Mana Sensitivity Index 0.00

The acrid smell of gunpowder smoke mixed with burning meat filled the restaurant. As the deafening explosions faded, they were replaced by the chilling clink of shattered glass scattering across the floor.

I slowly rose from behind the table, still shielding Ha Ye-rin's body. “...Hah, hah.” I deliberately heaved ragged breaths, propping myself up on the floor. My fingertips trembled faintly, and I staggered like a man whose legs might give out any second. I didn't scream. Instead, I clamped my lips shut like someone too shocked to make a sound. With my pale face darting nervous glances around, I looked every bit the archetype of a civilian who'd just clawed his way back from death's door.

“Mr. Jeong Ian, are you alright?” Ha Ye-rin, pinned beneath me, brushed off the dust and stood. Her smart visor still flickered chaotically with enemy positions and explosion trajectories, but her gaze locked straight onto me. Eyes filled with suspicion, yet complicated by gratitude toward her lifesaver.

“...Vice Director. Over there, that guy...” I pointed a shaking finger toward the smuggler crumpled outside the restaurant, felled by the hot plate I'd hurled. My voice was low and gravelly, punctuated by dry swallows. “His motorcycle just stopped out of nowhere... flames shot from his hand... So I just grabbed whatever was closest because I wanted to live. I-I didn't kill him, did I?”

I stared blankly at the stainless steel tongs on the floor. My expression was ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠one of shock at my own dumb luck in hitting a vital spot. Ha Ye-rin glanced back and forth between my hand and the fallen enemy instead of answering. The system called it a “miraculous probability strike,” but her instincts were still straining to read the unnatural calm emanating from me.

Then, an overwhelming presence crushed through the debris at the restaurant entrance. “What the hell is this outrage in my building?”

Park Sujin emerged from the black smoke, flanked by her staff. Her usual seductive smile was gone, replaced by the lingering aura of domineering mana that seized control of the air around her. This was the true face of the mercenary world's godfather, Black Baccarat.

Ha Ye-rin's face hardened instantly. Her tactical goggles must have been lit up with red warning lights on Sujin's profile—a heavyweight even the government wouldn't touch lightly. Instinctively, she moved her gloved hand toward her weapon but hesitated.

“...Director Park Sujin.”

“Oh, Vice Director Ha Ye-rin? I get you're on duty, but I don't know what you're doing sitting my cafe's loyal customer on the floor like this.”

Sujin closed in with an aura that overwhelmed Ha Ye-rin, wrapping an arm around my shoulders. To hide the fact that her office was on the third floor, she casually referenced the second-floor cafe while shielding me. Behind the thick perfume wafting from her embrace, I could feel the frantic pulse of her mana, laced with worry for me.

“I didn't know it was your building, Director. But this man is a key witness at the scene.” Ha Ye-rin shot back coldly, refusing to yield. Her pride as a young elite bureaucrat held her steady, but Sujin's gaze was already devouring her.

“A witness interview? My staff say he shielded you from the terrorist's second blast, saving your life. Interrogating a civilian who saved you before even a thank-you? If word gets out, the Ability Management Bureau might find itself in a tough spot.”

Under Sujin's veiled pressure, Ha Ye-rin pressed her lips tight. Clashing head-on with Park Sujin right now would be suicide. Besides, securing the Ethnic Federation bomber was priority one.

“...Understood. We'll withdraw for today. But Mr. Jeong Ian, we'll verify this through official channels.”

Ha Ye-rin signaled her team, who gathered the downed terrorist and slipped out of the restaurant. In her wake, only the cold dawn breeze whistling through the shattered windows lingered.

Only then did the staff bustle about, clearing debris from nearby structures and checking on the customers who'd evacuated to a safe distance.

Well, that somehow went off without a hitch.

I finally let my legs buckle, slumping down in feigned exhaustion. “...We survived. Thought I was a goner for real, boss.” I looked up at Sujin with a dazed expression, murmuring in a low voice as if just registering my surroundings.

Seeing my pale face—smoke or sincerity, who could tell?—Sujin gave Jackal a complicated look and a ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠nod.

“Jackal, help Mr. Ian up. Take him to the third-floor private room and call a doctor.”

Jackal emerged from the shadows, supporting me with polite deference. Just before the elevator doors closed, I caught Sujin in the middle of the restaurant, barely containing her fury, and Ha Ye-rin's cool gaze turning back for one last look from afar.

As the heavy elevator doors sealed and the '3' lit up, tension gripped Jackal's prosthetic right arm as he steadied me. Still bowing his head deeply, he checked on me in his low, grave tone.

“Hyungnim, are you truly alright? I'm worried there might be strain on your body.”

“Cartilage is aching a bit, but this is mild. More importantly, did you see Sujin's face? No sleep for her tonight.”

I gave a wry chuckle and patted his shoulder. The doors opened to the mahogany-scented office once more. Jackal eased me onto the sofa, retreating as if handling a holy relic.

Moments later, Sujin burst in, slamming the door hard enough to rattle. The domineering mana around her had dissipated, but raw emotion filled the void—like a bomb on the verge of detonation.

“Ajussi! Are you insane? Freaking insane?!”

Sujin loomed over me, panting with rage. Her emerald eyes brimmed with unshed tears, her pale fingers trembling violently.

“Hey, I'd ordered three portions—had to dodge that bomb to save my money.”

“Joking right now?! That Vice Director Ha Ye-rin isn't some pushover—do you have any idea how risky it was throwing that hot plate and swinging those tongs?!”

Sujin dropped to her knees before me, seizing my hand. Her mana-heated warmth enveloped my cold knuckles. She inspected every joint for wounds, every vein for overload rupture.

“I really... thought something happened to you, ajussi. My heart stopped. Money, status—none of it matters, so please, just stay out of it?”

Her voice bordered on a scream, beyond mere pleading. I patted her head like I did when she was a snot-nosed kid.

“Sujin-ah, this uncle's got nine lives. And if I hadn't stepped up, that elite vice director would've been toast, along with your entire first floor. I saved your property—no thanks at least?”

“Thanks my ass, seriously...”

Sujin rested her forehead on my hand, exhaling a long sigh. Each tremor stirred a strange guilt in me. Shouldn't have raised her so soft. Spoiled her rotten, and now at damn near forty, she's still glued to her uncle.

I flashed a bitter smile and met Jackal's eyes. He watched us with quiet pity, silently bringing tea and snacks.

At the same time, in the Ability Management Bureau's Incheon branch, seventh-floor comprehensive analysis room.

Amid the chill blue-tinged air, dozens of hologram screens flickered wildly. The mechanical hum of billion-won computing arrays filled the space. Ha Ye-rin stood resolute before the main monitor, coat discarded.

“Anomalous?”

Ha Ye-rin's sharp question made the analyst swallow hard as he zoomed the scan data.

Ha Ye-rin's brow furrowed. Kwak Chi-young's chest bore a clear, round bruise like from an iron hot plate. A crude hunk of metal yielding surgical precision.

“Now, analyze the 'miracle' perpetrator.”

At her command, the screen shifted. CCTV footage and team body cams replayed Jeong Ian from every angle: flailing in terror, hurling the hot plate, rolling on the floor swinging tongs like a fool.

“Jeong Ian. Born December 1999, age 26. Mana sensitivity index... 0.00.” Doubt laced the analyst's voice.

“Cross-verified data from Vice Director's visor and team sensors on-site. As you see, from hurling the hot plate to tongs grazing the enemy's carotid—no mana fluctuations above 0.01Hz detected in his body. Muscle output within average 20s male range.”

“Then explain that hot plate's trajectory.”

Silence gripped the room at Ha Ye-rin's point. On-screen, the plate bent air resistance and gravity in bizarre refraction, slamming Kwak Chi-young's chest.

“...The entire analysis team crunched it. Only one conclusion: a miracle. Aircon currents, explosion pressure diffs, spin axis—aligned to eight decimal places. Statistically rarer than hitting the lottery three times in a row. Data says nothing but 'dumb luck.'”

“Luck to snag him with tongs, luck to sever just the mana circuit?”

Ha Ye-rin glared at Jeong ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Ian's blank face on-screen, arms crossed. Per the analysts, he was just a “lucky civilian.” But her gut rejected the data outright.

She zoomed his eyes in the footage. Dust-smeared, terrified—yet in that split-second hurling the plate, utter stillness. Not resignation to death, but a predator's gleam overlooking all from above.

Either the data lies, or that man fools the data itself.

Ha Ye-rin recalled legends of 1st Generation mana users from the war, passed among veterans. Those who wielded mana like air, sans machines. But records said they all died or vanished as wrecks. No way a 26-year-old unemployed youth linked to them.

“Vice Director, checked ID laundering or fakes. Incheon maternity records from 26 years ago to school files—all clean. Textbook 'powerless' nobody.”

“Sure, ordinary. Especially if Park Sujin shields him like that.”

Ha Ye-rin drummed her fingers on the desk. The system screamed “all clear,” but she couldn't ignore this glaring glitch in her worldview. If truly powerless, why handle him so delicately, monsters like Park Sujin and Jackal?

She trusted her instincts.

“When data clashes with reality, verify reality firsthand.”

Ha Ye-rin snatched her coat from the chair.

“Vice Director, where to? No formal summons issued yet.”

“Not official. Just a personal 'thank-you.'”

Her cool eyes lingered on the report with his rooftop room address. She strode out to the underground garage. The black official sedan's engine growled through the quiet dawn.

Nav destination: rundown multi-family house in Michuhol-gu. Ha Ye-rin gripped the wheel, flooring the accelerator to knock on that bizarre “lucky youth's” door.