The library of the Seoul Financial District Public Annex was a tomb for dead trees. It smelled of dust, old paper, and quiet desperation. Min-jun sat at a secluded terminal, the blue glow of the monitor the only light on his face. His work computer was a monitored cage. This was anonymous.
His fingers flew across the keyboard. Each search was a calculated risk. Cognitive Load: 26%. The throb behind his eyes had settled into a constant, drilling ache. He imagined it as a meter filling, a price being extracted for every stolen truth.
The public records were a maze, but Han Seung-ju was a vain man. Vain men liked to see their names in stone.
Min-jun found the property records for the penthouse in the glittering Aether Tower. It was owned by a shell company, "Horizon View Holdings." A few more clicks, cross-referenced with business registration databases his university login could barely access, revealed Horizon View's sole director: a lawyer from a firm that exclusively handled Kronos Capital's offshore affairs.
A dead end for the public. But for Min-jun, it was a clue. Han's secret kingdom was meticulously organized. It would have a pattern.
He switched tabs. The charity gala. The "Han Seung-ju Foundation for Future Leaders." The tax filings showed generous donations. The event tonight was at the Grand Celadon Hotel, a fundraiser for scholarships. Han would be photographed with politicians, praised for his benevolence.
And then his driver would "detour" to the Aether Tower with Evelyn in the car.
The hypocrisy was so vast it was almost artistic.
The club. This was the chink. Choi Min-ho's inner voice had mentioned his nephew. The photo had come from his nephew's club. A place called "Oblivion." A quick search showed it was a members-only hyper-trendy spot in Itaewon, famous for its discretion and celebrity clientele. The kind of place where phones were sealed in pouches at the door. Where a discreet bouncer might be persuaded, for a price, to provide a blurry still from a security feed to a powerful man like Director Han.
Min-jun had no money. But he had a different currency.
He took a deep breath, the dusty air scratching his throat. He opened a private, encrypted messaging app on his phone, creating a new, untraceable account. He needed to speak to Choi again, but without alerting Han's possible surveillance. He needed to apply pressure to the weak link.
He typed a message to a number he'd discreetly noted from the internal directory.
Manager Choi. This is a friend. I know about the retainer for the Sejong PI. I also know about the special request from the Aether Tower resident for the Oblivion footage. The metadata might be clean, but the request chain isn't. I'm not your enemy. I want to prevent a mistake from becoming a catastrophe. The item in question needs to be retrieved and destroyed. Tonight. Before 7 PM. Can you facilitate contact with the source? No names. Just a transaction.
He hit send. His heart hammered against his ribs. This was it. He was no longer just listening. He was pushing.
The three blinking dots appeared almost immediately. Choi was terrified.
Who is this?
You're making a dangerous mistake.
I know nothing.
Min-jun typed, his mind channeling the cold, calculating tone of the inner voices he'd heard all day. The mistake is already made. I am offering a correction. The alternative is the request chain becoming an attachment in an anonymous tip to the *Financial Times* Seoul bureau. Not about the photo. About the unauthorized use of corporate legal resources for personal executive blackmail. Which do you think Kronos would rather explain?
The dots blinked, stopped, blinked again for a full minute.
Then a message came through. A phone number. Nothing else.
Min-jun memorized it and deleted the entire thread. He stood up, his vision swimming for a second. 28%. He needed to move.
He left the library, the evening air a slap of cool relief. He found a quiet alley between two towering banks and dialed the number.
It rang twice before a young, bored, and slightly wary voice answered. "Yeah?"
"I was given this number to discuss a recent transaction," Min-jun said, keeping his voice low and flat. "A digital item. From Oblivion. The buyer was… dissatisfied with the quality. He wants it replaced. The original destroyed. A new copy for verification of destruction."
He was weaving a tapestry of lies, hoping the nephew—a club employee likely used to shady deals—would fill in the blanks with his own assumptions. The rich client is being paranoid. Wants to tidy up.
There was a pause. "Man, that was a clean job. My uncle said–"
"Your uncle is concerned about procedural follow-through," Min-jun cut in, invoking Choi's authority. "This is the follow-through. I'm at the Financial District Public Annex. I can meet you. You bring the original file. I verify. You destroy it in front of me. You get a bonus for the hassle. Cash."
The magic word. Cash. Min-jun had about 50,000 won in his wallet—his weekly food budget. He was bluffing with empty pockets.
"…Bonus how much?"
"Two hundred thousand. For ten minutes of your time." Min-jun's mouth was dry.
A whistle. "Fine. Alley behind the Annex. Ten minutes. Don't fuck me around."
Min-jun leaned against the cold brick wall, sliding down to sit on the ground. The exhaustion was physical now. The cognitive load was a weight on his skull. He had ten minutes to figure out how to get 200,000 won and how to actually destroy a digital file he had no way of verifying.
He scrolled frantically through his phone. Loans? Too slow. Pawn something? He had nothing. He thought of Evelyn, but involving her was impossible.
Then he saw it. An alert from his banking app. His tiny monthly intern stipend had been auto-deposited that morning. 450,000 won. It was everything he had to live on for the next month. Rent, food, transport.
He stared at the number. The cold coffee, the itching suit, the silent contempt. The shattered look in Evelyn's eyes.
He transferred 200,000 won to a withdrawal-friendly digital wallet.
Eight minutes later, a young man on a sleek electric scooter pulled into the alley. He was dressed in expensive streetwear, a far cry from Min-jun's cheap suit. The club nephew.
Min-jun stood up, forcing strength into his posture.
"You the guy?" the nephew asked, eyeing him with suspicion.
"Do you have the item?"
The nephew held up a small, unmarked USB drive. "This is it. The only copy. My uncle was very specific."
"Liar," a voice hissed in Min-jun's head. He focused on the nephew's jacket—a designer bomber, close enough to formal wear to maybe trigger the system? It did. The connection was fuzzy, weaker, but present. "The copy is on my cloud. Always keep a copy. These rich freaks might try to screw me. Insurance."
Min-jun's blood ran cold. He hadn't considered that. The nephew was just as corrupt as his uncle, in a smaller, stupider way.
"I need to verify the contents before destruction," Min-jun said, holding out his hand.
"Money first."
Min-jun showed him the balance on his phone app. The nephew's eyes gleamed. He handed over the drive.
Min-jun plugged it into his phone using an adapter. A single video file. He opened it, turning the screen away. It was a grainy, dark clip from a security camera. It showed Evelyn, looking beautiful and tragically young, being helped into a car by a man outside Oblivion. The angle made it look intimate, scandalous. It was nothing and everything.
He deleted the file from the drive. Then he took the physical USB drive and, with a strength that surprised himself, snapped it in half against the brick wall.
The nephew flinched. "Hey!"
"The deal was for the original destroyed. It is," Min-jun said, his voice like iron. He handed over the phone for the money transfer. The nephew completed it, a smirk on his face.
"Idiot. Thinks breaking the drive does anything. The real file is safe. Easy money."
Min-jun looked him dead in the eye. The headache screamed to a crescendo. Cognitive Load: 31%. He pushed the connection, focusing not on listening, but on projecting. He thought of Director Han's cold, possessive voice. He imitated its resonance in his mind and pushed it toward the nephew.
"Your uncle," Min-jun said slowly, "works for the man who wanted this. That man does not like loose ends. He does not like 'insurance.' If he even suspects a copy exists, he won't sue you. He will ruin you. He will have your club license investigated. He will have your friends' parents fired. He will make you disappear into a debt so deep you'll never see the sun again. You are not playing a game. You are holding a lit match in a fireworks factory."
He saw the smirk vanish. Saw real fear dawning in the young man's eyes. The projected thought, mixed with the stark truth of Min-jun's words, hit home.
"Shit. He's right. Uncle's boss… that guy is connected. Really connected. Fuck."
"Delete it," Min-jun commanded. "Now. And show me your cloud empty. Or I walk away, and you explain to your uncle why his career is over because of your 'insurance.'"
Trembling now, the nephew pulled out his phone. He logged into a private cloud service, found the file, and deleted it permanently. He showed Min-jun the empty folder, then the trash bin being emptied.
Min-jun gave a single, slow nod. "We never met."
He turned and walked out of the alley, leaving the nephew staring at his phone. The physical weapon was gone. The digital one was, he hoped, neutralized. He had spent half his monthly survival money.
He looked at the time. 6:20 PM.
He had the truth. But truth alone wasn't enough. He needed to wield it.
He opened a new message draft on his phone. He addressed it to Evelyn's work email—the only one he knew.
Subject: Your 7 PM Meeting - An Alternative Agenda
Miss Evelyn,
Director Han's driver will suggest a detour to the Aether Tower to "finalize the brief." Do not get in the car. Plead a sudden, severe migraine. Be visibly ill in the lobby bathroom if you must.
Your leverage: The item he was holding has been misplaced. Permanently. If he presses you, tell him you hope his "charitable foundation" is ready for a different kind of audit. You don't need to explain. Just say it. Then walk away.
He will be confused. He will be furious. But he will be afraid. And a afraid man who relies on secrets does not act recklessly. Not tonight.
- A friend in the silence.
He hit send. It was a gamble. She might ignore it. She might show it to Han.
But as he stood on the street, watching the towers of power light up against the twilight sky, Lee Min-jun felt something other than fear for the first time that day.
He felt the faint, terrifying tremor of a lever being pressed.
A lever made of paper, fear, and the absolute, undeniable truth.