**Bang. Bang.**
The sharp crack of precise shots hitting the center of the target startled everyone gathered in the indoor shooting range.
Inside, the team members who had received their recovery injections clustered together in uneasy silence. Even wearing bulletproof vests and ear protection, the vibrations of gunfire still felt like they were seeping through the air, raising goosebumps along exposed skin.
"The Mozambique Drill is a shooting technique that targets two shots to the body—" Lee Wooshin lowered his weapon slightly, his voice calm and clinical. "—then one to the head."
He wore a pistol holster strapped outside his black rash guard, the leather dark against his frame. Fresh holes peppered the target's head behind him, clustered tight.
"If you aim directly for the head and miss—hitting only the face by bad luck—you give your opponent time to retaliate." He ejected the magazine with a practiced flick. "This technique is designed to eliminate that risk. Two to the body. One to the head."
Despite holding a fully loaded weapon, there was no tension in his expression. His movements as he tapped his thigh to release the magazine were casual—bored, even. It wasn't that the weapon suited him.
It was as if *he* was the type of person who would stir someone's insides with its barrel.
Wood splinters flew from the target board as another round shattered its center. Lee Wooshin's gaze drifted across the cadets—and landed on Seoryeong.
His initially flat stare slowly sharpened, settling on her with deliberate weight.
"If you're skilled," he continued, his tone almost conversational, "you can neutralize a human target with just three bullets. The Mozambique Drill ensures the opponent truly stops." A pause. "Freezing them in place. Even if it means killing them."
"…"
"So even with few bullets—" He smiled faintly. "—you can fatally wound them."
A soft laugh followed his sentence.
Seoryeong's stomach turned. Her brow furrowed, and she glared at him sharply, but the shooting range remained quiet, as if her unease was nothing more than paranoia.
---
By the end of their training cycle, only about twenty recruits remained at Blast.
Under Instructor Ki Taemin's guidance, they had learned to disassemble and reassemble various types of weapons. They had learned proper grip, stance, and shooting technique. They had practiced with colored rubber bullets until their hands cramped.
Now, they stood watching the instructors' live demonstrations.
Lee Wooshin quietly loaded bullets one by one into the magazine, then raised his hand. His half-lidded eyes were still fixed on Seoryeong.
**Bang—!**
Loud screams erupted from various directions.
Seoryeong didn't know which came first—the sound or the pain.
Her body was thrown backward. Severe, blinding pain exploded across her side.
**Bang—!**
The sound of gunfire continued to echo like shattering glass in her ears. Bullet casings clinked as they fell to the floor, bouncing against concrete.
*Wait.*
*This—*
*What is this?*
"If the first two bullets don't work, don't panic."
Wooshin's voice was calm. Emotionless. He replaced the magazine with a sharp **click.**
"Quickly fire the third bullet into the head. The key is to *re-aim*—to sever the last lifeline."
*Did that bastard just… shoot me?*
Seoryeong's eyes widened in shock. Before she could react, another bullet slammed into her chest—right in the sternum. The bulletproof vest absorbed the impact, but it felt like a fist had crushed her ribs. She couldn't breathe for a moment.
Stumbling, gasping, Seoryeong glared at him while her colleagues rushed to support her.
The smell of gunpowder stung her nose. Undeniable. She had been *shot.*
Looking down, she saw two clear bullet holes embedded in the layered fabric of her vest. As the reality sank in, anger boiled up inside her, making the hair on her scalp stand on end.
"Why?" The man glanced over casually after emptying the chamber. "Does it hurt?"
"…!"
"But these are just .22 LR rounds. Small. Low-powered." He shrugged. "I deliberately chose light bullets so our beloved Agent Han Seoryeong wouldn't bruise."
"…"
"Want me to help you pick up the casings?"
Furious, Seoryeong tore off the bulletproof vest and threw it to the floor. She strode toward him with predatory intent, but Lee Wooshin only smiled—calm, unbothered.
"Instructor, this time you've really gone **too far**—!"
"What?" His brow arched. "Is this also considered workplace bullying?"
"*What?*"
"I think it's better for Han Seoryeong to be shot with a bullet—" His smile widened slightly. "—than something else."
Lee Wooshin continued to look at her with that enigmatic, faint smile. Seoryeong's face flushed with rage, but he resumed his explanation as if nothing had happened.
"Always remember: if a shot to the head misses and only grazes the cheek or ear—"
He tapped his forehead. His cheek. Then his earlobe—light touches, almost playful.
Before Seoryeong could swat him away, the man's thumb pressed hard against her collarbone.
"Here. Right in the middle of the collarbone." His voice dropped. "Neutralize them. Even if it means severing the cervical spine."
Heat seeped from Seoryeong's palms. Whether it was from his touch or the lingering pain in her side, she couldn't move for a moment.
As he turned to resume speaking to the other cadets, Lee Wooshin leaned close and whispered softly in her ear.
"Yes. Someone said you're too bold now."
He wasn't talking about the collarbone.
Seoryeong could only furrow her brow, haunted by a terrible premonition.
---
Time passed quickly.
By the ninth week of training, Seoryeong and the remaining cadets had completed a brutal mountain march. They had moved from the coastal training camp to endure a grueling trek through Deogyusan, Minjujisan, Yeongdong, Songnisan, Mundeoksan, Baekhwasan, Gongdeoksan, and Danyang.
Their combat boots developed holes. Their feet slipped into ditches when their bodies could no longer support their weight.
But everyone returned safely. Not a single dropout.
Instructor Lee Wooshin had kept repeating the same refrain: *"Mercenaries must be skilled at continuous walking in order to run well in emergencies."*
Every time she heard it, Seoryeong silently objected.
_How often will I have to run in my life?_
_Oh, right…_
_If I ever have to run away after beating up that bastard—_
_Well. It's better to learn from now on._
With such rebellious thoughts, she often pouted when he spoke.
They had walked all day in places without any trace of a path. They had climbed increasingly steep cliffs. As the route grew more difficult, their feet swelled and blistered, making each step unbearably heavy.
During those times, Lee Wooshin would come to the night camp—and with his own hands, he would break the blisters on Seoryeong's feet.
His hands were cold. Merciless as he inserted the needle.
But the way he held her ankle felt too… *familiar.*
That absurd thought immediately brought Seoryeong to her senses. She kicked the man in the chest like a startled wild horse.
It was irritating. It made her heart pound.
The fact that the only way to understand her husband's behavior was starting to blur like this—**_that_** was what terrified her most.
*What was Lee Wooshin's reaction then?*
She only remembered the sharp pain that had suddenly spread from the foot he was holding. Whether it was from the needle or something else, Seoryeong couldn't be sure in her drowsy state.
But the damp warmth on her skin had felt very real.
---
"Thank you for your hard work."
Finally, the cadets received a break from intensive training after returning from the trek.
"The Blast Agency's basic training program officially ends today."
Lee Wooshin's voice rang out across the assembly, clear and final.
"From now on, you will be assigned to various teams domestically and abroad. You have all worked hard up to this point."
Their entire two months of suffering felt worth it for just that one sentence.
An indescribable feeling of accomplishment bloomed like fire in the faces of the nearly exhausted team members gathered at the foot of the mountain.
"It's over!" someone shouted. "Finally, we can take off these damn clothes and get out of here!"
As victory surged from within her chest, a flush of life returned to Seoryeong's parched face. She felt **ready**—like a newly loaded gun.
Despite the painful times, she had grown immensely: in stamina, skill, knowledge, combat ability. She was vastly different from the housekeeper she had been when she first arrived.
Just then, Dong Jiwoo beside her muttered quietly—like pouring cold water on burning spirits.
"But this is the ninth week."
"What about it?"
"Our training. I thought the tenth week was the last week…"
"…"
"That means there's still one more week."
Before she could finish her sentence, Lee Wooshin's deep voice rang out clearly.
"I believe I mentioned during orientation—" His gaze swept across them. "—that cadets who complete basic training will have the opportunity to join the Special Security Team through a final exam."
An unspoken unease swept through the group. They seemed to be realizing what awaited them in the final week.
"Simple."
Wooshin's smile was sharp.
"From now on, you must capture the instructors."
"…!"
"But only two instructors will be entering the mountains with you." He paused, letting that sink in. "Whoever manages to capture an instructor first will become a new member of the Special Security Team."
At that moment, Lee Wooshin's eyes met Seoryeong's—as if it had been planned from the start.
He smiled confidently and pointed to his chest, indicating that *he* was the target.
"Oh—" His voice was light, almost teasing. "And how do you plan to catch *me?*"
He crossed his arms behind his neck and flashed a lazy grin.
Seoryeong clenched her fists silently, feeling the challenge in his posture, his tone, his **_audacity._**
"Instructors," he said slowly, deliberately, "have no intention of being caught."
---
*Why did those words feel like a blow to her solar plexus?*
All her bravado against Lee Wooshin suddenly felt foolish. Childish. She had been projecting her personal trauma onto the man—using him as a stand-in for her rage.
*No intention of being caught…*
Her gaze—angry, hungry, burning—fixed on the man who was still smiling casually.
A blizzard was coming.