Three days dead.
That's how long Kang Yoochan had been erased from the public eye.
Enough time for obituaries to flood the press. Enough time for the stock market to flinch, then recover. Enough time for his siblings to convene at the Kang family estate, their crocodile tears dripping over thousand-dollar mourning suits.
But not enough time to forget him.
No, Yoochan made sure of that.
Inside Jiwoo's underground war room, the real battle had begun.
"I need eyes in Kang Tech," Yoochan said, eyes fixed on the monitors. "Specifically the AI logistics wing. That's where Joonho's ghost fund reroutes its payments."
Jiwoo snorted. "You think I haven't tried? The moment you touch that network, it bites. Hardware firewalls. Air gaps. You'd have to be inside the building."
Yoochan turned to him. "Then get me inside."
Jiwoo blinked. "You want to waltz into your own family's headquarters? After faking your death?"
"I want them to know the ghost they buried is walking again."
Jiwoo didn't respond immediately. He reached for his tablet, brows furrowed as he traced a map of Kang Industries' central tower.
"Basement servers. Sublevel 3," he muttered. "Only two keycards can override the biometric lock. Joonho has one. Guess who has the other?"
Yoochan didn't hesitate. "Soomin."
Jiwoo arched an eyebrow. "How'd you know?"
"He's the only one Joonho ever trusted with information he didn't want stored on paper. They used to talk over cigars when they thought I was asleep in the next room."
Jiwoo leaned back, impressed despite himself. "You remember everything."
Yoochan's voice was quiet. "For now."
Jiwoo tilted his head. "You're losing memories?"
Yoochan didn't answer. He didn't have to.
It was in the way his jaw clenched every time a flash of the past flickered—his mother's face, the orphanage smell, Jihoon's broken promises. Sometimes, he couldn't even remember the sound of his own name before he became a Kang.
And sometimes… he didn't want to.
That night, Jiwoo handed him a burner phone with a single contact listed: Phoenix.
"She's your way in," Jiwoo said. "Used to run contracts for Soomin. Now she's freelance. Owes me a favor."
Yoochan raised an eyebrow. "She trustworthy?"
Jiwoo smirked. "No. That's why she's perfect."
They met on a rooftop in Itaewon. Yoochan wore a black coat and a surgical mask—standard fare for a Seoulite, but it still felt like a costume. Like someone else was wearing his skin.
Phoenix arrived late, cigarette dangling from her lips, her high heels clicking like gunshots.
She was taller than he expected. And more beautiful. But it was the eyes that told the truth—razor-sharp, weighing him with a glance.
"So you're the dead Kang," she said without preamble.
Yoochan didn't blink. "And you're the living weapon."
She grinned. "I like you already."
Phoenix tossed him a flash drive. "This'll copy Soomin's biometric profile from any active console he uses. But you've got one shot. He changes codes weekly, and he's back in Seoul tomorrow."
"How close do I need to be?"
"Within ten meters."
Yoochan nodded. "I can get that close."
"Bold," she said. "Suicidal, too."
He met her gaze. "A dead man has nothing to lose."
The Kang mansion was colder than Yoochan remembered.
He watched it from a nearby rooftop, binoculars trained on the west veranda where Soomin liked to drink his imported wine. Jiwoo had tapped into the security feed—just a partial view, but enough to track movements.
Soomin was there. Alone. Glass in hand, tapping on his phone.
Yoochan moved like a shadow through the garden, heart pounding in rhythm with the security camera sweeps. He counted four guards. None were veterans.
A weak link.
At the edge of the garden, hidden by manicured hedges, he activated the signal replicator Phoenix had given him. It pulsed once—green.
Biometric signature acquired.
He backed away just as Soomin stood and turned toward the estate.
Yoochan disappeared into the night.
Back in the bunker, Jiwoo decrypted the data. His fingers moved fast, face bathed in the blue glow of lines of code.
"You've got access," he said. "But once you plug this in, the entire system will log an anomaly. You've got five minutes before security knows someone cracked the vault."
Yoochan pocketed the drive.
Five minutes was all he needed.
The following morning, he walked into Kang Tower through the underground freight tunnel, dressed as a courier. No one looked twice—corporate culture had long since learned not to question anyone holding coffee or documents.
Sublevel 3 was colder than the rest of the building.
He reached the biometric lock. Slotted the key. Held his breath.
Click.
The door opened.
Rows of black server towers blinked back at him like watchful sentinels. He found the master console and inserted the drive. Lines of red began cascading across the screen—Jiwoo's virus working its way through a decade's worth of filth.
Yoochan watched, unblinking, as Joonho's deepest secrets unfolded like a cancer finally exposed:
—Overseas bribes.
—Political assassinations.
—Shell companies funding private armies.
—Internal memos linking his father to the factory disaster.
—A classified memo: "Yoochan's mother terminated to prevent scandal. Authorized by D.H."
His hands shook.
He almost pulled the plug.
Almost.
But instead… he copied it all.
Back in the bunker, Jiwoo stared at the files. "You didn't burn it."
"No," Yoochan said. "Not yet."
"Why?"
"Because revenge is cheap. Power lasts longer."
Jiwoo looked at him differently after that. Not with admiration. Not with hate.
Just recognition.
"You really are your father's son."
Yoochan didn't deny it.
He simply opened a new file, titled it Phase Two, and typed the first line:
Start with Soomin. Break the chain from the inside.