The hand pressing down on Seoryeong's shoulder finally lifted.
Slowly, deliberately, the man straightened and stepped back from the bed. He adjusted his uniform with precise movements, smoothing the wrinkles from the fabric as if erasing evidence of what had just transpired. His gaze—cold, calculating, disturbingly calm—signaled that all decisions now rested with her.
*Wait. What did I just hear?*
Seoryeong propped herself up on her elbows, blinking at him with an expression caught somewhere between bewilderment and disbelief. Only with physical distance restored between them could she find her voice again.
"Are you really going to find my husband?"
The words came out cautious, testing, as if speaking them too loudly might shatter the fragile promise hanging in the air. The unexpected offer felt both dubious and impossible—yet her eyes, dark and jewel-bright, already swirled with suspicion and hope, intoxicated by the mere possibility.
*Does he know Kim Hyeon?*
Her husband had been a black agent, buried so deep in classified operations that even the NIS Director had personally ordered the cessation of all interrogation regarding his disappearance. It was *impossible* for Lee Wooshin to know that.
And yet—
He was the first person to speak with such certainty.
The heart that had been languishing in her chest suddenly kicked into overdrive. Her head, heavy with exhaustion and pain just moments ago, felt clearer. The gnawing emptiness in her stomach—loneliness carved into physical hunger—seemed to fill again, warmed by a quiet, desperate joy.
*He could actually do it.*
But then—
"You said you wanted to work with me."
Wooshin's voice cut through her thoughts, sharp and measured.
"In that case, you must accept all my orders without question. Even when you're not in the field."
"…"
"I will find your husband."
He extended his hand toward her—large, steady, palm open.
The sunlight streaming through the window illuminated his frame, casting him in stark relief: a dark silhouette haloed by light. His firm words sounded like a lifeline thrown to her exhausted body and drowning mind. Seoryeong took a shaky breath, as if swallowing down a long-held sorrow that threatened to spill over.
But still—
She couldn't reach out to accept that help.
"In return," he continued, his tone brooking no argument, "Agent Han Seoryeong must cease her involvement in other matters. You will give up on that ridiculous plan of yours."
*Give up?*
*Not even once?*
Seoryeong stared at his outstretched hand, hesitation rooting her in place. Wooshin's brow furrowed slightly. He stepped closer.
"Wait!" Seoryeong threw up her hands, covering her face instinctively. "I haven't showered yet! I'm filthy—please step back a little!"
The request, shouted out of sheer modesty, was completely ignored.
"What's dirty?" Wooshin said flatly, and without ceremony, he reached down and seized her hand.
The grip was unilateral. Forceful. Her fingers ached as if caught in a vice, twisted into compliance. Seoryeong immediately tried to yank her hand free, but the more she resisted, the tighter his hold became. She was trapped—a cornered animal immobilized by unreasonable force.
"I'm sorry," she said, her voice trembling but resolute. "But I don't want to be supervised by you, Instructor."
Even as she struggled, her tone remained calm—almost eerily so—and that made Wooshin's frown deepen. His expression shifted, arrogance giving way to genuine surprise. Clearly, he hadn't expected her to refuse.
"How can I accept your hand," Seoryeong continued, her gaze unflinching, "without knowing what kind of orders you'll give later? It feels like a chain necklace." Her lip curled slightly. "And I don't like it. I don't want my actions restricted, and I don't want to be burdened by promises I have to keep."
"…"
"And whether it's easy or not—I *can* find my husband myself." Her voice hardened. "If I didn't have that determination, that belief, I wouldn't have started this search in the first place."
Despite the temptation—*God,* the temptation—Seoryeong bit her lip and held firm.
Wooshin swallowed his annoyance with visible effort. His jaw worked for a moment before he spoke.
"Is it that difficult to just focus on a few important things?"
"If someone tells me 'don't do that,'" Seoryeong replied evenly, "it just makes me want to do it even more."
"…"
"Don't misunderstand, Instructor. It's not just about you." She shrugged, almost casual. "I've been like this since I was little."
Lee Wooshin looked up at the ceiling and closed his eyes, exhaling slowly through his nose as if praying for patience. The silence stretched taut between them.
Then, softly:
"Agent Han Seoryeong… you may not realize it, but even this decision was incredibly difficult for me to make."
His tone sounded sincere this time—weary in a way it hadn't been even during hell week. The man who could sleep soundly in front of dying agents now looked like someone who hadn't rested in days. His eyes were sunken, shadowed, bruised with exhaustion.
Seoryeong studied him for a long moment.
"By the way, Instructor," she said, her expression blank. "If I were a male agent, would you do the same thing?"
"…!"
"Would you scold me? Berate me? Push me onto a bed for writing crude notes and having dirty thoughts?" She tilted her head. "Would you interfere with my personal life, manage and control it, if I were a male agent?"
Wooshin's frown deepened.
"What if Instructor Jin Hoje had a new lover every night?" she pressed.
"You almost made a good point," Wooshin said tersely. "Why are you bringing up *his* name now?"
"It was just an example."
"Have you two officially met?" His tone turned bitter.
"It was just an example."
But the question had done its work. Seoryeong could see it in the tightness around his mouth, the flicker of something defensive in his eyes.
To her, Lee Wooshin didn't just seem like a conservative superior who opposed office romances, or someone whose reactions varied by personal taste. No—sometimes his anger felt **deeply personal.** She had seen how enraged he'd been over a crumpled piece of paper. A note written half-asleep.
Was it natural to humiliate and suppress someone to that extent over such a thing?
*How long have we even known each other?*
*Is it normal to invade my privacy this deeply—as if putting me under a microscope?*
No matter how long she thought about it, the feeling that Wooshin's reaction was **overly sensitive** refused to fade.
"Instructor," she said quietly, "you're extraordinarily harsh and strict with me."
The issue Wooshin seemed most intolerant of was her *sexuality.* The fact that she was a *woman,* and that she had plans too *free* to share with others. All of that had culminated in the torture training—and it had made Lee Wooshin's attitude feel even more personal. Defensive. **_Obsessive._**
Especially when Seoryeong showed obsession with her husband, or refused to give up—he would mock her. Belittle her.
*Was this an appropriate attitude toward an ordinary agent?*
She would no longer be fooled by that flat, indifferent face pretending to hate stubborn female trainees who were considered burdens.
*Why was he so reactive when it came to women, sex, and husbands?*
"Instructor," Seoryeong said slowly. "Are you married?"
"…!"
"Not necessarily married, but…" She watched him carefully. "A serious relationship? Something like that?"
The grip on her hand weakened—just for a moment.
Until now, she'd never felt the need to ask personal questions about the instructor. But the situation had changed. And Seoryeong had just discovered a weakness in her opponent.
"So… you broke up?"
There had to be an origin to that skepticism. Emotional wounds. Professional trauma. She felt a strange flicker of sympathy for a similar past failure.
But pity wasn't what she needed right now.
Her voice softened, almost gentle.
"So… did your wife cheat on you?"
Wooshin stared at her, his expression blank.
"Did she also keep a list of men?" Seoryeong pressed. "Like I did?"
---
A sharp intake of breath hissed through the air.
With a furious expression—*finally,* something cracking through—Lee Wooshin released Seoryeong's hand. In that short span of time, his palm had become slick with sweat from gripping too hard. He covered his face with both hands, as if completely at a loss. His Adam's apple bobbed rapidly, and his jaw clenched tight enough to hurt.
*Right.*
*Right.*
Seoryeong felt she had deduced something reasonable. The man's eyes—always blazing with anger as if nursing a personal vendetta—suddenly made sense.
Even someone like him was apparently not immune to relationship problems.
"I heard," she said carefully, "that the psychological impact of divorce is similar to the trauma of soldiers returning from the Vietnam War."
"Agent Han Seoryeong." His voice dropped—sharp, warning.
"I'm sorry about your wife."
"That's enough."
"But don't take it out on me." Her tone hardened. "I'm not your woman."
"…!"
The heat that had briefly flashed across his face began to dim. His expression drained away, leaving only dried-out stillness behind. He stood motionless, maintaining a respectful distance now.
"If my way of life stresses you out," Seoryeong continued, her voice steady, "you can go to the hospital and ask for counseling. Your insecurity—the need to control me—that's not mine."
"…"
"That's not my problem." She drew the line firmly. "It's *yours.*"
"…"
"I'm not a woman from your past."
"…"
"I know I stand out in this unit. But don't misdirect your anger and torture me because of it." Her gaze didn't waver. "I have no reason to be insulted and controlled by you outside of field duty."
"…"
"If you have a grudge against someone, just go and beat that person up." She crossed her arms. "Why do you have to attack me when I'm trying my best? A face as handsome as yours is a waste to use for tormenting people."
Seoryeong pushed past him and finally climbed out of bed. Ignoring the persistent ache in her body, she strode toward the infirmary door. At the threshold, she turned back to look at him—still standing stiffly, his expression caught between a smile and a frown, frozen in something unreadable.
She delivered the final blow.
"You should go on a date."
"…!"
"Find a new relationship. Have fun with someone sweet and nice. Then have sex." She shrugged. "Paranoia, a bad temper, and a lack of desire will only make it harder for you to meet a good girl."
She paused at the door.
"After that," she said coolly, "I'll let you look for my husband however you want."
Her lips curved into a faint, merciless smile.
"That's *my* condition."
---
*You were the one who dared to make a deal using my husband's name.*
*You were the one who made my husband a bargaining chip to control me.*
Seoryeong returned the choice to him, hiding the slow burn of anger igniting in her chest. Just like the paper he had once crumpled, she dismissed the entire proposal outright.
She hurried out of the infirmary and headed straight for the bathroom, glancing back once to make sure the man wasn't following her.
But he remained standing far away, motionless.
The small door stayed silent.
---
In the afternoon, she received news that Channa had regained consciousness.