Chapter 2

The stale aroma of black bean noodles hung sweet and lukewarm in the office air. Sitting at a desk boxed in by partitions, Seo Mu-yeong stared at a pristine word processor document while his fingers danced across the mechanical keyboard. Through the wireless earbud tucked into his left ear, the illicit whispers of an adulterous couple streamed without pause.

This was one of Mu-yeong’s core duties: combing through voice recordings to flag incriminating evidence of infidelity while drafting formal transcripts. Before long, the smoking gun crackled through the earpiece.

―“Babe, I think I’m losing my mind here, but I love you so damn much.”

Mm, the classic line. Mu-yeong bolded the transcribed dialogue and moved straight to the next timestamp. The bolded segments would be extracted into a neat, compiled summary for the client.

Transcribing audio was the very first skill he had mastered upon joining the agency. After that came evasive driving, planting magnetic GPS trackers, handling demanding clients, tailing targets without being spotted, and gathering photographic evidence.

It took three full years to master the trade. Only then was Seo Mu-yeong able to establish a regular routine of stalking Choi Sijin in his spare hours.

As he blinked his dry, strained eyes, a telephone rang behind the facing partition. An excessively courteous voice answered.

“Hello, Dahaenem Errand Center. How may we help you?”

The speaker was Lee Ho-joon, the agency’s sole other employee and nephew to the owner, Kim Sang-beom. While Sang-beom and Mu-yeong handled the field operations outside, Ho-joon remained at the office to manage phone inquiries and video editing. Dispatching packages and receiving couriers also fell entirely under his purview.

“Goodness, truly? You must be so heartbroken… Of course, we completely understand, ma’am. And a spouse’s intuition is almost always right on the mark.”

Lavishing the caller with sympathetic coos, Lee Ho-joon began clattering away on a desktop calculator. “Yes, the exact fee varies depending on the specific package and duration. If an agency quotes too low, ma’am, they’re almost always planning to slap you with hidden surcharges down the road. But here at Dahaenem, we operate with full transparency and fair rates. Let me walk you through our options…”

After exchanging a few more words, Ho-joon stood and brandished the receiver toward Kim Sang-beom. Uncle, take it, he mouthed urgently. Dressed in a tight athletic dry-fit shirt, Sang-beom strode over with heavy steps.

Kim Sang-beom was built the exact antithesis of his slender nephew. Dark, unshaven stubble bristled along his heavy jaw, and thick slabs of muscle wrapped in generous bulk filled out his thick neck and forearms. Yet his commercial amiability yielded nothing to the young man.

“Aiyoo, customer-nim! Kim Sang-beom speaking,” the director bellowed into the phone with theatrical warmth. “Yes, I’m the director here!”

A booming, jovial smile split Sang-beom’s otherwise gruff face. Shuddering in theatrical disgust, Lee Ho-joon caught Seo Mu-yeong’s eye and pantomimed shivering in revulsion. Without so much as glancing his nephew’s way, Sang-beom rapped Ho-joon sharply over the knuckles of his crown just as he wrapped up the call.

“Mu-yeong-ah,” Kim Sang-beom called out, hanging up, “your schedule’s clear tomorrow morning, right?”

“Yes, Boss,” Mu-yeong confirmed, glancing up from his screen.

“Then I need you at a golf course in Goyang by ten sharp,” Sang-beom instructed. “I’ll text the target details to your phone, so check them over.”

“Will do, sir.” Mu-yeong nodded.

Seo Mu-yeong entered the assignment into his calendar app. He committed the target’s face, vehicle model, and license plate number meticulously to memory.

This was another operational habit instilled by Kim Sang-beom. Sang-beom always drilled into him that unless critical data was seared into one’s skull, an operative would always end up a step behind at the decisive juncture. He also frequently noted that Ho-joon’s memory was hopelessly slipshod, which was why the boy belonged chained to an office desk.

Seo Mu-yeong was genuinely fond of Kim Sang-beom and Lee Ho-joon. They were among the vanishingly few people in the world who maintained close contact with him. Achieving that had been anything but simple.

People only ever registered Seo Mu-yeong through cognitive dissonance: colliding into him, hearing sudden footsteps, or seeing an object lift mysteriously into midair. In short, his presence was discovered only when the scene became so absurd that someone had to be standing there.

Yet progressing beyond mere momentary recognition into an enduring relationship proved harder still. Because his presence was so tenuous, he left virtually no imprint on people’s memories; misunderstandings festered easily, and acquaintances drifted into awkward estrangement. He had never been adopted, had never made a friend, and was rejected from every single part-time job interview he ever took.

That was why Seo Mu-yeong felt such sheer exhilaration when he finally landed the job at Dahaenem Errand Center. It was back when he had been pounding the pavement, hitting every private errand agency in town after his military discharge.

The agency bosses—every one of them looking like seasoned ex-cons—had been dead set on fleecing an inexperienced greenhorn. Battered by shady demands to surrender his bank passbook or hand over his national ID card, Mu-yeong had eventually washed up on the doorstep of this very office.

Lee Ho-joon had been the only person inside. Though Mu-yeong knocked and pushed the door wide open, Ho-joon never registered his entrance. The boy simply hummed along to the music blaring from his speakers, clicking his mouse in blissful ignorance. Normally Mu-yeong would have shouted to get his attention, but his throat was raw and bone-deep fatigue had hollowed him out.

Sitting down on the central sofa, Seo Mu-yeong promptly passed out. By the time he stirred, late night had fallen, and Kim Sang-beom was sitting at the front desk. Mu-yeong cleared his throat and spoke up.

“Excuse me, Boss,” Mu-yeong rasped, clearing his dry throat.

In a split second, a lethal glint of violence flared in Sang-beom’s eyes. But just as quickly, the tension melted from his features.

“Whoa, thought I was looking at a bloody ghost!” Sang-beom yelped, clutching his chest. “Customer-nim, did you… did you just arrive?”

“No,” Mu-yeong answered plainly. “Around lunchtime.” As Sang-beom stared at him in utter disbelief, Mu-yeong added, “Did you leave all the doors and windows unlocked because you didn’t mind being burgled?”

“I’m not a client,” Mu-yeong added, meeting his gaze steadily. “I came looking for work. Are you hiring by any chance?”

“Nope,” Sang-beom snorted flatly.

Seeing Mu-yeong’s shoulders slump in silent resignation, the boss barked with a sudden shrug, “Still, you’re hired. Report for work tomorrow. Your name?”

“Seo Mu-yeong,” he answered, blinking in surprise.

Leaning back in his swivel chair, the boss declared, “I’m Kim Sang-beom.”

Even after they exchanged names, Seo Mu-yeong could not banish his anxiety. Right then and there, he drafted a provisional contract, recorded their verbal agreement on audio, and created redundant digital backups across both of their devices. Making data redundancy a way of life: in a sense, he had proactively demonstrated one of the most vital aptitudes of an errand center operative.

Predictably enough, the very next morning Kim Sang-beom had zero recollection of even laying eyes on him the previous night. For quite some time, Mu-yeong had to present the signed contract to Sang-beom every single morning, politely requesting his daily assignments.

Whenever the boss left on out-of-town stakeouts without leaving instructions, it made no difference; the neglected office offered endless work. Mu-yeong watered the parched congratulatory potted plants, mopped the grimy floors until they gleamed, and set up a snack box stocked with refreshments.

Perhaps because of that, the first person to truly retain Seo Mu-yeong in his memory was not the boss, but Lee Ho-joon, who spent all day cooped up inside the office.

Though Ho-joon’s sensory detection of people was even duller than his uncle’s, he felt an undeniable shock of oddity every time the wilting orchid burst into bloom, the computer monitors were wiped clean, and the empty snack bin magically filled up. When Ho-joon finally urged Sang-beom to throw an official welcome party for their new hire, Seo Mu-yeong had already been working at the firm for a year and a half.

Seo Mu-yeong resumed playback and tapped the keyboard. Across the aisle, Lee Ho-joon poked his head over the partition.

“Hyung,” he called out, leaning over the divider with nosy curiosity.

“Yeah?” Mu-yeong murmured, not looking away from his transcript.

“About tomorrow’s golf course tail—can’t you tell me how it went once you wrap up?” Ho-joon pleaded, leaning in. “I mean, get this: the client told me her husband was sleeping with his own sister-in-law and—ow!”

Kim Sang-beom’s fist hammered down squarely onto the crown of Ho-joon’s head. Ho-joon scrambled to shield himself with a plastic binder, but his clumsy reflex only succeeded in driving the sharp plastic corner into his own temple. As the boy whimpered, clutching his reddened temple, Sang-beom shook his head in exasperation, rolling up his sleeves with a quiet scoff. “It takes real talent to turn one beating into two, doesn’t it?”

Nursing his reddened temple, Ho-joon whimpered, “Not all of us were born with ninja reflexes like you, Uncle…”

Muttering under his breath, Ho-joon ducked sheepishly back behind his partition like a snail retracting into its shell after being poked. Shaking his head, Sang-beom snatched his windbreaker off the back of his chair.

Tossing his jacket over one shoulder, Sang-beom announced, “I’m heading out.”

Seo Mu-yeong pushed back his chair and stood to see him off.

“Take care on the road, Boss.”

“Uncle, you’re going to Daejeon, right?” Ho-joon poked his head out from behind his partition, eyes alight. “Then let me tell you which bakery pastries are trending these days—”

Sang-beom cut him off with an exasperated grunt as he zipped up his coat. “I’m tracking down a fugitive skip, not taking a holiday food tour. By the time I get there, all the bakeries will be closed anyway.”

Chewing his nephew out, Sang-beom turned toward Seo Mu-yeong.

“Mu-yeong-ah, how long before you finish the transcript we need to send out today?” the director asked, turning toward him.

Checking the remaining timestamp on the audio file, Mu-yeong replied, “I should be done around five.”

Sang-beom confirmed, “No field jobs scheduled for tonight, right?”

“None,” Mu-yeong said with a shake of his head.

“Then send it off and call it a day,” the boss ordered with a generous wave.

“Yes, sir!” Mu-yeong chimed in, grinning broadly.

Seo Mu-yeong’s face lit up instantly. Crouched behind the divider, Lee Ho-joon popped up like a jack-in-the-box.

“Uncle! What about me? What about me?” Ho-joon squawked, jumping to his feet.

Sang-beom leveled an accusatory finger at his nephew. “You clock out at six on the dot every single day, you pampered little bastard. Mu-yeong works day and night without complaining.”

“Still, wouldn’t it be nice if I walked hyung out on his way?” Ho-joon pouted.

Stepping through the doorway, Sang-beom gave him a parting glare. “Keep your backside glued to that chair before I see you off into the afterlife for good.”

The front door slammed shut. Straightening his posture, Seo Mu-yeong pulled up the GPS tracking app on his phone. Registered as ‘Vehicle 1,’ Choi Sijin’s black customized van was currently cruising down a wide arterial avenue.

I’ll go track him down later. His heart fluttering with anticipation, Seo Mu-yeong placed his hands back upon the keyboard. Even the illicit banter buzzing in his ear sounded like sweet music now.

At five in the afternoon, Seo Mu-yeong stepped out of the office and popped into the franchise cafe across the street. He favored the place for its generous bakery selection and solid reward points. The only problem was that, a week ago, the brand had unveiled Choi Sijin as their new celebrity ambassador.

Out front stood a cardboard standee of Choi Sijin; plastered on the glass doors was a poster of Choi Sijin; pasted beside the register were promotional stickers of Choi Sijin.

Tapping the kiosk touchscreen summoned a fourth electronic manifestation of Choi Sijin. Mu-yeong tapped through the order screens to select a newly released custard bun and an iced Americano. As he stood waiting after completing payment, a group of patrons seated nearby raised their voices.

“Seriously, I barely ever stepped foot in here before,” one woman remarked to her friend, stirring her drink. “But after seeing that Choi Sijin standee, I swear I get possessed into coming every day.”

Her companion nodded eagerly. “Brands don’t switch to him for nothing. Ever since he swept the awards last year, his stock has skyrocketed.”