The walls of the room trembled as he shouted.
Papers scattered from the tables, fluttering to the floor as Mr. Wang pushed himself to his feet. He glared at the man who remained seated—calm, unmoved, almost bored by the chaos.
"Have you gone insane?" Wang demanded. "Is this the stage of madness where you can't turn back anymore? Do you even hear yourself?"
Each word was bitten off, chewed through clenched teeth. His patience was stretched thin, balanced on the edge of a blade, ready to snap at the slightest provocation.
"Mr. Wang."
The calm voice cut through the storm.
For the first time, something flickered across the other man's face—just a fracture, gone before it could fully form. He straightened slightly, composure sliding back into place as if it had never left.
"I told your… late wife," he said, deliberately pausing, "when this project began. She approved it herself. I am only carrying out what must be done."
Mr. Wang's control slipped.
"Don't mention Christine," he warned sharply.
"Why?" the man replied evenly as he rose, movements slow and measured. His eyes glinted with something disturbingly close to satisfaction as they lingered on Wang's reaction. "She was the one who initiated this project. You've given me no reasonable explanation for why I should suddenly stop—especially after the millions already invested."
He gestured vaguely toward the scattered documents.
"Biology cannot be advanced without pain," he continued. "This research could help combat newly emerging diseases. You know the rumors—people born with particular scents capable of influencing others. The probability may be low, but the potential benefit is enormous." His voice remained calm, unwavering. "We are doing this for the good of humanity."
The silence that followed was sharp.
"…Is this about Ren?"
Mr. Wang's voice was low, controlled—but serious.
The question struck harder than a slap.
"What—what are you talking about?" the man replied, a fraction too quickly.
"I've read Ren's files," Wang said quietly. "He can give birth. The one with womb.He was born that way. I've known it for years." He exhaled slowly. "Do you consider Ren abnormal? Do you truly believe you'll find a cure for him by experimenting on others?"
He shook his head, exhaustion seeping into his bones.
"I don't care about your conscience," Wang went on. "I don't care if you run this experiment on fifty boys or a hundred." His voice hardened. "But I'm taking Tae-yi."
The other man stiffened.
"I don't care how bad his condition is," Wang continued. "Let him live—even if it's only until his death. Christine approved this project; she must have had her reasons." His voice faltered, just slightly. "But Tae-yi has already lost everything. Don't make it harder for him."
He moved toward the sofa and placed a hand on the man's rigid shoulder. The touch was gentle—almost apologetic.
Slowly, the man raised his head.
Their eyes met.
Uncertainty flickered there—not fear, but a storm restrained behind iron walls.
"This experiment will continue," he said, voice low and absolute. "No one will stand in its way."
Mr. Wang tightened his grip, then released it. He lowered his gaze and gave a small, reluctant nod.
A breath he hadn't realized he was holding escaped him as he patted the man's back.
"Never use Ren's name again."
The warning was quiet—but unmistakable.
Mr. Wang smiled bitterly.
A knock came at the door.
The secretary entered cautiously, taking in the scattered papers across the floor. His eyes flicked briefly to Mr. Wang before he bent down and began collecting the documents, placing them neatly on the table.
One file lay open.
At the top of the page were two bold letters:
R & W
Beneath it was a name.
Tae-yi.
Pages of medical records followed—biological data, experimental notes, progress charts.
At the bottom, a single line stood out:
Ongoing Experiment — Success Rate: 70%
The room fell silent once more.