The Night Of The Untraced

It was actually harder to endure this kind of slow, deliberate pace than to be swept up in an intense rush. Muheun’s careful attention made every nerve in his body feel even more sensitive than usual. Though it didn’t seem fully ready, he was already slick enough down there, so it should be fine.

“Want Hyung to put it in?”

“Mmm…”

Without even realizing the teasing in Muheun’s tone, Seungjoo nodded. Muheun let out a breath, somewhere between a chuckle and a sigh, before pulling Seungjoo close, brushing his cheek against Seungjoo’s hair. Then, he slowly withdrew his fingers that had been deeply inside.

“Haa…”

It was something he’d always noticed—the sensation of something leaving was harder to bear than when it went in. The way the stretched opening slowly closed up made his lower abdomen quiver involuntarily. And with the pleasure still lingering, a wave of anticipation washed over him for what was coming next.

Muheun squeezed some lotion into his hand, spreading it generously over his already hardened length, although Seungjoo was already quite slippery down below. Holding himself in hand, he brushed the tip between Seungjoo’s cheeks.

“Lift your hips.”

As Seungjoo positioned his knees up, Muheun aligned himself at the entrance. Though he felt a bit more prepared than before, the girth still seemed daunting. When Muheun pressed in, it slipped out as Seungjoo lost his balance, his body not yet ready.

“Ah…!”

The heated, rigid sensation scraped against bare skin. Even without entering, just the pressure against his body was enough to make him tense. Startled, Seungjoo’s back arched, and Muheun soothed him by gently stroking near the base of his spine.

“Relax…”

His hardened length was again aligned at the entrance. Although it still felt tight, this time it didn’t miss its mark. With Seungjoo taking short, shallow breaths, Muheun softly urged him.

“Slowly…”

As if entranced, Seungjoo lowered himself, feeling as though he had to move on his own. Slowly lowering his hips, he felt his tensed thighs quiver with strain.

“Hnn… ugh…”

It felt like he was being stretched to his limit. He’d thought it was deep when Muheun did it, but trying to take it in on his own was an even bigger challenge. He managed to take the thickest part in, but fully lowering himself was a different matter.

“Ugh… it’s not going in easily…”

“Mm, just a bit more… you’re doing fine.”

The hand that had been soothing his tailbone moved to trace the join, before Muheun placed both hands on Seungjoo’s hips, spreading him gently. The head pressed further inside, and Seungjoo’s head fell back as he felt the pressure.

“Haa…!”

His throat bobbed as he swallowed. Muheun, noticing Seungjoo’s strained expression, covered his face with gentle kisses, which unexpectedly caused a pang of emotion to well up within him.

“Why… huh… why won’t Hyung help…?”

Why did he have to manage it on his own?

Raising himself up felt too difficult, but lowering himself the rest of the way felt daunting. He was barely handling what was inside, and the thought of finishing the rest on his own felt overwhelming, to the point where he even felt a flicker of resentment toward Muheun.

“Can’t Hyung just… ah!”

Before he could finish speaking, Muheun pulled him down firmly, thrusting in deeply. Startled by the sudden rush of pleasure, Seungjoo’s shoulders shook, and Muheun wrapped his arms around his waist tightly.

“Sorry… I won’t tease you.”

“Haa…”

“I did it because you’re cute, sorry.”

It seems clear now that he really was teasing me. What’s so cute about not being able to do anything alone? Even though I gave him an incredulous look, Muheun just apologized with a kiss.

“I’ll handle it myself now, okay?”

“I… don’t know… ngh, ah…”

Muheun’s steady thrusts caused his voice to break intermittently. Though the entry had been sudden, it wasn’t painful—just a new, overwhelming sensation filling him deep inside. The length was so considerable that, even though it wasn’t fully in yet, it felt like it was reaching all the way up to his chest.

“Hyung, this is… too deep… ah…”

“…Too deep?”

Muheun asked softly, but he didn’t pull back. Instead, he moved his hips in a circular motion, searching for something. His thick length brushed against Seungjoo’s inner walls, pressing firmly into the most sensitive spot.

“Ahh…!”

Seungjoo’s voice flipped, a high-pitched gasp escaping him before he quickly slapped his left hand over his mouth. Even hiding his face against Muheun’s chest didn’t lessen his reactions, and Muheun showed no signs of slowing down.

“Mm… ah… ngh!”

The pleasure surged up his spine with each thrust from below. Muheun held Seungjoo securely with his arms, lifting and lowering him effortlessly, making Seungjoo’s body sink down with each movement, almost uncontrollably.

“…Ah… mm.”

“Seungjoo…”

“Yes… ah…”

Holding his breath, Seungjoo felt Muheun’s warm, unrestrained breaths as pleasure pooled within him, mixed with lingering tension he couldn’t fully release. His nerves, heightened to their limit, were entirely attuned to Muheun. Each time Seungjoo tightened around him, Muheun’s excited, breathy moans filled the space.

“Don’t… ngh, don’t squeeze so tightly.”

“…Okay… ah…”

“If you keep that up, Hyung might break, you know?”

Muheun’s voice was low and teasing, which only made Seungjoo shake his head, unable to respond. He wasn’t doing it on purpose, but he wasn’t sure if Muheun understood. Muheun simply gripped Seungjoo’s soft hips and picked up the pace.

“Ah… ngh… ahh…!”

A gasp escaped him, unbidden. He knew he should stay quiet, so he bit down on his lip. But the thought that he might accidentally hurt himself made him reconsider, and he leaned up, sinking his teeth into Muheun’s neck instead. Surprised, Muheun paused and looked at him.

“Ah.”

The soft exhale suggested he understood—Seungjoo’s bite wasn’t a rejection. Realizing this, Muheun pressed a gentle kiss to Seungjoo’s ear and whispered softly.

“Afraid someone might hear?”

There was no need to answer. Muheun chuckled warmly, stroking Seungjoo’s hair with a large hand, and then softly murmured into his ear as his lips brushed his earlobe.

“It’s okay. You can make noise.”

“…But… what if someone hears outside…?”

“They won’t. I made sure of it.”

Seungjoo barely had time to process the reassurance before Muheun added, in his usual calm tone,

“Hyung put up a sound barrier.”

“….”

Why is he only telling me this now?

Even in his daze, Seungjoo shot Muheun an annoyed look. Of course, given that he’d been out for a week, Muheun would have taken precautions for privacy in the hospital room.

“Hyung, really… ah!”

There was no time for complaints. Muheun’s patience seemed to have run out as he thrust deeply, leaving Seungjoo with little to say besides gasps and moans. After all, any apology Muheun would offer would likely be the same as before, so Seungjoo didn’t bother arguing.

“…Ah! Ngh, ah… ah…!”

“Try to relax…”

“Trying… ngh, how… ah…”

With every movement Muheun made, the bed creaked beneath them. Each deep thrust filled the air with sounds that would have embarrassed Seungjoo before, but now he was beyond caring.

“Mmh…!”

Just as Muheun ground his teeth, Seungjoo reached his peak first, spilling onto Muheun’s shirt and staining it. The way he tightened involuntarily in release made Muheun’s brow furrow as he struggled to keep his own composure.

“Seungjoo, Hyung’s about to…”

“No… don’t… don’t pull out…”

Still caught in the afterglow, Seungjoo shook his head, clinging to him tightly, legs wrapped around his waist like a koala. Unable to resist Seungjoo’s hold, Muheun let out a low groan, gripping his thighs firmly as they stayed connected.

“Ah…”

The force of Muheun’s grip, strong enough to leave marks, showed he was reaching his peak as well. His length, deeply embedded, spilled a warm, abundant release inside. Though it was a long climax, Seungjoo still refused to let him go.

“Hah… mm…”

“…Sorry, Hyung will pull out later.”

There was no need to ask what he meant. Seungjoo already knew from experience what would come afterward. He hadn’t exactly prepared himself for it—he just couldn’t stand the feeling of Muheun pulling away.

“Hyung, ah… mm… ah!”

Without giving him time to catch his breath, Muheun started moving again. With each deep thrust, bits of their combined release trickled out. The wet sounds grew louder, but it didn’t matter anymore.

It had been naive to think one round would be enough. Seungjoo lay in Muheun’s embrace, panting softly, realizing this wasn’t going to end anytime soon.

***

The days in the hospital went by faster than Seungjoo had anticipated. Discharge took about three days, helped along by his insistence that he couldn’t afford to stay a full week. Aside from his casted arm, he was otherwise unharmed, and no one had any reason to keep him there longer—no one, that is, except for Muheun, who kept pushing to extend his stay up to the very last day. While Muheun had always been overprotective, his concerns grew significantly after that night. Worried, no doubt, about aftereffects of the intensity of that encounter—though he seemed unaware that Seungjoo’s back was more in need of care than his arm.

Contrary to Muheun’s concerns, Seungjoo recovered surprisingly quickly. His arm pain was minimal, and he moved around with little discomfort. A faint soreness lingered in his muscles, though that was probably from clinging to Muheun so tightly.

He half-joked to himself that maybe it was Yeongi’s influence speeding up his recovery. But it was a far-fetched thought he kept to himself. Even if there were some truth to it, it wasn’t something he could test—and the idea of mentioning it to Muheun was just too embarrassing.

Upon his discharge, Seungjoo went with Muheun to his dorm. Officially, it was to collect belongings he’d left behind; privately, he had something important to discuss, something he hadn’t managed to bring up in the hospital. It was about Gwimae, a topic that could become yet another source of worry for Muheun.

“I couldn’t lift the curse.”

Seungjoo spoke calmly as he sat on the edge of the dorm bed beside Muheun. He had spent the last few days in the hospital thinking it over carefully. He’d wanted to talk about it sooner, but he needed time to clear his head.

“It seems that the woman from the Seo clan was someone who could speak to nature long before Gwimae came into being.”

The tale of a woman who betrayed nature out of love for a friend—while a story that felt like myth or folklore to Seungjoo, he wondered how Muheun would receive it. For a spirit banisher like Muheun, the tale would be familiar, but knowing the details was new.

“Gwimae had feelings for that woman…”

The word “feelings” made Muheun’s expression flicker with something like discomfort. It seemed hard for him to accept that Gwimae could feel emotions. But he didn’t interrupt, perhaps because he now knew that this was the truth.

“He broke the seal because he wanted to see her again. He was afraid it would all be over if he closed his eyes.”

The council president would never understand. Gwimae’s decision to break the seal wasn’t driven by ambition but by simple longing. Though irrational, love often was.

“When I opened my eyes for the last time, I didn’t want to fall asleep again. So, he hid a part of himself close to me, saying he’d leave quietly once I found it.”

“You spoke with Gwimae?”

“Yes, in a dream.”

Muheun’s mouth twisted slightly, not exactly into a smile. His expression looked somewhat displeased, and he continued with a comment that matched his mood.

“I didn’t expect him to come through a dream…”

His tone, though still soft, sounded a bit annoyed. His face had hardened, making his voice seem colder. He sighed quietly, reaching out to Seungjoo.

“Why did he hide it close to you?”

“Oh, well…”

His hand, which had moved closer to brush Seungjoo’s stray hair aside, dropped back down. Seungjoo, who had obediently leaned his face in, rolled his eyes as he carefully revealed the reason.

“He said I’m his reincarnation.”

“….”

This time, Muheun’s expression became as stiff as if he’d just taken a hit to the head. For a moment, he seemed baffled, then let out a low sigh, running his hand through his hair before speaking up with a slightly tilted gaze.

“So, does that mean he likes you now?”

“Well, not exactly…”

Could it really work that way? Reincarnation or not, that woman was her own person, and he was Seungjoo. Just like he’d told Gwimae, he didn’t resemble the woman at all.

“So, do you have any idea where this part of Gwimae might be?”

Muheun quickly collected his expression and, in his usual gentle tone, asked again. Maybe he’d only asked to mask his frustration, but Seungjoo needed to answer anyway.

“Yes, I have an idea.”

“Really?”

He didn’t look surprised. Muheun had probably expected it from the moment Seungjoo brought it up. If Seungjoo hadn’t known, he would’ve just said, “I don’t know what to do.”

“But I need to check first. I’m not completely sure yet.”

Fortunately, Muheun didn’t pry further and simply nodded quietly, seeming willing to wait until Seungjoo was certain. Seungjoo, having no need to go into details, decided to ask casually instead.

“So, what are you going to do now, Hyung?”

With the President position vacant, it was time to start implementing the plan for Muheun to take it. Though Gwimae wasn’t dealt with completely, the visible part of the incident was over. Finding Gwimae’s piece had become a personal matter now.

“Well, for now, I need to attend the remaining trials.”

He’d already mentioned this briefly to Muyeon. It was a process of assessing right and wrong and determining punishment, not a particularly important trial, or so he said. As the accuser, Muheun was required to attend.

“There’s still time before the new President is elected. In the meantime, the executive officers will act as interim President.”

“What if the executives are similar to the last President?”

“No worries; I’ll handle those types too.”

His slight smirk showed confidence. Seungjoo didn’t know the details, but if Muheun said so, he figured there was a plan.

“And…”

Muheun started with a low voice, pausing as if considering his words, the tension in his tone making Seungjoo sit up unconsciously.

With a firm, determined voice, Muheun finally spoke.

“I’m going to disband Team Zero.”

***

Exorcist Association trials were usually held in a large courtroom in the building’s basement. Converted from an auditorium, the space resembled the familiar layout of a standard courthouse, with seats arranged for the trial team and a central spot for the defendant to sit under judgment.

On the day of the big trial, Seungjoo went to the association’s courtroom with Muheun. Muheun was there as an involved party, and Seungjoo as an observer.

Under ordinary circumstances, Seungjoo would have also been involved, but both family elders had insisted he be left out. Seungjoo himself had no desire to be part of the tedious trial, so he agreed to observe from the seating area.

The courtroom was filled with exorcists, most of whom wore traditional robes embroidered with paulownia motifs. These robes were items reserved for association executives, with slight variations in pattern and color to reflect rank. They also wore masks, symbolic of their high position, though everyone was required to reveal their faces upon entering the courtroom.

‘They’re really staring.’

Seungjoo, feeling the weight of the gazes on him, maintained a neutral expression. Being with Muheun, no one dared approach him directly, but many of the executives seemed eager to engage him. With the President position vacant, this was a time to pick sides carefully.

“What’s wrong?”

“Oh… it’s nothing.”

Muheun, noticing Seungjoo’s discomfort, lowered his voice and asked if something was wrong. Instead of answering honestly, Seungjoo just shook his head. Everyone around them had extraordinary hearing, so saying, “I’m just uncomfortable because people keep staring” was out of the question.

“When does the trial start?”

“At the hour. The trial team will come in five minutes before it begins.”

Muheun replied kindly, adjusting his collar. Like the other exorcists, he wore a robe, and even with the front open, the outfit suited him well. Perhaps because each robe was custom-made, his was noticeably long, fluttering around his tall frame.

‘Surprisingly, he looks good in hanbok.’

Though his appearance was a bit unkempt, the clothes kept him from looking unruly. No matter how many tattoos and piercings he had, his naturally refined looks couldn’t be hidden. With the robe on and his demeanor calm, he almost looked like a poised scholar.

As Seungjoo’s gaze wandered to the paulownia embroidery sewn in gold thread, he noticed the Chinese character on Muheun’s back. It was the same character that appeared on the summons he had seen before, symbolizing Team Zero—零, the character for “zero.”

Looking at that character brought back the conversation he’d had with Muheun a few days earlier.

“…You’re disbanding Team Zero?”

When Seungjoo asked in surprise, Muheun nodded casually, as if he had merely announced a lunch menu, despite the bombshell of dissolving Team Zero.

“Seungjoo, do you know how Team Zero was created?”

“Well…”

According to Muheun, Team Zero had been formed to prevent the association president from monopolizing power. But judging by Muheun’s tone, he didn’t seem to be asking about the official purpose.

When Seungjoo simply shook his head, Muheun shared something he hadn’t known before.

“Team Zero was made up of children who had lost their parents.”

Orphans?

Seungjoo’s eyes widened in shock, but what came next surprised him even more.

“Or rather, it might be more accurate to say they were taken from their parents…”

“Taken from them?”

Even the phrasing sounded troubling. Muheun nodded and continued his explanation in a calm tone.

“Spiritual abilities are mostly inherited, but sometimes they manifest spontaneously in certain children, often those born on nights with a full moon or during leap years when the spiritual energy is unusually strong.”

These children, who are born with spiritual sight, could see spirits from a young age. Naturally, their families would start to think something was wrong with them.

Seungjoo could imagine it — to see things no one else could would frighten ordinary people. If he was lucky, he might avoid being labeled as insane.

“Those children were taken in and raised by the association.”

“When you say ‘taken in,’ you don’t mean… kidnapped, do you?”

“Not exactly.”

Muheun let out a slight chuckle, but a cold glint flashed in his eyes.

“At first, they would simply try to convince the parents. They’d promise enough compensation, assure the child’s safety, insist that they weren’t doing anything shady, and say the parents could visit whenever they wanted. They’d lay it on thick with sweet talk, but eventually, they’d add veiled threats, saying the child might lead an unhappy life if they weren’t raised according to their gifts.”

“That sounds… like a scam.”

Even if it wasn’t all lies, it was close enough to coercion.

“The children they brought in were trained to suppress their emotions. It made them easier to handle than exorcists raised in a normal family.”

Once inside the association, the connection to their parents was effectively severed. At first, the parents would search tirelessly, but they would eventually give up, unable to recognize their child’s transformation. Sometimes, it was the child who would reject their family, having never truly bonded with them.

“The children deployed to the field became members of Team Zero. And I’m the leader of that team.”

Seungjoo didn’t dare ask why Muheun had been assigned to lead such a team, not with the bitter expression he wore for a split second.

“For the association, it was convenient. They were always short-staffed, and now they had compliant employees.”

Muheun said that the association referred to this as a “business,” justifying it by saying that, in the end, these children would save lives. It was all for the greater good.

“Some of the executives opposed it. My father was one of the most vocal.”

Muheun’s father, who had passed away from overwork, had been a senior member of the association and one of the few who had strongly advocated to end the program. Muheun mentioned that his father’s opposition had once even prevented a child from being brought in.

“But after my father passed, the opposition weakened. Eventually, they even made arrangements with orphanages, allowing any spiritually gifted child who ended up there to be sent directly to the association.”

The mention of orphanages triggered a memory in Seungjoo — a photo of the former association president shaking hands with someone in front of a building that looked like a daycare.

“No way…”

“Yes, way.”

Muheun confirmed it with a short nod, saying the exact name Seungjoo had dreaded.

“Yeonho Orphanage.”

When Seungjoo had first heard that name, he’d thought, “Surely not.” It was hard to believe that people could be so heartless, refusing to even give them proper names.

“The child taken from there is Yeonho.”

“Gwangsik.”

Seungjoo snapped back to reality, turning his head at the familiar name that had pulled him from his thoughts. Following Muheun’s gaze, he saw Gwangsik entering the courtroom.

“Over here.”

Muheun gestured, and Gwangsik walked toward them. Even though Muheun had spoken softly, it was enough for him to hear.

Good thing he hadn’t complained about the staring, Seungjoo thought as Gwangsik approached.

“Where are the others?”

“They’ll be here shortly.”

Gwangsik glanced briefly at Seungjoo, particularly at the cast on his arm. He quickly looked away, and Muheun pulled a white pill bottle from his pocket and handed it to him.

“Alright. Once the others arrive, please give these to them.”

Although the contents weren’t visible, Seungjoo guessed that the bottle held pills infused with spiritual energy. Gwangsik, who also seemed to recognize the bottle, glanced between Muheun and the container with a questioning look.

“Did you finish using these?”

“Yeah, don’t need them anymore.”

Even though Muheun’s reply was casual, Seungjoo felt awkward and turned his head away, reminded of the incident where he had tested the pills’ effectiveness. Gwangsik, oblivious to that detail, seemed to sense something unnecessary.

“Give them back to their owners and tell them to use them when they’re low on energy. I’ll make more if needed.”

“Understood.”

After stowing the pill bottle away, Seungjoo subtly observed Gwangsik again, noticing something slightly different about him.

No hat.

The absence of his usual hat made his appearance feel unfamiliar. The gloomy impression he usually had seemed softer today, making him look unexpectedly young. As Seungjoo stared, Gwangsik frowned slightly.

“…What?”

“What?”

“You were staring.”

“I’m allowed to look, aren’t I?”

With such a direct response, Gwangsik didn’t argue. Apparently, he was wondering if Seungjoo was right.

What a simple-minded guy, Seungjoo thought, nodding his chin.

“You’re not wearing a hat today.”

“…Oh.”

Gwangsik paused, running a hand through his bangs, as if to hide his face. It looked like a self-conscious gesture, especially with what he mumbled afterward.

“I can’t wear it in the courtroom.”

“Who said anything about that? What are you doing after the trial?”

“Why do you ask?”

This time, Muheun was the one who questioned him. Standing with his hands in his pockets, he looked at the two with a hint of curiosity in his eyes. Catching the faint trace of suspicion, Seungjoo waved his hand dismissively.

“I just have something to say. Hey, make some time for me later.”

“And why should I?”

“I told you, I need to talk.”

“Talk?”

Gwangsik blinked in confusion, his stiff, almost robotic expression barely masking his feelings. For someone so straightforward, it was always easy to read him.

“Yes, a talk.”

“Gotta end those bad habits.”

Muheun’s words echoed in Seungjoo’s mind.

Muheun probably thought he had to act before fully taking the president’s position. Team Zero was a bundle of the association’s flaws but also existed to prevent further corruption. If he waited until he was president to disband it, he might face accusations of consolidating power.

Just as Muheun had issues he wanted to resolve, there were things Seungjoo needed to confront as well.

***

Before long, familiar faces entered the courtroom: the Team Zero members who had joined them on their recent exorcism mission. They greeted Muheun with a respectful bow, then glanced at Seungjoo with curious eyes. As Seungjoo wondered if he should acknowledge them, Muheun spoke casually.

“You’re all staring too much.”

Surprisingly, with that remark, the lingering gazes all turned away. Team Zero members and even some executives who had been eyeing Seungjoo averted their gaze, creating an odd silence. Thankfully, it didn’t last long, as someone soon broke the tension.

“Please, everyone, take your seats.”

The one who entered was also an exorcist, dressed like the other executives in a traditional robe, but his lacked any color or pattern, as did the robes of those who followed. Seeing this, Seungjoo quickly realized who they were.

“The judiciary team.”

Their attire was familiar — similar to the robe worn by the monitor he’d seen before. Checking his watch, he saw it was five minutes to the hour, just as expected.

“I should get going.”

Muheun adjusted the lapels of his robe, securing the ties with his long fingers, his movements somehow mesmerizing. After a quick dust-off of his chest, he gave a serene smile.

“I’ll be back, Hyung.”

With that, Muheun headed to the bench, and Seungjoo joined Team Zero in the spectator seats. The seats had been reserved specifically for him, as Muheun had instructed the team members to sit nearby to keep others from disturbing him. Although he wasn’t particularly close to the team, they were far preferable to the executives who kept trying to make small talk.

“Good thing everyone knows Hyung is their leader.”

From what he had heard earlier, the executives gathered in the courtroom today were all aware of Team Zero’s existence. These were people in high positions, which meant the matters being discussed here were of great importance.

“The association president…”

As everyone settled into their seats, the courtroom doors opened, and the association president was brought in. Held by both arms by the judiciary officers, the president was wearing a rare, displeased expression, no longer his usual smarmy smile. Seungjoo narrowed his eyes as he observed something on the president’s wrists.

“…Handcuffs?”

“Arrest.”

Gwangsik, sitting next to Seungjoo, whispered the explanation. Instead of asking more, Seungjoo simply nodded. The surrounding silence made even speaking a little uncomfortable.

“We will now establish the barrier.”

With that mechanical announcement, several exorcists began to set up the barrier. They inserted spiritual energy into the talismans they had already placed, finishing the process by creating a core. The sensation of the space being separated made Seungjoo frown, but the others seemed completely unfazed, as if it was an everyday occurrence.

In the midst of the solemn concentration, the exorcist sitting at the center of the judicial panel spoke up.

“Now, we will begin the 583rd official trial of the Exorcist Association.”

The trial was far more tedious than expected. Seungjoo already knew all the details, so he didn’t need to listen closely. The audience who had witnessed previous trials felt the same, watching them with uninterested expressions.

The Association President, who was on trial, claimed he had only been trying to find a way to seal the Gwimae that emerged on association grounds. He insisted the development was for a greater cause, but no one seemed to take his words seriously. Even he didn’t appear convinced by his own arguments.

He further argued that the souls had been left to turn into vengeful spirits simply because the manpower had been used to investigate the Gwimae. It might not have been intentional, but he couldn’t possibly be unaware that indifference was a form of harm as well.

There’s no such thing as a permanent secret in this world. His actions, blinded by power, ultimately yielded only futile results. Rather than feeling satisfaction, there was an empty sense of irony to it.

Anyway, the trial continued to drag on meaninglessly. Muheun named the individuals who had cooperated with the Association President, and they were all set to face disciplinary action. Surprisingly, Yunhee’s name was among them, though Muheun mentioned it with calm indifference.

“With that, we conclude the first part of the trial.”

As the final matters were settled, the judges all stood up in unison. At the same time, the exorcists, who had been standing guard like sentinels, dismantled the barrier core placed around the courtroom. It seemed like the trial had ended, but after a brief recess, the remaining proceedings would continue.

The Exorcist Association’s trials were uniquely divided into two parts. The first part allowed only selected individuals to attend, while the second part was open to any association member. In the first part, guilt was established and severity judged, and in the second, the final verdict was openly delivered in front of everyone. Seungjoo didn’t know all the details, but he’d heard it was done for the sake of transparency.

“How was the trial?”

As soon as the judges left, Muheun hopped over from the witness stand to Seungjoo’s side. Seungjoo, who had been sitting quietly, gave a halfhearted shrug.

“Well, just…”

“Boring, right?”

It was exactly as expected. There was no need to nod or even answer.

“The second part will be more of the same, so if it’s boring, you can head back to the dorms.”

“It’s fine. I don’t have anything else to do outside.”

Since he had already started watching, he intended to stay till the end. The trial might have been dull, but watching Muheun in his ceremonial robes was entertaining enough. In fact, Seungjoo had spent most of the trial just admiring his face.

“But, Hyung, aren’t you going to take off your robes?”

The silk robe was an item given only to high-ranking exorcists within the association. Not everyone with a team leader title received one; even Muyeon didn’t have one yet. Furthermore, Muheun wasn’t officially recognized as a team leader, so ordinary exorcists would surely find his attire unusual.

“It’s fine; I’ll take it off after the trial.”

Is it really okay for others to see him like this? Thinking that, Seungjoo just nodded. If Kim Muheun said it was okay, then it probably was. Whatever the situation, he tended to accept Muheun’s words without much question.

“Seungjoo!”

Just as Muheun was instructing his team, a bright voice called out from somewhere. When Seungjoo turned his head, he saw two familiar faces approaching. One was Muryeong, and the other was Muyeon.

“What’s this? Did both of you come to watch the trial?”

“Hyung invited us. He told us to observe if we had time.”

“And, of course, we came to see you, Seungjoo.”

As soon as Muyeon got close, she messed up Seungjoo’s hair. Muheun straightened his now-disheveled hair, while Muryeong anxiously checked his arm.

“How’s your arm?”

“It’s almost healed. I’ll be out of the cast soon.”

It was the absolute truth. His recovery was faster than expected, so he would be out of the cast sooner than planned.

“But what’s with that outfit, Oppa? Did you get a promotion?”

“Something like that.”

In response to Muyeon’s question, Muheun grinned and winked. Contrary to Seungjoo’s concern, Muyeon seemed to accept it without much thought, likely assuming that Muheun had earned a senior position as a reward for exposing the Association President.

“Hyung, I’m going to step out for a moment. Stay here with Muyeon and Muryeong.”

With that, Muheun left with the members of Team 0. When he returned, he was alone and holding a stack of papers. Muyeon and Muryeong quickly took the empty seats beside Seungjoo, and soon the members of the judiciary returned to the courtroom as well.

“Please take your seats.”

Since this part of the trial was open to the public, they didn’t set up a barrier this time. The previously empty audience seats were now filled with new faces, and a few of the judiciary members stood guard at the entrance with their arms crossed. There were, of course, a few glances at Seungjoo, but a single glare from Muyeon quickly settled things down.

The second part of the trial was said to be just for show. It really felt like watching a scripted play. The officials monotonously recited the same details as in the first part, with little variation, and it was so dull that Seungjoo’s mind drifted.

“The Association President unsealed the Gwimae….”

How exactly did Kim Muheun plan to disband Team 0? A team wasn’t so easy to dissolve, even if he was its leader; there had to be limits to what he could do.

Lost in these thoughts as he watched Muheun’s profile, Seungjoo snapped back as the judiciary announced the Association President’s penalties. His position had already been stripped, so it wasn’t even worth mentioning. The penalties included permanent expulsion from the association and seizure of assets, with minimum sanctions for the senior staff who had cooperated with him.

“With that, this concludes all trial matters….”

“Excuse me, but I’d like to say something.”

Just as the judiciary was about to declare the end of the session, Muheun spoke up in a calm tone. Though his voice wasn’t loud, it commanded everyone’s attention. Seungjoo, equally intrigued, glanced his way, and Muheun gracefully retrieved something from his robe sleeve.

“Since there are many gathered here, I’d like to expose another matter of corruption.”

In his hand was the compulsory summons token he had shown before. He approached the judiciary’s platform and set the round wooden token down before them.

“It concerns a project the association is currently pursuing.”

“Hold on… isn’t this unrelated to the current agenda?”

Sensing something unusual, the Association President spoke up with a displeased look. The exorcists in the audience started murmuring at the sudden shift. With a confident tone, the Association President protested to the judiciary.

“I believe I still have the right to speak. I cannot accept a trial without proper procedures.”

While this trial hadn’t had a heavy atmosphere, there were still procedures to follow, and changing the topic of the trial so suddenly went against that. The Exorcist Association, a long-standing institution, held firm to these traditions.

“Permission granted.”

But after a brief silence, the judiciary granted an unexpected approval, nodding to one another as the audience grew visibly restless. The Association President’s eyes widened in shock, but Muheun only offered a slight bow, a composed smile on his face.

“Thank you.”

His lips curved with an air of confidence, as though he had expected this outcome all along. Watching him pick up the token, Seungjoo sensed he might understand what was happening.

‘So that token also grants Team 0 certain authority.’

Apparently, the token held some power beyond just issuing summons, something the Association President seemed unaware of, hence his stunned expression.

“With your permission, I shall speak.”

Turning to the audience, Muheun took only two steps forward, but it felt as if he’d drawn much closer.

In the ensuing calm, Muheun began speaking in a more subdued tone than usual.

“For generations, the association has been taking children with innate spiritual abilities, without any connections, and raising them as exorcists. About ten years ago, they even partnered with an orphanage, but that arrangement was dissolved when the orphanage burned down.”

Yeonho Orphanage. Seungjoo muttered the name to himself, relieved that Gwangsik wasn’t here. He wasn’t sure how Gwangsik felt about his past, but the way he referred to himself without a name suggested he didn’t welcome it. Such a topic would no doubt trouble him.

“The method of recruiting children is inhumane, and even to this day, the higher-ups remain divided on the matter. I won’t elaborate further on that.”

Muheun’s firm tone made it clear he wasn’t criticizing the project itself. Since it was a contentious issue, there was no need to go so far as to “expose” it unless there was something more serious to reveal.

“You’re all aware of Assemblyman Kim, who passed away a decade ago.”

At the mention of that name, Seungjoo sat up straight. Glancing to his sides, he saw that Muryeong and Muyeon were listening without any particular reaction. Assemblyman Kim—he was the father of the three siblings next door.

“Nineteen years ago, in the year of the Metal Rat, on a leap day, a boy was born. The boy had extraordinary spiritual abilities, and the association tried to negotiate with his ordinary parents to recruit him. The parents refused to give up their child, and Assemblyman Kim argued in favor of respecting the parents’ wishes.”

It was just like the Assemblyman, but that wasn’t the important part. The year Muheun mentioned, the Metal Rat year, was the same year Muryeong and he were born. And if it was on a leap day, that meant February 29…

‘…No way.’

A person came to mind—someone who had grown close to Kim Muryeong at some point, with unusually pale skin. An odd character who, despite having spiritual sight, seemed even more lacking in common sense than he was.

“Because of the division of opinions among the senior members, the Assemblyman agreed to take on additional work to ensure the child would be left alone. At the time, the amount of work the association assigned to the Assemblyman was said to be five times the typical load for an exorcist.”

“…Five times?”

Someone in the audience gasped under their breath. That was also the moment Muyeon, who had remained silent until then, clenched his fist tightly.

“But when the child was about eight years old, his parents passed away….”

Muheun trailed off, closing his eyes tightly before opening them again. His dark eyes held an unusually deep calm.

“Two years later, Assemblyman Kim also passed away.”

The cause of death was known. Likely, everyone here had already guessed it.

“It was overwork.”

After the Assemblyman passed away, the association would bring small gifts, like flowers, every year as an apology. Naturally, the Assemblyman’s wife never accepted them—not because she couldn’t move on from his death, but to ensure this kind of tragedy would never happen again.

“After Assemblyman Kim’s passing, rumors began to spread that the child he tried to protect had become possessed by a malevolent spirit. The association attempted to handle it in the usual way, but every effort failed.”

“Don’t touch me.”

An all-too-familiar voice crossed his mind—it was what Hwanyeong had once told Seungjoo in high school. It was right after he’d grabbed Seungjoo’s arm, and soon after, Seungjoo had suffered a freak accident, twisting his wrist. It had been his right hand, the same hand that had touched Hwanyeong.

“So the association manipulated records and arranged for the possessed child to enter Haeyeon High School. Officially, it was said this was to keep an eye on the child for the sake of monitoring someone with spiritual abilities.”

So the child Muheun mentioned really was Gi Hwanyeong. There seemed to be so much more to this odd character than Seungjoo had ever known. All he had thought of him as was a friend of Kim Muryeong. But apparently, Hwanyeong was a spiritually gifted individual the association had once tried to recruit.

He didn’t feel resentful for not knowing. He had never sought out this information, nor would it have changed anything. When he’d first heard that Hwanyeong had a malevolent spirit attached to him, he had assumed there were reasons he wouldn’t be able to share.

“As you know, due to the accumulation of negative energy, my family has traditionally helped the association manage Haeyeon High School. During that same period, Kim Muryeong—now with Team 4—was also set to attend.”

Managing Haeyeon was one of the Kim family’s duties. That’s why they all attended Haeyeon, and so did the Seo family, including Seungjoo. Even now, Haeyeon High School was a place where incidents involving negative energy frequently occurred.

“The malevolent spirit attached to the child was dealt with around their second year of high school by exorcist Kim Muryeong.”

Seungjoo glanced at Muryeong instinctively. She was listening to Muheun’s story with an unfazed expression, as if she’d already anticipated it, despite it being about her.

“Don’t you think there are too many strange coincidences here?”

Muheun directed his question at the association President, who remained silent. Not expecting a response, Muheun simply smiled and continued.

“According to the investigation, this case was orchestrated by the association to test the skills of Kim Muryeong, who was a minor at the time.”

“….”

Seungjoo was genuinely shocked, as likely was everyone in the courtroom.

“I should go to the association and tell them.”

That had been around two years ago. When someone from the association visited just before the Assemblyman’s death anniversary, Seungjoo’s mother had said, with rare anger:

“Tell them Hwanyeong knows why you’re attending Haeyeon High School. Both our family and the Seo family take this matter very seriously.”

“…Ah.”

So that’s what she meant.

If he’d asked, they probably would have told him everything in detail. But Seungjoo had never inquired. He didn’t want to know about the adults’ affairs, and he loathed anything that seemed like a headache. Besides, regardless of any backstory, Gi Hwanyeong would still be Kim Muryeong’s friend.

“During the exorcism, Kim Muryeong almost died after falling from the rooftop.”

Seungjoo looked at Muryeong sharply. ‘You almost died back then?’ He conveyed his question with a glare, and Muryeong responded with an awkward smile.

“I don’t see why you’re bringing up an issue that was already settled two years ago.”

“That’s correct. The association recognized the seriousness of the matter and completed compensation accordingly.”

The association President quickly rebutted, but Muheun remained unperturbed. That compensation was essentially an admission of fault, and those who caught the implication quietly clicked their tongues.

“I may have been lengthy in my explanation… but that wasn’t the main point I wanted to discuss.”

Muheun offered a slight smile and scanned the audience. Then, he slowly opened his mouth again, and unfamiliar names flowed one after another, names Seungjoo had never heard before.

There was only one familiar name among them.

“And Yeonho.”

So they were all members of Team 0. This realization soon turned into a powerful shock, all because of Muheun’s next words.

“They, too, were exorcists deployed to the field despite not yet being adults.”

The observation deck erupted in murmurs. Even Muryeong and Muyeon, who rarely showed surprise, blinked in astonishment.

Muheun pulled out the wooden tag he had shown earlier and held it up for the observation deck to see.

“Most of you may not know this, but the association has an undisclosed Team 0.”

“…Kim Muheun, exorcist!”

The association president shouted, rising from his seat as if he could no longer tolerate this. However, the tribunal members flanking him promptly seated him again. Muheun looked down at the president, chuckling.

“You don’t have the authority to silence me.”

“….”

At this point, even the association president had no power to stop Muheun’s words. In fact, the tribunal banged the table and spoke up.

“Silence, please.”

A grinding sound was heard, but the president remained silent, and only Muheun’s voice echoed through the courtroom.

“Team 0 is where the association gathered spiritually gifted individuals recruited through the project I mentioned earlier. They exploited these individuals’ lack of official identity, sending them to the field despite their young age, when they should have been protected.”

Perhaps deliberately, Muheun omitted that Team 0’s role was to monitor the president. He turned his back on the observation deck and approached the tribunal with a stack of papers he’d brought in earlier with his team members.

“The documents I’m presenting now contain each team member’s birth certificate and falsified death records, which the association had destroyed.”

“…!”

This time, the president’s jaw dropped in shock. He was usually unflappable, even when displeased, but now he looked completely at a loss for words.

“Team 0 members were as young as fifteen and up to nineteen. Once in the team, they handled workloads comparable to adult exorcists. Trained in isolation to suppress their emotions, they effectively had no say in their own fates.”

“…Kim Muheun, where did you obtain this information?”

As they examined the documents, the tribunal seemed hesitant, needing to verify the source given the unexpected turn.

Expecting him to admit to covert investigations, the tribunal was instead taken aback when Muheun replied without turning around.

“Though I’m publicly affiliated with Team 1, I’m actually the team leader of Team 0.”

The Chinese characters embroidered on his overcoat seemed strikingly clear now: ‘order’ and ‘command.’ People finally realized their significance and started whispering.

“So that character means….”

“…Is Kim Muheun really the team leader?”

“Is that why he’s wearing the overcoat…?”

They’d likely assumed, like Muyeon, that Muheun had recently been appointed a senior officer. The whispers suggested that the overcoat had been a sign, and they’d unknowingly accepted it because he was indeed

that

Kim Muheun.

“When a new member joins Team 0, part of my role is to verify their background. I collected the documents each time for that purpose.”

As soon as Muheun finished, the tribunal exchanged glances, a wave of tension in their eyes despite the silence.

As the courtroom settled, a tribunal member in the center spoke up.

“Once more, we ask Kim Muheun, the team leader.”

His title had officially changed to team leader. Seungjoo swallowed nervously, a tension building as he furrowed his brow. The tribunal addressed Muheun in a firm, measured tone.

“Did you knowingly neglect to address this issue?”

“Yes.”

Muyeon, seated nearby, let out a faint laugh. “Seriously….” His expression was filled with shock, and Muryeong looked similarly unsettled. Only Muheun maintained his unwavering stance.

“I plan to report not only myself but also every senior officer involved in this matter. After that initial mistake, they continued to exploit minors in the same way, turning a blind eye while pursuing their own interests.”

Though Muheun didn’t name anyone, several officers visibly paled. A few even hurriedly left their seats, as if they understood their fates were likely sealed.

“I’ll accept any disciplinary action. Moreover, I’ll take full responsibility and resign from my position, returning my overcoat.”

‘Guess I’ll take it off after the trial.’

Was that what he’d meant earlier? Muheun paused, glancing around the observation deck. Though he appeared to scan the room, his gaze ultimately landed on Seungjoo. They locked eyes briefly, and Muheun offered him a faint, almost indiscernible smile.

“Furthermore, I hereby declare the official dissolution of Team 0.”

 The chapters have been revised, edited, and compressed, and the complete main story has been released for free, as I’m concerned it might be taken down or worse. I didn’t want to disappoint the readers, so I apologize for any inconvenience, and I hope you enjoy reading the complete story! The side stories will be coming soon, so don't worry~