Chapter 30

‘At the End of Chaos, the Public Chose Order… Cho Elected on Pledge to Establish Special Investigation Department’

It had been early spring the previous year, when hazy dust storms swept the streets. A new administration had declared an end to fifteen years of escalating factional conflict. Around that time, patrons at the local auction house argued themselves hoarse over politics, blue veins standing out along their necks. The people who actually lived in the neighborhood cared far more about what they would eat the next day. Geum Seoul had been no different.

After finishing his cleaning duties in the building, Geum Seoul would climb up to the second floor and spread open the newspaper while listening to the radio Rin or Bunhong had turned on.

Geum Seoul had no interest in other people’s lives. Even so, he bought outdated newspapers for cheap from Mr. Jang every week. Though the pages were often rumpled or torn from having been rifled through by previous readers, that hardly mattered.

‘Mom, why do you read the newspaper?’

‘Because I’m curious about how other people live.’

It was the sole habit Seoul had inherited from his late mother.

At any rate, life had been relatively quiet back then, leaving him enough leisure to read the newspaper every other day. Geum Seoul often read the headlines printed across the thin sheets. It had been an ingrained habit maintained for over a decade, continuing into the following month and the month after that. Thus, Geum Seoul had been able to piece together the narrative by tracing the newspaper headlines he had seen around early summer that year.

‘Cho: Target Official Launch of NSSA Next Month to Function as National Security Control Tower’

In August, the National Special Security Agency—an agency placed directly under presidential oversight—was established. It was an organization whose stated priority was the eradication of corruption and irregular practices, declaring it would excise decay wherever it had festered. Despite facing fierce opposition due to the overly broad and ambiguous scope of its authority, the administration pushed forward with its inauguration. And the very first person listed on the roster of that agency, commonly dubbed the ‘NSSA,’ was a man formerly attached to the counter-terrorism detachment under the Security Command.

‘Government Carries Out First NSSA Personnel Appointments… Security Command’s Gye Do-hyeop Deployed to Field Operations’

‘Noh Pil-gyu of General Command Appointed Director; Remainder of Roster Withheld for Security Reasons’

And roughly two weeks later, an article appeared reporting that the brand-new Phantom transport aircraft procured for NSSA operations was being introduced for the first time. Reorganization of Airborne Mobile Response Framework. That sub-headline lingered somewhere in his memory.

Snap.

The sharp snap of fingers. Geum Seoul brought his eyes back into focus.

“Where the fuck did your mind wander off to with a living man right in front of you?” Gye Do-hyeop asked.

Having pieced together the puzzle step by step, Geum Seoul locked his gaze back onto the man before him, Gye Do-hyeop. His eyelids fluttered as he blinked.

“…”

Gye Do-hyeop read his expression with practiced ease. The youth had seemed lost in thought for a moment, and now he was cautiously gauging the atmosphere. He was presumably calculating whether having unmasked the man’s true identity posed a danger to himself.

“Keep talking,” Gye Do-hyeop prompted.

Yet Gye Do-hyeop was in fact thoroughly enjoying himself; having read that very reaction in his face, Geum Seoul slowly began to lay out his reasoning.

“…Uh, the newspaper said the reason for procuring the Phantom helicopters was for the NSSA. It said their specifications were so distinct that no other department could operate them.”

“And you’re confident the bird you rode was the exact one in the papers?” Gye Do-hyeop asked.

Even operating in silent mode, an ordinary civilian riding a helicopter for the first time would never have been able to tell the difference. Furthermore, having been modified to resemble an unmanned transport, distinguishing it by external appearance alone was nearly impossible for a layperson. Geum Seoul’s fingers tightened against Gye Do-hyeop’s shoulders.

“Because back then,” Seoul began softly, “it was engraved on the seat.”

“What was?” Gye Do-hyeop asked.

“It said QV2…”

Geum Seoul named the transport model. To be precise, it was the MCW-QV2 Phantom Hawk.

The deputy director inquired, “Did you see that in the newspaper, too?”

“Yes.”

“Mm,” Gye Do-hyeop intoned thoughtfully.

Accurately recalling the contents of an article from a newspaper read a year ago along with the exact model designation of the aircraft was quite extraordinary. Lacking the time or resources to spread open papers, take notes, and memorize them, Geum Seoul had simply boarded the aircraft and recognized that the lettering etched onto the seat before his eyes matched the exact alphabet from an old news report. Not only that, but he had connected the agency’s exclusive deployment rights and its executive appointments to deduce Gye Do-hyeop’s true identity.

Gye Do-hyeop leaned in slightly. “If there’s anything else you want to ask, ask now.”

Geum Seoul did not decline the man’s offer.

“May I… call you Deputy Director?” the boy asked hesitantly.

It was another unexpected question, yet it was a title he heard every single day anyway. Gye Do-hyeop nodded.

“Sure,” the man replied. “Next.”

“Did you find Noki?” Seoul asked.

“Found him,” Gye Do-hyeop said flatly. “He’s already dead.”

“…”

There was no need to lie. Delivered in an indifferent tone as though recounting daily chores, the words made Geum Seoul’s face go rigid. As his flustered, startled, and cautious expressions were wiped away in turn, leaving him deathly pale, Gye Do-hyeop placed a hand against the youth’s stiffened back.

Gye Do-hyeop continued, “There was someone else hunting for Lee Hee-joong besides us. While we were tied up with something else for a moment, that motherfucker found him first.”

“Ah…” the boy murmured in sorrow.

It was not an answer, but an exhale of grief. Geum Seoul bit down on his lower lip. Was he grieving? Was it a sense of kinship or dread from being another gemstone omega? Gye Do-hyeop wondered if the youth might weep, but his lashes remained steady and composed.

The deputy director tapped his fingers against the youth’s back. “Next.”

“His parents looking for him… that was a lie, wasn’t it?” the boy asked with hesitant eyes.

Geum Seoul asked that instead. In truth, the thought had crossed his mind when Im Gyun-il rushed him: that this might be happening because Lee Hee-joong possessed something precious. Feigning gentleness, Gye Do-hyeop hooked a finger through Geum Seoul’s grayish-brown hair and combed it aside, revealing a pale forehead.

Gye Do-hyeop explained coldly, “The bastard who sold off that newborn to a gemstone collector was his own parent. After being abandoned and drifting through back alleys, he caught the eye of Iljang Trading’s CEO, or so the story goes.”

“…”

“He told you he was going back to his parents, right?” Gye Do-hyeop asked.

“…Yes.”

“Fuck, he would’ve made a phenomenal actor, wouldn’t he?” Gye Do-hyeop scoffed.

Having told the same lie himself, the man looked brazenly disgusted.

“Why would he tell a lie like that?”

Hearing that Lee Hee-joong needed to reach his parents had certainly made him help with greater urgency, yet even had that not been the case—even if he had simply said he wanted to escape—Geum Seoul would have helped him regardless.

He had helped other companions living on the second floor in the past. When someone told Park Gil-pyeong they wished to leave, unless their gemstone grade was exceptionally coveted, they were either put up at the next auction or allowed to buy their freedom for a fixed price. Yet for those who found neither option acceptable, running away was their only choice.

Whenever that happened, Seoul had done whatever he could: diverting Park Gil-pyeong’s attention or opening an escape route for them. There were countless abandoned houses in the neighborhood, and to Seoul, who dashed through those alleys every day, hiding spots were as clear as a vivid map. Pretending to search on Park Gil-pyeong’s orders while keeping them hidden and slipping them among departing guests was something he had pulled off three or four times already.

That was why Geum Seoul could not understand why Lee Hee-joong had brought up his parents in the first place. He would have gladly helped him even if he had merely said he wanted to leave. Naturally, people who ended up there rarely wanted to escape immediately upon arrival, having no place left to go or having endured horrors enough to break them; most bided their time for a few days, realized Park Gil-pyeong would not lay a hand on them, adjusted to life there, and slowly saved money before departing.

Attempting to escape on the very day of arrival was an extraordinary case that would have required time to devise a plan, yet Geum Seoul would still have found the best possible way.

“Because he figured that kind of sob story would work on you,” Gye Do-hyeop explained.

Geum Seoul’s gaze dropped to the floor.

Ah. He has no self-awareness at all, Gye Do-hyeop concluded. He had not deliberately set out to shatter the young man’s innocence; he simply considered the unfiltered truth more efficient. Lee Hee-joong had never been a good person by any reasonable standard. Gye Do-hyeop could acknowledge that the man’s fate had been wretched without pretending otherwise.

Gye Do-hyeop urged, “Next.”

“Is that why you told me the same thing, Deputy Director?” Seoul asked, meeting his eyes.

A distinct twitch disturbed the otherwise impassive line of Gye Do-hyeop’s dark brows. “What?”

“You told me Noki’s parents had hired you,” Seoul said softly. “You thought the same thing, didn’t you? That a story like that would work on me.”

His tone carried no accusation. Geum Seoul spoke with absolute calm, leaving Gye Do-hyeop momentarily at a loss for words. Instead, his eyes narrowed.

It was the truth. He had calculated that such a pretext would work, and it had indeed been effective. The instant he brought up that story, Geum Seoul had shed a single crystallized tear and confessed that he was the one hiding Lee Hee-joong. Ordinarily, Gye Do-hyeop would have snapped back with cold cruelty—‘Of course I fucking used it because it worked’—yet the retort caught on the tip of his tongue. As though he had already heard the answer, Geum Seoul merely nodded.

Seoul murmured in bewilderment, “Still… I don’t really understand.”

“…” Gye Do-hyeop remained silent.

“Isn’t it normal for your heart to soften when someone says their parents are looking for them?” the youth asked.

And Geum Seoul lifted his gaze once more to seek out those dark pupils. At that—implying that he was the normal one, and that the people who so casually exploited such feelings were the ones who were strange—Gye Do-hyeop stared back at him with an inscrutable, crooked tilt in his gaze.