ACJ 11

Episode 11

Since starting consultations for apostles with abnormal conditions, Lee Cheoeum had seen all sorts of patients.

But if he had to pick the most troublesome one…

“You just sit there silently in front of people, huh.”

…it was without a doubt the man sitting in front of him.

Osalo. A B-rank apostle of Carmel.

He had been a regular client since the very beginning of counseling.

“You’re not the type to feel guilty for ditching me a few days ago, so what is it? Tongue paralysis?”

The man had a mouth practically begging for a beating.

This time the fault lay with Cheoeum, so he couldn’t argue. His eyes, narrowed in annoyance, caught once again on Osalo’s bizarre outfit.

A man in his twenties, in the middle of winter, walking around in short-sleeves, short-pants, and a sailor uniform.

It might be an item, but he still looked like a lunatic.

Catching the look, Osalo twitched a brow.

“And what’s your excuse for skipping last time?”

“Unfortunate circumstances.”

“I was asking for an explanation.”

“It’s my policy not to disclose personal matters to clients.”

There was no way he could say he had been busy saving someone from an S-rank regression.

Osalo’s glare grew sharper at the evasive answer.

Cheoeum studied him curiously.

A man who could kill him without a trace—yet he never struck.

Here they were, bickering in a cramped storage room, but Osalo was a heavyweight.

‘He was the protagonist of the Second Recruitment War.’

Factions fighting over a promising apostle wasn’t rare, but battles on the scale of “wars” were. Even in Korea, with its high awakening rates, there had only been two.

The first, six years ago, when Yoo Sungwoo awakened as S-rank. Factions from around the world had swarmed like vultures, until he unexpectedly founded his own faction, Burim, leaving everyone empty-handed.

The second, only a year ago—caused by Osalo’s awakening.

And yet, aside from his name and face, almost nothing was known.

Not even his representative authority had ever been made public.

That secrecy, coupled with rumors of underworld origins, made him a fixture in apostle-related urban legends.

In person, though…

“Do they teach you at Gaon University to keep clients sitting in silence? Disappointing.”

Strangely, Cheoeum felt no threat. Maybe his danger sense was dulled, or maybe Osalo’s infamy was exaggerated.

“Yes. At Gaon, they teach us: if you’ve nothing to say, shut up.”

For a fleeting second, Osalo’s face turned menacing enough to justify the rumors. Then he sighed.

“…That stings a little. I actually have a lot of questions for you.”

Cheoeum arched an eyebrow at the delicate-looking man.

“Cut the crap and be honest.”

“Do you really care about my personal affairs? Is that honestly why you’re here?”

That was Osalo’s biggest problem.

‘Osalo no longer has any condition to treat—yet he keeps requesting counseling at high cost.’

…Tap, tap, tap.

Osalo’s pale fingers drummed rhythmically on the armrest.

“Really. I just wanted to check in today. I’ve grown attached to you, Counselor…”

Cheoeum propped his chin on his middle finger. Attached, my ass.

+

Osalo

• Status: ?

• Disposition: Competitive

• Response Rate: 1/5 (pre-consultation stage)

Months of counseling, and his file was still stuck here.

Without enough responses, he couldn’t even advance into proper consultation.

Consultation Items:

• Response Type: Cynical, oversensitive

• Avoidance Subject: No response

• Cognitive Distortion: No response

• Sustaining Factor: No response

• Suppression Mechanism: No response

Pathetic.

‘Not even identifying an avoidance subject? That’s absurd.’

Normally, just some time together was enough to fill in basics. The only conclusion:

‘He never treats me sincerely. Probably never told me a single truth.’

Compared to this, counseling Hayan had been child’s play.

If Hayan was like flicking marbles with a kid, Osalo was like playing a nine-dan Go master.

Not that Cheoeum hadn’t tried. But Osalo, with his oversensitive cynicism, reacted like a sulky teenager to every question.

‘Why do you want to know about my childhood? What are you going to do with that?’

What else was counseling for?

‘I don’t mind counseling, but can we keep the chairs at least a meter apart?’

From the very first session, Osalo had seemed uncomfortable with him—likely instinctively rejecting psychic influence.

And truth be told, Cheoeum didn’t like Osalo either. He’d even been deliberately rude, hoping to drive him off.

Still, he knew why Osalo kept coming back.

“Counselor, don’t you ever feel like sharing your own story?”

The Toledot sheet tore again.

[‘Resistance Spirit’ activates.]

That only triggered under psychic attack. Which meant…

‘He’s using me as a practice dummy for his psychic authority.’

What a bastard.

‘Which high school did you attend?’

Ever since his abnormal state had ended, Osalo had been testing powers on Cheoeum—asking personal questions and trying to force answers.

“Yes. I don’t want to say.”

It never worked thanks to Resistance Spirit. So Cheoeum’s approach was: you play around, I take the money.

And he could guess why.

Safer to experiment on someone immune than risk frying a normal person’s mind.

But one thing puzzled him.

[‘Resistance Spirit’ questions its own necessity.]

‘This weak ability sparked a whole Recruitment War?’

Unlike Yoo Sungwoo, an S-rank anomaly, Osalo was just B-rank. Even if psychic apostles were rare, it was hard to believe such a clumsy ability could cause that frenzy.

Still, not his concern.

“Maybe I just don’t know you well enough yet to hear your personal stories.”

Feigning disappointment, Osalo masked his failure with insincere words. Cheoeum ignored him, rummaging in his bag.

“I actually have a personal favor to ask.”

“What’s the price?”

“You don’t even know what it is yet.”

“Oh.”

Always the pragmatist.

“You recognize this, right?”

Flutter.

Cheoeum unfolded Go Hwarang’s robe.

Osalo’s smile vanished.

“…Where did you get that?”

“I missed the chance to return it myself. I’d like you to deliver it to its rightful owner.”

Osalo’s lips parted slowly.

He remembered the whispers from that morning:

‘Why’s the faction leader lying around like a half-dead corpse?’
‘No idea. Something about a missing robe.’
‘Can’t he just buy a new one?’
‘It was an A-rank item.’
‘…The Thirteenth King’s Robe?’
‘Sounds like it.’
‘Then why’s he still alive? Should’ve killed himself already.’

That very morning, Osalo had seen Go Hwarang’s leader wasting away without it.

Lost not to an enemy, but loaned and gone missing. Who was so reckless to lend it out? And who so bold to take it?

“Can you return it?”

Of all people, it was in his hands.