened.

  “That issue… isn’t something only I was aware of.”

  He exhaled slowly.

  “The Branch Director and the situation room were already fully informed.Based on their judgment, I believed this wasn’t something I needed to report separately to Headquarters.”

  He looked at Agnes carefully and added,

  “I was under the impression that the official reporting line had already been handled.”

  The air in the room grew heavier still.

  Agnes narrowed her eyes and said nothing.

  She was weighing the implications—whether this was a simple failure of reporting…

  —or the surface of something far larger.

  A short silence settled between them.

  ---------

  The door of the philosophy office—just moments after Hwang Myeong-sun had left—flew open again.

  “What is this smell?Who goes around drowning themselves in perfume?Ugh, it reeks of cheap stuff.”

  It was Dahye.

  With a lunchbox in one hand and a bag slung over her shoulder, she scrunched up her nose and marched straight inside.

  “What’s got you in such a bad mood today?” Gyeongsu asked lightly. “What’s with the face?”

  “Dad, that woman who just left—that was a client, right?” Dahye shot back.“But seriously, what kind of perfume does she bathe in?Your nose must be completely ruined by now.”

  Maybe remembering the last time, her voice grew sharper.

  “She’s a client—what can I do?” Gyeongsu replied.“You just let it go. If you nitpick every little thing, you can’t make a living.You’re starting to see how hard your dad works to earn money now, right?”

  Careful not to take the bait, he tried to deflect.

  “What are you even talking about~Aren’t you living off Hyeonpil, not yourself?That woman definitely left thirty thousand won, didn’t she?Dad, do you really call this making money?”

  As if landing the final blow, Dahye dropped into a chair.

  The father–daughter sparring carried on without pause, even as they spread out their lunchboxes and began eating.

  “Oppa, try this. I made rolled eggs,” Dahye said, neatly placing a piece on top of Hyeonpil’s rice.

  “Dahye… your dad really loves rolled eggs too…”Gyeongsu muttered, genuinely wounded.

  Hyeonpil and Dahye both snorted at the same time.

  “Dad! I finally bought a gimbal!” Dahye announced.“One point five million won! Want to see it?”

  Gyeongsu blinked, completely lost.

  “Wait—what’s a gimbal?And what costs one point five million won?”

  At that, Dahye and Hyeonpil burst out laughing again.

  A week earlier, during a date at the Yeouido Cherry Blossom Festival, Dahye had talked about her dream of becoming a YouTuber. The conversation had naturally drifted toward promoting the philosophy office.

  The conclusion had been simple.

  The office needed publicity.

  That was when Hyeonpil had said,

  “The things you say, sir—just uploading a few videos would be a huge hit.It feels like a waste for only me to hear them.”

  That comment lit the fuse.

  Dahye emptied months’ worth of savings and, in the end, bought the 1.5-million-won gimbal.

  “You’re telling me you want to film videos and upload them?” Gyeongsu said flatly.

  “Have you actually looked at me before saying that?What am I supposed to say while staring into a camera lens?”

  He shook his head.

  “I can’t do it. It’s embarrassing.I get camera anxiety.I don’t even like taking photos—and now you want me on video?That’s basically asking me to become a global laughingstock.”

  As his refusal dragged on, Dahye’s eyes narrowed.

  “Then what—are you going to live your whole life with just a handful of clients a month?” she snapped.“Do you have any plan at all, Dad?

  Hyeonpil and I are spending time, coming up with ideas, even using our own moneyto help you—and you honestly don’t see that?”

  That was when Hyeonpil stepped in, carefully.

  “Sir… during the first Awakening Day, you had such a hard time,” he said.“So in preparation for the second mission, we made our own plan.We genuinely thought pushing through two days without sleep would help you.”

  Gyeongsu grabbed his head and let out a long sigh.

  “Hyeonpil… do we really have to do that?Can’t you just do it on your own?

  Look at my head.Dahye keeps calling me a bald vulture at home—I’m losing my mind.If I do it one more time, I’m scared even what little hair I have left will fall out.”

  Dahye fired back instantly.

  “Then who told you to buy that notebook for five hundred thousand won?Wasn’t that you, Dad?If you keep talking like this…”

  She paused, then smiled sweetly.

  “…should I tell Mom everything?”

  The moment the word Mom left her mouth, Gyeongsu squeezed his eyes shut.

  He inhaled deeply, exhaled, and finally spoke as if surrendering.

  “Wouldn’t it be better if I just danced or something?Or learned a magic show?I honestly have no idea what I’d talk about on my own.This is driving me insane… seriously.”

  As he scratched his head, Hyeonpil smiled gently.

  “Sir, you really don’t need to worry about that.I have plenty of questions I want to ask you.All you have to do is answer them.”

  After a brief pause, he added,

  “That alone will get a reaction on YouTube.There are hardly any people these days who talk the way you do.”

  Then he wrapped it up calmly.

  “We’ll keep the long videos,cut out the good parts,turn them into clips, and upload them as Shorts.That’s essential.That’s how subscriber counts actually grow.”

  Watching Hyeonpil lay everything out so calmly, Gyeongsu fell silent.

  “So… you’re planning to start tomorrow?”

  The instant he said it, Dahye’s face lit up.

  “That’s right!You finally get it,Mr. Bald Vulture~ ho ho ho!”

  She nudged his arm playfully and continued,

  “But not tomorrow exactly.We’re thinking a week from now.Dad, by then you’ll be practically half-dead, right?That’s what oppa said.”

  Laughing as if to ease the tension, she patted his shoulder.

  “Of all things, a YouTuber?” Gyeongsu snapped.“You still have a part-time job! What about that?You’re just going to skip work to film videos here?”

  Dahye waved him off.

  “Oh, don’t worry about that.I already talked to my boss.They said filming at the philosophy office counts as work hours.Dad, you seriously don’t need to worry about anything.”

  Feeling his escape routes disappear one by one, Gyeongsu shook his head.

  “So you never even considered that I might say no—you just planned everything however you wanted.I can’t believe I’ve been living with a fox like you all this time…”

  Dahye giggled,and Hyeonpil laughed softly along with her.

  Inside the philosophy office,Gyeongsu’s grumblingand the laughter of the younger pair blended together,as their lunch hour carried on—oddly, peacefully.