Chapter 38

The ridges of Mount Surak standing ahead looked exceptionally distinct today, sharpened by the overnight rain that had cleared the horizon for miles.

Having arrived early at the safe house, Shin and Se-woong sat in the deserted lounge awaiting the interrogation. The only presence in the room was the pale sunlight slanting through the blinds. Amidst the endless, suffocating silence, Se-woong uncomfortably swallowed dry saliva.

Waking up in Shin’s bed that morning, Se-woong had curled into himself, unable to twitch a single muscle. The heavy body pinning him from behind in an inescapable embrace was the primary cause, and the memories of the previous night returning with excruciating clarity were the second.

He wished he had blacked out entirely, yet every single reckless word he had uttered remained vividly etched in his mind. He had believed he knew his own alcohol tolerance, but that was a complete illusion; his practical capacity was far more pathetic than he had estimated.

Calculating in hindsight, three or four shots of soju made him pleasantly relaxed, a full bottle caused him to lose his filter, and anything beyond that made him recklessly bold. All his life he had assumed he had no drunk habits, which had also proved entirely false.

Unlike his own inner turmoil, Shin had greeted the morning as though nothing had happened. Treating waking up in the same bed as an ordinary routine, Shin had casually pecked the nape of his neck, performed pull-ups on the bar installed in the dressing room, knocked out several sets on the rowing machine, and emerged from the shower looking immaculately put together.

Had Shin not stopped at a pharmacy to purchase hangover medicine before departing for the safe house, Se-woong might have wondered whether last night was merely a hallucination. That was how completely devoid of awkwardness Shin appeared; the feral intensity from the previous night had vanished like a desert mirage.

“Cha Se-woong!” a booming voice called out.

A sudden grip on his shoulder jolted Se-woong into turning around. Shin’s eyes, which had been fixed on his tablet PC, also shifted sharply toward the newcomer. The man clutching Se-woong’s shoulder with an iron grip was none other than their military academy classmate, Kim Jong-hoon.

Blinking in surprise, Se-woong stammered, “Jong-hoon-ah! What are you doing here? Weren’t you stationed at the Counterintelligence Command?”

“Humphreys[1], you jerk, Humphreys!” Jong-hoon scoffed, rolling his eyes. “I’m down in Pyeongtaek, you punk. You asked me if I was at DCC last time too! Are you here to interrogate that soldier who crossed the border? And over here is—ah…”

Belatedly noticing Shin seated beside Se-woong, Jong-hoon hesitated before acknowledging him. Se-woong surmised it was due to the insignia pinned to Shin’s collar. Opinions varied wildly over whether the major’s emblem resembled a rose of Sharon, a plum blossom, or bamboo. Just like that ambiguous insignia, their current dynamic felt oddly complicated.

With a faint smile, Shin asked, “Long time no see. Is this our first time crossing paths since the GOP[2]?”

Jong-hoon snapped to attention, raising a crisp hand to his brow. “Captain Kim Jong-hoon. Congratulations on your promotion, Major.”

“Drop the formality. We aren’t even in the same command,” Shin replied with a dismissive wave.

“Should I? It really has been ages. Hasn’t it been years since we saw each other at the GOP?”

Unlike Shin and Se-woong, who shared the same department, Jong-hoon belonged to a different organization and was not on joint assignment; once Shin lowered his honorifics, it was only natural for his former classmate to follow suit.

Even so, complete comfort was impossible, and Jong-hoon found himself unable to meet Shin’s gaze directly, angling his posture subtly toward Se-woong instead.

“I heard you two were at the JCS,” Jong-hoon teased with a grin. “What are you guys, a married couple? You shared a cadet room for two full years back then. At this point, isn’t that practically holy matrimony?”

Shin gave an amused smirk. “Tell me about it. We just need the law to pass, but that hasn’t happened yet.”

“Major Lee is the only one among our cohort destined for the legislature anyway,” Jong-hoon bantered. “Why don’t you run for office? I’ll gladly cast my vote for you.”

Listening to the half-joking exchange between Shin and Jong-hoon, Se-woong had to consciously control the edges of his lips to ensure his smile did not appear strained. While others tossed around such jokes without a second thought, his guilty conscience prevented him from laughing along freely.

Jong-hoon nudged Se-woong’s arm with a teasing grin. “Anyway, Se-woong, let’s play table tennis sometime soon. You avoided calling me because you were scared of getting crushed, didn’t you?”

“You jerk, you’re basically a national athlete! Playing against ordinary people with your skills is outright fraud,” Se-woong scoffed with an amused grin.

“Right? Instead of the academy, I should’ve pursued athletics, earned a military exemption, and collected a gold medal pension. Truly a—well, a tremendous tragedy.”

Considering physical conditioning and mental fortitude, soldiers and professional athletes did share noticeable parallels.

Watching Jong-hoon scrunch his nose in mock remorse, Se-woong gave his shoulder a playful punch. While it was true he had kept his distance for various reasons, seeing his old classmate sparked genuine warmth, and breaking the suffocating tension in the lounge was an added relief.

After taking down Se-woong’s number and dialing it to confirm the contact, Jong-hoon promised to catch up soon, concluding his departure with a formal salute toward Shin.

Shin merely offered a faint smile. Even someone seemingly born to receive salutes apparently found such deference from former classmates somewhat awkward.

Thanks to their classmate’s boisterous visit, the lingering stiffness in the room dissipated slightly.

“Jong-hoon hasn’t changed a bit,” Se-woong remarked, breaking the silence.

Tilting his head back, Shin drawled, “You got dumped by me right after playing table tennis with him. Remember?”

Eyes widening like saucers, Se-woong clamped a hand over Shin’s mouth in a panic. Scanning the room to ensure they remained entirely alone, he only released his hold once he confirmed the hallway was clear.

“He did say we looked like a married couple,” Shin murmured against his palm, “didn’t he?”

“Lee Shin!” Se-woong hissed in acute panic.

Right at that moment, a brisk knock sounded from the lounge door. Jong-hoon having pulled the door shut behind him proved a blessing once more. Although security at the safe house was airtight and unlikely to let sound leak out, Se-woong still felt his heart drop straight into his stomach.

An operative cracked open the door and notified them that preparations for the interrogation were complete, ahead of their scheduled time.

Today’s interrogation took place in a different setting. Prepared with special clearance from the safe house, the room featured operable windows and abundant natural sunlight. Coincidentally, the sky outside stretched vast and crystal clear, as if the weather itself was lending a hand to their mission.

Dressed in a comfortable sweatsuit, 330 entered the interrogation room. Meeting him under bright light revealed quite a neat impression. Though his aura was mature, his slight frame had made him look youthful, and seen here, he appeared roughly the same age as Sergeant Kim. Indeed, his confirmed age aligned with that estimate.

With courteous composure, Shin inquired, “Long time no see, Mr. Ra Myung-hoon. Have you had any discomfort while staying here?”

A sheepish grin crossed 330’s face. “I eat my fill and spread out a quilt to sleep, so what could there be to complain about?”

At Shin’s polite inquiry, 330 seemed slightly sheepish yet confirmed he was doing well.

Perhaps it was the bright setting, or perhaps his guard had significantly eroded in the interim; 330’s demeanor seemed noticeably steadier. It was a level of comfort entirely absent from the earlier transcripts Se-woong had listened to until he was sick of them.

In preparation for today’s session, Se-woong had sought personal counsel from his eldest brother, Se-hwan. Unable to disclose operational specifics, he had summarized the case as two individuals who endured shared trauma, where one committed suicide and left the surviving friend deeply scarred.

Requesting a well-lit room was also based on Se-hwan’s advice. Because military interrogation doctrine already possessed data supporting the psychological benefits of shifting environments, altering the venue had proven relatively straightforward.

Offering a gentle smile, Se-woong added, “I heard you enjoyed coffee, so I brought some along. It’s sweet, so you should find it pleasant.”

He handed over a bottled vanilla latte purchased at a convenience store on the way. He had chosen it after noticing in other agencies’ interrogation records that 330 readily consumed instant mix coffee.

Accepting the bottle, 330 casually read the text printed on the label. His reaction differed markedly from the typical aversion newly arrived defectors showed toward South Korea’s ubiquitous English loanwords; he seemed to encounter no difficulty reading the English lettering.

After gazing at the bottle for a few seconds, 330 slowly raised his head. He gestured toward Se-woong’s hand with a slight nod of his chin, his gaze lingering intently. Despite his youth, an air of seasoned maturity clung to him, carrying the distinct poise of someone accustomed to speaking down to subordinates.

“Looking at it before,” 330 murmured, gesturing with his chin, “it seemed pus would form on your hand. Did you tend to that?”

He was referring to the raw wound on Se-woong’s thumb from picking at a hangnail during their first session. That room had been dimly lit, and Se-woong had deliberately sat back from the light, making 330’s sharp eye in catching such a minor detail quite astonishing.

Could he truly be an operative after all? Is this trained observation? Se-woong could not dispel his suspicions, while Shin also tuned his focus sharply onto the man’s words.

Se-woong offered a reassuring smile. “A bit of pus did gather, but it’s practically healed now. I don’t usually seek treatment for a simple hangnail.”

330 bobbed his head in slow acknowledgment.

Shin observed 330 as the man scrutinized Se-woong’s hand. He wasn’t scanning for operational clues; after a brief silence, 330 twitched his lips and began rubbing his own thumb—the exact spot corresponding to Se-woong’s injury. It was a classic sign of psychological mirroring. For whatever reason, 330 felt an instinctive affinity toward Se-woong.

“If pus gathers, mash pine resin with sesame oil and place it over the wound. That will fight inflammation faster than most Western medicines,” Ra Myung-hoon urged.

Tilting his head, Se-woong asked, “Pine resin… and sesame oil?”

An inquisitive spark flickered across Se-woong’s eyes.

“Captain,” 330 asked, leaning forward slightly, “do you happen to know Mount Myohyang?”

“That’s the mountain spanning Jagang Province and South and North Pyongan Provinces, right?” Se-woong replied readily.

Proud that a South Korean recognized the mountain of his homeland, 330 pressed his lips together several times, visibly restraining a bashful smile that threatened to curl upward.

The NIS interrogation logs contained nothing remarkable, leaving Se-woong to wonder what had eased the man’s guarded heart so drastically over the past few days.

The most plausible explanation was his comrade’s funeral. Learning that his companion might be laid to rest with dignity had likely softened his resolve.

Proceeding on that assumption, Shin monitored 330 as he interacted with Se-woong. Given that Se-woong had merely observed during their prior session, today marked their first substantive conversation, yet the defector exhibited no hesitation in sharing his thoughts.

330’s chest puffed with nostalgic pride. “The arborvitae trees on Mount Myohyang are famous. The pine resin harvested there is truly top-tier. As long as you have that resin, minor injuries are nothing to worry about.”

With an inquisitive look, Se-woong noted, “You must have used pine resin often. Still, for severe wounds, Western medicine ought to be more effective.”

“Don’t say that,” 330 protested, shaking his head. “When the sole of my foot tore open and even Bonghwa Clinic couldn’t figure out what to do, pine resin cured it entirely.”

“Bonghwa Clinic… isn’t that an elite facility? Pine resin sounds incredible. I once suffered when a rusty nail pierced the sole of my foot, too,” Se-woong admitted with an admiring nod.

330’s candid demeanor was entirely understandable; Se-woong possessed a unique temperament that naturally put those around him at ease.

It was not the sort of familiarity that invited thoughtless insolence, but rather the reassuring certainty that his lips were heavy enough to safeguard any secret. In practice, even when entrusted with grave confidences, Se-woong listened attentively in the moment and acted afterward as though he had never heard a word, granting speakers immense psychological comfort.

When preparing for 330’s interrogation, the absence of an experienced interrogator within the task force was one factor, but Shin had primarily included Se-woong with this gentle disposition in mind. He had not anticipated such an immediate, fruitful rapport, however.

Se-woong only lacked company because he erected defensive walls; there were plenty who longed to step inside his orbit at any opportunity. Right now, 330 seemed to be sensing that magnetic pull instinctively.

Throughout previous sessions with every intelligence agency, 330 had endlessly reiterated only the route and method of his border crossing—and even that had commenced only after Shin and Se-woong’s prior session. While tracing that route had allowed investigators to verify landmarks and terrain, that alone could not prove they were not sleeper agents.