The day Cassie awakened the prophet’s blood, Owen, the eldest son of a family with nothing to do as the Reketio Corporation rested, was dozing off in his mansion.
Darkness spread before his eyes.
Through the darkness, two men descended a staircase.
Dim lighting. Blurred vision. Muffled voices.
Owen followed the chairman of Reketio, a man who looked far younger than his age.
He knelt in the center of a gathering, as elders surrounded him, and listened to secrets of the family—secrets he had heard so many times he’d lost count.
Amid fatigue, a glimmer of expectation shone in Owen’s father’s eyes as he lifted a jar of oil.
The oil was poured over Owen’s head.
Even from a third-person perspective, he could feel the sticky liquid drenching his entire body.
In what felt like an out-of-body experience, Owen opened his eyes.
And nothing happened.
Confused, he glanced around.
The elders averted their gazes, and the chairman’s pupils quaked as if struck by an earthquake.
***
“This can’t be…”
In denial, his father lifted the jar again and poured oil over Owen’s head.
Over and over, he repeated the process.
First, it was only three drops of blood.
Then, more. And yet, Owen’s world remained unchanged.
“This is impossible,” the chairman murmured in despair.
Even Owen had to accept it.
He had not been chosen.
From that day forward, their peaceful family life began to crumble.
The chairman stopped showing love to Owen and his wife.
Once endlessly kind, Owen’s father now coldly ignored him, breaking Owen’s spirit.
Unable to accept her son being rejected by his father, Owen’s mother became obsessed with the power of prophecy.
Cassie, observing her mother’s obsession, began to resent her, and eventually, her mother lost her sanity.
Her obsession led her into a strange religion.
She introduced Owen to a priest, and through a revelation received in the cathedral, Owen demonstrated his abilities.
Though his revelations were 75% accurate, it was enough.
In time, Owen gained fame as an outstanding investor rather than merely the chairman’s son.
Despite receiving the admiration of employees, Owen often glanced toward his father.
Yet the chairman continued to coldly dismiss Owen and his wife.
Owen understood.
‘Of course, 75% isn’t enough to satisfy him.’
His father’s success rate was 90%.
Including long-term strategic wins, it was effectively 100%.
Owen buried his feelings and pushed himself harder.
But his mother wasn’t as strong.
She divorced the chairman and eventually disappeared from her children’s lives.
Months later, Owen received a letter and an inheritance in his name: a single building.
Inside the building was only a supercomputer.
The moment he saw it, Owen’s world began to unravel.
***
“Gasp!”
Owen threw off his blanket and shot up from the bed.
Another nightmare—he’d lost count of how many.
His pounding heartbeat echoed in his ears, his vision shook violently.
The familiar signs of a panic attack.
Owen grabbed a sedative from his bedside table and injected it into his arm.
“Phew…”
Sitting on the edge of the bed, he stared blankly for a moment before checking the time.
The weekend was over.
What was supposed to be a nap had turned into sleeping the entire day away.
It wasn’t surprising.
Prophets, with the mental strain they endured, often slept for 48 hours straight without issue.
Owen didn’t feel too bad about it; he had no hobbies to occupy his days off anyway.
Dragging himself out of bed, he prepared for work with the help of AI.
Before leaving, as always, he approached his safe.
Inside was a single cylindrical USB drive.
Owen inserted it into the port at the back of his neck.
A rush of sensation—his mind connecting to the computer.
A godlike omniscience filled him, coupled with a serene warmth as if returning to his mother’s embrace.
And then, a single piece of information surfaced.
“Ah… Cassie…”
So, it had come to this after all.
Closing his eyes, Owen tilted his head back.
After a brief moment of meditation, he placed a hand on his temple and contacted his secretary.
[Yes, sir. What can I do for you?]
“Proceed with Route B.”
[… Understood.]
***
After ending the call, Owen retrieved a handgun from the armory, tucking it into the back of his pants before leaving the mansion.
At work, Owen headed not for his office but for the chairman’s private office.
In the hallway leading to the office, the chief of security stopped him.
The middle-aged man, his body covered in mechanical enhancements and magical tattoos, held out a hand.
“Young master, I must ask you to surrender your firearm before proceeding.”
Owen, expressionless, met the chief’s gaze.
After a tense pause, a sinister statement escaped Owen’s lips.
“Your role is to protect this family’s chairman, correct?”
“…What are you implying?”
“Our company values people who can foresee the future. Tell me—are you looking at the present or the future?”
From behind Owen, his secretary rolled up her sleeve.
The security chief, after a moment of hesitation, closed his eyes tightly.
“…I always look to the future, sir.”
“Good.”
Owen patted the chief’s shoulder and continued on his way.
***
Finally, Owen knocked on the chairman’s door.
“Come in,” came the chairman’s voice, already aware of who was there without needing to ask.
Owen entered, his demeanor calm.
The chairman didn’t even look up, busy typing away at his computer.
“Sit.”
Owen complied, taking a seat on the sofa.
Once the chairman finished his task, he turned to Owen.
“So, you’ve finally made up your mind.”
“Was it a revelation?” Owen asked.
“It hardly qualifies as one. Watching you build your influence within the company made it obvious.”
“Then why didn’t you stop me?”
“Who knows?”
“You did the same with Mother. You allowed it because it suited you and the company for me to gain revelations eventually.”
“Owen, listen carefully. Stop now. Turn back while you still can. If you cross any further lines, not even I will be able to protect you.”
“You’re not listening to me,” Owen replied coldly.
“Owen!”
The chairman slammed his desk.
“Stop this!”
“What exactly am I supposed to stop?”
“Put this burden down. You are unworthy.”
Unfortunately, those words became the breaking point.
Owen’s voice rose with passion.
“You’ve always been like this. You’ve always loved Cassie, the one brimming with potential!”
“That’s not true.”
“Of course, to someone who sees the future, I must look insignificant—someone who has already lost all potential.”
“Please…”
“You could’ve at least given me a fraction of the love you gave her!”
The chairman let out a heavy sigh and ran his hand down his face.
From behind his palm, a voice laden with regret echoed.
“You’re just like your mother…”
Crash!
At those words, Owen lunged at him.
The chairman, foreseeing this, stepped back slightly, but Owen had calculated his father’s move.
Striking his arm away, Owen gripped his throat.
Owen’s desperate hands strangled the chairman’s neck, cutting off his air.
Yet, even as his son choked him, the chairman’s expression remained calm.
He neither struggled nor resisted.
Instead, he gently stroked Owen’s cheek.
For about two minutes, this continued.
Then, suddenly, Owen released his father’s neck and staggered backward.
The freed chairman calmly adjusted his tie and took a deep breath as if nothing had happened.
Not even his complexion had changed—no redness, no gasping.
Seeing this, Owen, now shaken, spoke in disbelief.
“You monster. Did you know you wouldn’t die?”
“A child who yearns for love cannot kill their father. And if they do, they always regret it. You’ve seen it too, haven’t you?”
“…You’re a monster.”
Even knowing the future, how could anyone remain calm while being strangled by their own child?
To Owen, the man before him was beyond what the word “monster” could describe.
Reading the look in Owen’s eyes, the chairman chuckled bitterly.
“Did you think the position of a megacorporation’s chairman was so light?”
The chairman rose from his chair.
“Put the gun away. You don’t need to use it—I’ll give you the position. Here, it’s yours now. I’ll go spend my days fishing.”
He stepped aside, hands clasped behind his back.
‘Was it due to orthostatic hypotension or psychological shock?’
The chairman swayed slightly.
Watching him, Owen shook his head.
Whatever the cause, this man wasn’t someone who would stumble so easily.
‘This too must be part of his plan, his design for the future he desires.’
Reaching that conclusion, Owen took the chairman’s seat.
As the former chairman walked out of the room, he seemed unsteady.
Just as he grabbed the doorknob, he spoke over his shoulder.
“Owen, I told you that day. Even without the power of prophecy, you’ve always been my son.”
“That was the turning point. But you and your mother could never let go of the power of prophecy.”
“Was it power you craved so badly? Or was it money that you needed so desperately?”
“All I wanted was your love.”
“Yes, I suppose so.
“But even in futures where I loved you, nothing changed if you didn’t give up.
“In every future where you held on, you always strangled me. How could I love you and your mother under those circumstances?”
For some reason, Owen recalled something his father had once said.
“The right to see the future doesn’t grant the freedom to create the future you desire.”
Those who glimpse the future are forever bound by it, unable to imagine alternate paths.
Without waiting for a reply, the former chairman turned the doorknob and exited.
As the door shut behind him, his retreating back was not the proud figure Owen had known.
Instead, it was the weary back of a forlorn middle-aged man.
Left alone in the chairman’s office, Owen’s secretary hesitated outside, hearing the sobs emanating from within.
It took her ten minutes to muster the courage to enter and congratulate him.
The news of Owen’s ascension to chairman quickly reached Cassie.
But it didn’t matter to her.
Since awakening her powers, she had refused all human interaction.
The overwhelming flood of futures she saw in anyone’s gaze was a horrifying experience.
‘Omniscience?’
That was nonsense.
All she felt was nausea, vomiting, and terror.
[The more you face it head-on, the sooner you’ll adapt.]
Her father’s text came, but she ignored it.
For a month, she confined herself to her room.
She avoided people so thoroughly that she learned of her family’s news through the media.
Her father had retired into seclusion, rejecting all interviews and disappearing to a villa unknown even to Cassie.
Occasionally, he would text her words of encouragement, but she hadn’t heard his voice in over a month.
Owen’s activities also came to her through the news.
He had abruptly become chairman and initiated numerous policies.
Though it was too soon to judge his performance, opinions leaned toward him being inferior to their father.
‘The reason?’ A massive restructuring.
It was as if Owen was obsessively erasing every trace of their father, firing or demoting loyalists while appointing his own followers.
Critics attributed his actions to youthful recklessness, but Cassie wasn’t worried.
The Owen she knew, while perhaps unhinged by religion, was no fool.
That was all she knew of the outside world.
Honestly, she could have stepped outside to gather information in an instant.
But her refusal to interact with anyone left her ignorant.
Then, her eyes fell on the calendar.
***
Three months and a few weeks of self-isolation.
The time to reunite with her comrades was approaching.
Her heart began to race.
‘What if I see something terrible in their futures? Could I still stay by their side?’
Fear gripped her.
As the thought of a panic attack crossed her mind, she hurried to her medicine cabinet.
Normally, she would have her servants leave food or water at her door to avoid interaction.
But this time was different.
Avoiding eye contact with the staff, she made her way to her room.
On the way, she crossed paths with the chef heading to the kitchen.
Their eyes met.
Again, the futures unfolded.
She read the thread connecting her to the chef.
In ten out of ten futures, the chef poisoned her food.
Snapping back to reality, she recoiled.
The bulge in the chef’s pocket matched where he had retrieved the poison in her vision.
Her face paled.
‘What do I do?’
Part of her wanted to confront him.
‘But how could she explain? By saying she’d seen the future?’
Panicked, she turned around and fled to her room.
Before she reached it, she locked eyes with a bodyguard.
The moment her hand touched the doorknob, the bodyguard fired at the back of her head.
Then, he sent a report to Owen.
Cassie’s pupils trembled.
The bodyguard stared at her with an innocent, clueless expression.
Grinding her teeth, she turned back to the door.
Feigning to grab the handle, she suddenly spun and struck the guard’s throat.
“Ugh!”
Caught off guard, the bodyguard instinctively raised his gun, but Cassie had already foreseen his actions.
The bullet grazed her forehead as she tilted her head slightly.
She retaliated, delivering another blow to his throat.
Even as he tried to kill her, she read every move and subdued him.
Having overpowered the guard barehanded, Cassie marveled at her own strength.
‘So this is…’
She, who had been no better than a mid-level mercenary, had taken down a corporate bodyguard with her bare hands.
She quickly disarmed him, returned to her room, and armed herself with mercenary gear.
Then, she began hunting.
As she took down the assassins disguised as guards, she pieced together the truth.
***
“Because of Cassie, I’ll die. One of us has to die.”
It was Owen’s doing.
Not the fanaticism of his followers, but his direct order.
‘What vision had Owen seen?’
‘And did their father know about it?’
Betrayal and confusion filled her as she swung her weapon.
Finally, she reached the garage where her car should have been.
But when she arrived, her car was a wreck.
Standing beside the ruined vehicle was the somber-faced chief of security.
“Did Owen tell you?”
“I’m sorry, Miss.”
Struggling to maintain composure, the chief drew spikes from his wrists.
Cassie adjusted her weapon and locked eyes with him.
‘What would his first move be?’
She hesitated.
The future was blank.
No thread connected them.
Before she could decipher the meaning, Crash!
The garage ceiling collapsed, and people dropped in.
Familiar faces.
“What?”
The chief was bisected by a falling sword.
The man who had wielded it looked at Cassie and spoke.
“Sorry. I tried to come faster, but the prototype sucked—it took an hour just to calculate.”
A voice she had missed dearly.
And following it, other voices she had longed to hear.
“Phew… This isn’t my fault. Who wears so much makeup anyway?”
[What are you saying, idiot? It’s camouflage cream, and snipers need it!]
“This is Vox’s fault—he wasted time with all the explosives and ammo.”
“Still, our timing’s perfect, isn’t it?”
Finally, a voice she neither missed nor appreciated, but was grateful for nonetheless.
“Good thing tomorrow’s a holiday…”
It was Amon, her comrades, and Sonia.