— Technological advancement is exponential.

  While linear growth adds up steadily, exponential growth compounds like interest—doubling its power every few years. If technology evolves at a rate of 10% compounded annually, its capabilities double every seven years.

  But institutions… they lag far behind.

  Sociology defines institutions as the enduring structures that shape our way of life. Institutions are formed by consensus—and consensus takes time. But now, it is not consensus, but technology, that dictates how we live.

  A society that trusts AI’s rational judgment more than human deliberation.

  A culture discarded when it cannot keep up.

  —Should institutions be exponential too?

  Will the day come when our humanity is left behind?

  When that day comes… what will we call ourselves?

  There used to be three-day funerals.

  People mourned, stayed by the departed, shared meals, and held vigil through the night.

  But in this era, such traditions have disappeared.

  Streamlined, sterile ceremonies.

  And a life that resumes almost too quickly.

  “Grief is just the path back to daily life.”

  It’s not about holding on to the dead, but letting them return to the rhythm of the living.

  Some said that keeping the dead close wasn’t love—it was guilt.

  Geuneul didn’t agree, but he didn’t object either.

  No one forced him to speak of Seolhee or Saebyeol.

  And ironically, it was that very indifference that helped him survive.

  Because no one asked, he could sit among people again.

  Jiwoo sensed it with a glance.

  Rina matched his pace in silence.

  Geuneul still didn’t know them well.

  But he knew this much:

  This team didn’t pry grief out of you—

  They walked with it.

  And that was enough to ease him.

  There were still people who lived in relationships, not in roles.

  —Humanity doesn’t bloom depending on the soil it chooses. It blooms by surviving any soil.

  February 2nd, 2072.

  QIAA Headquarters, 2nd Floor.

  "This’ll be your room."

  Jiwoo gestured to the door next to his own. A metal nameplate gleamed above it: Kim Geuneul.

  “Locks use iris, fingerprint, or PIN. I just use a code. Feels safer, somehow. You can set it up like—well, here.”

  He gave a warm grin as he spoke.

  He guided Geuneul around the dormitory: cafeteria, library, a tiny movie room—all on the first floor. From the 2nd to the 5th floor, it was all dorm space.

  Only ten people lived here. The space was… excessive.

  Men stayed on the 2nd floor, women on the 3rd. Jihan had the 4th to himself. The 5th was vacant. It felt less like a facility and more like… a camp for the chosen.

  “This isn’t a base. It’s a camp.”

  Geuneul thought quietly to himself.

  As they walked, small dog-shaped cleaning bots roamed the halls.

  They wagged their tails and twitched their ears like real puppies—except they didn’t need food or walks.

  Each one had a name: Red, Orange, Yellow, Green, Blue, Indigo, Violet…

  “Those terrible names? Rina’s idea.”

  Jiwoo tossed the comment over his shoulder.

  He explained the layout, the rules, even the off-limits areas—like B2, which Jihan visited constantly. Jiwoo admitted he’d tried sneaking in once, but was stopped by the security system.

  “You’ll meet the others soon. Everyone eats dinner together.”

  Geuneul nodded.

  He hadn’t talked deeply to anyone yet, but there was something oddly grounding in the quiet way people left him alone.

  Then Jiwoo leaned in slightly, lowering his voice.

  “Hey… just between us.

  Do you know why we’re here?”

  “No. Jihan just said he wanted to recruit me directly.”

  Jiwoo gave a knowing nod.

  “It's just a theory, but... our Arcanus Team doesn’t follow the usual QIAA command chain.”

  “…What do you mean?”

  “I mean what I said.

  We weren’t gathered by QIAA.

  We were chosen by something else.”

  Geuneul narrowed his eyes.

  “Something else?”

  “I don’t know exactly. But I’m sure of this—

  We were chosen as gifted. As psychics.”

  Jiwoo's tone was quiet, almost reverent.

  “You felt it too, right? That power.”

  Geuneul stayed silent.

  Jiwoo, sensing it, added softly:

  “My ability is… well, I get a ‘feeling’ before something important happens. Like a hallucination. That’s when I saw you.

  And I knew.

  You’re the key to a new truth.”

  “That’s a bit of a stretch.”

  “Maybe. But my senses have never been wrong.”

  Geuneul said nothing, but inside, a storm was rising.

  QIAA knows my power. But they didn’t give it to me…

  That means… they’re working with whatever entity did?

  Jiwoo’s wrist alarm beeped.

  “Dinner time,” he said lightly.

  “They’re probably all waiting.”

  He paused before walking off.

  “Oh—and keep what I just said between us. Not even to the team leader.”

  Geuneul nodded.

  Despite the tension, he felt something curious.

  The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

  A pull toward the center of this place.

  Toward its secrets.

  And somehow, toward belonging.

  1st Floor Cafeteria.

  Warm lights, soft music, and wide round tables.

  It didn’t feel like an intelligence agency. It felt… cozy.

  At one table, seven agents were already seated, chatting lightly. No sign of Team Leader Jihan.

  “What’s the main dish today?” Jiwoo asked playfully.

  “Beef bulgogi!”

  Geuneul followed him to the food station. A tidy plate of bulgogi, soup, salad, and sides soon filled his tray.

  When he sat down, the seven pairs of eyes turned to him.

  He didn’t flinch. He spoke calmly.

  “I’m Kim Geuneul. Just joined Arcanus today.

  Looking forward to working with you all.”

  A short silence.

  Then, a tall woman with a ponytail nodded.

  “Shin Hyerin. I tinker with machines and firearms.

  ...Sorry if I sound stiff. That’s just how I talk.”

  Her face barely moved, but she clearly wanted to make a good impression.

  Beside her, a cheerful woman in a short skirt grinned.

  “Han Sua. Don’t forget it—I’m sensitive about that.”

  She picked up a slice of beef dramatically.

  “Also, isn’t this portion kind of tiny?”

  Everyone chuckled. Even Geuneul cracked a smile.

  Next to her, a short-haired woman nodded curtly.

  “Choi Garam.

  If you need anything, just ask.”

  Her voice was blunt, but there was warmth behind it.

  Then came a husky voice from a broad-shouldered man.

  “Kang Taejun. I’m loud and naggy, apparently. But I get things done. So if you slack off, expect me to say something.”

  He shot Jiwoo a side-eye.

  “Especially if you hang around that guy too much.”

  “Hey, I’m logical,” Jiwoo protested. “You’re the emotional one.”

  Geuneul was about to laugh when another man spoke quietly.

  “…Kim Dojin.”

  He looked up, meeting Geuneul’s eyes.

  “I’ll remember your face.”

  It didn’t feel like a threat. It felt genuine.

  Finally, a towering young man stood with a beam.

  “Choi Roun! Just like my name—I like keeping things cheerful.

  I’m the team’s mood maker!”

  He stuffed bulgogi into his mouth, then pointed at Geuneul.

  “First time I saw you, I just knew—we’re gonna get along!”

  He added dramatically,

  “We’re totally doing a karaoke duet next time!”

  Jiwoo groaned and slapped his chopsticks down.

  “Oh god. Not this again. Geuneul, be careful. He’s like this with everyone.”

  “Hey! That’s not true!” Roun flailed.

  “You give off that vibe without even speaking,” Jiwoo laughed.

  Roun sighed and slumped in defeat.

  “I just wanted to keep the mood up…”

  Geuneul chuckled softly.

  And at that moment, a short-haired woman across the table clapped her hands like she was making a grand entrance.

  “Alright! Let’s wrap the intros. Kim Geuneul, welcome aboard!

  I’m the shortest one here, but I probably know the most!”

  She winked.

  “I keep my secrets close.”

  Geuneul smiled, and she tapped the table with her fingers.

  “Everyone’s got their quirks here.

  Hyerin’s quiet but secretly loves cute stuff.

  Sua’s a hopeless romantic.

  Garam’s all action, no fluff.

  Taejun... thinks he’s always right.”

  “What?” Taejun raised an eyebrow.

  She grinned.

  “Dojin’s the observer. Sees everything, says nothing.

  Roun’s... our mascot.”

  She smirked at him.

  “Jiwoo… hmm. Hard to explain.”

  Taejun scoffed.

  “Jiwoo’s not normal. I can’t describe him either.

  He looks fine, but something’s definitely wired wrong.”

  “I’m perfectly logical!” Jiwoo protested.

  “Just... in a different way.”

  “That is what’s wrong with you,” Taejun deadpanned.

  “Being weird is the father of progress,” Jiwoo said proudly.

  “Love that quote,” Roun cheered. “Writing it down!”

  “Roun writes everything down,” Sua laughed. “But never reads it.”

  “This time I will! Jiwoo’s Quote Collection!”

  Jiwoo sighed into his palm.

  “…Since when was I such a public figure…”

  Then Geuneul spoke softly.

  “Strange. This all feels… familiar.”

  The room quieted for a second.

  “I usually don’t end up at tables like this.

  But this time…

  Feels different.”

  Sua smiled gently.

  “That means you feel safe. That’s a good thing.”

  “…Feels human,” Roun murmured.

  Geuneul turned toward him.

  A strange, unfamiliar comfort washed over him.

  The meal continued.

  He chewed slowly on a slice of meat, thinking—

  Maybe this team…

  is one of the few places I don’t need to run from.

  The meal ended, but the conversation didn’t.

  Some were arguing whether the scent of hand cream could be considered a weapon.

  Others were sorting rice grains, debating the “architecture of food.”

  Some just listened and smiled quietly.

  And strangely enough, all those oddities harmonized—

  a rhythm, unspoken but shared.

  Geuneul didn’t jump in.

  But he watched.

  And more importantly, he remembered.

  Those who blended in to avoid standing out.

  Those who spoke with their eyes instead of words.

  Those who joked but meant every word.

  They were all holding this fragile space together in their own way.

  The rhythm was still foreign to him.

  And yet, he longed to become part of it.

  The team began clearing their trays, rising one by one.

  Geuneul stood as well, but Jiwoo nudged him lightly.

  “Hey. Come with me.”

  “Why?”

  “Just wanna talk.”

  Even as he returned his tray, Jiwoo kept glancing around, then slipped into the corridor beside the cafeteria.

  Geuneul followed.

  Once out of earshot, Jiwoo turned and looked him straight in the eye.

  “I’m sure of it.

  There’s more than one psychic on this team.”

  “Do you know who?”

  He shook his head.

  “No idea. Could be all of us. But I keep getting... that feeling.

  And that’s my whole thing, right? Picking up the weird vibes.”

  “So what? You gonna figure it out on your own?”

  “Nope.

  Let’s form a group.”

  “…A group?”

  “A psychic group. One goal:

  Figure out what QIAA’s hiding—and who’s hiding what.”

  Geuneul blinked. “That’s... not subtle.”

  “Detectives never are.”

  Geuneul stared at him for a long moment.

  “Why bother?

  Not everyone’s as curious as you.”

  Jiwoo grinned like he’d been waiting for that question.

  “Because knowing is the first step to choosing.

  And choosing is power.”

  Geuneul nodded faintly.

  Curious guy.

  But... right.

  Jiwoo had said what Geuneul had only felt.

  That something didn’t add up.

  “…Fine. I’m curious too.”

  Jiwoo’s grin widened.

  “Knew it. I’m great at reading people.”

  “Don’t regret it later.”

  Their eyes met.

  The walls between them grew a little thinner.

  Rina was waiting near the elevator.

  When she saw Geuneul, she winked playfully.

  “Let’s go up together.”

  Jiwoo glanced between them and backed away, hitting the door button.

  “I’ll, uh… give you two some space.”

  “…What is wrong with him,” Rina muttered, amused, as she stepped into the elevator with Geuneul.

  The doors closed.

  Silence.

  Geuneul had his eyes closed, but he could feel her gaze.

  He opened them slowly.

  “Do you know Seolhee?” he asked.

  Rina shook her head.

  “No. Never met her. Didn’t even know her name until recently.”

  Geuneul nodded, lowering his gaze.

  Then she spoke again, quietly but clearly.

  “But I think I know what kind of person she was.”

  He looked up.

  “You can tell who someone was by who they loved.”

  Geuneul stared at her.

  “I like you, you know,” she said simply. “Even when you act cold, the way you choose your words—

  It’s careful.

  Careful people… I trust them.”

  She smiled and added,

  “In our team, bottling things up? That’s a no-go.

  If you need help, say something.”

  It wasn’t heavy.

  It wasn’t light.

  It was just enough for Geuneul to carry.

  “…Thanks.”

  The elevator chimed and stopped on the second floor.

  As Geuneul stepped out, she said softly behind him,

  “Sleep well, Kim Geuneul.”

  “…"

  “Sleep well.”

  [KIM GEUNEUL]

  The nameplate above his door caught the hallway light.

  He placed his hand on the scanner.

  The door unlocked with a soft beep.

  The room welcomed him with stillness.

  Everything was clean. Familiar, yet not.

  His old desk was there.

  Same chair.

  Same little shelf.

  A few old books—his favorite philosophy texts—sat on top, next to a neatly folded blanket.

  “…These are…”

  He thumbed through a worn paperback.

  The margins still bore his scribbles.

  He walked to the closet.

  Inside were his old clothes—plus a tailored suit.

  Charcoal gray. Sleek.

  Shoulders and waist fitted perfectly.

  He ran a hand down the fabric.

  Cool. Still. Heavy.

  “…Guess nothing surprises me anymore.”

  His voice barely echoed.

  A whole day of strangers, unknown places, unspoken feelings.

  His body was tired.

  His thoughts were slow.

  He turned to the bed—then paused.

  There, on the blanket, sat two unfamiliar objects: a small pouch and a mint-colored handkerchief.

  Both were wrapped in clear plastic.

  No label.

  No message.

  But he knew immediately.

  “I placed her belongings in your room,” Jihan had said after the funeral.

  The words had been flat, but carried a softness.

  Geuneul picked up the pouch first.

  Sky-blue fabric. Embroidered with a tiny white cloud.

  Inside: a lip balm.

  A soft hair tie.

  A folded sticky note.

  No writing.

  No final message.

  Just... the remnants of someone’s everyday life.

  He set it down gently.

  “Saebyeol…”

  Then he reached for the handkerchief.

  Still sealed.

  Had it been a gift? Or just something she bought and never used?

  Its silence made it heavier than anything else.

  He placed them both in the drawer.

  Out of sight, but not out of mind.

  Part of the room now.

  He dimmed the lights and eased onto the bed.

  His eyelids were already heavy.

  His chest calm.

  His limbs, exhausted.

  The ceiling was unfamiliar. The air slightly cold.

  But it barely registered anymore.

  Memories of the day drifted through his mind.

  And then, just before sleep took him, he whispered in the dark:

  “I don’t know… what comes next.”

  Sleep followed.

  And that night,

  he did not dream.