Jihyun Yoo

I tried my best to ignore the glowing window in the corner of my vision, keeping my focus locked on Jihyun Yoo.

But I could still see it.

Flickering. Glitching. Those question marks taunting me with their unknown meaning.

Something about them made my stomach twist, made my instincts scream at me to stay the hell away.

I clenched my fists, forcing myself to breathe evenly.

No.

I couldn't go with the glitches... not when the system was the only thing I could trust.

But I could go with this.

Jihyun Yoo studied me from across his desk, his expression unreadable. "You understand what I'm offering, don't you?" His voice was smooth, unwavering. "Anything you want—within my power, of course."

I hesitated. "So you can grant any one wish I desire?"

He smiled, slow and knowing. "Absolutely."

I let the silence stretch, pretending to consider it, even though my mind was already made up.

Then, I looked him straight in the eye.

"Then can you bring my father back to life?"

For the first time, Jihyun Yoo faltered.

It was barely noticeable—a flicker of something in his gaze, the way his fingers stilled against the glass in his hand. But I caught it.

And in that moment, I knew—I had turned the game on him.

I tried my best to ignore the glowing window in the corner of my vision, keeping my focus locked on Jihyun Yoo.

Jihyun Yoo didn't speak right away.

He didn't scoff. Didn't smirk.

He just… looked at me.

The silence stretched, heavy and deliberate.

For a brief moment, I almost thought I'd managed to stun him into speechlessness.

Then, slowly, he exhaled and leaned back in his chair, regarding me with an expression I couldn't quite decipher.

"Your father," he repeated, rolling the words over his tongue as if testing their weight.

I didn't respond.

Jihyun tapped a finger against his glass, thoughtful. "I must say, Dowan… I expected something else. Wealth? Power? Influence? Perhaps even safety?" His eyes gleamed. "But this?"

He tilted his head slightly. "How interesting."

I clenched my fists under the table, keeping my expression neutral.

This was a test. I knew it.

Jihyun Yoo thrived on control, on keeping people off balance. If I let him dictate the pace of this conversation, I would lose.

So I didn't waver.

"You said anything," I reminded him. "Was that a lie?"

His smirk deepened, just a fraction. "No. It was not."

A chill ran down my spine.

Not because I believed he could do it—no, I wasn't that naive. But because he wasn't dismissing it outright.

He wasn't laughing at me.

And that meant something.

Jihyun exhaled slowly, setting his drink down with deliberate care. "Life and death," he mused. "Such fickle little concepts. And yet, people act as though they are absolute."

I stiffened.

He smiled, sensing my reaction. "Tell me, Dowan… if I could do as you ask, you would give me your answer in return?"

I didn't let my expression change. "Depends on if you actually can."

He chuckled. "Fair." His fingers steepled together. "But you already know the answer, don't you?"

My stomach twisted.

Because I did.

He couldn't do it.

Not really.

A man like Jihyun Yoo could bend laws, rewrite lives, pull strings that most people didn't even know existed... but bringing someone back from the dead?

That was beyond him.

And yet… he hadn't outright refused.

Which meant he was gauging something.

Me.

"You want something impossible," he continued, "yet you ask as though it is within the realm of reason. Tell me… why?"

I held his gaze. "Because I wanted to see how you'd react."

For a single, suffocating second, the air in the room shifted.

Then—

Laughter.

Low, amused, genuine.

Jihyun Yoo leaned back in his chair, shaking his head slightly. "Brave," he murmured. "Very brave."

I didn't respond.

His laughter faded, but the amusement in his gaze remained. "But it seems we are at an impasse. I cannot grant your wish, and you, in turn, cannot grant mine."

His fingers tapped lightly against the desk. "So… what now?"

I exhaled slowly. "Now, you tell me about Jihan."

Silence.

Then, smoothly, he stood.

For a moment, I almost relaxed, until I realized he was walking toward me.

Each step was slow. Deliberate.

It took everything in me not to take a step back.

He stopped just a foot away, looking down at me. Even without moving, even without raising his voice, he loomed.

Power radiated from him, not just wealth, not just influence. Something else.

Something wrong.

Then, ever so slightly, he tilted his head.

"I wonder," he mused, "if you even know what you've refused."

The words settled uneasily in my chest.

I stayed silent.

His smirk deepened, just a fraction. "You're cautious," he said, almost approvingly. "That's good. But tell me, Dowan…"

I stiffened.

The way he said my name, like he was testing it. Like he was tasting it.

"How long do you think caution will keep you safe?"

Something heavy wrapped around my ribcage, making it hard to breathe.

Then, just as smoothly, he stepped back.

The pressure in the room eased.

He returned to his desk, picking up his drink again, and took a slow sip before continuing.

"I keep my promises," he said, voice casual. "I said I would tell you about Jihan. So I will."

I blinked, thrown off by the sudden shift in topic.

My throat felt dry. "...Right."

His smile widened slightly, and I knew… he enjoyed that. The way he could knock me off balance so effortlessly.

His next question was simple.

"What do you consider the pinnacle of humanity?"

That... that wasn't the question I'd expected.

Silence filled the room for a few seconds.

I hesitated. "I... I don't know if there is a pinnacle. People are flawed. That's what makes them—"

"Weak."

His voice cut through mine, sharp and unwavering.

I stiffened.

Jihyun exhaled, shaking his head slightly. "That's what they always say, don't they? That imperfection is what makes us human. That flaws are something to be embraced." His lip curled. "Romantic nonsense."

Jihyun leaned back in his chair, taking a slow sip of his drink. "Let's imagine for a moment," he said, voice as smooth as silk, "that you are right. That people are inherently flawed, and those flaws are what make them 'human.'" He tilted his head. "Why should that be a good thing?"

I frowned. "It's not about whether it's good or not. It just is."

His voice deepened. "And that is exactly the kind of thinking that keeps people mediocre."

I felt my jaw tighten.

"There is no inherent value in being human," he said firmly. "People want to believe there is because it comforts them. Because it allows them to accept their own limitations."

His fingers tapped lightly against the desk.

"But I have never been interested in acceptance."

I clenched my fists beneath the table.

"I am interested in potential," he continued. "In evolution. And more importantly…" He lifted a single finger. "...I am interested in control."

His gaze sharpened, the weight of it pressing against my skull.

"Think about it, Dowan," he said, voice deceptively gentle. "If you could shape a person from the start, if you could decide what they will become before they even draw their first breath… why would you allow them to be weak?"

I inhaled slowly. "That's not how people work."

He chuckled. "That's how you think they work."

A shiver ran down my spine.

"You are still shackled by what is normal," he said. "By what has been done before. But I do not waste my time with what already is. I focus only on what could be."

His fingers curled slightly against the wood.

"The perfect human is one without weaknesses," he said. "A mind that does not forget. A body that does not break. A will that does not falter."

He met my eyes, and for a single, suffocating moment, I felt like I was staring into something far bigger than myself.

"A person who does not need to rely on the illusion of connection. Someone who does not waste time on emotions that serve no purpose."

I swallowed. "You're talking about a machine."

His lips twitched, amused. "Perhaps."

I shook my head. "You're wrong. People need those things. They need emotions, they need connections—"

"Why?"

His voice was soft, almost amused.

I hesitated.

"You say people need those things," he said. "But why? What tangible benefit do emotions bring? What power do they offer?"

"They make people people."

He exhaled, shaking his head slightly. "And yet, emotions cloud judgment. They lead to failure. People make decisions based on how they feel instead of what is rational."

He raised a brow. "How many wars have been fought because of pride? Because of love? Because of rage?"

I said nothing.

He leaned forward, resting his chin against his hand. "A person without emotion does not hesitate. A person without attachment does not waver." His voice lowered. "A person without fear does not lose."

I inhaled sharply.

"You think that's perfection?" I asked. "Being empty?"

He answered immediately. "I think it is freedom. So how does once create such a thing?"

A pit formed in my stomach.

"Potential," he answered for me. "The first pillar of human perfection, a mind unshackled by ignorance. A brain that does not waste its time forgetting."

I blinked. "Forgetting?"

Jihyun leaned forward. "The human brain is at its most efficient as an infant. It absorbs, learns, evolves... faster than it ever will again. A baby does not need to study language to understand it. A baby does not need to train its muscles to grasp the world around it. It simply does."

His fingers curled.

"But that window closes."

He exhaled sharply, as if the very idea was offensive.

"The brain discards. It prunes itself. It chooses what is necessary and throws the rest away."

A slow smirk pulled at his lips.

"I removed that limit."

I felt my blood run cold.

"You… what?"

"I ensured that Jihan would retain that early ability. That his brain would never discard. Never prune. Never forget."

He tilted his head slightly.

"A mind like that? A mind that only accumulates knowledge? It is the closest thing to omniscience a human can achieve."

My heart pounded against my ribs.

Jihan had been engineered to be like this? To never forget?

But then—

I took a slow breath. "If that's true… why was he bullied?"

Jihyun didn't react.

"Why did he struggle?" I pressed. "If he was so perfect, then why—"

"Because his mother's blood diluted him."

His voice was cold.

I stared.

"He was meant to be flawless," Jihyun continued, as if I hadn't just been stunned into silence. "But his mother's weakness bled into him. Made him soft."

I clenched my fists.

"That 'softness' is what makes him human."

Jihyun's gaze sharpened. "And that is the flaw I failed to remove."

I gritted my teeth. "He's not a project, he's a person."

He exhaled, as if I were being tiring.

"And yet," he mused, "I wonder what he would have become had I removed that part of him entirely."

He picked up his glass again, taking a slow sip before setting it down once more.

"But I suppose," he murmured, "there's still time to fix that."

A slow, icy dread curled around my spine.

Fix?

What the hell did he mean by…

"I made sure he had every opportunity to become what he was meant to be," Jihyun continued. "Two hundred and twelve cram schools, carefully selected, each specializing in a different discipline. Science, mathematics, psychology, history, combat, negotiation—every tool he could ever need."

A pit formed in my stomach.

"Jihan didn't need a childhood. He needed knowledge. Experience. To take in everything the world had to offer and never let it go."

I swallowed hard.

Jihan had once told me he barely had time to breathe when he was younger. That his days had been filled with nothing but endless lessons, endless tests.

And now I knew why.

But something else clicked into place in my mind… something even worse.

I forced my voice to stay steady. "And his mother?"

Jihyun barely reacted.

"What about her?" he asked.

"You put her in the hospital," I said quietly. "Didn't you?"

Something flickered in his expression. Annoyance. Maybe even amusement.

"She was… unfortunate," he said, waving a hand dismissively. "The modifications weren't meant for her biology. The stress of carrying him took a toll on her body."

I clenched my fists so tightly my nails dug into my palms.

"And you didn't care."

He let out a quiet chuckle.

"She survived, didn't she?"

I wanted to hit him.

I wanted to hurt him.

But I didn't.

Because I knew… knew that if I so much as twitched wrong, I wouldn't leave this room in one piece.

Jihyun Yoo was a monster.

And Jihan… Jihan had spent his whole life trying to be what his father wanted.

Jihyun studied me, then leaned back in his chair.

"I think we're done here," he said.

I swallowed hard.

"You made your choice, Dowan," he continued. "You did not tell me what I wanted to know… but you've given me something far more interesting in return."

I didn't like how that sounded.

He smiled.

"I look forward to seeing what you become."

The dismissal was clear.

I turned stiffly, making my way to the door.

But just as I reached it, he spoke again.

"Oh, and Dowan?"

I hesitated.

"Are you so sure you want to find out about your father?"

I stilled.

"You may not like the answers."

Peek at you.

Evaluation unsuccessful

You have failed to take a peek as the target's stats are too high.

Ả̶̡̒ņ̷͇̞͂͐o̷̟͌͐m̸̥̖͌̃͜a̵̛̪̽̌l̵̫̬͠ô̸͚ṷ̴̡̌s̷̝̙̄͝ ̷͚̍̿ẽ̵̙̠͍̒̃ņ̸̘̄̔ṭ̸̾̀̑͜i̸̦̅̇͠t̴̲͑̒͝y̸̪̍͠͝ ̵̺͕̪͗̍͠d̴̪̽͘e̷̢͚̒̋͝t̸͇͌̊ẹ̷̔̄̉c̴̢̛̀t̴̘̓̈́

The system window in the corner of my vision glitched violently.

And then—

A notification.

Quest Complete: Refuse to tell Jihyun Yoo about the system.

Reward: 1 Master Card has been added to your inventory.

I exhaled slowly.

I didn't trust this.

I didn't trust him.

But for now, I had what I needed.

I stepped out of the room, the door clicking shut behind me.

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This is a world where teenagers can fucking level buildings... and you thought the millionaires would be normal?

Of course not.

If regular people have that level of physical power, imagine how many more drugs one would be able to take... how strong would actual Olympian athletes be? How strong are UFC athletes?

I kinda took it to the logical extreme.

I also took inspiration from a certain fictional senator.

Reviews please.

Patreon: Teddartic