First Period — Reading Sirius Black's Face
Second simulation.
I died the moment I stepped inside.
This time I went down with Tobias under the same barrage that hit him.
Fuck. After seeing that face—that expression—how the hell was I supposed to just leave the man behind and walk away again?
Percy and Penelope lasted exactly thirteen minutes, they said. Suddenly freezing cold, then frozen solid where they stood. In August. In London. Absolute nonsense.
"Ah, shit. I'm serious. Snow started falling out of nowhere, my head spun, and then my hands froze first and I was just… dead."
"Okay, but why? Percy, explain it with the five Ws! I even checked the wiki—there was no freak weather event in London on August thirteenth!"
"That's the thing. I don't know the five Ws. It just got insanely cold all of a sudden. You felt that creepy chill too!"
"Not cold enough to freeze me to death. And why start with the hands?"
"Percy. Eugene. Both of you shut up and wait. You want the instructor yelling at us again?"
At Karina's quiet warning we clamped our mouths shut and sat still, watching Cedric on the screen together.
Cedric was still stuck rescuing Muggles, making no real progress.
The real surprise was Karina. The same kind-hearted idiot who'd just scolded us and was now filling a cup with warm water from the cooler had inherited the blood of one of Korea's most famous wizards. She was ridiculously strong and had stamina to match.
Even so, she'd been three-minute-cut. When I asked, she said Marcus's body had felt sluggish to her—she'd barely adapted when a dental clinic signboard, blasted free by the shelling, crushed her flat.
Among the friends, I was still dead last. Multiplayer would've been nice. This was pure solo.
Dozens of Pensieves sat lined up like the capsule rooms in Legendary Moonlight Sculptor. Everyone climbed into their own, ran their own playthrough, while Marcus watched from the center on the big screens.
Third simulation. Fourth.
Failed to evade the Prime Minister's Guard Battalion airstrike—instant death. Hit by explosive shrapnel—instant death. Marcus's expression was getting uglier by the minute.
"That's enough for today. Good work, all of you. No drinking. No smoking. I will know if you do anything stupid, so don't. If you're wondering whether you should, don't. If you already know you shouldn't, definitely don't. Just rest. Tomorrow will be harder."
At Marcus's words the forty-odd students scattered in twos and threes, taking elevators or stairs up to the dorms on the third and fourth floors of the academy building.
"Guys, you really worked hard today. Want me to order something? Aren't you hungry?"
"No, Karina. First we finish Mom's leftover lunchboxes and send the proof photos. Otherwise you'll be eating Molly's seven-course turkey set for the entire Christmas holiday this year."
"Are you insane? Aunt Molly's turkey is raised in a different gravity well. If I gain any more weight I'm screwed. Percy, hand over the lunchboxes. I'll take the pictures myself and send them. Got it? Different angles, make it look like both of us ate."
"Why are you only bullying me?"
Leaving Karina and Percy bickering behind us, Penelope walked over to Cedric and me with a smile that immediately set off every alarm I had.
"…Why are you smiling like that? It's ominous."
"Hey. Both of you. Wallets. Or pockets."
"Did we leave something with you? What are you, a gangster?"
"Aaaaah. I just want a drink from the vending machine, pleeease."
"You're not cute. Stop doing aegyo. Ugh."
The second Penelope started twitching her shoulders and cooing, something foul slipped out of my mouth before I could stop it. Cedric didn't even have the energy to speak—he just handed her every coin in his pocket and waved her off weakly.
"Thanks, Cedric. You're the only one. Eugene over there must have the ghost of a guy who died broke in every past life stuck to him. Since I'm grateful, I'll give you a hint. Read Charlie's notes carefully. I'm starting to get the hang of it. Oh—and Cedric? Look at them alone. Don't share with that money-grubbing bastard."
"Penny, get lost already. Your scalp smell is making me want to throw up."
"Sure~ Eugene Kim, your armpits reek of sweat too~ I've already gagged a few times~"
After Karina and Penelope headed up to the girls' dorms on the fourth floor, Cedric, Percy, and I went into our room and scraped together what was left of Aunt Molly's lunchboxes. Cedric collapsed face-down on the sofa without even washing up. The second Percy disappeared into the shower, I sprawled on the floor and flipped through Bill and Charlie's notes, replaying the day's simulations.
I hadn't managed to do a single useful thing. Just fed my life into the grinder. Same for every one of these smart friends of mine. And when I searched the simulation—no, the actual historical incident—Marcus Weybridge didn't seem to have pulled off anything particularly spectacular either.
Ah. Correction.
London's hero, Marcus Weybridge… succeeded in rescuing a considerable number of civilians in Zone Three…
Zero mention of the Sirius Black capture operation. Meaning, at minimum, he hadn't earned any real credit for the arrest itself.
So even in the real past, the environment hadn't allowed Marcus himself to shine. And now he wanted students—not even Aurors—to climb into an Auror's body and try to do better?
"Is he insane? And what the hell is Charlie, then? How did he pull off the capture? Marcus is already crazy, but Charlie for succeeding at it is even crazier."
This was the point where the questions should have started stacking up.
Why the hell did Marcus Weybridge give us that particular briefing?
The Abraxas Scholarship this, Malfoy that, the senators blah blah—those details had been the most disconnected from the rest of the briefing and, at the same time, the most solidly real pieces of information in it. For a veteran Auror like Marcus who'd actually been on the ground, knowing those things at least on the surface wasn't strange. Even I, who'd been possessed at nine with zero context, had pieced together a rough picture of what happened that day in 2002 from news and documentaries. This world remembered the date as the day Sirius Black was imprisoned after a massacre, and the day Lucius Malfoy and two other senators proved their loyalty to the Ministry.
"What are you doing on the floor? Aren't you going to wash up? Cedric's just out cold. Filthy bastard."
"I'll wash in a bit. Just lying here a little longer."
"Whatever. Toss me the remote. Gonna dry my hair in front of the TV."
I grabbed the remote lying near my waist and chucked it.
"Nice catch."
Click.
"Karina's dad story. Looking at him like this, the guy really is a legend."
"Problem is, day to day he just looks like the husband Aunt Vanessa nags for leaving his socks inside out."
We snickered for a bit listening to the host, then the hair dryer kicked on and I sank back into my thoughts.
What I couldn't stop turning over was why he'd slipped that information into the briefing at all. Bill's notes made it clear: previous briefings had never included it. Up until now it had been dry—time limits, constraints, terrain, nothing else. And now, of all times, the information package had changed. Why?
The reason was…
Kh.
The thought stretched too long and I blacked out mid-sentence. There were three wide, soft beds in the room, but only Percy got to enjoy one. Cedric stayed on the sofa. I stayed on the bare floor. The six a.m. bell nearly gave me PTSD for a second, but before we knew it we were dressed and back down on B2 within thirty minutes.
Fifth simulation.
Still failed to save Tobias. Still failed to set up the magic-suppression field in Zone Three.
Which meant I had to face that obscenely strong Sirius Black at full power. Again.
Fuck. How did anyone catch this bastard? Make the ground slick and he dodges on instinct. Set him on fire and the second I douse myself he throws lightning. Try to run and he starts blowing up buildings.
What the hell am I supposed to do?
I analyzed Sirius's face.
Micro-shifts in the eyes. Angle of the mouth. Rhythm of the breath.
Back in Flitwick's class I'd heard something like this: if there are a billion wizards in the world, there are a billion ways of sensing magic. Every wizard receives magic differently depending on the life they've lived, or the root of the desire they cling to most desperately. This body wasn't mine, unfortunately—but the root of desire was carved into my soul. The sensation I was feeling now came from me, not from Marcus.
Emotion. I could feel people's emotions in the magic. Whether the person in front of me was casting a Stunning Spell out of grief or a Shield Charm out of rage—I didn't know it. I felt it.
Was the root of my desire wanting to know other people's feelings? Even after possession, that shitty home environment still left its mark. So this is why people say early childhood education matters. If I'd known, I would've watched more of Dr. Oh Eun-young's shows. I refuse to treat a kid the way my parents treated me.
I shoved the noise aside. Focus on the disaster in front of me. Analyze the middle-aged man whose lower body was staining black like a Detective Conan culprit.
Okay. How many years did I grind in a KAIST lab in my last life?
Reading a professor's micro-expressions had been my specialty—best in all of Daejeon. A Busan boy surviving alone in Daejeon needed that kind of radar just to eat.
Magic waves shifted with emotion and motive.
Rough when angry. Unsteady when grieving. And when he hesitated—
Before he attacks, he tries to justify the sin to himself. Why? Because he doesn't actually want to kill people. This man was on the side of justice in the original, after all.
I closed my eyes. Briefly. One second. Maybe three? Shorter than that.
I spun through the air and fell.
The sound of the floor shattering.
Thud—
My back hit the ground. I heard ribs break.
Crack. Crack.
At least two. My white shirt had already turned red.
Sirius walked closer.
He spoke between ragged breaths.
"I… I wasn't trying to kill you. I mean it. Don't stop me, Auror. Please… I have to go save Harry."
The black had reached his knees now. What the hell? Why did it keep rising and falling? This wasn't a stock chart.
While I was still thinking, Zone Three—my responsibility—collapsed in under ten minutes, and Sirius Black escaped London.
Sirius Black Escape Interception — FAILED
Seventh simulation.
By now it was less combat and more interpretation. I'd already concluded I couldn't beat the Conan-culprit-staining bastard in a straight fight. Tobias died, we spilled out onto the main road, the King's Cross district unit was wiped out, and I was cornered in a plaza again with every radio smashed.
September mock exams begin. First period: [Reading Sirius Black's Face].
I ignored the auditory hallucination and analyzed his behavioral patterns. There was a repeating routine, like a neural network.
Before every attack: a one-to-two-second pause. The Pensieve's absurd sensory amplification made even those fractional seconds feel smooth and clear. So this was the world Aurors lived in.
It felt like a frog dying under the blazing sun that had finally crawled into a cool stream.
The emotion coming off Sirius—this was hesitation.
His guilt was manifesting as a physical reaction. The magic waves trembled; the amplitude went irregular.
If magic waves reflect emotional waveforms…
A hypothesis formed in my head.
Then the way to interrupt an attack might not be physical defense. It might be emotional interference.
I closed my eyes.
In the first simulation, when Prime Minister Blair's broadcast had come on, Sirius had told me he was jealous that someone believed in me.
So instead of a spell, I spoke.
"Sirius. You didn't do anything wrong."
In that instant, his magic wavered.
"What?"
The air vibrated. The waves twisted.
"I believe you. I do. I believe you."
"You lunatic. We were just fighting and now you believe me? Believe what? That I'll kill you painlessly?"
The waves collapsed.
Something… breathing was getting harder.
As if gravity itself had decided to attack me.
My body started trembling with a creeping chill, and the air against my skin grew colder by the second.