The service corridor behind Seoul National University's Grand Ballroom was a world away from the glittering sophistication beyond its soundproofed walls. Here, beneath harsh fluorescent lights that flickered intermittently, Lee So-young pressed her back against the cold concrete wall and tried to steady her breathing. The simple white mask she wore felt suffocating now, its eyeholes seeming to narrow her vision to a tunnel that led straight back to the humiliation she had just endured.
Expensive crystal... more per bottle than most people earn in a day...
Isabella Park's words echoed in her mind like a mantra of shame, each syllable carefully crafted to inflict maximum damage while maintaining the veneer of polite concern. So-young had encountered cruelty before—growing up in the Guro district had taught her that life rarely offered gentleness to those who couldn't afford to purchase it—but there was something particularly cutting about Isabella's brand of sophisticated malice.
"You're trembling," came a quiet voice from the shadows. So-young looked up to see Manager Kim approaching, his weathered face creased with concern. At sixty-two, he had worked in the university's food services for over three decades, and his kindness had been one of the few bright spots in So-young's difficult adjustment to university life.
"I'm fine," So-young replied automatically, though her voice betrayed the lie. She pulled off her mask and ran her fingers through her short black hair, trying to restore some semblance of composure. Without the mask's concealment, her features revealed a surprising delicacy—high cheekbones and intelligent eyes that seemed older than her twenty-two years.
Manager Kim studied her with the practiced eye of someone who had seen countless students struggle with the pressures of academic life. "That girl," he said simply. "Park Isabella. She has a talent for making people feel small."
So-young let out a bitter laugh. "Talent implies effort. For her, it seems to come naturally."
"Money has a way of making people forget their humanity," Manager Kim observed, settling against the wall beside her. "But you can't let it break your spirit. You've worked too hard to get here."
If only you knew, So-young thought. The scholarship story, the financial hardship, the grateful poor girl elevated by academic excellence—it was all a carefully constructed fiction. Her real background was far more complex, involving government agencies and classified operations that Manager Kim could never imagine. But the cover story had become so integrated into her daily existence that sometimes she almost believed it herself.
"She's right about one thing," So-young said quietly. "I don't belong in there. Not really."
"Nonsense," Manager Kim replied firmly. "Your grades are among the highest in your program. You've earned your place here through merit, not privilege."
So-young nodded, though her thoughts were elsewhere. Through the service corridor's small window, she could see into the ballroom where Isabella now stood on the stage, accepting her crown as Masquerade Queen. Even from this distance, the golden mask caught the light like a beacon, drawing all attention to its wearer with magnetic inevitability.
The sight triggered a memory from three weeks earlier, when So-young had first received her assignment briefing. The government anti-corruption task force had been tracking financial irregularities in Seoul National University's scholarship program for months, and they needed someone on the inside to gather evidence. Someone young enough to blend in with the student body, skilled enough to maintain a complex cover identity, and expendable enough that their capture wouldn't compromise larger operations.
So-young fit all three criteria perfectly.
Her handler, Agent Park—no relation to Isabella, despite the shared surname—had been brutally honest about the assignment's risks. "University corruption cases are delicate," he had explained in the sterile briefing room that smelled of disinfectant and broken dreams. "Too many powerful families involved, too many political connections. We need evidence that's absolutely irrefutable, and we need it quickly before the investigation gets shut down from above."
The irony wasn't lost on So-young that she was now literally serving the very people she was investigating, watching their casual displays of wealth while documenting their financial crimes. Isabella Park, in particular, had become a person of significant interest to the task force. Her family's construction company had received several suspicious university contracts, and her father's donations to the scholarship fund showed irregularities that suggested money laundering.
But tonight, watching Isabella accept her crown with practiced grace, So-young found herself wondering if the investigation was worth the personal cost. The constant deception, the daily humiliations, the careful balance between gathering intelligence and maintaining her cover—it was exhausting in ways that her training hadn't prepared her for.
"I should get back," So-young said, straightening her uniform and replacing her mask. "The dinner service isn't finished."
Manager Kim nodded, though his eyes remained concerned. "Remember what I told you about people like her," he said as So-young turned to leave. "Their cruelty comes from fear. They sense something in you that threatens them, even if they can't identify what it is."
So-young paused at the corridor door, considering his words. If only he knew how accurate his assessment was. Isabella's psychological training might be academic, but her instincts were sharp enough to recognize inconsistencies in So-young's behavior. The investigation was entering a dangerous phase where maintaining cover was becoming increasingly difficult.
She re-entered the ballroom through the service entrance, immediately assaulted by the sensory overload of perfume, champagne, and orchestral music. The contrast with the stark service corridor was jarring—like stepping from reality into an elaborate theatrical production where everyone knew their roles except her.
The dinner service was indeed still in progress, with servers moving efficiently between tables carrying silver platters of artfully arranged cuisine. So-young collected a fresh tray and began making rounds, her movements automatic as her mind processed the conversations she overheard.
At table seven, Professor Choi Sang-min was discussing the psychology department's budget allocation with Dean Park. Their conversation was carefully neutral, but So-young's trained ear caught the subtext—concerns about upcoming audits and the need to "restructure certain funding sources." She made a mental note to investigate Professor Choi's financial dealings more thoroughly.
Table twelve provided even more interesting intelligence. Two students were complaining about the scholarship selection process, specifically mentioning irregularities in the review committee's decisions. One of them, Jung Min-seo, claimed her family had been asked to make a "consultation fee" payment to ensure her application received proper consideration.
So-young filed away every detail, building a mental map of the corruption network that seemed to permeate every level of the university's administration. The evidence was there, scattered like breadcrumbs through casual conversations and careless admissions, but gathering it required her to remain invisible—a servant moving through their world without attracting attention.
"Excuse me," came a voice behind her. So-young turned to find Detective Kim Min-jun approaching, his intelligent eyes studying her with an intensity that made her instinctively nervous. "I don't believe we were properly introduced earlier. I'm Kim Min-jun."
"Lee So-young," she replied carefully, maintaining the deferential posture expected of service staff. "I hope you're enjoying the evening, Detective-nim."
"It's certainly educational," he said with a slight smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "I'm curious about something, though. Earlier, during the... incident with the broken glass, you handled the situation with remarkable composure. Most people would have been more rattled by such public embarrassment."
So-young felt her pulse quicken. This was exactly the kind of scrutiny she had been trained to avoid. Detective Kim's reputation for psychological insight was well-documented, and his interest in her behavior patterns could expose her cover if she wasn't careful.
"I've worked in food service for several years," she replied, injecting just the right amount of practiced humility into her voice. "You learn to handle accidents and difficult customers with grace."
"Difficult customers," Detective Kim repeated thoughtfully. "An interesting choice of words. Most people would have described Miss Park's comments as cruel rather than difficult."
The observation was a trap, and So-young recognized it immediately. He was testing her reactions, looking for inconsistencies that might reveal hidden depths. She had to respond in character while avoiding the pitfall of appearing either too submissive or too confident.
"People from different backgrounds sometimes have different perspectives," she said diplomatically. "Isabella-ssi comes from a world where expensive things are normal. She probably didn't realize how her words might sound to someone like me."
Detective Kim's eyebrows rose slightly. "You're very charitable in your assessment. Most people wouldn't be so understanding after being publicly humiliated."
"Understanding doesn't cost anything," So-young replied, then immediately regretted the philosophical nature of her response. It was too articulate, too thoughtful for someone supposedly struggling with basic financial survival.
If Detective Kim noticed the inconsistency, he didn't comment on it directly. Instead, he studied her for a long moment before nodding slowly. "Well said. Enjoy the rest of your evening, So-young-ssi."
As he walked away, So-young felt a cold sweat gathering beneath her mask. The detective's interest in her was problematic on multiple levels. Not only did it risk exposing her cover, but it also complicated her mission objectives. If Detective Kim continued investigating her background, he might uncover information that could compromise the entire corruption investigation.
She made her way back to the service area, mind racing through contingency plans. Her handler had warned her about mission creep—the tendency for undercover operations to become increasingly complex as new variables emerged. Tonight was proving to be a perfect example of that phenomenon.
"So-young!" Manager Kim's voice cut through her thoughts. "Table fourteen is requesting more wine. The Bordeaux, not the Burgundy."
So-young nodded and collected the appropriate bottle, grateful for the routine task that would help settle her nerves. Table fourteen was occupied by several business school students whose families owned various manufacturing companies. Their conversation focused on recent changes to government regulations affecting their industries—information that might be relevant to her investigation's broader scope.
As she poured wine for each guest, So-young's peripheral vision caught movement near the ballroom's main entrance. A new arrival was being escorted to the head table—a middle-aged man in an expensive suit whose presence seemed to energize the surrounding conversations. She recognized him from her briefing materials: Choi Jae-sung, a university alumnus whose construction company had received several questionable contracts from the administration.
Choi's arrival changed the evening's dynamic in subtle but significant ways. So-young noticed how certain professors gravitated toward him, how conversations became more guarded when he passed nearby, how even Isabella seemed to defer to his presence despite her usual commanding demeanor.
The real power behind the throne, So-young thought as she observed the interactions. Her mission briefing had identified Choi as a potential key figure in the corruption network, but seeing him in person confirmed his central importance. The way people reacted to him suggested he wielded influence that went far beyond his official alumni status.
Isabella approached Choi's table during a lull in the dinner service, her golden mask catching the light as she moved with predatory grace. So-young positioned herself near enough to overhear their conversation while maintaining the pretense of clearing nearby tables.
"Uncle Jae-sung," Isabella said warmly, though So-young detected an undercurrent of formality that suggested their relationship was more complex than simple family affection. "I'm so pleased you could make it tonight."
"I wouldn't miss your coronation, Isabella-ya," Choi replied, his voice carrying the authority of someone accustomed to being obeyed. "Though I understand there have been some... complications with the scholarship committee recently."
Isabella's posture stiffened almost imperceptibly. "Nothing that can't be managed. A few irregularities in the application process, but we're implementing new oversight procedures."
"Good," Choi said, his tone suggesting the topic was closed. "It's important to maintain the university's reputation. Too much scrutiny from government auditors could complicate our expansion plans."
The conversation continued in euphemisms and coded language, but So-young understood the subtext perfectly. They were discussing the very corruption network she had been sent to investigate, and Isabella was clearly involved at a level that made her more than just a privileged student exploiting her family's connections.
As the evening progressed toward its conclusion, So-young found herself studying Isabella with new understanding. The psychology student who publicly humiliated service workers was also a key player in a corruption scheme that defrauded deserving students of educational opportunities. The golden mask she wore wasn't just a fashion accessory—it was a perfect metaphor for the beautiful facade that concealed a fundamentally corrupt reality.
The midnight unmasking ceremony approached, and guests began gathering in the ballroom's center for the traditional revelation of identities. So-young retreated to the service area, knowing that staff members were expected to remain masked throughout the evening. But from her position, she could observe the proceedings and continue gathering intelligence.
Isabella stood at the center of attention, her golden mask glittering under the chandeliers as she prepared for the ceremonial removal. The crowd counted down from ten, their voices creating a crescendo of anticipation that filled the ornate space.
"Ten... nine... eight..."
So-young watched Isabella's face, noting the supreme confidence in her posture, the way she reveled in being the center of attention.
"Seven... six... five..."
Detective Kim stood near the ballroom's periphery, his own mask still in place as he observed the crowd with professional interest. His presence at the ceremony felt significant, though So-young couldn't articulate why.
"Four... three... two..."
Isabella's hands moved to her mask's silk ribbons, preparing to reveal the face that everyone already knew lay beneath the golden facade.
"One!"
The masks came off in a cascade of revelations, faces emerging from behind elaborate disguises as laughter and applause filled the air. Isabella's golden mask was among the last to be removed, her dramatic timing ensuring maximum impact as her familiar features were revealed to enthusiastic cheers.
But as So-young watched the celebration, she noticed something that made her blood run cold. In the crowd of newly unmasked faces, she spotted someone who shouldn't have been there—someone whose presence at the university represented a threat to her mission that she had never anticipated.
Agent Park, her handler, stood among the guests with his own mask now removed, his presence transforming what should have been a routine intelligence-gathering operation into something far more dangerous and complex.
The evening was far from over, and So-young realized that the games of deception being played in Seoul National University's Grand Ballroom were more elaborate and deadly than she had ever imagined. Behind every mask, it seemed, lay secrets that could destroy lives, end careers, and expose corruption networks that reached into the highest levels of Korean society.
As the applause for Isabella's coronation continued, So-young slipped back into the service corridor, her mind racing with the implications of her handler's presence. The investigation had just become exponentially more complicated, and she was no longer certain who could be trusted in the deadly masquerade that was about to unfold.