America. A quiet suburban neighborhood. A black sedan cruising down the road arrived at its destination. A modest home with a red roof. Tap, tap, tap. The ones stepping out of the sedan were CIA Director David Brennan and his entourage. The director glanced toward the house for a moment, then gave orders to his men.
"You wait here." "Director…"
It was an awkward directive for the agents responsible for his safety, but the director's attitude was firm.
"That's enough, that's enough."
He waved his hand dismissively at the subordinates who tried to hold him back.
"The wife doesn't like this kind of boisterous visit."
Leaving his escort in the car, the director walked to the front door alone and straightened his clothes briefly. Then he knocked gently.
"Ma'am, it's me. Dav…"
Before he could even finish introducing himself, the door opened and a young Black boy came out. Recognizing the woman's grandson, the director lowered himself to the child's eye level and patted him on the head.
"Is grandma in?" "She's been waiting for the mustache man since a while ago."
The director let out a soft chuckle at the boy's pointing finger. Well, of course. Who was the woman he was about to meet? A psychic, a prophet, a woman with supernatural abilities — no matter what title you slapped on it, none would sound out of place for Norma Selner, the world's greatest fortune teller. Naturally, the director hadn't trusted her from the start. But when he saw her resolving problems that even the CIA — sitting at the very pinnacle of intelligence capability — had given up on, through supernatural power, he had no choice but to drop his doubts. She was the real deal.
'A real ability holder…'
For such a woman, guessing the nature of his unannounced visit must have been easier than flipping TV channels with a remote in hand. Guided by his grandson, the director entered the sitting room and politely greeted the woman, who was setting tea on the table.
"It's been a while, ma'am." "Welcome, Dave."
The director raised his head. About a year ago — the sitting room hadn't changed one bit from the last time he visited her home. The director slowly lowered himself onto the sofa.
"You have no idea how much harder our work has gotten since you retired, ma'am."
It was fair to say that any information from the past held no value compared to information about the future. For the CIA, which had relied on her help, the sense of loss from her retirement was beyond imagination. Though the director spoke with a smile as if joking, the regret woven into his words was sincere. But the woman spoke gently, as though soothing a child begging for sweets.
"I told you, Dave. I haven't been able to see anything since that man showed up." "Ah…"
That 'Grim Reaper' story again. The director grimaced bitterly at the same answer he received every time. The story went that her abilities had become useless because a being powerful enough to twist causality had descended upon the earth. He had never found the words to respond to her reason for retirement, which was hard to make sense of by any rational measure.
"…"
A silence fell between the two. As the director racked his brain trying to figure out how to break the awkward quiet, he caught the scent of food tickling his nose.
"Ma'am, were you perhaps in the middle of a meal?"
The woman shook her head.
"As a matter of fact, we have another guest who arrived before you." "I… see."
Another guest, for a woman who didn't particularly enjoy meeting people. The director tilted his head for a moment, then finally decided it was time to get to the point and wiped the smile from his face.
"Then I'll be brief so as not to trouble you further, ma'am."
And as if she had been waiting for exactly that, the woman answered.
"The answer to your first question is yes. The answer to your second question is no." "What…"
Before he could even get a word out, the director was left speechless, a bewildered look on his face. The woman smiled gently.
"Are you wondering how I can know your questions when I said I can no longer see the future?" "…Yes." "Dave. You thought about the answers you wanted from me in the past. I simply looked at a slice of that past and fitted the answers in." "Ah…"
The director let out a low groan and nodded. The woman leaned in slightly and continued.
"Then may I give you the answers to your questions now?"
The director pulled out a handkerchief from his pocket and dabbed the sweat from his forehead.
"Yes, ma'am."
And so the woman began her explanation.
"That's right, Dave. I know who it is you're trying to find out about."
The answer to the first question: yes. But the answer to the question that would have immediately followed was no.
"But I will not say a single word about him." "Ma'am!"
The director's voice rose. He had no intention of threatening her. It was simply that his excitement had gotten the better of him.
"If anyone should know what that man has done, it would be you! To leave things as they are without any safeguards…"
At that moment, the woman burst out as though she could no longer hold back.
"That is precisely why I'm saying this!"
It was the first time. The first time the director had ever seen the woman angry, and he didn't know what expression to make. But the woman's outburst didn't stop there.
"Are the director's eyes just for decoration?" "Ma'am!" "Didn't you watch the video on that USB drive that day?" "…"
He had watched it. A single human, facing down terrifying monsters, not retreating a single step. That power was frighteningly overwhelming, but it had undeniably saved humanity.
"If this wasn't the first time such a thing happened, could you believe it?"
At the woman's solemn expression, the director froze on the spot.
"…"
Such a thing had happened in the past as well? The thought that humanity had been on the brink of destruction who knew how many times without their knowledge made the director shudder involuntarily. Come to think of it, the government had classified this entire incident as top secret, so aside from an extremely limited number of people, nobody knew what he had done or what had happened that day. If that was the case, could anyone guarantee that a similar event hadn't occurred in another country?
'Perhaps the woman is right — that man really is…'
The director, chin in hand, deep in serious thought, raised his head.
"I trust you, ma'am."
He had only known her for about three years, but he often felt as though he had known her for far longer than that. That was why he held an inexplicable sense of trust in her. When the woman nodded, the director asked carefully.
"The man in the video… can you promise me he is not a dangerous individual?"
The woman answered without a single moment of hesitation.
"I promise."
The director nodded to himself, as though having made his decision, and raised his head.
"Then I understand. I'll pretend I never heard you say you know that man."
The director rose from his seat with a bittersweet expression.
"Well, then."
A brief farewell and he was about to turn and leave, but it was the woman's warm voice that held him back.
"Dave, I baked some cookies — would you like to take some with you?" "Ah…"
The director looked at the cookie bag in the woman's hand and politely declined with a smile.
"No, I'm fine, thank you."
The woman, now softened back into the impression of an ordinary elderly lady, smiled gently at the director and called her grandson over to see the guest out. The boy, who particularly loved the 'mustache man,' came scurrying over and grabbed Director David's hand, tugging at it.
"I'll come see you again, ma'am." "Take care, Dave."
As the director, still held by the grandson's hand, stepped outside, another guest who had been hidden behind the sitting room wall walked out.
"Annoying old coot. Granny, want me to take care of him for you?"
The large man with slicked-back blond hair reached into the cookie bag the woman was holding, grabbed a handful of cookies, and popped them into his mouth.
"If you cause trouble one more time, isn't your fighter's license going to be revoked, Thomas?"
Thomas grinned sheepishly and chewed the cookies stuffing his mouth. Crunch, crunch.
"Well, about that…"
Thomas Andre. The fact that the current UFC Unlimited Division champion was one of the woman's close friends was hardly known to the public. If reporters found out, they'd go wild and snap photos nonstop. But Thomas himself wore an expression as relaxed as if he were visiting his aunt's house. Even after devouring an entire bag of cookies in an instant, he still wasn't satisfied — he snatched the bag and tapped the remaining crumbs into his mouth. Then he asked:
"Granny, can I ask one too?"
When the woman smiled and nodded, Thomas rolled the empty paper bag into a ball and said:
"There are plenty of other people who die in accidents besides me, right?"
Especially the number of people who die in car accidents was truly astronomical. But not all of them received a phone call from the woman. Thomas Andre, on a rare holiday, had been planning to take his prized sports car out for a wild ride. He was one of the lucky few. After receiving the woman's call and checking in a hurry, he found a small nail wedged into his car's wheel. Fortunately the accident never happened, but if he had carelessly started the car, he would have lost his life just as the woman had warned. In other words, Norma Selner was Thomas's lifesaver. And yet, even after becoming close enough to share meals like this, the reason for that day still remained a mystery.
"Back then, why did you save me?"
There was no way she had rushed to pick up the phone because she was a UFC fan. Thomas had always been curious about why the woman had helped him.
"…"
At Thomas's sudden question, the woman gazed at his face — now that of a bona fide sports star — in silence for a moment before finally answering.
"Because you did many good deeds in your past life." "…Me?"
The so-called bad boy of the UFC — no, the demon himself, Thomas Andre? For a moment he wondered whether this old lady had eaten something she shouldn't have, but out of respect for his benefactor, he couldn't bring himself to voice the thought.
"Hoho."
The woman chuckled, then turned her gaze to watch the director's car departing through the window. Her grandson waved at the mustache man until the car was out of sight. Connections. When she saw connections from the past reweaving themselves like this, whether intentionally or not, she couldn't help but wonder if something called fate truly existed. That was what she was thinking. Once he confirmed the director had fully departed, Thomas flopped down onto the sofa where the director had been sitting.
"So what did the man in the video do that has the old coot coming around looking for him?"
The woman spoke in a casual tone, as if hanging freshly laundered clothes on a clothesline.
"He saved the world." "……"
Sometimes you just couldn't tell whether this woman was joking or being serious.
'Well, that's what makes her fun.'
Thomas put on his signature sunglasses and, with his now-darkened vision, turned back to face Selner.
"Then where is this hero who saved the world, and what's he doing?"
Without taking her eyes off her grandson returning from seeing the guest out, the woman smiled quietly.
"Who knows… He's probably off somewhere enjoying his youth, wouldn't you think?"
* * *
Waaaaah! The national student athletics tournament preliminaries were ablaze with the fervor of the crowd. When the two rival high schools squared off, sparks practically flew from the team captains' eyes.
"Hey, Choi Tae-Woong! Your squad's looking pretty thin too, huh? Putting all your first-years in the last match."
It was Jo Gi-Seok, captain of the Hwasung Technical High School track team and long-time rival of the team Sung Jin-Woo belonged to, sending over a mocking greeting.
"Word was Woo Sang-In was out for months with an injury — so your roster is so bad you had to hand the ace role to a first-year?"
At the continued provocations from Jo Gi-Seok, Choi Tae-Woong let out a short laugh and clapped a hand on Jin-Woo's shoulder.
"You're going to be speechless when you see what that first-year can do." "Oh wow, your records haven't improved but your trash talk sure has."
Watching the spark-filled standoff between the two, Jin-Woo scratched the side of his head with his index finger.
'If this keeps up, it's going to be hard to just blend in and run around without drawing attention…'
Glancing up and down at Jin-Woo, who was visibly troubled, Jo Gi-Seok gained confidence and curled his lips into a smirk.
"Speaking of which, we've got quite the coincidence."
Jo Gi-Seok turned around and gestured to his team members, and from behind them, a large-framed newcomer walked out with a confident look on his face.
"As a matter of fact, we've got one too — a monster rookie."
But when Jin-Woo recognized the monster rookie's face, he let out an involuntary sound.
"Huh?" "Looks like your first-year already senses something, huh?"
Jo Gi-Seok placed one hand on the shoulder of the freshman — whose entire body was packed with muscles already beyond the high school level — and raised his voice.
"This is Kim Chul, our Hwasung Technical High School secret weapon, first-year."