The dimly lit room was thick with tension, the air charged with unspoken fears and a sense of urgency. The group sat in a rough circle, shadows flickering across their faces from the lone desk lamp Rae-a had switched on. Jun-ho leaned against the far wall, arms crossed, his sharp eyes flitting between the people in the room before finally settling on Rae-a. He had already been made aware of the hostage situation and Rae-a's identity, something he had long been suspicious of. His voice cut through the silence.
"So tell me, Phantom," he said, deliberately using the name she hadn't heard in a long time, "you didn't call me just because of In-ho. You had no idea about us. So what made you call me?"
Rae-a smirked, but it wasn't just amusement—there was something almost triumphant in the way she held herself. The slight lift of her chin, the sharp glint in her eye. It wasn't just confidence; it was certainty.
From where he stood, In-ho caught the shift in her demeanor. He had seen that expression before—during the games, in the heat of a fight, when she had the upper hand and knew it. It was the look of someone who had already won, even if the victory wasn't yet visible to others. His gaze lingered on her, and as if sensing it, Rae-a turned her head, locking eyes with him.
Neither of them spoke, but the air between them grew heavier. It wasn't the charged tension of an argument, nor the silent challenge they had exchanged so many times before—it was something else, something unspoken that neither dared to name yet.
Rae-a's stare was unwavering, her eyes searching his face as if to memorise it. In-ho, despite himself, found that he couldn't look away. His usual composure remained, but beneath it, something stirred.
She saw it. The way his fingers twitched ever so slightly at his side, the almost imperceptible clench of his jaw. He wasn't indifferent—not to her, not to this moment.
Her smirk deepened, just slightly, before she finally turned back to Jun-ho, her voice smooth and deliberate.
"Because I found something that you, as a police officer, are going to want to hear. Something your entire department should be scrambling over," Rae-a answered smoothly.
Jun-ho's eyes narrowed, but he gestured for her to continue. Gi-hun, Myung-gi, and In-ho all listened intently, anticipation tightening the space between them. Their loved ones were still in danger, and they needed to know how this plan would bring them back.
"There's a large-scale drug operation happening tomorrow. Kang Chul-soo is organizing it himself. That means, as we speak, preparations are already in motion. Security will be high, but they'll also be vulnerable in ways they won't expect," Rae-a said, her voice steady, measured.
The room seemed to shrink under the weight of Rae-a's words, tension settling thick in the air as her statement echoed into silence. The soft, persistent hum of the desk lamp was the only sound filling the void, a fragile undercurrent beneath the gravity of what she had just revealed. Jun-ho, standing against the far wall with arms crossed, inhaled sharply, his brows knitting together as if trying to grasp the full extent of what she was saying.
"A drug operation?" His voice carried a rough edge, not of disbelief but of calculated concern, as though he already knew the answer would be worse than he expected.
"Not just any drug." Rae-a's voice was measured, steady, as if she had already spent hours preparing for this moment. "The product is called Solace. It's imported from overseas and is undetectable in most standard drug screenings. A designer stimulant laced with compounds that heighten aggression, stripping people of their inhibitions and making them irrationally violent. It's cheap, highly addictive, and, worst of all, it's being pushed into circulation for a specific purpose. The higher the crime rates, the more chaos on the streets, the more power Kang Chul-soo has."
The weight of her words settled over the group like an unseen pressure, heavy and suffocating in its implications. Jun-ho exhaled through his nose, his fingers twitching slightly before curling into a loose fist, his mind already working through the layers of corruption, the political maneuvering, the sheer scale of what they were up against. Even for him, a detective hardened by years of navigating the darkest corners of the criminal underworld, this was something else entirely.
Across the room, In-ho had remained quiet, his expression unreadable, but his mind was moving at a pace no one else could see. His gaze flickered toward Rae-a, studying the way she carried herself—not just with the sharpness of someone who had uncovered a secret, but with the certainty of someone who had planned for every possible outcome. There was no hesitation in her words, no uncertainty in the way she laid out the facts. She had known this for a while.
And then, the pieces clicked together.
The ball. The masquerade.
The realization settled into place with an almost maddening clarity.
She had taken something that night.
While their focus had been split, while the underground's elite had been watching her every move for signs of weakness, she had slipped through the cracks as effortlessly as she always did. There had been a moment—brief but precise—where she had vanished from his sight, and at the time, he had assumed she was merely avoiding detection, playing her part to survive the night. Now, he saw it for what it truly was.
"You took the information from the ball," he murmured, his voice low but certain.
Rae-a didn't answer immediately, but the faintest trace of a smirk curved at the corner of her lips, an almost imperceptible shift in expression that told him everything he needed to know. She wasn't confirming it outright, but she wasn't denying it either.
In-ho exhaled slowly, the tension in his shoulders tightening before he forced it away, his fingers curling slightly as he processed the full extent of her deception. Even when surrounded by the most powerful figures in the underground, when they had been watching her like a hawk, waiting for her to slip, she had been three steps ahead. She had walked into that event, not just as a hunted woman, not just as a ghost from Chul-soo's past, but as a thief, slipping away with something that could fracture his empire.
There was something almost maddening about her, the way she could turn even the most dangerous situations to her advantage. It wasn't just skill—it was instinct, sharpened to a lethal edge over years of survival.
"If this hits the streets, we won't be able to contain it," Jun-ho muttered.
"Exactly," Rae-a said, her voice firm, unwavering. "And that's why I need you to do something about it."
Jun-ho narrowed his eyes, arms still crossed as he studied her with a wary expression. "You want me to tip off the police? You really think that's enough to take him down? You know as well as I do that he has half the force in his pocket."
Rae-a let out a sharp breath, her fingers twitching slightly at her side before she folded her arms. It wasn't frustration, but something colder—something carved out of years of knowing exactly how deep the corruption ran. She had spent enough of her life watching powerful men slip through the cracks, twisting the system to work in their favor while the people who dared to defy them were silenced or discarded like they were nothing. For a moment, the memories threatened to surface—the whispers in back rooms, the blood-stained deals made over hushed conversations—but she pushed them down, locking them away where they belonged. Instead, she met Jun-ho's gaze head-on, her eyes steady, resolute.
"You think I don't know that?" she said, her voice quiet but cutting. "I've seen firsthand how deep his reach goes. I know what happens to people who think the law is enough to stop him. That's why this isn't just about the police."
She stepped forward, closing the space between them just slightly, her presence pressing in on him like a force of nature. "You need to get the media on this," she continued, her words sharp with intent. "But not in a way that ties back to you. A major raid needs to happen while reporters are on-site, cameras rolling. That way, it gets broadcasted before anyone can bury it. Once it's out there, it's out. No one can make it disappear."
Jun-ho exhaled slowly, his fingers drifting to rub the back of his neck as he mulled over her words. It was risky, but damn it, she wasn't wrong. If they could pull it off, if they could force the truth into the public eye before the higher-ups had a chance to smother it, then even Chul-soo's influence wouldn't be enough to erase the fallout.
"That could work," he admitted after a long pause, the weight of the plan settling over him. "If I can get a few trusted journalists on-site, they won't have a choice but to report what they see. And once it's out..." His lips pressed into a thin line, his gaze sharpening with something dangerously close to conviction. "Even the people pulling the strings won't be able to sweep it under the rug."
In-ho had been silent up until now, observing the exchange with a calculating look. Finally, he nodded. He knew the second this information was publicized, Chul-soo would immediately have to drop everything to cover his tracks. His urgency would become a fatal weakness, one they could exploit. And despite himself, In-ho found he was impressed. Rae-a's logic was sound, her ability to anticipate consequences sharp. She had pieced together a strategy that not only dismantled Chul-soo's operation but also sowed discord within his ranks. It was a dangerous move—bold, reckless even—but undeniably brilliant.
"That's one diversion," Rae-a continued, her tone unwavering. "We need another."
Gi-hun exhaled sharply, crossing his arms over his chest. His exhaustion was evident in the deep shadows under his eyes, but it was the uncertainty that weighed heavier. "How are we supposed to split our focus like that? We can't afford to spread too thin."
Rae-a expected the concern. It was reasonable. But she had already considered the risks. "We won't be," she countered, her voice measured. "While the media storm unfolds, we move in on the extraction. Chul-soo will be too busy looking for the leak, trying to weed out the traitor he's convinced exists. He won't know whether it's a rival syndicate making a move against him or someone from the inside turning on him. That's his weakness—his paranoia. The moment he starts suspecting his own men, he won't know who to trust. And that will work in our favor."
Myung-gi, who had been quiet up until now, finally spoke. "I can handle the security feeds," he said, pushing up his glasses. The confidence in his voice caught their attention. "I've done this kind of work before—hacking into closed surveillance networks, disabling cameras, rerouting footage. If I can get access to their system, I can create blind spots where we need them."
Gi-hun shot him a look of surprise. "Since when do you know how to do that?"
Myung-gi shrugged, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. "You pick things up when you spend enough time in places you shouldn't be."
Rae-a smirked, recognizing the value in his skill set. "That'll make things a lot easier. If we control their security, we dictate the battlefield."
Myung-gi leaned forward, brows furrowed. "And how do we actually get them out? Do we even know the layout of where they're being kept?"
"We do," Jun-ho cut in. "I pulled blueprints on Kang Chul-soo's estate when I messaged an old friend. It's an old, listed array of buildings—renovated, but it still has structural weak points. Security cameras, back entrances, emergency exits. We can work with this."
Rae-a nodded, impressed with Jun-ho's efficiency. His intel was providing to be useful. "And Myung-gi, we'll need you to hack into the surveillance feeds. We need eyes on that place, and if we can disable the cameras in key locations, we control the field."
Myung-gi let out a slow breath. "That's doable. If I can get access to their network, I can loop footage and create blind spots. But I'll need time."
"We'll give it to you," Rae-a assured him.
Gi-hun still looked uncertain. "And what about you?"
In-ho's gaze never wavered from Rae-a as she spoke, his sharp eyes reading between the lines in ways the others couldn't. The ease with which she laid out the plan, the confidence in her voice—it wasn't just strategy. It was intent. Purpose. She had already decided she was going to be the one to put herself at the center of it all.
She met his stare evenly, unfazed by the scrutiny, but In-ho wasn't fooled. He had seen her fight, seen the way she calculated every move before she made it. And he had seen something else too—the way she was willing to throw herself into the fire if it meant ensuring others walked away unscathed. That self-sacrificial nature of hers was as reckless as it was frustrating.
"You're planning to draw him out," he said finally, voice low, but firm. It wasn't a question. He already knew the answer.
A small smirk tugged at the corner of Rae-a's lips, but there was a weight behind it, a glint of steel in her eyes that said she wasn't doing this just to bait Chul-soo—she was doing it because she wanted to. Because it was personal.
"Yes," she confirmed, her voice measured. "Somehow."
In-ho studied her, his expression unreadable, but there was something about the slight shift in his stance, the subtle tension in his shoulders, that gave him away. He wasn't just assessing the plan—he was assessing her. How far she was willing to go. How much she was keeping from them.
"You realize how dangerous that is?" His voice was quieter this time, but it carried weight. A warning.
Rae-a held his gaze, unflinching. "I do."
There was a long silence before In-ho finally exhaled and nodded. His concern remained, evident in the sharp look he gave her. He wasn't sure if she was doing this because she believed in the plan—or because she didn't care what happened to her once it was done.
Jun-ho, however, wasn't focused on the plan anymore—his gaze flickered between the two of them, piecing together something unspoken, the concern in his brothers tone. He had known Rae-a had been kept separate from the others after the Squid Game revolution, but why had In-ho chosen to do that? The way they looked at each other now, the weight in their words—there was more to this than he had originally thought.
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The room was dim, filled with the sharp scent of gunmetal and leather. Crates lined the walls, stacked high with an array of weapons, ammunition, and tactical gear. The faint hum of the flickering bulb overhead cast erratic shadows that stretched across the cold concrete floor, like dark figures waiting for a command. Rae-a moved through the space with an effortless grace, her boots making soft, steady thuds against the floor as she moved toward a familiar shelf at the far end.
In-ho followed her, his gaze sweeping over the disarray of her arsenal. It was far more extensive than the guards' weapons stash—each item meticulously arranged yet exuding a sense of controlled chaos. It was an unsettling reminder of the power and danger Rae-a had tucked beneath her surface, a power that was as unpredictable as it was formidable.
She didn't speak at first. Her hands moved with fluid precision, skimming over the cold steel of blades, the smooth surfaces of firearms, the weighty straps of vests and holsters. But something about her movements was different tonight. Not the practiced efficiency of a professional preparing for a mission, but something sharper, more raw. There was a fire in the way her fingers brushed over the weapons, lingering just a moment longer than necessary. A silent fury that seemed to pulse beneath her calm, a quiet rage just waiting to spill over.
In-ho stood at a distance, his eyes narrowing as he watched her. His gaze lingered a little too long on the curve of her back as she reached for a magazine, the taut muscles of her shoulders flexing with the motion, the subtle sway of her hips as she moved. It was a quiet, sensual energy that radiated from her, even as she was so consumed by her focus. The way she held herself—poised yet on the edge of something dangerous—pulled at him, the unspoken tension between them thickening the air.
He knew that look too well. The tautness in her body, the slight quiver of her breath as she snapped a magazine into place, the brief parting of her lips. It wasn't just rage he saw in her expression—it was something deeper, something that gnawed at the edge of her control. He felt a flicker of recognition in the pit of his stomach, a desire to unravel the layers of her restraint, to see what she would do if she finally let go.
His voice, when it came, was quiet but edged with something more than just curiosity. "You've got that look again," he said, his tone calm but with a certain thickness to it, as if savoring the sight of her restraint. "The kind that comes before you do something reckless."
Rae-a chose not to respond. Instead, her fingers grazed something small and metallic nestled among the clutter. She paused, feeling the familiar weight of it before her lips curved into a smirk. She plucked two bullets from the shelf, turning them over between her fingers. The engravings, worn but still sharp, marked them as relics from an old adversary. A subtle reminder of a battle fought, and a victory claimed.
"I always knew these would come in handy," she murmured with a quiet satisfaction, the bullets gliding smoothly across her palm as if recalling the memory of that skirmish.
In-ho raised an intrigued brow, stepping off the crate and moving toward her with a lazy, predatory ease. His eyes lingered on the item in her hand, his gaze sharp as he studied it. "Where'd you get these?" he asked, his voice tinged with genuine curiosity, but there was a hint of something darker beneath—the kind of interest that came with knowing the story behind a weapon.
Rae-a flicked one of the bullets into the air, catching it effortlessly between her fingers before slipping it into her pocket with a nonchalant grace. "A while back," she said, her voice carrying an edge of dark humor, "when those bastards tried to muscle in on Chul-soo's operation. They thought they could just walk right in and take control. Didn't work out too well for them."
In-ho's lips twitched at the corners, a faint, approving smile tugging at them, though his eyes remained calculating. The thought of Rae-a taking down another rival wasn't surprising—it was the way she did it that intrigued him. "You took them out, didn't you?" His voice was quiet, almost an acknowledgment, but his mind was racing. He could picture her in the thick of it—no hesitation, no mercy. A calculated fury masked by a calm exterior.
Rae-a shrugged carelessly, but the glint in her eyes told a different story. She had enjoyed it, even if she wouldn't admit it outright. "A flurry of them. They didn't even see it coming," she said, her smirk deepening. "I liked the design on their ammo. And, honestly, I had a feeling I wouldn't be staying with Chul-soo forever, so I kept a few souvenirs." Her voice was matter-of-fact, though her eyes sparkled with mischief. "Stole one of their guns, too—good weight, terrible aim."
In-ho chuckled softly, the sound low and smooth as it left his lips. He shook his head slightly, his gaze wandering over the room, taking in the weapons scattered around. His expression was a mixture of admiration and quiet amusement. "You really do have a habit of keeping trophies, don't you?" His eyes returned to her, a look of subtle understanding passing between them. Rae-a wasn't just a survivor; she was a collector of stories, of victories, of things that made her who she was. And that intrigued him more than he cared to admit.
Rae-a turned to face him, the faint trace of amusement still clinging to her features. But as her eyes met his, something else flickered in their depths. Beneath the usual sharpness, the hard edge of her bravado, there was a vulnerability, a quiet tremor of something she hadn't fully acknowledged until now. The anger had simmered down, replaced by something colder, more composed—more dangerous. In the space of a breath, it was like she had shifted gears, her fury morphing into something deeper, more controlled. It was a transition In-ho recognized well—he had done it countless times, buried his emotions just beneath the surface, to better carry out his purpose.
He moved closer, his presence tightening the air around them. Reaching past her, his fingers brushed against the cool metal of a nearby case, pulling out a sleek earpiece. His hand extended toward her, the device glinting under the dim lights of the room. "Take this," he said, his voice low, steady. There was no hesitation in his movement, no second thoughts. "I don't want you going dark in the middle of this."
Rae-a didn't immediately reach for it. Her gaze locked with his, still guarded, but there was a flicker of something different there—a momentary pause before she broke the silence with a quiet laugh, sharp but without malice. "You worried about me, Frontman?"
In-ho didn't answer her with the biting retort she was expecting. Instead, his lips curled slightly at the corners, an almost imperceptible smirk playing at his features. He didn't let the moment linger too long, though—he didn't want to give her the satisfaction. "Just making sure you don't die before you finish what you started, sweetheart," he replied, his voice thick with that same undercurrent of tension he always carried.
The words were casual, almost indifferent, but something about the way he said them made her pulse stutter. She studied him then, searching for the usual biting sarcasm, the dismissive tone he often used when keeping her at arm's length. But there was something different this time, something layered beneath the surface. The sharp, detached persona he always carried was still there, but the weight in his voice, the unspoken concern laced within it, was unmistakable.
It unsettled her.
Because if he cared—if even a small part of him truly meant what he said—it complicated things in a way she wasn't ready for. This wasn't the time or place to untangle the knots forming in her mind.
Before she could let herself linger on the thought, In-ho's hand lifted toward her face, and the motion was smooth, practiced. He gently tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear, the action almost intimate, his fingers brushing the curve of her jaw. She froze, unable to breathe for a moment as his touch lingered just a second too long.
He leaned in closer, his body heat enveloping hers, and as he placed the earpiece against her ear, his lips were so near that she could feel the faint warmth of his breath against her skin. Her heartbeat stuttered. For the briefest moment, time seemed to slow down, her senses sharpening on the space between them. His lips were parted just slightly, close enough that she could almost taste the tension hanging in the air. The delicate brush of his fingers as they secured the earpiece sent a shiver down her spine, making her skin tingle, her body holding tight to the fragile edge of control.
Her breath caught in her throat, a sharp hitch that betrayed her before she could suppress it. For a fleeting second, she couldn't look away. His eyes held her there—dark, unreadable, yet filled with something that burned hotter than the space between them. It wasn't just intensity; it was gravity, an unrelenting pull that felt like it was reaching into her and taking something she wasn't ready to give. The weight of his gaze pressed against her like a touch, like fingers tracing over a wound she refused to acknowledge.
She didn't know what to make of this—of him. This closeness. This tension that thickened the air whenever they were near each other. It was maddening, dangerous, and yet... she couldn't bring herself to break away. Because the truth—the truth she hated—was that the restraint was slipping. Holding herself back was getting harder each time, every encounter unraveling the carefully constructed walls she had spent years fortifying.
And after everything? After he had all but admitted his desire to walk away from the Games for her? After he had pledged to keep her safe, despite everything they were—despite everything he had done? He was making it impossible for her to hate him.
Rae-a swallowed hard, her gaze betraying her before she could stop herself, flickering to his lips. A memory surged forward, unbidden and unwelcome—their first kiss, stolen in the dark before she had known who he was. She could still feel it. The heat, the desperation, the way he had used it as a weapon—to distract her, to keep her at bay during lights out. But what haunted her the most wasn't the deception. It was the way her body had betrayed her that night, the way she had felt it. Raw. Unfiltered. Something she had never allowed herself to indulge in before.
It had been reckless. Yet, no matter how much she tried to bury it, that kiss remained one of the most vivid, real moments of her life. And now, standing here, trapped in the intensity of his gaze once again, she realized something she wasn't ready to face.
She wanted more.
In-ho pulled back slightly, but not enough to break the charged atmosphere that had settled between them. His eyes stayed locked on hers, a flicker of something unreadable in his gaze. A question? A challenge? Perhaps both.
Rae-a, still frozen in place, swallowed thickly. Her mind raced, but her body was rooted to the spot, caught in the current of their silent exchange. She knew he cared—she could feel it, in the way he had held her just a moment too long, in the weight of his words. But she wasn't sure how to respond, or if she even could. He had become something she hadn't expected—someone she couldn't figure out, even after everything that had happened between them.
In-ho, sensing the shift in the air, gave her a half-smile, though it didn't quite reach his eyes, as his mind had thoughts of her intense gaze running through him. He turned back to a nearby crate, reaching inside with fluid, purposeful motions, but there was an almost unspoken tension between them now, a shared understanding that wasn't there before. "This should suit you," he said, lifting a sleek sniper rifle from the foam casing, testing its weight in his hands.
Rae-a didn't move immediately. She watched him, the space between them filled with the quiet hum of unspoken words. When her hand reached for the rifle at the same time his did, their fingers collided over the grip, the contact brief but charged. Neither of them pulled away immediately. For half a second, their fingers lingered, the warmth of his hand seeping into hers, and it was like the whole room held its breath.
Her pulse hammered in her ears, and she glanced up at him, her gaze fierce but somehow uncertain. There was something in his eyes now—something more than just cold calculation. Something raw, and real. And for the thousandth time, Rae-a wasn't sure what to do with it. She just knew it could not keep continuing like this forever.
The silence stretched, thick and heavy, as they stood there, hands still touching, eyes locked. It was a moment suspended in time, and neither of them moved to break it.
Finally, In-ho stepped back, allowing her to take the rifle fully into her grasp. His sharp gaze lingered on her as she ran her fingers along the barrel, familiarizing herself with its weight and build. The smooth precision of her movements was second nature, effortless, as if the weapon had always belonged in her hands. It did.
"That one suits you," he murmured, his voice quieter now, edged with something unreadable.
Rae-a smirked, trying to dismiss her thoughts, tilting her head slightly as she admired the rifle in her grip. The cool metal pressed against her palm, but there was no hesitation in her hold. "They all suit me, In-ho," she replied smoothly, her voice laced with that unwavering confidence, a teasing lilt behind it. She didn't say it to boast—it was simply the truth. It felt right in her hands.
In-ho exhaled through his nose, a ghost of amusement flickering in his expression before it was gone. He couldn't argue with that. The rifle, just like any weapon she wielded, looked like an extension of her, molded to her form with perfect precision. It was unsettling, in a way—how naturally she carried it, how easily violence fit into her hands.
"Let's just hope your aim is as sharp as your arrogance," he drawled, his voice a low hum, deliberate in its challenge.
Rae-a chuckled, undeterred. She lifted the rifle, checking the scope with practiced ease before slinging it over her shoulder. The weapon clinked softly against her gear, settling into place as though it had always belonged there. Then, with a knowing glance, she met his eyes and smirked.
"Guess you'll find out soon enough."
She turned before he could respond, her stride confident, fluid, each movement a testament to the cold determination burning within her. There was no more hesitation, no uncertainty. The rage that had once been a wildfire in her veins had now been honed into something far deadlier—pure, sharpened resolve.
"Come on," she called over her shoulder, not bothering to check if he followed. "The others are waiting."
As they stepped back into the main room, the atmosphere shifted immediately. The air was thick with unspoken tension, the weight of what was coming pressing heavily on every shoulder in the room. Around the table, Gi-hun, Myung-gi, and Jun-ho stood hunched over scattered blueprints and hastily scribbled notes, murmuring in low voices as they finalized the last details.
No one looked up at first, too focused, too locked into the enormity of what they were about to do. The dim overhead light cast sharp shadows across their faces, outlining the grim determination in their features.
Rae-a strode forward and placed her rifle down on the table with a quiet but decisive clink, her gaze sweeping over the gathered group. She didn't hesitate.
"We move now," she said, her voice unwavering. No room for doubt. No room for fear.
No one objected.
No hesitation.
The plan was in motion.
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The plan was now fully in motion, a quiet yet undeniable current of urgency filling the room. Rae-a stood still, her gaze locked onto Jun-ho as he made the call, his movements precise, calculated—every word he was about to say carrying weight that could tip the scales of their operation. The phone line connected with a soft beep, and the tension thickened as his voice cut through the air.
"I've got something you won't want to miss. A major story, unfolding in real-time. The kind that doesn't just make headlines—it changes everything. If you want the exclusive, get your crew in position now, and make sure the cameras don't stop rolling."
His tone was controlled, authoritative, designed to pull the journalist in without revealing too much. He knew how to play this game well, how to dangle just enough intrigue to ensure an immediate response. On the other end of the line, the journalist hesitated for only a fraction of a second, processing the significance of his words.
"You're asking me to blindly deploy a team? Give me something more, Jun-ho." Their voice was laced with skepticism, but beneath it, there was interest—curiosity hooked just as he had intended.
Jun-ho barely blinked. "A man as powerful as Kang Chul-soo has weaknesses. I have proof, and soon, the whole city will see it for themselves. You don't want to be the only one left out when that happens."
Silence stretched between them, tension hanging on the edge of the call. Then, a sharp inhale.
"I'll be there," the journalist finally confirmed, their voice steady, but tinged with anticipation. "This had better be worth it."
With a final click, the line went dead. Jun-ho exhaled slowly, his expression unreadable as he lowered the phone, shifting his focus back to the group. His gaze met Rae-a's for a fleeting moment, a silent acknowledgment passing between them. They both knew what this meant—there was no turning back. The moment the cameras started rolling, their war against Kang Chul-soo would no longer be fought in the shadows.
Rae-a turned her attention to Myung-gi, who was already seated in front of an array of monitors, fingers hovering above the keyboard as his sharp eyes scanned through surveillance footage. Multiple live feeds flickered across the screens, mapping out their points of entry, the enemy's movements, and the locations they needed to exploit. The soft glow of the monitors cast faint shadows across his face, his expression focused, entirely immersed in the digital battlefield unfolding before him.
"I need complete control over the security feeds," Rae-a instructed, her voice carrying the weight of command. "If anything shifts, anything at all, you loop the footage. Erase us from their system. I want every blind spot covered."
Myung-gi barely nodded, already tapping rapidly against the keys, his mind working faster than his hands as he broke through layers of encryption with practiced ease. "I'll patch into their surveillance grid and reroute the data flow. If their security team is paying attention, they might notice a lag, but I'll keep it minimal. I'll also set up an emergency override in case things go south."
His tone was casual, but Rae-a knew better than to underestimate the complexity of what he was doing. Afterall, Myung-gi had been the one to mention his unique ability earlier. The high-tech system she had acquired for him gave them an edge, but it was his skill that would determine whether this worked or not.
Jun-ho exhaled, shifting his stance slightly as he took one last look around the room, his eyes scanning each person present. "Once the cameras go live, there's no room for second-guessing. We move quickly, we hit hard, and we finish it. No slip-ups, no loose ends. This is the only shot we get."
In-ho's gaze lingered on Rae-a, watching as she stood by the exit, her posture rigid with purpose. The air around her had shifted—gone was the sharp smirk that usually accompanied her confidence. In its place was something colder, more resolute. She wasn't just bracing herself for the task ahead; she was molding herself into the weapon she needed to be.
Her fingers flexed slightly at her sides, a barely noticeable movement, but one that spoke volumes. He had seen it before—that silent preparation, the way she mentally fortified herself before stepping into battle. There was no fear in her stance, only hardened focus, the kind that came from years of surviving in a world designed to break people like her.
Between them, the air carried an unspoken tension. Not the usual clash of wills, not the defiant push-and-pull that had defined so many of their conversations. This was different—something heavier, something neither of them had the luxury to unpack. Not now.
Instead, Rae-a exhaled slowly before turning to face him, her voice steady, unwavering.
"Once the cameras go live, we make our move," she said, the quiet authority in her tone leaving no room for doubt. "The moment his face is on every screen, there's no running, no more hiding behind bribes and shadows. His back will be against the wall, and we'll have him exactly where we want him."
Jun-ho, standing a few feet away, gave a curt nod, his expression hard. "We've got one shot at this. One mistake, and we lose everything."
And everything meant a lot more to her now than it used to.
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On the outskirts of the city, where the streets bled into desolate industrial sprawl, a warehouse loomed like a silent beast. Towering metal walls, streaked with rust and grime, stood as a testament to the countless illicit dealings that had taken place within. The air carried the acrid scent of oil and gunpowder, mixing with the damp chill of the night.
Inside, the set up for the operation was already in full swing. Kang Chul-soo's men moved with mechanical precision, their boots striking against the concrete floor in a steady rhythm. There was no hesitation, no wasted movement—only the quiet efficiency of men who had spent years perfecting the art of crime. Stacks of unmarked crates were hoisted onto waiting trucks, each container concealing contraband worth millions. Barrels lined the far wall, some covered hastily with tarps, others left exposed beneath the dim, flickering overhead lights.
A few men shed their jackets as they worked, revealing inked insignias at the base of their necks—the unmistakable dragon mark of their allegiance to Chul-soo. These were some of his most trusted enforcers, men who had spilled blood in his name, who had clawed their way through the ranks and survived by their ruthless efficiency, highlighting the importance of the operation. Not just anyone, in his ranks, were aware of what was transpiring here.
Beyond the warehouse doors, just beyond the reach of the security lights, a black van sat nestled in the shadows. Its tinted windows revealed nothing of the figures inside, but the air around it hummed with anticipation.
Inside, the tension was palpable. A journalist, headset pressed firmly over their ears, kept their fingers poised over the live feed button. The red light blinked in standby, waiting for the signal. The second it came through, the truth about Kang Chul-soo's empire would be laid bare for the world to see.
--
The moment the first truck doors groaned open, revealing the carefully packed boxes of Solace—the designer stimulant that would soon flood the streets—the live feed flickered on. The cameras captured the raw, uncensored chaos within the warehouse, a stark exposé of the underworld's operations.
The camera zoomed in to see the inside of the facility, where Chul-soo's men worked with mechanical efficiency, unloading crates with a precision that spoke of long-standing experience. The air inside was thick, charged with tension and the quiet ruthlessness of men who had done this countless times before. The flickering overhead lights cast eerie, shifting shadows over their faces as they moved, their tattoos now fully visible—etched into their skin like a brand of allegiance to Kang Chul-soo. There was no mistaking their affiliation.
Outside, the journalists sat hunched in the van, their hands hovering over the controls, eyes locked onto the screens. Every movement was recorded, every damning second transmitted live to an audience that had no idea of the corruption festering beneath the surface of their city.
The voice of the lead journalist rang out over the feed, urgent and sharp.
"Live coverage from the scene of what is now confirmed to be a large-scale drug operation potentially linked to the infamous underground crime lord, Kang Chul-soo," they announced, their tone cutting through the rising tension. "This is a huge operation, and we've just witnessed the shipment of a highly dangerous drug called Solace, a stimulant with devastating effects that has managed to stay undetected in most standard drug tests."
The camera zoomed in, capturing the damning evidence: the crates marked Solace, stacked neatly like an impending disaster, the smuggled shipment ready for distribution. The journalists didn't just document the moment—they dissected it in real time, ensuring the world knew exactly what was happening in the heart of the city's underbelly.
And then, the sirens.
At first, they were distant, a faint wail cutting through the thick silence of the night. But within seconds, the sound grew deafening, bouncing off the steel walls of the warehouse, sending a shiver of awareness through Chul-soo's men. For the first time, their smooth, calculated movements faltered. Heads snapped toward the exits. A ripple of unease spread through the operation as realization dawned.
Then came the screeching tires.
Outside, an armada of police vehicles skidded to a stop just beyond the warehouse gates. Red and blue lights sliced through the darkness, bathing the scene in an eerie, pulsing glow. The ground shook with the force of armored trucks rolling in, officers piling out with tactical precision, weapons drawn.
Inside, the panic exploded.
Jun-ho's voice crackled over the comms. "Take them down." His fingers twitched against the headset, his breath held as he watched from a safe distance. His job was done. Now, it was up to the task force.
The police stormed the building, their entry swift and relentless. Officers shouted commands over the chaos, their movements calculated as they forced their way through the warehouse. The criminals reacted instantly—some dove for cover, others scrambled for weapons, but the response team was faster.
Gunfire rang out, brief but sharp. A few of Chul-soo's more seasoned enforcers attempted to fight back, drawing their weapons in a last-ditch effort to regain control. But the police were prepared, their formation unbreakable. The clash was brutal, short-lived, and decisive. The sound of bodies hitting the floor echoed through the warehouse as officers secured the area, moving with the unyielding force of a well-planned ambush.
Through it all, the cameras rolled.
The journalists followed the police, weaving through the chaos, capturing every second. The camera lens zoomed in on the sharp snap of handcuffs locking into place, the furious expressions of Chul-soo's men as they were forced onto their knees. Some struggled, snarling at the officers, while others remained eerily silent, their fate sinking in.
There was no escape.
The world was watching.
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Rae-a stood in front of the large screen, her arms loosely crossed as she watched the live feed unfold. The cold glow of the monitors illuminated her face, the flickering images reflecting in her dark eyes. She took in every movement, every detail—the flash of handcuffs locking around wrists, the unmarked crates filled with Solace being pried open under harsh floodlights, the panic settling into Chul-soo's men as they were dragged to their knees.
The plan had worked flawlessly. The media was already running with it, the headlines practically writing themselves. Crime Lord Kang Chul-soo's Drug Operation Exposed in Live Raid. The buzz of reporters, the endless clicks of cameras, the stunned murmurs of viewers consuming this real-time takedown—it was all happening exactly as she and Jun-ho had envisioned. The weight of years of secrecy and untouchable power was unraveling in real-time, and for the first time, Kang Chul-soo's empire felt breakable.
Still, Rae-a's satisfaction was measured. This was only the beginning. Chul-soo himself wouldn't go down this easily, likely hiding his tracks. The arrests, the coverage—it would wound him, but it wouldn't kill him.
And Rae-a needed to be the one to land the final blow.
Her gaze lingered on the screen for another second before she turned sharply on her heel, her boots clicking against the floor with each purposeful step toward the door. The path ahead was clear—Chul-soo's defenses would be weakened by this strike, his men scattered, his focus divided.
There wouldn't be another opening like this.
She was halfway to the exit when movement cut into her path.
In-ho stepped forward, positioning himself between her and the door with an air of effortless authority. His stance was composed, as always—shoulders squared, chin slightly tilted downward as his unreadable gaze settled on her. But there was something beneath the surface, something simmering just out of reach.
"Don't do anything reckless," he said, his voice smooth yet weighted. There was no condescension, no reprimand. Just quiet insistence.
Rae-a stopped just short of him, tilting her head slightly, her brow lifting in muted challenge. "I could say the same to you," she replied, her tone lighter than before, but edged with something unspoken.
Her eyes flitted over his face, catching the way his jaw tightened ever so slightly. It was subtle—most wouldn't notice. But she did.
He wasn't just giving her an order.
He was asking her to stay alive.
In-ho didn't respond right away. Instead, a short, breathy chuckle escaped him, almost as if he found something about the exchange ironic. A rare sound from him. But his expression didn't shift much—if anything, his usual cold exterior only softened by the slightest degree.
Because he knew Rae-a.
She was the type to jump before the ground was solid beneath her feet. To dive headfirst into the fire, accepting the burns if it meant setting the right people ablaze. She was always a step ahead, always relentless. And yet, despite all odds, despite everything that should have destroyed her, she was still standing.
That was something he admired about her.
And something that terrified him.
In-ho sighed through his nose and shifted slightly, the movement almost imperceptible. He stepped aside, allowing her a clear path to the door—but just as she made to move past him, his voice cut through the space between them again.
"Come back."
It was softer than before. A request, not a command. And it caught her off guard in a way nothing else could have.
She stilled.
The words should have been easy to brush off. Should have been something she could ignore, dismiss with some half-hearted quip. That was her instinct, wasn't it? Keep moving. Don't stop. Don't let anyone get too close.
But something about the way he said it made her hesitate.
Slowly, she turned to look at him.
For a moment—just a moment—she didn't see the Frontman. Didn't see the calculating manipulator, the one who always had a contingency plan, always played the long game.
She just saw him.
A man who, despite everything, despite who he was and what he had done, was standing there, quietly hoping she'd come back to him.
There was no mask. No deflection. Just In-ho.
And damn it, that was what made her heart stutter.
She parted her lips, searching for a response, but nothing quite fit. She wasn't good at this. At acknowledging the things that clawed at the edges of her heart. At giving voice to the feelings she spent years pretending she didn't have.
But In-ho was still watching her, waiting.
"I'll come back," she said, the words low and steady. And for once, they didn't feel like a burden.
It wasn't a promise she could guarantee.
But it was one she wanted to keep.
She turned to leave, but just before stepping through the doorway, she hesitated. Her hand rested lightly against the doorframe as she glanced over her shoulder, her expression unreadable but her voice carrying something rare—something close to warmth.
"I'm only a button away," she said, her meaning layered beneath the simplicity of her words. "If anything happens, you let me know. No hesitation."
In-ho exhaled slowly, his eyes lingering on her.
She didn't say more. Didn't need to.
Because that was her way of saying what she couldn't.
That she trusted him. That she cared, even if she wouldn't spell it out.
And In-ho understood.
As she disappeared down the hall, he remained where he was, listening to the fading sound of her footsteps.
His chest felt heavier than it should have.
He knew what she was going to do. He knew how dangerous it was.
And yet, for the first time in a long time, he found himself hoping.
Hoping she would survive. Hoping she would come back.
Hoping that somehow, against all odds, this fragile, unspoken thing between them wouldn't be shattered before it had the chance to become something real.