"Jung Pilgyu—you know he's part of the special team, right?"
"Of course I know...!"
But Channa's answer came out awkward. She scratched her cheek, her expression uncomfortable.
"My brother-in-law left the intelligence service and started working at this company with me. But my abilities can't be underestimated either, you know? So I told them I'd only join a team with a high salary."
"Do you often work in the field?"
Channa shook her head.
"Usually I work from the office through a remote system. But this time I have to hack the system directly, so..." She shrugged. "It can't be avoided."
They walked deeper into an alley lined with neatly arranged souvenirs—wooden carvings, silk scarves, Buddha figurines in every size. The air smelled of incense and fried street food.
"Channa, I like this company."
"Really?"
"Yeah." Seoryeong's gaze drifted over the colorful displays. "Even though there are a lot of annoying people and a lot of bad things happen..."
"..."
"It gives me hope."
Channa looked at her with the expression of someone who had just bitten into something unexpectedly sour.
"My husband is an intelligence officer." Seoryeong's voice remained light, conversational. "He must hate things like this. Corruption. Criminality. All of it."
"..."
"How disgusted do you think Kim Hyeon would be?"
Seoryeong laughed—a bright, almost musical sound that made Channa flinch and look away.
"It would be better if Senior could laugh *beautifully*." Channa's shoulders hunched slightly. "That kind of laugh... is a bit scary."
Seoryeong stopped laughing and turned her gaze elsewhere.
At that moment, a small child came running after a tourist, carrying an old woven basket. The girl smiled brightly and offered colorful bracelets for sale, her small hands holding them up like treasures. She was probably around ten years old. Her clothes were worn but clean, the seams neat—someone cared for her, that much was clear.
"Where did you go for your honeymoon, Senior?"
"Ah..."
Seoryeong blinked, returning from wherever her thoughts had wandered.
"Jeju Island."
"...Was it good?"
The question came out slightly awkward, as if Channa wasn't sure she should be asking.
Seoryeong smiled faintly.
"Actually, there's never a bad time as long as I'm with my husband."
"..."
"I don't know where he is right now..." Her voice softened. "But sometimes I feel like he's near me. It sounds strange, right?"
When she looked at Channa's face, Seoryeong couldn't help but laugh again. The younger woman's expression was far too serious.
"Don't believe anything, Senior." Channa's voice dropped, suddenly urgent. "Don't trust feelings. Don't trust hunches. Don't trust whether you *like* someone, or whether a man seems *good*..." She counted on her fingers. "Suspect everything. Even promises should be suspected. Flirting should be suspected. And if someone says you're beautiful—"
"Senior is so beautiful!"
"—!"
A loud voice interrupted them.
"So beautiful!"
The Korean wasn't fluent, but the pronunciation was clear and earnest. The little girl from before was now standing very close, beaming up at Seoryeong with enormous dark eyes.
"Channa." Seoryeong's lips twitched. "If someone says you're beautiful, what do you answer?"
"...Just say, *have fun*."
Channa mumbled something under her breath—"Haa, yeah, that's right"—while awkwardly waving her hand at the child.
Seoryeong bent down, examining the bracelet the girl was offering. Clear green stones. Pink quartz. Coral-colored beads. The bracelet was made of small stones that had been neatly carved and strung together, simple patterns etched into their surfaces. She liked it immediately.
Just as she lifted the bracelet with admiration—
"...!"
Her expression froze.
Her gaze swept the crowd with sudden, sharp alertness.
"What's wrong?"
Channa's voice came from somewhere distant.
"No... it's nothing."
But it wasn't nothing.
There was a feeling—strange, inexplicable—wrapping around her like cold water. As if a sharp gaze were piercing through her skin from somewhere she couldn't see. The sensation was so vivid it made her breath catch.
Then it vanished.
Dissolved into the crowd as if it had never existed.
Seoryeong didn't say anything more. She only gripped Channa's arm—tightly.
"Let's go home."
"What? Senior—"
"Sorry, but... let's go home."
"Are you okay, Senior?"
"..."
"Your face really doesn't look good..." Channa's brow furrowed with concern. "Like you're scared."
"I just don't feel well."
_Actually, she wasn't okay at all._
Cold sweat had begun to flow. Her skin prickled as if being touched by invisible needles. The panic was worse because she couldn't identify its source—couldn't point to a face, a movement, anything concrete.
Seoryeong pulled Channa through the crowd, moving faster than she should have in the cramped alley. Behind them, the child's voice still rang out:
"Senior is so beautiful!"
But it was as if she couldn't hear it anymore.
All her senses had collapsed into a single point of focus—that *something* which blurred her vision and tightened her chest. The roar of motorcycle engines. Foreign languages echoing off concrete walls. Vendors shouting prices and promotions. It all merged into a heavy, nauseating noise that pressed against her skull.
They passed through a narrow alley where several women in flashy clothes and short shorts stood along the walls—sex workers, probably, watching the tourists pass with practiced indifference.
Seoryeong wiped the sweat flowing down her neck and kept walking.
---
## — The Operation —
"Everything's ready, right?"
"No problem."
"Same here."
The reports from the special team members crackled through the communication devices in their ears—calm, professional, devoid of emotion.
The VIP client of Blast Company was **Thieng**, the head of a Thai gang and the largest drug lord in Asia. He ran a trade worth hundreds of millions of dollars annually. Drugs manufactured in Myanmar. Smuggled to Hong Kong, Taiwan, Macau, South Korea, Japan, and beyond.
Lee Wooshin—an intelligence agent disguised as a Blast employee—had a hidden camera installed in his shirt button, recording every step as evidence.
This massive transaction brought enormous profits to Blast Company. They likely used inside information from intelligence agencies to avoid crackdowns, to ensure the smooth flow of product across borders. The smuggling would take place at the border between Myanmar and Thailand in the early hours of the morning.
The special security team's task was simple: protect Thieng.
If the smuggling was exposed and an attack occurred, they had to prepare an escape route, retaliate against hostiles, and extract the gang leader safely.
If ordinary people heard about this—any of this—they would be horrified.
Even people who weren't particularly virtuous would recoil from something this illegal, this dangerous. What these men possessed was a malevolent power—a capacity for violence that could destroy lives without hesitation.
In a normal situation, even *Bu-ong* should have felt that way.
But instead of shock or disgust, she had spoken with a perfectly flat expression:
"What? The room was messy, so you were cleaning it up like that?"
"..."
_Bringing her on this overseas mission was no coincidence._
After seeing and experiencing a world stripped of morals, Lee Wooshin had hoped Bu-ong would decide to leave Blast Company of her own accord. That had been the intention—to use this trip as pressure, to push her toward the exit.
But it turned out to be far harder to make her crack than he had imagined.
Not like before.
Before, she had been weak. Dependent on her husband. Always anxious. Wooshin had assumed she would be easy to manipulate, easy to frighten away.
That assumption had crumbled in a single conversation.
Bu-ong was only gentle and sensitive toward *Kim Hyeon*.
After seeing her draw a man's attention during the labor strike—following that stranger like someone hypnotized by a scent—Lee Wooshin had made a decision.
_Get rid of her._
Memories from old missions surfaced unbidden. Missions that required him to *destroy* something. The lesson was clear: current operations should never be influenced by the past.
A quiet warning voice had begun to sound within him.
It made him feel the need to end this—*decisively*.
The thought grew. Turned into something close to obsession.
He had brought Bu-ong to Thailand with a specific intention: to watch her unravel.
But what he saw was not fear. Not disgust.
She simply carried out her duties with a flat expression.
That calmness actually made him feel... *strange*. Annoyed in a way he couldn't name.
"Maximum seven minutes."
The young voice cut through Lee Wooshin's reverie. He looked down and saw Heo Channa disassembling a security device, a small flashlight clenched between her teeth.
Their special team was infiltrating the house of one of Thieng's old cronies—gathering intelligence before the border crossing tomorrow morning. Providing information about internal organizational conflicts was one of their services to loyal customers.
However, this organization's internet network was custom-built. Information couldn't be accessed remotely. The only way in was to enter the server room physically and let Channa hack directly.
A small metal plate came off with a soft click, revealing two ports inside.
"I heard you once helped dismantle someone's data." Wooshin's voice was casual. "Someone who ran away with Han Seoryeong's money."
"—!"
Channa froze, her hand halfway to her laptop bag.
"But... that shouldn't have been wrong, right?"
"The wrong thing is what we're doing *now*."
"..."
"Tell me." His tone didn't change. "Has Han Seoryeong experienced a period of severe alcohol addiction in the last two or three months?"
"What?"
Channa turned to look at him as she connected a black cable to the security device.
Lee Wooshin's pale face in the darkness was utterly expressionless—as cold as ice.
Enough to make anyone shiver to the bone.