The Day Kashi Awakened the Prophet's Blood: Love and Madness
Recetio Corporation was on break, and Owen, the eldest son of the family with nothing better to do, was dozing in his mansion. Darkness spread before his eyes. Two men descended the stairs, piercing through that gloom. Dim lighting. Blurry vision. Muffled voices. Owen was following the Recetio chairman, whose youthful face belied his age.
He had lost count of how many times he'd heard the family's secret. Surrounded by the elders, he knelt in the center of the chamber. Amid his exhaustion, his eyes held a flicker of anticipation as his father lifted the oil jar. The oil poured over Owen's head. Even viewing it from a third-person perspective, he could feel the sticky oil soaking his entire body. In this out-of-body state, Owen opened his eyes. And nothing happened.
Perplexed, he glanced around. The elders turned away, shunning him; the chairman's pupils trembled like there was an earthquake.
"No way..."
Denying reality, his father lifted the jar again. He poured the oil over Owen's head—again and again. At first just three drops of blood, but gradually more, he kept pouring. Yet the world Owen saw remained unchanged.
"Impossible..." the chairman muttered hollowly. Owen had no choice but to accept it. He hadn't been chosen.
From that day, their peaceful family began to crumble. The chairman withheld his love from Owen and his wife. Crushed by the cold shoulder from the once endlessly affectionate father, Owen broke. Unable to accept her son being shunned by his father, his mother grew obsessed with the prophetic power. Seeing this, Kashi directed her disgust toward her mother, who eventually went mad. Her fixation led to a bizarre cult. She introduced a priest to Owen, and through revelations received at that cathedral, he proved his abilities. The revelation accuracy was 75 percent—but that was enough. Before long, Owen gained fame not as the chairman's son, but as an exceptional investor. Amid the employees' praise, he glanced at his father. Yet the chairman continued to cold-shoulder him and his wife.
Even so, Owen admitted it back then. 'Well, 75 percent probably doesn't cut it for him.' His father's hit rate was 90 percent. Hell, factoring in long-term strategic failures, it was 100 percent. Owen buried his resentment and worked harder. But his mother wasn't as resilient. She divorced the chairman and one day vanished before her children. Months later, a single letter arrived for Owen, along with a building inherited in his name. Inside that building sat only one supercomputer. The moment he saw it, Owen's world began to shatter.
"Gah!"
Owen kicked off the covers and bolted upright in bed. Another nightmare—he'd lost count. His pounding heart thrummed in his ears. His vision shook violently. The familiar prelude to a panic attack. He jabbed the tranquilizer from beside the bed into his arm.
"Hoo..."
Sitting on the edge of the bed in a daze, Owen checked the clock. The holiday was already over. What was supposed to be a nap had eaten the whole day. Not surprising. Prophets were the type who could sleep 48 hours straight from brain fatigue and no one would bat an eye. He wasn't particularly bummed. He had no hobbies for holidays anyway. Crawling out of bed, he got ready for work with the AI's help. Before heading out, as always, he went to the safe. Inside was a single cylindrical USB. He plugged it into the port at the nape of his neck. Instantly, he felt his mind connect to the computer. An omnipotent sense of overlooking everything filled him, mingled with the peace of returning to his mother's embrace. And one piece of information transmitted through the computer.
He closed his eyes and tilted his head back. After a brief meditation, Owen pressed his temple to contact his secretary.
"Secretary."
Yes, what is it?
"Proceeding with brute force."
...Understood. Preparing now.
Ending the call, Owen grabbed a pistol from the armory, tucked it into his waistband, and left the mansion.
*
Arriving at the company, Owen headed straight not to his office, but to the chairman's. In the corridor leading there, the security chief blocked him—a middle-aged man whose neck down was covered in machinery and magic tattoos. He held out his palm.
"Young master. You're carrying a pistol. Please surrender it before proceeding."
Owen met the security chief's eyes with a blank expression. Then, an ominous sentence slipped from his lips.
"Your role is to protect this family's chairman, right?"
"...What do you mean by that?"
"Our company always seeks talent who can see the future. I'm curious whether you're looking at the present... or the future."
As he spoke, his secretary rolled up her sleeve behind him. Watching silently, the security chief squeezed his eyes shut, then...
"I always look to the future, Chairman."
"Excellent, Chief."
Owen patted the security chief's shoulder and passed him. Soon, he knocked on the chairman's office door.
— Come in.
The chairman's tone suggested he already knew who it was, without being told. Owen opened the door matter-of-factly and entered. The chairman didn't even glance at him, just kept tapping at his computer.
"Sit."
Owen sat on the sofa as instructed. Finishing his work, the chairman finally looked at him.
"So. You've finally made up your mind."
"...A revelation?"
"No need to call it that. It was obvious you were building your faction within the company."
"Then why didn't you stop me?"
"Who knows."
"You did the same with Mother. Were you trying to let me gain revelation power in the long term? Because it would benefit you and the company?"
"Owen. Let me advise you. Stop now. Give it up while you can. If you cross the line further, even I won't be able to protect you."
"You're not listening to me."
"Owen!"
The chairman slammed his desk.
"Enough."
"Enough of what?"
"Put down the burden. You're not cut out for it."
"..."
Unfortunately, those words were the final blow. Passion flooded Owen's voice.
"You've always been like that. Always loving only Kashi, the one full of potential."
"That's not true."
"Of course. To you, who sees the future, I must look better—I've lost all potential anyway."
"Please..."
"Why not give me even a fragment of the love you gave Kashi!!"
"..."
The chairman sighed, rubbing his face. Through his palm came the weary voice of a middle-aged man filled with regret.
"Truly... you're just like your mother..."
Crash!
The moment he said it, Owen lunged at him. The chairman foresaw it and stepped back slightly, but Owen had calculated that too—he swatted the arm aside and grabbed his throat. Owen's frenzied hands strangled the chairman. His breath choked off. Yet even as his son throttled him, the chairman's expression remained serene. He didn't slap at his arms or resist. He merely stroked Owen's cheek. This went on for about two minutes. Suddenly, Owen released his throat and staggered back. Freed, the chairman straightened his tie and took a deep breath as if nothing had happened. His face wasn't even flushed. Stunned, Owen said,
"You monster. You knew you wouldn't die, didn't you?"
"A child starving for love can't kill his father. Even if they do, they always regret it. Didn't you see?"
"...You're a monster."
How many people in the world could stay calm while being strangled by their own son, even knowing they wouldn't die? To Owen, the man before him was something beyond even "monster."
Reading his gaze, the chairman smiled bitterly.
"Did you think the megacorp chairman's seat was that light?"
The chairman stood.
"Put the gun away. I won't make you use it. Here—it's yours now. Time for me to go fishing."
He clasped his hands behind his back and stepped aside. Whether from orthostatic hypotension or psychological shock, he wobbled slightly. Watching, Owen shook his head. Either way, this man wasn't the type to wobble from something like that. It was all part of the future he desired. Concluding that, Owen took the chairman's seat. The chairman walked out, back turned. His gait seemed slightly unsteady as he gripped the doorknob and tossed words over his shoulder.
"Owen. That day, I told you. Even without prophetic power, you'd always be my son."
"..."
"That was the turning point. But you and your mother couldn't let go of the prophetic power."
"..."
"Was power that tempting? Or did you need money that badly?"
"I only needed your love."
"Yes. I suppose so. But even in futures where I loved you, if you didn't give it up, nothing changed."
"..."
"In every future where you didn't give up, you strangled me. So how could I love you and your mother?"
For some reason, Owen recalled his father's past words.
"The right to see the future doesn't give you the freedom to create the future you want."
Once you've seen the futures, you can't escape them. You can't even imagine other choices. The former chairman turned the doorknob without waiting for a reply to his final words. As he left the room, his back wasn't the proud father Owen knew. The forlorn middle-aged man's silhouette vanished as the door closed. In the office the former chairman had left, his secretary—come to congratulate the inauguration—hesitated at the sound of sobbing inside, finally entering after ten minutes.
*
News of Owen becoming chairman reached Kashi quickly. But to her, it didn't matter. After awakening her power, she'd refused all meetings. The moment she locked eyes with someone, countless futures unfolded uncontrollably, a horrific experience. Omnipotence? Nothing like that. Only disgust, nausea, and terror dominated her.
She ignored his text. For a month, she holed up in her room. She rejected all interaction so thoroughly that she learned family news from the media. Her father had secluded himself in some villa she'd never heard of, refusing all interviews—even from her. He'd send only brief texts like "fighting," but she hadn't heard his voice in a month. She knew of Owen's actions only from news too. Her brother had suddenly become chairman and pushed various policies. Too soon to judge growth rates after just a month, but overall, the verdict was he fell short of their father. Due to massive layoffs. Like erasing his father's traces, Owen obsessively purged or demoted loyalists and promoted his own. Some saw it as youthful zeal and voiced concerns, but Kashi wasn't worried. The Owen she knew might be religiously unhinged, but he wasn't stupid. That was all the outside news she had. She could scoop up info instantly outside, but refusing to meet anyone limited her. Then her gaze drifted to the calendar. Self-quarantine: three months and some weeks. Soon, time to reunite with her comrades. At the thought, her heart pounded. What if she saw horrific futures from them? Could she stay comrades? Fear surged. Is this what a panic attack feels like? She rushed to the room with her meds. Normally she'd tell even servants to leave water and food at the door, but now was different. She hurried, avoiding eye contact. But en route, she crossed paths with a chef heading to the kitchen. Futures unfolded again. She read the thread connecting her and the chef. He'd poisoned her meal. In all ten futures. Shocked back to reality, she saw the bulge in his pocket—the poison from the future. Her face paled. What to do? She wanted to interrogate him, but on what grounds? Admit she saw the future? Flustered by the first-time experience, she turned casually and fled to her room. But before arriving, she locked eyes with a bodyguard. As her hand touched the doorknob, he aimed at her nape and fired. Then reported to Owen.
'!!!'
Her pupils shook. The bodyguard gazed innocently, clueless. Gritting her teeth, Kashi headed for the door. Pretending to grip the knob, she whirled and struck his windpipe.
"Gah!"
Blindsided by the vital hit, the bodyguard desperately raised his gun. But futures flashed first. The bullet grazed her forehead diagonally. One way to dodge: tilt her head slightly aside. Evading, she kicked his vitals again. He tried assassinating her repeatedly after, but she read every future and subdued him. Overwhelmed by her own combat prowess in taking him down barehanded, she shuddered.
This is...
Even generously, she'd been mid-tier mercenary level. Yet she'd overpowered a corporate bodyguard unarmed. She hadn't imagined foresight was this powerful. She snatched his weapon and rushed to her room. Arming up with mercenary gear, she began hunting the disguised assassin bodyguards. Hunting the horde, she uncovered the truth.
— "If Kashi exists, I die. One of us has to go. Please."
They were sent by Owen. Not rogue overzealous fans—direct orders. What future had Owen seen? Did Father know? Amid betrayal and chaos, she swung her spear. Finally, she reached the garage. But her car was scrap metal. Beside it, the grim-faced security team leader stared.
"Owen told you?"
"I'm sorry, miss."
Forcing a sad expression, the team leader drew thorns from both wrists. Kashi gripped her spear tighter, meeting his eyes. What first move? Then she panicked. No futures. No thread of fate between them—like no further interaction. As she tried interpreting, boom! The garage ceiling collapsed, people dropping through. Familiar faces.
"Huh?"
"..?"
The team leader below was bisected by a falling sword. The bisector turned to Kashi.
"Sorry. Hurried here, but the prototype's performance sucks. Took an hour just for calculations."
The nostalgic man's voice. Followed by glad voices.
"Phew... not my fault. Said something about makeup."
What the hell, dude. It's not makeup, it's camouflage cream! Snipers are essential!
"Vox's fault. Took too long grabbing bombs and ammo."
"Timing's killer though, right?"
And finally, the neither-missed-nor-glad-but-grateful woman's voice.
"Good thing class is canceled tomorrow..."
It was Amon and the comrades—and Sonia.