Chapter 11

Under a pitch-black sky, with the ferocious rain drowning out all other sounds on that desolate afternoon, Se-woong instinctively felt that the ringing bell was an omen of dread.

“This is Hankuk University Hospital,” a voice spoke over the receiver.

The line was filled with noisy commotion. A flustered voice murmuring that it seemed to be a student handed the receiver over to someone else, and a new voice spoke with calm urgency.

“Is there another adult at home by any chance? You need to come to the hospital immediately.”

At the time, his eldest brother was a twenty-three-year-old medical student, while his second brother was a high school senior, caught up in mandatory evening self-study regardless of the storm. And Se-woong was barely fifteen.

Without even thinking to contact his brothers, he rushed blindly to the hospital. Not even knowing how to hail a taxi, he transferred between buses and finally reached the emergency room, where he saw his parents lying beneath white sheets. They called it a traffic accident on a rain-slicked road.

Somehow the word reached them, and before long Se-hwan and Se-gyeom arrived; only past midnight was the memorial altar finally set up in the hospital funeral parlor.

Recalling the chilly, damp air of that day, Se-woong felt an icy shiver crawl across his entire body. His attempt to avoid thinking of Shin by letting his mind wander elsewhere had led him all the way here. Playing one poor move after another was frankly absurd.

Even that reverie could not last long, however. Being poorly suited to hot beverages, he was just about to take a single sip of his lukewarm coffee when an emergency alert began blaring piercingly from his discarded jacket. It was no routine chime.

[ALERT CARD] [Actual Situation] Jindotgae Two Issued

Checking the notification, Se-woong straightened his back immediately.

[ALERT CARD] Jindotgae Two issued effective immediately. All personnel report to muster station within one hour carrying individual combat gear. Transmit receipt confirmation and ETA immediately upon receiving this message.

I should have known; things were quiet for too long.

Se-woong grabbed his jacket from the chair. “Hyung, I’m being mobilized. Looks like you’ll have to eat lunch with second hyung without me.”

“Again? Seriously? Did the North lose their minds throwing another fit?” Se-hwan complained.

Tell me about it. On such a nice day, too.

* * *

“At ease.”

Snapping to attention in crisp alignment, the entire Secretariat staff greeted the Chairman. The four stars affixed to the collar of his combat uniform carried an undeniable, imposing presence.

The Chairman swept a hand through the air. “Hold on, I just heard on my way in. You’re telling me the Task Force is pulling Captain Cha?”

“Yes, Sir, that is correct,” the chief aide replied.

The Chairman protested, pointing a thumb at his own chest, “Then what about me? Who am I supposed to go around with? No way. Tell them to draft someone else.”

As the Chairman pointed at himself with an index finger, the aide glanced sideways at Se-woong with a troubled look. Se-woong, displaying no sign of agitation, kept his eyes fixed attentively on his superior’s chin.

Contrary to the commanding aura exuded by his features, the Chairman possessed a distinctly mischievous streak. Unlike typical, rigid senior military brass, he knew how to toss out a well-timed joke, and he never abused his position to throw his weight around.

At the same time, he was by no means a pushover. He never squandered mercy or leniency carelessly, and his tactical operations left no room for error, earning him deep respect from his subordinates. That, undoubtedly, was how he had risen to the very pinnacle of military leadership.

The Chairman clicked his tongue in mock annoyance. “Agh, the press corps only behaves when I bring Cha along. If I drag a bunch of grim, scowling grunts with me, their questions get far too sharp.”

“C-Captain Cha will still be drafting all the Q&A preparation materials as planned, Sir,” the aide stammered.

“Come on, now. You know perfectly well that’s not what I mean,” the Chairman said, turning to look directly at him. “Cha, did you get any advance word about this? What happens if I put my foot down and say absolutely not?”

The aide noted, “The Task Force requested Captain Cha specifically as the operational liaison to report directly to you, Sir. We also determined that Captain Cha is the most suitable candidate.”

Knowing full well the reasoning behind the aide’s words, the Chairman did not press the matter further. It had only been playful stubbornness anyway; he too understood that Se-woong was the right man for the job. Having an officer of major or above from the Secretariat assigned to this newly formed emergency Task Force would hardly look fitting either.

Even so, the reluctance to let him go was very real. Having Se-woong—tight-lipped, meticulous in his duties, and precise in his counsel—accompanying him as an aide made countless matters simpler, and as noted, the reporters genuinely liked him. It wasn’t that he spoke with eloquent flair or handed out the satisfying answers they fished for, yet oddly enough, whenever Se-woong stepped up, the tension among the press softened. The Chairman’s take was that it came down to his neat, handsome features and impeccably composed demeanor.

The Chairman shook his head with an exasperated sigh. “Man, why did they have to defect by overland route of all things? Coming through China would’ve been so much smoother. What era are we in that people are still digging tunnels? Must’ve torn their hands up. Ah! But I heard he’s from the 135th, wasn’t it? That’s their engineering and construction unit. Guess digging dirt was second nature to him.”

The defector’s affiliated unit was news to the aide as well. The intelligence channels feeding information directly to the Chairman had clearly moved with rapid speed.

“I heard the kid’s young too. Honestly, whenever youngsters stir up trouble, they go all out. We’ve got a kid of our own here in the Secretariat, don’t we?” the Chairman added.

Whether by luck or misfortune, the Secretariat’s resident kid—Staff Sergeant Kim—had already headed down to the Task Force and was not present to hear it.

The emergency alert had been triggered when unidentified personnel along the eastern front were caught on military surveillance equipment. The problem was that two individuals had crossed the border, and one of them had detonated himself the instant they were spotted.

Even a simple defection attempt would warrant an alert, but with one individual dead, the remaining defector’s testimony could not be taken at face value. Because of this, the scale of military forces that had to be mobilized shifted entirely.

The headquarters immediately formed a joint Task Force. While the Defense Intelligence Command and the Operations Command served as its core pillars, at this stage, the role of Intelligence Command was more critical than any other. Consequently, Intelligence Command had requested suitable personnel from each division.

Since the Chairman could not personally attend every briefing, the Secretariat was required to dispatch an operational aide to serve as his eyes and ears, along with an administrative assistant to handle mundane clerical duties. Among them, the operational aide had been requested with ‘Captain Cha Se-woong’ singled out by name.

The Chairman turned back toward the situation board. “At any rate, nothing unusual picked up from their side yet, right?”

“We are currently confirming, Sir,” the aide replied.

The Chairman grumbled, “What a mess for a weekend. So Captain Cha heads to the TF, and who goes with me to the VIP? Major Kang?”

Major Kang, whose face had looked as sour as if he had swallowed muddy ditch water until now, instantly brightened. Inwardly, he had likely resented Se-woong being drafted to the TF, but realizing that it granted him the opportunity to accompany the Chairman to the Blue House, his gaze toward Se-woong turned noticeably more generous.

“All right. Let’s do that,” the Chairman decided. “I have to stop by the Command Center[1] before heading straight to the VIP, so make sure the summary report[2] is submitted without delay.”

“Yes, Sir, understood,” Se-woong replied.

The Chairman added with a wink, “Oh, and Cha. If anyone gives you grief over there, come tell me right away, got it? I’ll make sure they regret it.”

Faced with the Chairman’s warm words, Se-woong simply bowed deeply from the waist. He did not possess the glib charm to play along and banter in response to a superior’s jest.

Patting Se-woong’s shoulder as though having expected as much, the Chairman stepped into his office, calling Major Kang inside. His strides were noticeably brisker than usual. Even if he appeared relaxed enough to joke around, it was proof that he, too, was utterly focused on the crisis at hand.

The moment the Chairman vanished inside, faint sighs spilled from the staff, beginning with the Chief of Staff. Faces throughout the room were already flushed with dread over the protracted state of emergency that lay ahead.

And Se-woong was currently glaring down at the dispatch request document laid out before him. Scrawled across the top of the paperwork was the signature: ‘Defense Intelligence Command, Major Lee Shin.’ It was a signature that looked uncannily like its owner.

Unable to conceal his unsettled state of mind, he exhaled a long breath. Serving in the military meant that a state of emergency itself was by no means rare enough to be shocking, but being thrown into the same team as Shin was something entirely outside the realm of anticipation.

As if working in the same headquarters wasn’t enough, now I have to face him every single day on the same team.

Hee-chan leaned over the desk. “Captain, you’re going to burn a hole through that paper. Are you heading down right now?”

Only at Hee-chan’s call did Se-woong manage to tear his eyes away from the document.

“Ah, yes,” Se-woong answered. “I reported to the Chairman that I’d head down immediately. What about Staff Sergeant Kim?”

Hee-chan gave an exasperated click of his tongue. “Staff Sergeant Kim left without even reporting to the Chairman. If our Tae-jin leaks on the inside, let’s just hope he doesn’t leak too much on the outside. He practically skipped down there without the faintest clue what kind of hornets’ nest he was walking into.”

With the subject of his concern absent, Hee-chan used the sergeant’s given name freely, rattling off his worries. Truth be told, his concern was hardly unfounded.

Staff Sergeant Kim was clumsy to the point of making one wonder how he had ever landed in the Joint Chiefs of Staff Chairman’s Secretariat in the first place. Unless someone explicitly ordered him to, he didn’t even know how to reload the copy machine with paper in a timely manner. At least he had no malice and possessed enough situational awareness to execute tasks well when directed; the problem was that down in the TF, there would be no Oh Hee-chan to give him the requisite prodding.

“I’m starting to think maybe I should have volunteered to go instead,” Hee-chan muttered.

In response to Hee-chan’s fretting, Se-woong was about to offer reassurance that he would keep an eye on the sergeant, but chose to keep his mouth shut instead. He could not even see an inch ahead in his own predicament, let alone guarantee the bandwidth to look after anyone else. The simple truth was that Staff Sergeant Kim was the least of his concerns right now.

Hee-chan urged, “At any rate, please come back quickly. The Secretariat is going to feel thoroughly bleak without you, Captain.”

Se-woong shook his head wryly. “Officer Oh.”

“Whatever, I don’t care. I mean every word,” Hee-chan huffed.

Pouting, Hee-chan slumped heavily into his chair.