THE PLATINUM'S GAZE
The woman in white robes studied Yoo with eyes that held no warmth.
Not hostile—clinical. Like examining a specimen under glass.
"Eight months of physical development," she murmured. "In ten weeks chronological time. Remarkable."
Jae-sung stepped between them.
"Who are you?"
"Ah. Protective instinct. Understandable." She lowered her hood—revealing a face marked by ritual scars, thin lines across both cheeks, geometric patterns that glowed faintly.
"I am Instructor Kang Min-ji. Platinum Rank 43. I represent Vanguard Academy."
The name meant nothing to Yoo.
But his Energy Sense screamed danger.
"Platinum-rank entity confirmed," Akasha reported. "Power differential: extreme. Recommend: extreme caution."
No kidding.
"An academy?" Jae-sung's voice was carefully neutral. "For what?"
"For children like yours. Anomalies. Prodigies. Those who develop abilities beyond normal parameters." Min-ji's gaze never left Yoo. "We've been tracking your son since birth. The self-delivery. The spatial abilities. The accelerated growth. All documented."
Shit.
"Surveillance confirmed. Multiple observation points. Recommendation: assume all activities have been monitored."
Jae-sung's hand dropped to his weapon.
"You've been watching my son?"
"Watching. Not interfering. Dr. Choi—your slum's medical officer—is one of our informants. Though he's grown... protective."
Min-ji smiled slightly. "He's deleted more reports about your son than he's submitted. Admirable loyalty."
"If you're here to take him—"
"I'm not." She raised a hand. "Vanguard Academy doesn't conscript. We offer opportunities. Training. Protection. Resources. In exchange for future service."
"Future service?"
"The cosmic game is approaching endgame. Three years, we estimate. When Aethon and Chaos make their final moves, reality will restructure. Humanity needs strong representatives. Champions. Your son—" she gestured at Yoo "—has potential to become one."
Yoo wanted to laugh.
He was ten weeks old. Champion of humanity? Absurd.
But Min-ji's expression was dead serious.
"What's the catch?" Jae-sung asked.
"Catch?"
"No one offers something for nothing. Especially not Platinum-ranks to slum dwellers. What do you really want?"
Min-ji's smile widened.
"Perceptive. The truth: Vanguard Academy is researching anomaly children. Trying to understand what creates them. Your son is unique—reincarnated soul, spatial abilities, accelerated development. We want to study him."
"You mean experiment on him."
"Study. Observe. Document. Non-invasively." She pulled out a tablet, displayed a contract. "In exchange: full scholarship when he's old enough. Access to our training facilities. Protection from other factions who would be less... gentle."
"Other factions?"
"Three organizations are tracking anomaly children. We're the benign one. The others?"
Min-ji's expression darkened.
"One wants to weaponize them. Another wants to dissect them. We just want to understand."
Jae-sung didn't trust her.
Yoo could see it in his father's stance—weight shifted, ready to fight despite impossible odds.
But Min-ji had a point.
If multiple factions knew about Yoo, running would only delay the inevitable.
We need allies. Even temporary ones.
Yoo made a sound. Drew his father's attention. Met his eyes.
Nodded slightly.
Trust her. For now.
Jae-sung read the gesture.
"What are your terms?"
"Monthly check-ins. Medical scans. Developmental tracking. When your son reaches age five—chronologically, not physically—he enrolls in our academy. Non-negotiable."
"And if I refuse?"
"Then we leave you alone. But the other factions won't."
Min-ji's voice was matter-of-fact.
"You're Gold-high now. Strong. But not strong enough to protect an anomaly child from coordinated Platinum-rank assault. Accept our offer or watch your son disappear into someone's laboratory."
Silence.
Yoo wanted to speak. To argue.
But his infant vocal cords weren't developed enough for complex negotiation.
Akasha. Analysis?
"Probability that refusing leads to worse outcome: 84%.
Probability that accepting provides temporary safety: 67%.
Recommendation: accept with modifications."
What modifications?
"Negotiate for father's inclusion. Joint enrollment. Protection for both."
Yoo made another sound. Pulled at Jae-sung's shirt. When his father leaned down, Yoo forced words out:
"You... too. Pro... tect... both."
Jae-sung's eyes widened.
"You want me to join?"
Nod.
Understanding dawned.
If Jae-sung enrolled as academy hunter, he'd have access to resources. Training. The ability to grow strong enough to actually protect Yoo.
"Smart kid," Min-ji observed. "Yes. We can extend the offer. Mr. Lee Jae-sung, Gold-high rank, combat veteran. You'd be valuable as instructor. And it keeps you close to your son."
"What's the catch for me?"
"You teach. You fight when we need you. You accept that your son will be studied. And you never, never interfere with our research."
"Define 'studied.'"
"Scans. Observations. Developmental tracking. No surgeries. No invasive procedures. No harm. We're scientists, not butchers."
Jae-sung looked at his son.
At the too-aware eyes.
At the impossible child he'd sworn to protect.
What do I do? his expression asked.
Yoo nodded again. Firmly.
We need this. The world is too dangerous. We need allies.
"Fine," Jae-sung said. "But I add one term."
"Which is?"
"If I ever find evidence you've harmed him—experimentally or otherwise—I kill you. All of you. I don't care about rank differences. I'll burn your academy to the ground."
Min-ji studied him.
Saw the absolute sincerity.
"Acceptable. I'll add that to the contract:
'If harm comes to Subject Yoo Seung-yoon through academy actions, Lee Jae-sung is released from all obligations and may pursue retribution without legal consequence.'
Agreed?"
"Agreed."
She produced a second tablet. Made the modification.
Both signed—biometric authentication, binding contract under current hunter regulations.
"Excellent. First check-in is tomorrow. Bring your son to Sector 7, Building 12. We'll begin baseline assessments."
Min-ji turned to leave. Paused. Looked back at Yoo.
"One warning, child.
I know you understand me.
Whatever you are—reincarnated soul, cosmic accident, miracle—remember this: you're valuable because you're useful. The day you stop being useful is the day everyone stops protecting you.
So become strong. Stronger than anyone. That's how you survive."
She left.
Jae-sung exhaled shakily.
"Did we just sell your soul?"
Maybe. But it's better than the alternative.
Yoo couldn't say that aloud.
So he just made a baby sound and hoped his father understood.
He did.
"Okay. Tomorrow we meet these academy people. Tonight?"
Jae-sung picked up Yoo.
"Tonight we prepare. If they try anything, we disappear into your pocket dimension and run as far as we can. Deal?"
"Deal," Yoo managed.
First full word his father could clearly understand.
Jae-sung smiled despite everything.
"You're going to be trouble, kid. I can already tell."
You have no idea.