Chapter 12

In the subterranean level housing the Command and Control Center, any trace of peacetime quiet had vanished, replaced by sheer pandemonium as personnel gathered from all corners: the Ministry of National Defense, the National Intelligence Service, the Defense Counterintelligence Command, and beyond. Whether it was a simple defection or a calculated infiltration, these were people who had forfeited their Saturday afternoon on account of unidentified men in military uniform crossing the Military Demarcation Line.

Pulling open the heavy reinforced door, a tidal wave of clamor rushed over him. Massive screens spanning the front wall displayed endless streams of operational data, and the disorganized chamber was a hive of chaotic motion. War was not fought solely by clutching a rifle on the front lines; this very room, where every technological asset was being marshaled to discern truth from deception, was no less of a battlefield.

Se-woong took in the room’s atmosphere first. Those who might have initially breathed a sigh of relief knowing the emergency was not due to an armed North Korean provocation seemed to have stiffened once more at the report that one of the border-crossers had committed suicide by poison. Though people from various agencies bustled about frantically verifying intel through multiple channels, any truly dependable information would be circulating exclusively within Defense Intelligence Command.

And the man holding that very intelligence in the palm of his hand was right ahead. Sleeves of his combat uniform rolled up to his forearms, Shin braced one hand on the edge of the briefing table, eyes fixed intently on a tablet.

Staff Sergeant Kim popped up from the crowd. “Captain! You’re here. Our station is over there, right by Major Lee Shin.”

Appearing out of nowhere, the sergeant pointed past Se-woong’s shoulder toward their designated area. Strictly speaking, it was more accurate to describe it as the Joint Chiefs desk rather than where Major Lee Shin stood, yet it seemed the only person who mattered to Kim was Shin. Working alongside Major Lee must have thrilled him to no end.

“Sergeant Kim, the monitor connection over there came loose. You’d better go check its display status first,” Se-woong pointed out.

In surprise, Kim gasped, “Whoa! Yes, Sir, right away. Will you be all right if I don’t escort you all the way to your seat, Captain?”

Watching Sergeant Kim fret absurdly over escort protocol, Se-woong let out a faint chuckle. Should he thank him for being so impeccably courteous, or scold him not to make such a fuss? Nagging was hardly his strong suit anyway, so thanking him seemed the better choice.

Kim furrowed his brows earnestly. “Why are you laughing, Sir? Everything is chaotic and disorganized right now, so it’s tricky to find your station. There aren’t even nameplates on the desks.”

“I appreciate the thought, but wouldn’t putting up those nameplates be your job, Sergeant Kim? Writing down each department’s label for their desks?” Se-woong asked with a light smirk.

Still, Se-woong couldn’t avoid nagging him entirely. When he patted the sergeant’s shoulder to urge him on his way, Kim broke into a sheepish grin. Looking as thrilled as if he had arrived at a Boy Scout campout just as Hee-chan had described, the sergeant seemed ridiculous, yet endearing in a way.

A staff sergeant was bound to have accumulated quite a few years in the service, so how could he remain so utterly free of cynicism? Just as Se-woong was shaking his head in mild disbelief, a squawk of static echoed through the room as the central microphone clicked on.

“Please take your seats,” an authoritative voice resonated through the speakers. “Before the formal briefing begins, I’ll provide a brief preliminary summary.”

It was Shin’s voice. He was announcing an interim briefing for working-level staff before officers of colonel rank and above arrived.

His gaze flicked briefly toward the entrance where Se-woong stood. With no overhead lights near the doorway, it was impossible to tell whether Shin had truly spotted him. Se-woong, on the other hand, had an unobstructed view of Shin standing beneath the bright lighting at the front of the hall. Despite having managed some sleep the night before, heavy fatigue clung to his features.

Speaking into the microphone, Shin continued, “Our defector—or special operative, whichever he may be—crossed over on a Saturday with complete disregard for military courtesy. I intend to wrap this up as quickly as possible so that all of you can head home without delay. That being said, I ask for your full cooperation.”

At his dry follow-up remark, quiet chuckles rippled through various parts of the room.

Nothing had changed since their academy days. People showed goodwill at his slightest remark and placed unconditional trust in him without needing tangible proof. They simply believed that whenever Lee Shin took charge of an operation, defeat was out of the question. And he had always vindicated that faith with undeniable results.

Even luck favored him. If they drew lots in a casual ladder game just for kicks, misfortune always skirted around him, and Se-woong had never once witnessed him lose even the pettiest wager. As though winning were second nature to him, he triumphed effortlessly at whatever he turned his hand to, commanding the spotlight wherever he went.

Standing quietly in the shadows, Se-woong drank in the sight of Shin to his heart’s content. This dimly lit sanctuary, where he could look upon Shin without reservation, felt more comfortable than anywhere else in the room right now.

If anyone were to ask whether lingering feelings remained, the answer was obvious. He was a man Se-woong had loved for nearly ten years; could such affection truly be folded away overnight merely because they were no longer lovers?

Affection accumulated like sediment over the years was akin to pine resin that had seeped in densely and tenaciously over time. Scooping away a single spoonful did nothing to lighten it, and even if one scrubbed at it, the stain itself could never be washed clean.

Pinpoint any random moment from the past ten years, and Shin was invariably there. Even when stationed in separate units, Shin had occupied the vast majority of his daily life, and no season or solar term existed that lacked memories of him. Parting ways with such a lover was no different from sealing away a whole decade of existence.

Shin had insisted that since they were friends now, they should play soccer video games together like ordinary buddies, but Se-woong would wager every last organ in his body that he could never be friends with him. Even after their breakup, Shin remained an object of sexual desire to him—his sole, enduring devotion.

Se-woong was not blind to the affection that still lingered in Shin toward him. Only, Shin had resolved to settle into being friends, whereas Se-woong knew he could never bring himself to do so.

Swallowing dryly down his parched throat, Se-woong felt a stinging ache flare. With nothing actually passing down his gullet, only a raw, throbbing soreness remained behind.

While his mind drifted for those few moments, general officers adorned with brilliant stars had filed into the front row of the command and control room. Right at their center sat the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff and the Army Chief of Staff. Stepping up to the podium directly before them, Shin prepared to begin the formal briefing.

Stepping before the podium, Shin announced, “At 1008 hours today, two unidentified individuals were detected by our forward GOP surveillance system. Immediately upon detection, one committed suicide by poison while the other surrendered without resistance. Both were wearing military uniforms and unarmed, though a small quantity of potassium cyanide was recovered from their possession.”

Across the massive main screen at the front, the defector’s projected infiltration route, footage captured by the surveillance system, and photographs of the potassium cyanide flashed in sequence before vanishing. The same visuals were mirrored across the tablets at each station. The details that followed differed little from the earlier summary briefing. Given the limited intel gathered in such short order, it felt like a repetition of already known facts, but this was the official report.

Shin tapped his tablet to bring up the next slide. “Currently, no abnormal movement has been observed among North Korean frontline units.”

“No pursuit teams either?” the Chairman inquired.

“That is correct, sir.” Shin maintained a rigid, immaculate posture.

“What a headache,” the Chairman grunted, furrowing his brow. “And his official statement is that he’s defecting?”

“Yes, sir. That is his testimony.”

The Chairman scoffed under his breath, “The bastard crossed over looking like an obvious diversion to anyone with eyes. Does he take us for fools, or is he just an idiot himself?”

With no reporters present to overhear, the Chairman spoke with unrestrained bluntness.

Now that an emergency had been declared, the military had to issue at least a brief public statement before the press corps permanently stationed at the Ministry of National Defense began churning out fiction wilder than actual novels. The problem was that the situation was anything but simple. The defense ministry was already demanding release material with open hands, meaning that postponing the press announcement was no longer an option.

Having brought the briefing to a close, the Chairman sought out Se-woong.

“Cha, put together a press release for the ministry right away,” the Chairman instructed, gesturing across the floor. “Just run it by Lee Shin over there and submit it straight to me. That should take… what, fifteen minutes?”

Checking his wristwatch as he finished speaking, the Chairman began to walk, clearly intending to talk on the move amidst his pressing schedule. Se-woong had already printed out the draft in anticipation of his summons, but kept the document folder in hand and prepared a verbal summary instead. The matter could be conveyed concisely, and his superior currently had no luxury of leisure to read through printed text.

“I compiled it during the briefing, sir—would you like to review it right now?” Se-woong asked.

The Chairman beamed with satisfaction. “As expected of our Cha. And the content? You kept it concise?”

With crisp efficiency, Se-woong replied, “It states that unidentified personnel were detected, operations are currently underway, and specific details will be disclosed upon operational conclusion.”

“Right, let’s leave it at that for now,” the Chairman agreed with a nod. “In any case, have Major Lee clear it, then send it over to the ministry. Report directly to me if anything needs to be added.”

Patting Se-woong on the shoulder as a signal of dismissal, the Chairman strode toward the Army Chief of Staff waiting just ahead. Glancing back briefly, the Chief caught Se-woong’s eye and offered a brief, knowing smile. This was not a four-star commander acknowledging a subordinate, but rather a friendly gesture extended to an in-law. Se-woong could only bow deeply in return.

Though both flag officers had departed, he now had to seek out yet another superior. Scraping the edge of the document folder with his fingernail as he re-entered the command and control room, Se-woong searched the floor for his target. Locating him took no effort at all; wherever Shin went, he was inherently a figure who commanded attention.

Yet the instant his eyes found him, Se-woong’s expression subtly crumpled.

The man standing beside Shin was someone Se-woong recognized as well: an academy senior one year ahead of them, and the older brother of a woman Shin had dated long ago.

Whether his younger sister had consented or not, that senior had persisted in addressing her long-dumped ex-boyfriend as brother-in-law right up until graduation. Even though Se-woong had not been romantically involved with Shin back then, hearing the senior call him brother-in-law had grated on his nerves. And seeing Shin let him get away with it had been an equal eyesore.

Shin said with polite detachment, “Then I shall see you at the next briefing, sunbae-nim.”

“If Major Lee can spare the time, I’ll set something up,” the senior urged with an eager grin. “The three of us ought to get together sometime.”

Speaking with honorific deference to a junior who had outpaced him to major could not have been easy, yet the academy senior’s voice held not the slightest reluctance. Having approached within earshot, Se-woong found himself unable to draw any closer, lingering hesitantly on the periphery.