The origin of manifestation was unknown. Some claimed it might have started alongside human history itself. For centuries, manifestation was regarded as a disease that had to be hidden. Trait carriers were sometimes burned under the pretext of witch hunts, or treated as lunatics—having holes drilled in their skulls, or their genitals cut out in the name of a cure.
Those fortunate enough to be born in the twenty-first century and receive suppressants enjoyed privileges as if to compensate for the past. Excessive freedom and irresponsibility meant spending ruts with people they barely remembered, and the unwanted infants born of those encounters were collected by the government.
Marvin, too, was born from the belly of a twenty-something omega who’d come to the Center. Unfortunately, he was never adopted into a normal home and spent his childhood in a facility connected to a church.
Pity and warm gestures were mixed with discrimination and poverty, making those years confusing. Then, at seventeen, he manifested as an alpha.
Once he became an adult, he couldn’t get mandatory suppressants and had to have sex instead. He envied people who could solve their rut with money more than anyone in the world. He thought they were the only ones who lived with dignity. That’s why he worked so hard to become part of that class.
He’d tried every kind of part-time job since middle school. If the pay was high, he’d go anywhere. There was a time when he cleaned corpses in the morning and worked as a fitting model in the evening. Entering the Army Academy, which didn’t require tuition, was an obvious choice.
Luckily, things started to go well from then. By chance, he caught the eye of someone in the right position and was offered a spot in the Intelligence Agency. When he heard about the hazard pay, he gave up his commission without hesitation. That’s how the life of risking his neck began, almost overnight.
After transferring to the Special Unit and going overseas with Deputy Director Choi Hyeong-il, who insisted they should go abroad at least once for the experience, Marvin wandered foreign countries ever since. If the nation needed him, he would do anything, without hesitation.
But maybe it was trusting people too much that became his downfall. Despite all his efforts, he never managed to step into the upper echelons he’d been clawing his way toward—he slipped right back down. So now, he was stuck in Oseong County, South Chungcheong, just waiting for a call to return.
“Life, huh…”
Marvin got up. Thinking about the past wouldn’t change anything. He hadn’t had much choice in how his life went anyway.
He tidied the bed, then went to the bathroom to wash his face. The officetel, a studio with a kitchenette, could barely be used for anything other than sleeping and washing.
At first, he’d stayed in the hotel’s staff room. Watching Marvin get up every morning from the hard sofa bed and shower with hotel toiletries, Yang Jin-man would click his tongue.
“Don’t you even have money for rent? How much trouble did you get into back in Seoul…?”
After a month of tutting, Yang said he couldn’t take it anymore and got Marvin this place. The phone came then, too. Marvin couldn’t even register a phone in his own name, so he hadn’t had any contacts. He hadn’t minded, but the people around him complained. Yang finally stepped in.
“It’s not free. You’ll have to pay it back. Got it?”
He understood. He’d thought he’d bring some money back if he was ever allowed to return to Seoul. It wasn’t that Marvin had no money—just that he had no way to access it.
Among the Agency’s field agents who handled foreign operations, salaries were paid in cash. Expenses were covered separately, so there was rarely any need to use personal money. The work was risky, so most had backgrounds as unusual as Marvin’s—born from rut babies or with no family left at all.
They were people whose entire lives had been branded by loneliness. Maybe that was why, whenever they returned to Korea, most agents blew all their money on nightlife. They’d buy drinks for strangers, have sex with whoever, and impulsively buy things that caught their eye.
After spending a few days living like a king, they’d go back to their lives of non-existence. Sometimes that process led to incidents large and small, but the authorities usually turned a blind eye. Some agents, unable to forget the thrill, even acted out on purpose.
Marvin spent his earnings on buying art. As a rookie, he’d wasted money like the others and indulged in wild group sex. But a few years ago, after getting a call from a nun at the Center while briefly back in Korea, he quit all of it.
“I thought about it a lot, but I decided it was right to tell you.”
From then on, he carefully saved cash and used the spare money to buy one of her paintings every month. That was the favor he’d asked of Deputy Director Choi—no matter what happened, never stop buying her paintings. If he kept that promise, Marvin had said, he wouldn’t ask for anything else.
Sometimes he’d check her SNS to see if she was doing well. Not long ago, he saw a picture she posted from the hospital, so it seemed she’d gotten her shot this month without trouble. That was enough for Marvin. It gave him a little comfort.
Suddenly, his phone vibrated. The caller was Jin-yong. Marvin watched the phone buzz and hum.
It was his day off. He wanted to be left alone for once, but the call wouldn’t stop. That usually meant something bad.
“Yeah, what is it?”
—Hyung! Where are you? Did you go to work? I’m at Juseong’s place right now!
His voice was pretty agitated.
“Who?”
Marvin tilted his head. The name didn’t ring a bell.
—The singer! The vocalist who was late yesterday, remember?
“Oh, right.”
—Shit, I couldn’t reach him today either, so I came to his house like yesterday. But fuck, what do I do? He’s not breathing! Fuck, what is this? Can you come here?
Marvin frowned. It didn’t make sense. Yang Jin-man had been complaining all morning that it’d be dead in the halls today, yet apparently they were getting ready for business again. It seemed he hadn’t told the staff Marvin was off today, either.
And Jin-yong was crying on the other end. His voice was a mess, but in short: the singer who was late yesterday was dead.
—He’s dead! Or… I think he is. What do I do? He’s just lying there on the bed and not moving. Should I call the cops? Can you come over?
“Did you check if he’s breathing? Any sign of injury?”
—I don’t know, but he’s just lying there with his eyes open and mouth open. He’s naked, too. His whole body’s blue.
Marvin’s brow furrowed. He had a guess. He got up right away and started putting on his clothes.
“Jin-yong, just get out of that room. Take a deep breath. Don’t touch anything. Are you alone?”
—I came alone. Juseong usually lives with his boyfriend, but he’s not here. Fuck, is that a corpse? Hyung, I’m so fucked, aren’t I?
“Call the police right now. Say you found him. Hang up and do it. I’m coming too, so send me the address.”
Marvin hung up and left immediately. If the naked body was blue all over, it was likely a side effect from overdosing on a short-acting manifestant. For it to be fatal, he must’ve been dosing regularly for months. Why he’d do something so reckless was beyond comprehension.
Short-acting manifestant was a sex stimulant. It was called that because it let you feel like a trait carrier, even for a little while. The official name was manifestamphetamine—a powder-form gene modifier that, once absorbed, caused intense arousal and physical changes within an hour.
It had only been in circulation domestically for about ten years, but its spread was explosive. It caught on as a casual stimulant for sex, but the serious risk of death led to it being banned and regulated.
Even so, the supply was so huge that access was easy, and those addicted to the intense sex couldn’t quit. In clubs or entertainment venues, a single dose could be bought for about 100,000 won, earning it the nickname “national ecstasy.” As long as you didn’t use it long-term, there were supposedly almost no side effects, so crackdowns were rare these days.
In Switzerland, the mission Kim Do-jin had handled involved a second-generation manifestamphetamine sample. A small lab in Basel called “Maxona” had stumbled onto the real thing while trying to develop an FDC1) version of the drug and suppressants. They were looking for buyers, and some pharmaceutical companies and governments—including Korea—showed interest through unofficial channels.
In these cases, undercover agents were usually sent in as independent brokers. There was no risk if things went south, and it protected the Agency from future ethical backlash.
Kim Do-jin played the broker. He got favorable terms for Korea in exchange for a prototype formula and design blueprints. Then, suddenly, he changed his mind and started negotiating with the Russians.
The Agency, alarmed by the agent’s personal betrayal, tried to shut the deal down, but for some reason, higher-ups ordered it to proceed. After much debate, they resumed negotiations on the condition of paying Do-jin five million dollars personally. At the same time, another field agent nearby was dispatched urgently—that was Marvin.
Rumor was, even among the leadership, there was a lot of debate about the operation. Could the government really lead new drug development, unlike a private company? Still, since short-acting manifestants couldn’t be eliminated, some kept insisting that a safer product should be properly supplied instead, and someone quickly agreed. The reasons remained unknown.
They said the product was stable enough to be sold as a pharmaceutical, so all they needed was to get it and judge for themselves. Only after everything fell apart did Deputy Director Choi look back and say that if they’d known the true nature of the sample, the government would have reconsidered.
Would they really?
As time passed, Marvin grew more and more cynical. Maybe they would have hesitated, but the end result would’ve been the same. If they’d known that the second-gen manifestant actually caused real trait transformation, they’d probably have wanted it even more.
Marvin had already proven the drug worked—on himself. The sample was real. After a seven-day regimen, Marvin had fully re-manifested as an omega.
“Here, please.”
He flagged down a taxi and showed the driver the address. It wasn’t far; the navigation said it would take less than ten minutes. He tried calling Yang Jin-man, but the line was busy.
“You’ll probably have to close down the hall today.”
He sent a message and soon got another call from Jin-yong. He’d reported it, but wasn’t sure if the call had gone through. Marvin told him a patrol officer would secure the scene, then detectives would follow. He wanted to see the body himself before then.