Chapter 6: LB-2, The Expiration Date of a God

11:30 PM.

The lobby of Baekgyeong University Hospital had fallen into a cold silence after the noise of the day disappeared.

The city lights beyond the huge glass windows were dazzling, but the air inside the hospital carried a strange sense of pressure mixed with the scent of disinfectant.

I headed toward a secluded corridor behind the main building, one that wasn’t even marked on the hospital directory.

Hidden there was a private elevator that could only be called using a special security card issued by the Foundation.

The moment the elevator doors opened and I stepped inside, my body felt heavier than usual.

Just an hour ago, my muscles had felt as light as feathers.

Now they felt like waterlogged cotton, constantly dragging me toward the floor.

A fog-like haze filled my mind.

My fingertips trembled without my permission.

“Come on, Han Ji-hoon. Six months ago, you were just a ninth-grade idiot. Have you already become addicted to this feeling?”

I stared at my reflection in the elevator mirror.

It was painfully human.

And because of that, unfamiliar.

Dark circles hung beneath my eyes.

My breathing was rougher than usual.

Most of all, what tormented me was the dullness of my senses.

For six months, the world had moved at double speed, breaking down every piece of information before my eyes.

Now everything felt like it was running at normal speed.

Or even slower.

The pace at which ordinary people spent their entire lives suddenly felt unbearably frustrating.

Terrifying, even.

The last six months of seeing through the eyes of a god felt like a brief summer dream slipping away.

This wasn’t simple anxiety.

It felt like a part of my soul was being torn away.

As the elevator descended deeper underground, I felt myself becoming ordinary Han Ji-hoon again.

A weak shell of a person.

***

With a heavy vibration, the elevator stopped at Basement Level 4.

The doors opened.

Cold mechanical sounds greeted me as the hidden heart of the Foundation revealed itself.

“Welcome, Ji-hoon. You don’t look well. You arrived just in time.”

Standing directly in front of the elevator was a man in a perfectly tailored suit.

Manager Kim.

The Foundation’s administrator.

A man who always wore a gentle smile but whose true intentions could never be seen.

He led me into a spotless, ultra-modern laboratory.

Everything was white.

The room was so sterile that even a speck of dust felt like a crime.

The air carried a faint smell of ozone and the low hum of electrical equipment.

“Manager Kim, every time I come here I think the same thing. The lights are way too bright. Couldn’t you dim them a little for the patients?”

I lay down on the cold titanium bed and joked casually.

It was my final defense mechanism against the fear screaming inside me.

Kim simply laughed.

He skillfully attached dozens of sensors across my body.

Every cold sensor touching my skin sent chills through me.

“Haha. That confidence of yours will disappear in another thirty minutes. Your synaptic activity has already dropped near the critical threshold. The fact that you managed to walk here on your own proves why you were chosen.”

As he manipulated his tablet, a blue hologram of my brain appeared above the bed.

Red warning lights flashed throughout it.

Energy levels were critically low.

“Let me explain the Limited Body-n System in greater detail. This isn’t simply a drug that makes you smarter or stronger. It’s a sophisticated piece of neuroengineering that redefines the biological limit of a human using a constant called n.”

He pointed at waves and equations floating in the display.

“Your current stage, LB-2, amplifies every positive ability to exactly twice the human average. Intelligence, reflexes, endurance, even cellular regeneration and healing speed.”

His eyes gleamed coldly beneath the fluorescent lights.

“But the true greatness of the system lies elsewhere.”

“The probability of cancer growth, genetic defects, inflammatory responses, and every biological factor associated with aging and death is compressed to exactly one-half.”

A chill ran down my spine.

“Positive traits increase by n.”

“Negative traits decrease by 1/n.”

“The perfect equation of a god.”

He smiled.

“That is why we call you a perfect creation.”

Hearing the explanation sent goosebumps across my body.

The Foundation’s technology wasn’t simply enhancement.

It wasn’t treatment.

It was humanity arrogantly hacking the natural process of evolution itself.

And I was their first successful test subject.

A person who could no longer refuse.

***

As synchronization with the Foundation’s system began, real-time data appeared in my vision.

A red warning icon flashed in the corner.

[Status Scan in Progress]

[System: Limited Body-2 (LB-2)]

[Synchronization Status: Remaining Output 7.4%]

[Synaptic Firing Rate Rapidly Declining]

[Alert: First Treatment Validity Period (6 Months) Reached Critical Threshold]

[System Shutdown in 58 Minutes]

“Can you see it?”

Manager Kim lifted a syringe from a metal tray.

A glowing transparent liquid swirled inside it.

Tiny particles drifted through the fluid.

“Your expiration date has less than an hour remaining.”

He smiled.

“If you don’t receive this injection in time, the neural networks that were forcibly opened will overload and burn out.”

His voice remained calm.

“You’ll spend the rest of your life with an IQ below fifty.”

He paused.

“Actually, considering the rate of neural death, becoming a vegetable would be considered fortunate.”

Then he leaned closer.

“The choice is yours.”

“Continue living as a genius with the eyes of a god.”

“Or spend the rest of your life as a breathing piece of meat.”

His smile widened.

“Though let’s be honest. Neither of us ever really had a choice.”

He knew.

After experiencing a world operating at twice the speed of ordinary humans, I could never willingly return to normal.

To someone who had tasted omnipotence, normality was worse than death.

The Foundation had placed an invisible leash around my neck.

Every six months, they pulled it tighter.

And each time, they measured my loyalty.

***

Manager Kim placed the needle against a vein near my neck.

Then he paused.

His eyes were cold and reptilian.

The pressure in the room became almost unbearable.

“You understand there is no such thing as a free lunch, don’t you?”

His tone hardened.

“For the next six months, we intend to dramatically increase the intensity of our data collection.”

He shook his head.

“Simply sitting in classrooms and earning top grades is no longer enough.”

“We want data generated when you stand at the peak of both intellect and instinct.”

“Excuse me?”

I raised an eyebrow.

“I’m already melting my brain to stay at the top of medical school. What more do you want? Should I stop sleeping?”

“Not enough.”

His answer came immediately.

“Maintaining first place in medical school is the minimum requirement.”

Then he smiled.

“Tie your football boots again.”

“Lead Baekgyeong University’s football team to a university league championship.”

My expression stiffened.

“Medicine demands supreme intelligence.”

“Football demands supreme instinct.”

“We want the collision that occurs when both extremes exist within the same individual.”

“Give us that data.”

His smile vanished.

“And if you fail either task…”

“There will be no next injection.”

[Mission Difficulty Assessment: S-Rank]

[Requirement: Surpass Human Limits]

I laughed weakly.

“Come on. Study medicine and become a football champion at the same time?”

“So basically, the Foundation wants to use me as a machine that runs twenty-four hours a day.”

“If I die from overwork, you’ll at least cover the funeral expenses, right?”

My tone remained light.

But cold sweat ran down my back.

This wasn’t about chasing two rabbits.

It was about taming two lions at once.

The Foundation wanted to preserve me as the perfect specimen.

Proof of their technology.

A living trophy.

***

“Urgh!”

The cold needle pierced my jugular vein.

Instantly, agony exploded inside my skull.

It felt like tens of thousands of volts were surging through my brain.

This wasn’t ordinary pain.

Every neuron felt as though it was being torn apart and forcibly stitched back together.

[LB-2 System Reboot Initiated]

[Neurotransmitter Overload Injection in Progress]

[Pain Index Exceeding Critical Threshold]

White light exploded across my vision.

My optic nerves felt as though they were burning.

Muscles throughout my body spasmed violently.

Then—

The pain vanished.

Like a massive tide retreating from shore.

In its place came overwhelming clarity.

Cold, razor-sharp logic flooded my mind.

My blurry vision expanded into terrifying resolution once again.

I could see the individual pixels on the monitor beside my bed.

I could hear the faint groans of patients three floors above in the intensive care unit.

I could track the exact path of dust particles moving through the air purifier.

The dead engine inside me roared back to life.

My heart beat powerfully.

My blood felt hot.

Thankfully, my humanity remained intact.

The emotional deterioration Manager Kim had warned me about only began at LB-3.

For now, I was still human.

I still wanted to curse because of the pain.

I still wondered what snacks I should buy from a convenience store afterward.

I was still Han Ji-hoon.

***

“How does it feel, Ji-hoon? Is the world clear again?”

Breathing heavily, I ran a hand through my sweat-soaked hair.

Then I forced a grin.

“Manager Kim, next time could you at least make the injection strawberry-flavored?”

“It’s way too cold.”

“And returning to football?”

I sighed dramatically.

“You know dealing with football-team hazing is the most annoying thing in the world.”

“I’m worth more than becoming a drink delivery boy.”

Manager Kim laughed.

“I believe you’ll do just fine.”

He organized the charts beside him.

“After all, you’re the most beautiful creation the Foundation has ever produced.”

“Your true value will be proven on the field.”

With that, he left.

I slowly climbed off the bed.

Every nerve in my body had become hypersensitive.

Even the movement of air against my skin felt like a physical sensation.

***

2:00 AM.

I stepped out through the hospital’s main entrance.

The freezing air stabbed deep into my lungs.

Before LB-2, I would have simply thought:

It’s cold.

Now my brain automatically processed:

Humidity: 58%

Temperature: 2°C

Air Quality: Good

Yet what surprised me was that the cold still felt cold.

The sensation itself remained.

And for some reason, that made me grateful.

Relief spread through me.

I had narrowly avoided falling back into the ordinary one-times-speed world.

I looked up at the dark sky.

Six more months.

The invisible leash around my neck had become even tighter.

But deep within my chest, excitement stirred.

Medical student.

Football hero.

An exhausting and ridiculous challenge.

But wasn’t that exactly what made it thrilling?

No ordinary human would ever experience a life like this.

“Study medicine and play football at the same time.”

I laughed.

“One lunatic like me is enough for Baekgyeong University’s entire history.”

“The people at the Foundation have terrible taste.”

***

I boarded the final night bus heading toward Seoksu-dong.

Beneath the dim interior lights, my reflection stared back from the window.

My eyes glowed with a cold blue light that hardly seemed human.

The eyes of a predator.

And the eyes of an observer.

For now, I was still human.

When I felt sadness, my chest still hurt.

When I felt joy, I still laughed.

But as the value of n increased…

What human emotions would I eventually be forced to sacrifice?

One day, would I wake up and see a machine staring back at me from the mirror?

[Notification]

[LB-2 Phase Two Synchronization Complete]

[Physical Output Restored to 200%]

[Disease Probability Reduced by 50%]

I shoved my slightly trembling hands into my coat pockets.

The Foundation’s arrogant challenge was simple:

Master both intellect and instinct.

Fine.

If they wanted data, I would give them data.

And then I would use that data as a weapon to dissect the Foundation itself.

If they insisted on calling me a creation, then I would become the variable that surpassed the creator’s design.

The legend was beginning again.

More dazzling.

More dangerous.

At the tip of a second needle.

“Well then…”

I smiled toward the dark window.

“Starting tomorrow, I guess it’s time to put on a proper performance as the medical student who plays football.”

“Wouldn’t want to disappoint the audience.”

The bus sped through the darkness toward Seoksu-dong.

Outside the window, old and worn-down neighborhoods passed by.

It was still the warm world of ordinary people living at one-times speed.

The world I belonged to.

And the world I intended to protect.