Chapter 05.
“What is your business here?” “I’m requesting server access authorization for the Incheon branch.”
Yuju paused briefly at the out-of-the-blue demand.
If they had spent so much effort bringing in those high-and-mighty black ops agents, the fact that even something this basic hadn’t been processed was baffling.
Furthermore, this wasn’t an issue that required team leader-level personnel to run errands in person. It could be handled with a single internal sign-off, meaning there was no reason to come all the way here.
So why?
“……There must be procedure. Submitting an official request to the systems team would be faster.”
She pushed him away in the most businesslike tone possible, but Haesung didn’t budge. Instead, he lightly tapped the corner of Yuju’s desk and leaned his upper body down a bit closer.
“The director told me I could just get direct approval from Team Leader Chae Yuju.”
At his low, resonating voice, Yuju’s eyes narrowed.
Was he trying to manufacture constant run-ins so they’d grow fond of each other? Or did he think that if she got used to seeing him, she’d naturally learn to accept this absurd face?
Kwon Ihyeon, seriously, this guy.
In this muddy line of work, how many people were there to whom you could entrust your back? Ihyeon was one of the very few she could count on. But today, she wanted to temporarily return that trust.
The person who was supposed to be on her sideāwhy on earth was he setting up a board that favored only that man?
Yuju irritably tapped her fingertips against the approval folder sitting on her desk.
Haesung’s scent still lingering at the tip of her nose and the image of Ihyeon presumably wearing a sinister smile back in the director’s office overlapped, making the back of her neck throb.
“……Understood. I’ll process it.”
Yuju aggressively slashed at her mouse. It was a lost cause anyway; getting it over with quickly and clearing him out was the best policy.
</Yuju’s fingers flew across the keyboard.
His name, date of birth, and a complicated-as-hell 12-digit unique code number.
The Enter key rang out cheerfully at the end of information entered like clockwork, without a single moment of hesitation.
</
Confirming the window turning blue, Yuju raised her head.
“Done. You can leave now.”
It was a clear dismissal.
However, the returning reaction missed her expectations by a wide margin. Because Haesung was letting out a laugh infused with a thoroughly pleased vibration.
Without a single search or document cross-check, he watched Yuju type in his own information like a machine, as if she were immensely entertaining. That blatant gaze tickled the back of Yuju’s neck.
“That’s an unpleasant-sounding laugh.”
Yuju spat out, narrowing her brow. Mentioning it felt like losing, so she didn’t want to, but letting that laugh slide felt even more unsettling.
Yet, despite Yuju’s cool retort, the corners of Haesung’s mouth showed no signs of coming down. Rather, his gaze sparkled like a child who had finally gotten their hands on a long-awaited, highly amusing toy.
“I just thought you must have put quite a lot of effort into reviewing my profile.” “……” “Didn’t expect you to memorize the code number, too. Well, it’s not like Black Core lacks fans, though.”
Haesung nodded magnanimously. His attitude radiated self-absorption from head to toe, as if saying, ‘Well, yes, if you look at my looks and career, it’s only natural.’
“I understand.” “……” “I’m not supposed to stand out, but since I’m such an eye-catching presence anyway, I’m used to this kind of zealous interest.”
What is he even saying?
For a second, Yuju’s thought circuits burned white-hot.
What she saw once, she never forgot. Especially if it was information needed for work. That was the innate talent that earned her the title of the youngest intelligence team leader, and the flawless weapon Yuju herself took the most pride in.
Yet that brilliant ability was being misconstruedāright at this very momentāas some pathetic fan obsession by this obnoxious man. The talent she was secretly proud of had suddenly degraded into a stalker’s fixation, twisting her mood into a violent knot.
Fan, my foot.
“……Don’t misunderstand. Memorizing figures with high security clearance as a top priority is my operational principle.” “Right, of course. Denial is always the loudest phase of becoming a fan, after all.”
Haesung brushed off Yuju’s defense as if half-listening.
“I am not!”
Yuju’s voice shot up. It wasn’t the first time her composure had broken down today, but still, this was a bit much.
Shrugging his shoulders once, Haesung turned around. The female agent followed silently in his wake.
When Haesung paused briefly at the door, Yuju tensed reflexively. She had already learned well enough that whenever those leisurely steps stopped, something was bound to follow.
“Next time, memorize something other than my code number. Like my preferences, or my sizing.” “……” “In accordance with operational principles, of course.”
The final two syllables sounded as if he had just reached out, picked up the words Yuju had thrown out a moment ago, and handed them right back.
She opened her mouth to retort, but no suitable words came to mind instantly. As if accepting that brief silence as a cheerful reply, Haesung pushed the door open without a care.
The female agent following behind threw a brief polite bow toward Yuju, casting a sidelong glance. That look was clearer than a thousand words.
Oh my god, she didn’t look the type, but she was our team leader’s fan?
The door clicked shut before she even had a chance to utter the word “misunderstanding.”
“……”
Yuju sat frozen in place like a stone statue for a good long while.
Planting anything she saw once straight into her memory banks was Chae Yuju’s innate ability, and it was a self-evident fact that needed no special explanation to anyoneāa truth most people in the NIS knew.
So why did her chest feel so hot and aggrieved?
If you feel wronged, you lose, Chae Yuju. Get a grip.
Yuju picked up her mouse with trembling hands. Click, click. Only the meaningless sound of clicking filled the office.
The letters displayed on the screen refused to register in her brain.
The next day at 10:00 AM. The Incheon branch 3rd-floor conference room.
The fluorescent lighting shone coldly down upon the table. A paper cup someone had brought sat untouched, growing cold.
On the right, Chae Yuju’s Team 3; on the left, Do Haesung’s Team 5. Even without lines explicitly drawn to divide them, the dead center of the table felt like an invisible demilitarized zone that must not be crossed.
Not a single person opened their mouth first. When one Team 3 agent clicked their ballpoint pen and stopped, a Team 5 agent crossed their arms, looked up at the ceiling, and blatantly telegraphed their boredom.
Yuju broke the silence first.
“If we want to avoid wasting each other’s emotions, there are a few things we need to make crystal clear.”
Skipping even team member introductions, Yuju slid a document across the table.
The paper detailing the joint cooperation rules stopped right in front of Haesung, but rather than examining the contents, his attitude was that of merely admiring the letters printed on the page.
That unconcerned gaze poked and prodded at Yuju’s patience.
“All movement routes during operations will be planned by Team 3. Team 5 will follow them.” “I object.”
It was a predictable tackle, but it didn’t lessen her annoyance. Wielding her pen, Yuju glared straight at Haesung. Looking away first here felt like a blow to her pride.
Haesung curled the corners of his mouth in a tiny smirk, as if Yuju’s stubbornness was entirely transparent to him, and let out a dry huff of laughter.
Yuju’s stomach twisted thoroughly at his rude, laid-back demeanor that treated people like children right out in the open, but she asked evenly,
“And your reason?” “We’re the ones moving in the field. Routes should be mapped out in the field.” “When mistakes happen in the field, it’s the rear that cleans up the mess. Therefore, it’s right for us to establish the guidelines.”
Even at Yuju’s retort, which lacked a single flaw, Haesung tilted his head slightly as if taking no damage at all.
It was a tedious expression, like looking at a rigid, inflexible honor student.
“Routes planned by a rear unit with no field experience are useless in the field.”
His tone was impeccably polite.
Yet the phrase “a rear unit with no field experience” targeted Team 3 precisely. It was that nasty turf war unique to field agents, mocking the limitations of those who had never dirtied their hands with a single drop of blood on the frontline.
Yuju tried to hide her displeasure, but leaning his upper body closer across the table as if wanting to savor the rippling panic in her eyes in greater detail, Haesung spoke:
“People who haven’t shed a single drop of blood want to set the guidelines. It’s cute, but dangerous.”
Yuju’s fingertips turned white. It was the first time being called “cute” had ever sounded this insulting.
The expressions of Team 3’s members stiffened rigidly, too. It was explicit provocation. Team 5 pressed down the corners of their mouths, acting as if they had just acquired an entertaining spectator sport.
She wanted to hurl her bundle of documents right at that handsome face on the spot, but Yuju bit back her emotions, gripping her pen so tightly the ligaments in the back of her hand bulged.
Getting angry now would just mean playing right into the scenario Haesung wanted.
Until the day that man walked out of here, Yuju had no intention of backing down even once.
“Whether they’re useful or not will be proven by the results.”
She slammed the folder shut with a sharp thud.
Haesung pulled his body back. The obnoxious corners of his mouth curved upward.
“I look forward to it, Team Leader Chae Yuju.”
Haesung rose leisurely. Even the sound of his chair scraping backward rang heavily.
Instead of walking away, he braced one hand on the table, leaned forward, and met Yuju’s eyes. Then, he held out his hand.
Yuju likewise stood from her seat and clasped his hand in return.
“You’re going to be disappointed, Team Leader Do Haesung.”
A grip strong enough to make the tendons in each other’s hands bulge was exchanged.
Neither side had any intention of letting go first.
