Seoryeong flinched as she felt the warmth of his body touch her hand—clearly remembering the strange things Wooshin had done to her hand before.
But this time, he only pressed the tip of her nail, feeling it carefully.
"The first time I started this job, I hated seeing blood clotting under my nails. So, every night I cut them."
Hearing him talk about things he usually never revealed, Seoryeong figured it must be the alcohol.
Wooshin gently rubbed the tip of her now-grown nail, then clicked his tongue softly.
"You're not planning on scratching anyone again, are you? Wait a moment."
He held her shoulders and gently steered her towards the sofa.
_A drunk who wants to cut nails?_
Seoryeong had always found Wooshin's behavior unpredictable and confusing—but this was definitely a first.
A strange curiosity arose within her to see this different side of the man.
So, she didn't resist, letting herself be guided.
After seating her, Wooshin walked towards the closet, then stopped awkwardly and turned around.
"Where are the nail clippers?"
Seoryeong chuckled softly and nodded.
"You're going the right way. Second drawer."
He moved again, and Seoryeong watched his back for a moment before asking:
"It seems like everyone lives the same way after getting married."
"..."
Without answering, he returned to the sofa, then pulled Seoryeong's hand towards him.
He slipped the cold blade between her nail and skin, then pressed down slowly.
Each time a **click** sounded, her nail clippings fell onto Wooshin's thigh like crescent moon fragments.
The way Wooshin quietly bent over while cutting her nails—that broad back—reminded Seoryeong of Kim Hyeon.
_I know thinking about such things isn't healthy._
But she was indeed weak to such small gestures of attention.
These simple things stirred a longing, making her feel like she had lost something—as if there was a deepening pool within her.
Unable to bear it, she squirmed slightly.
Sometimes, being too close to him made her uncomfortable.
Especially when someone else filled the space that used to belong to her husband—doing things that only Kim Hyeon used to do—feelings of doubt immediately washed over her.
Whether Wooshin was aware or not, he suddenly gripped Seoryeong's hand tightly.
Their breaths mingled due to the close proximity, the scent of alcohol becoming stronger.
But his expression remained calm, showing that he held his liquor well.
As he bent down in focus, all that was visible were his furrowed brows and sharp nose.
Then, his deep voice broke the silence.
"How could an Agent Han Seoryeong live alone in a place like this?"
"What do you mean, 'a place like what'?"
"A place where time has stopped."
"..."
A pair of slippers. Two cups. Two sets of cutlery. An unthrown-away toothbrush. Men's shoes still on the rack. And one room that was always locked.
It seemed Wooshin was talking about the traces of Kim Hyeon still left in this house.
"Wouldn't it be better to sell this place and move?"
"..."
"This place is too quiet—probably because it's empty. All I hear is your breathing, Han Seoryeong."
"No. This is my home."
"..."
"Only this place feels like home to me."
Wooshin's hand stopped cutting.
He looked at her from below, only lifting his eyes.
Although his gaze was cold, Seoryeong stared back unflinchingly.
Wooshin suddenly lowered his head further, rubbing his temples as if holding back a headache.
His neatly pressed short haircut felt like a solid wall that couldn't be breached.
"If only you couldn't see—"
His voice was heavy, as if holding a weight in his chest.
"—maybe it would be easier to love."
"What..."
"I'm talking about your husband."
"...!"
"But your relationship... was that really **love**?"
Half of his face was hidden in shadow, making it hard to read.
"If you keep clinging to someone just because you can't see the future, isn't that just a **survival instinct**?"
Suddenly, Seoryeong's breath caught in her throat.
It felt like a heavy weight had slammed into the side of her body—even though nothing had touched her.
"From the outside, it might look the same. But actually... those are two different things, right?"
"..."
Something sharp caught in her throat, making it hard to breathe.
Meanwhile, Wooshin remained focused on her nails.
She bit her lip, suppressing the piercing coldness that began to spread to her chest.
The fingertips touching his hand also began to feel cold.
"Agent Han Seoryeong, you said you wanted to live a normal life. That's why you can't let him go."
He paused.
"But do you know how that sounds to me?"
"Stop..."
"You're holding onto your husband as if he's the only hope for a normal life in a life that's already **fractured**. Isn't it easier to convince yourself that it's love?"
"**Stop!**"
Seoryeong shouted, her voice choked with anger.
She tried to pull her hand away, but Wooshin didn't release it.
In contrast to Seoryeong's mounting fury, Wooshin remained cold and calm—his gaze sharp, piercing through her unstable emotions.
"Have you ever considered that your feelings for your husband might stem from **selfishness**? If NIS agents interfered, it's highly likely they deliberately exploited those small cracks and widened the fissure."
"..."
"Why are you so blindly certain of your own emotions?"
**Tick, tick.**
The long nail continued to be clipped little by little.
"In this world, what can truly be trusted? I haven't found a single thing I can rely on."
"..."
"If you understand, differentiate between what's fake and **discard it**. Your life will be much lighter, Agent Han Seoryeong."
Every word from his mouth dug into the pile of tangled emotions she had buried deep within.
Those words, as if trampling the ground beneath her feet, stirred up anger and a near-desperate sadness—a mixture of feelings she struggled to control.
Yet amidst that storm, her nail continued to be clipped.
Wooshin's careful, almost gentle touch stood in stark contrast to the chaos he was creating within her.
With all her strength, she yanked her hand away.
Her unfinished nail flailed haphazardly, dangling messily.
"...Even if it's not love, I don't care."
The words burst from her lips like an eruption—something she had been holding back all this time.
"What does it matter anymore, what my true feelings are? Maybe you're right, Instructor. Maybe I **am** selfish. I'm selfish for wanting Kim Hyeon."
She took a shuddering breath.
"All I need is for him to **reappear** before me."
Although her face was red with anger, there was a sense of nakedness and shame within her—as if she had opened all her deepest wounds.
But she swallowed the mixed emotions and continued to speak.
Wooshin's cold logic actually made her mind clearer.
"I'm not looking for my husband solely out of love. It's not just longing or heartbreak. My reasons aren't that **pure**, so don't try to provoke me."
"..."
"I will **starve** Kim Hyeon. I will **torture** him, just like you once taught me."
Wooshin, who had been listening with a cold face, suddenly rubbed his face with one hand, looking weary.
"And I will make him **confess**. What he did to me. What the NIS did! Everything I haven't understood—I will hear directly from Kim Hyeon's mouth!"
"..."
"So, as my accomplice... play your role properly."
Seoryeong's gaze flared as she said that—as if trying to cling to the only thing that kept her fragile heart intact.
But the wounds already within her were cracking further.
An inexplicable fear began to creep in, like a swarm of black ants emerging from within her body.
_The cracks are coming from inside._
But her pride refused to admit it, so she could only clench her teeth harder.
_Hurry... before everything changes... hurry..._
She clenched her fist, and the uncut nail dug into her palm.
The pain actually brought a strange sense of relief—like air escaping her lungs.
"Next week, I'm meeting the Deputy Director of the NIS."
Her voice was soft, conveying the information she had received from Director Kang Taegon.
"I heard he'll be giving a congratulatory speech at an academic event."
Hearing that, Wooshin raised his eyebrows, looked at her for a long moment, then laughed cynically.
In his eyes was a mixture of disbelief and faint admiration.
"The Deputy Director, huh," he murmured, a wry smile starting to appear at the corner of his lips.
"Want me to bring him before you?"
While gathering the scattered nail clippings on his thigh, he asked in an almost enthusiastic tone.
---
## — The Next Morning —
From the morning, Blast Agency was bustling.
From the lobby, elevators, to office spaces, rumors about the deaths of the security guards spread everywhere.
The issue was further inflamed by the report that the Mongolian Director of Economic Development—who was staying at a hotel in Seoul—had died of a heart attack the previous night.
Some people started whispering conspiracy theories.
"The more I think about it, the creepier it feels."
Jin Hoje offered a cup of warm tea as he said that.
"Agent Han Seoryeong was also at the location, right? You're so lucky you're safe."
"I was only there in the morning."
"Still. Who knows if you brushed shoulders with that mysterious culprit everyone's hiding."
Just then, Seoryeong looked up and met eyes with Wooshin, who had just entered the office.
She had wondered where he had disappeared to since dawn—but it seemed he had been training.
His hair was wet, as was Agent Yoo Dawit's, who walked behind him.
This morning's breakfast was still bland fried rice.
Even though Seoryeong had often complained, he stubbornly kept serving it.
"Combat rations are like this. You have to get used to it," he said.
Seoryeong looked at the dry rice with annoyance before finally scooping some up.
_Sigh. Maybe tea could soothe my stomach a little._
As she reached for the plum tea Jin Hoje had made, Wooshin approached—the scent of soap following his movements—and casually patted her stomach as he passed by.
"...!"
Startled, she immediately covered her stomach—though it was a second too late.
It had only felt like a light touch on the back of her hand, but for some reason it felt **unsettling**—as if he was measuring something.
Seoryeong immediately rubbed her stomach hard, trying to erase the lingering warmth of the touch.
Meanwhile, Wooshin walked past the agents' desks expressionlessly, heading towards his seat.
But as he passed Seoryeong, a thin line of satisfaction was clearly visible in his profile.