At the far end of the dim underground complex beneath Pluto’s Retrieval Division, someone slowly turned.

  A man stepped out of the shadows and studied Agnes in silence.

  “I’m… the Director of the Retrieval Division,” he said at last.“Who are you, and what brings you here?”

  Agnes explained calmly. She had been dispatched to the Earth Branch on a special audit assignment. While investigating a string of recent anomalies, she had personally witnessed a Retrieval Division agent engaged in a suspicious exchange with a situation room officer.

  The Director listened without interrupting. Then he nodded heavily and exhaled.

  “As you’ve probably guessed,” he said, “every problem unfolding on Earth is being pinned on us.You came at the right time, Captain.”

  He pushed a stack of documents aside and rose from his chair.

  “We were about to call an all-hands meeting over this.Since you’re here, I’d like you to review the situation with us—and report back to Headquarters that this isn’t simply a failure on our end.”

  Tension lined his face. Frustration. And beneath it, a resolve to carry the burden to the end.

  “Everything happening on Earth is being reduced to one conclusion: failed retrievals.We can’t delay any longer.We were about to begin countermeasures ourselves.”

  With that, he turned and left the room.

  Agnes paused for a moment, then followed.

  As she walked, she tapped the in-ear communicator tucked against her ear.

  “Helena. Agatha. Assemble at Pluto’s Retrieval Division immediately. Over.”

  A beat passed.

  “Copy that.”

  By the time they reached the main auditorium, it was already packed.

  Rows of red, tiered seats spread out in a fan toward the stage. Dozens of ceiling lights cast an even, sterile glow across the hall. Nearly a thousand Retrieval Division personnel filled the seats, murmuring in low voices.

  The sound hung in the air—like breath held just before a wave breaks.

  Everyone felt it.

  The meeting hadn’t started yet, but this was no routine gathering.

  The Director stepped onto the podium and took the microphone.

  “Effective immediately,” he announced,“we are convening an emergency countermeasure meeting of the Retrieval Divisionregarding the residual souls left behind by unretrieved cases on Earth.”

  The murmuring died instantly, as if someone had cut the power.

  “All departments within the branch have already concluded that the large-scale emergence of unretrieved souls is our responsibility,” he continued.“But that’s not the question we’re here to answer.

  “What matters is why the retrievals failed in the first place—and what the real cause is.”

  His gaze swept slowly across the hall.

  “At the request of the Jade Emperor, Branch Director, a proposal to expand Pluto has been submitted to Headquarters.As a result, a special audit team has been dispatched.”

  He turned slightly to the side.

  “Captain Agnesis with us today.”

  A ripple of tension moved through the auditorium.

  “I want each of you to speak honestly,” the Director said.“What went wrong in the field. And what you believe caused it.”

  Quiet whispers spread through the room. Eyes shifted. No one raised a hand.

  Then Agnes stepped forward.

  “Good afternoon,” she said.“I’m Captain Agnes, Audit Division.”

  The remaining murmurs faded.

  “You’re standing at the center of the problem facing the Earth Branch,” she continued evenly.

  If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

  She paused, letting her gaze settle across the crowd.

  “What happened in the field.And the real reasons operations broke down.”

  “I want to hear them—directly.”

  Silence.

  “Why weren’t the souls of the dead on Earth retrieved?” she asked.“And was that outcome the result of human error—or something else entirely?”

  “For that determination,” she said, “I need your honest assessments.”

  From the back of the hall, a single hand rose.

  Agnes nodded.

  “Yes. Please stand and speak.”

  The employee scanned the room before continuing.

  “This isn’t a problem that can be explained by a single soul,” he said.“Emotions accumulated over decades—over centuries—are now moving together. As one mass.”

  The air in the auditorium grew heavier.

  The employee straightened.

  “This didn’t start recently. Many of you have already felt it.Across Earth, an enormous number of thought-forms are spreading at an accelerating rate.”

  Before he could finish, another employee stood.

  “That’s right,” they said.“Thought-forms are entities created when emotions like resentment, hatred, violence, and loathing accumulate over long periods of time.”

  “They’re abnormal conglomerations of souls—unable to dissipate even after death.They evade the retrieval network, merge with one another, and continue to multiply.”

  As the words settled, the weight in the room deepened—thick enough to press against the walls.

  ---------

  Inside the consultation room of the philosophy office in Seoul, the sighs never seemed to stop.

  “Doctor… it’s my son,” Hwang Myeong-sun said.“Honestly, these days he’s been upsetting me so much I feel like I’m losing my mind.”

  The tension carved into her face was unmistakable.Gyeongsu looked at her with an expression caught between concern and quiet resignation.

  “He’s still not eating properly?” he asked. “Still not listening to you?”

  Before he could finish, she launched straight back into her complaints.

  “No, Doctor… I’ve been going everywhere people say is reputable. I showed them my son’s chart, asked what he should do to succeed.”

  She idly rubbed the gold ring beneath her red-painted nails, then let out a long sigh.

  “Everywhere I went, they all said the same thing.

  He’d do well as an idol.I should make him a celebrity.If he became an actor, he’d be a huge success.”

  She hesitated, then lowered her voice.

  “So… I tried bringing it up carefully.”

  Her expression twisted almost immediately.

  “And then my son shouted at me.‘Mom, are you crazy?’”

  “After that, he stopped talking to me completely.”

  She drew in a short breath, then asked the question she’d been circling the entire time.

  “Did I really do something wrong?”

  Her nasal tone, her distinctive cadence—it all landed sharply in Gyeongsu’s ears.

  He studied her for a moment before answering, his voice calm and even.

  “So… you didn’t really ask for your son’s opinion first,” he said.“You decided on your own, and then told him.”

  The moment she heard on your own, her face stiffened.

  “No! That’s not it! I didn’t force him. Who forces their kids these days?”

  She waved her hands defensively, even letting out an awkward laugh.

  “I just… my friend started an agency, so I casually suggested he try auditioning once.If that’s forcing, that’s really unfair. Don’t you think?”

  Gyeongsu gave a faint, knowing smile.

  “If you look at your son’s chart, there’s a marker called Sang-gwan in the month branch,” he said.“That’s probably why everyone told you he’d succeed in entertainment.”

  He paused, tilting his head slightly.

  “And perhaps, ma’am, you didn’t bring this up entirely on your own.”

  “Your friend runs an agency, right?Something like, ‘I’d love to have your son audition—could you take a look at his chart?’Wasn’t that more or less how the conversation went?”

  For a brief moment, Hwang Myeong-sun’s face clearly said caught.

  Gyeongsu held her gaze, then continued.

  “Your son’s Sang-gwan in the month branch is unusual.You could call it a ‘genius star’—unpredictable, capable of going in any direction.”

  “At his age, wandering is natural.It looks like he won’t truly find his own direction until his mid-thirties.”

  His tone remained steady.

  “When Sang-gwan appears in the month branch, conflict with parents tends to follow.The more pressure you apply, the stronger the resistance becomes.”

  “Your son has a powerful need to choose his own path.”

  Only after listening to Gyeongsu for nearly two hours did Hwang Myeong-sun finally glance at the wall clock and spring to her feet.

  “Oh my goodness—look at the time!”“I’m supposed to go to Yongdu-dong with my grad school friends for webfoot octopus today…”

  “Oh dear, listening to you made me completely lose track of time. Thank you so much, Doctor.”

  As always, she casually placed thirty thousand won in cash on the table and headed for the door without looking back.

  Just before stepping out, she turned and shot Hyeonpil a wink.

  “Handsome young man~ See you next time!”

  The reason Gyeongsu charged his consultation fee afterward was simple.

  Before opening the office, he’d thought, Thirty thousand won for fifteen minutes sounds reasonable.But once he actually started seeing clients, the idea of saying that out loud terrified him.He was convinced it would scare everyone away.

  So whenever someone asked, “How much is it?”

  He answered confidently.

  “Thirty thousand won.”

  Then, almost under his breath, he added,

  “For fifteen minutes…”

  Not a single person ever heard that last part clearly.

  So even when a client like Hwang Myeong-sun sat there for two full hours and left only thirty thousand won behind,Gyeongsu had no choice but to slip it quietly into his pocket.

  About ten seconds after she left, the door clicking shut—

  the office door suddenly flew open again.

  “What is that smell? Who’s wearing perfume like this?”“Ugh. It reeks of cheap stuff.”

  It was Dahye.

  With a lunchbox in one hand and a bag in the other, she stood in the doorway, nose wrinkled, staring straight at Hyeonpil.