Say ‘I Do’ to a Heist

Kang Sungmin

The first few hours of the heist had been, if nothing else, surreal. Kang Sungmin had attended countless high-profile events over the years, rubbing elbows with the elite of Seoul and beyond. But never—never—had any of them involved masked men storming in and ordering everyone to stay quiet and sit on the floor like common peasants.

The wedding of Lee Sanghoon and Han Yejin was supposed to be the event of the year. Not only was the groom heir to one of South Korea’s most powerful conglomerates, but the bride was practically a living, breathing luxury ad. Between the silk-clad influencers and the power-hungry tycoons in custom suits, this wasn’t just a wedding; it was a demonstration of Seoul’s upper crust at its most decadent.

And now, here they were. No champagne, no caviar, no endless praise for their wealth. Just… hostages.

When the Haehotal-masked criminals had burst in, Kang Sungmin’s first instinct was disbelief. This couldn’t be real, he’d thought as he clutched his drink, still half-sipping when one of the masked men barked an order and shot in the air. His Rolex—a gold beauty he’d had custom-made to match his car—had slipped slightly down his wrist as he lowered himself to the marble tiles. He’d sighed deeply, already resigned to the idea that he might have to part with it soon.

But then… nothing.

The criminals hadn’t demanded money or valuables. No one was rifling through handbags or insisting they empty their pockets. Instead, they had marched a few guests out one by one—Woo Jungho, the drama star, being the first—and disappeared with them. The next to go had been actress Yoo Harin, followed later by Han Yejin herself, still in her gown, sparkling under the overhead lights like she’d stepped out of an absurd hostage-themed photo shoot. None of them had returned.

And that? That was what had begun to unsettle Kang Sungmin.

Kang Sungmin didn’t make his fortune by being stupid. Ruthless, maybe. Corrupt? Sure. But not stupid. He knew something was off here. These weren’t ordinary thieves. Ordinary thieves didn’t pass up the opportunity to steal a $10,000 handbag. They didn’t march away diplomats with diplomatic immunity, knowing full well that the international fallout would be catastrophic.

No, these criminals had an agenda—and for the first time in his life, Kang Sungmin was not the man holding the cards.

By the time night fell, things had gone from unsettling to unbearable.

They’d been handed sleeping bags. Sleeping bags.

He’d stared at the flimsy fabric in disbelief, his outrage bubbling dangerously close to the surface. “Do you know how much my back surgery cost?” he’d snapped at the nearest masked man, who didn’t even flinch. “I’m not going to sleep on the floor! What do you think I am, some kind of backpacker?”

The criminal had tilted their head, almost amused, and walked away. Walked away.

Sungmin had been left clutching the offending bag, his face flushed with humiliation. “This is absurd,” he muttered as he lay down hours later, the hard marble beneath him a cruel reminder of how far he’d fallen in a single day. He hadn’t worked his way up from sleazy deals and forged contracts to end up like this—flattened like a pancake on a hotel ballroom floor.

And yet, as he shifted uncomfortably, listening to the whispers of the other hostages, a gnawing fear crept into his chest.

“What do you think they’re doing with the others?” one woman murmured.

“Maybe they’re negotiating,” someone else whispered back.

“No way. Did you see how calm they were? These aren’t amateurs. They don’t care about ransom money.”

“Maybe they’re killing them,” a third voice said bluntly.

The room fell silent.

For the first time, Sungmin’s polished exterior began to crack. He’d dealt with plenty of criminals in his line of work—backdoor deals, shady construction projects, bribes to keep inspectors quiet—but these criminals weren’t in it for money.

And that terrified him.

The whispers only grew louder the longer the night dragged on. Even the unflappable Chairman Lee Byung-chul seemed unusually quiet, his usual arrogance replaced by a thoughtful, almost nervous expression. 

But it was Lee Sanghoon, the groom, who was truly losing it.

Sungmin had watched him pace back and forth near the ballroom doors, muttering under his breath and tugging at his tie like a man on the verge of a breakdown. At one point, Sanghoon had tried to argue with one of the masked men, demanding to know where his bride was. The criminal had simply stared at him, silent, before gesturing for him to sit down. When Sanghoon refused, the man took a step forward, and that was enough to send the groom scurrying back to his corner.

Sungmin smirked. So much for the heir to an empire.

But even Sungmin’s smugness couldn’t distract him from the bigger picture. The room was filled with Seoul’s most powerful people—business tycoons, politicians, celebrities—and none of them were in control. Not one.

This wasn’t about money. This was something else entirely.

And as the hours stretched into the early morning, Sungmin couldn’t shake the feeling that when his turn came to be taken from the room, he wouldn’t be coming back.

For the first time in his life, Kang Sungmin regretted being a man with secrets.

*******

James Wilson

James Wilson had handled tense negotiations with warlords, evaded sticky situations involving international scandals, and even survived a botched coup attempt in a Central American country—but this? This was something else entirely. Being stuck in the Lotte World Tower ballroom as a hostage felt like a cruel joke.

The night had been a blur of chaos: muffled screams, the sharp bark of commands in Korean and English, and the eerie presence of the masked figures who stormed the wedding. Stripped of his usual control and power, James had spent most of the night stretched out on the cold marble floor alongside other terrified guests. His custom-tailored suit, now wrinkled and damp with sweat, felt more like a prison uniform than the symbol of prestige it had been a few hours ago.

He hadn’t slept much—not that anyone had. Every shuffle of movement, every faint noise from the kidnappers, had sent his heart racing. By the time the weak morning light began filtering through the windows, James felt drained. Around him, the other guests began to stir, their faces pale, their eyes haunted. The luxurious ballroom, with its golden chandeliers and immaculate décor, had become a grotesque parody of its former self.

The once-vibrant groom was now a hollow version of himself. Lee Sanghoon looked as if he’d aged a decade overnight, his face buried in trembling hands.

And then there were the missing guests—Woo Jungho, Yoo Harin, and the bride Han Yejin. No one had seen them since they were taken away hours ago, and their absence hung heavy in the air.

James hated this. Hated being powerless, hated not knowing the plan, and most of all, hated the feeling that his own secrets might be unearthed in the chaos.

The quiet murmur of the hostages was abruptly shattered by the heavy thud of footsteps approaching the ballroom. A wave of tension rippled through the room as the doors swung open. Two masked men entered, their presence commanding immediate attention.

Although the crew wore identical sharp suits and eerie Hahoetal masks, it was clear who the alphas were. One of them, Barcelona, sauntered in with a swagger so self-assured it could’ve made a catwalk model look clumsy. Even behind his mask, James could feel the intensity of the man’s charisma. His movements were smooth, deliberate—too confident for comfort. There was something unnervingly predatory about the way he scanned the room, like he was searching for his next victim, a faint trace of amusement in his posture.

Beside him was Havana, whose demeanor couldn’t have been more different. While Barcelona exuded dangerous charm, Havana carried the raw, unfiltered menace of someone who had nothing to prove but everything to enforce. His broad shoulders and deliberate, almost lazy steps made it clear he was the muscle here—but there was an unnerving brightness in his tone when he spoke, as though this was all some kind of twisted game.

“Good morning, everyone!” Barcelona’s smooth voice rang out, playful yet dripping with mockery. “Sleep well? Oh wait—of course you didn’t.” He chuckled lightly, his tone infuriatingly casual given the situation.

Havana chimed in, his voice gruff but amused. “Don’t worry. We’ve got just the thing to wake you up—morning activities!”

The room erupted into whispers of panic as Barcelona pulled a folded list from his pocket, snapping it open with a dramatic flourish. “Now, we’ll need a few volunteers for today’s… activities.” His sing-song tone sent a chill down James’ spine.

“Volunteers?” a guest murmured faintly, their voice trembling.

“Oh, you misunderstand,” Havana interrupted, crossing his arms with a wolfish grin. “We’ve already picked the lucky winners.”

Barcelona snapped his fingers. “Names, Havana.”

Havana leaned against the wall, pretending to scan the crowd with a thoughtful hum. “Hmm, let’s see… First up, Minister Kim Do-hee. You’ve been selected!” His words were cheerful, but the look he sent in Do-hee’s direction promised nothing good.

Do-hee, the usually unflappable Minister of Defense, flinched. “You can’t possibly—” she began, but Barcelona cut her off.

“No, no, don’t thank us yet,” he teased, waving a hand. “We’re just getting started.”

Havana pointed a finger next. “Next up, CEO Kang Sungmin. Congratulations!”

Kang opened his mouth to protest but froze under Havana’s glare. The real estate tycoon, who had spent his career bulldozing his way through life, looked disturbingly small now.

“And last, but certainly not least…” Barcelona paused dramatically, dragging out the moment before his gaze landed squarely on James. “Ah, our dear foreign diplomat. Mr. James Wilson, come on down!”

James’ blood turned to ice.

“Absolutely not,” James blurted out, his voice firm despite the rising panic clawing at his chest. “I’m a diplomat. You don’t want to—”

“Diplomat?” Havana interrupted with a mocking laugh. “Oh, good! That means you’re used to handling tense situations. You’ll fit right in.”

Kim Do-hee was already on her feet, her face taut with fury. “Do you realize who I am? I demand—”

Barcelona stepped closer, cutting her off with a lazy flick of his wrist. “You can demand all you want, sweetheart. But unless you want a bullet in that designer head of yours, I suggest you cooperate.”

Kang Sungmin tried a different tactic, his voice trembling but persuasive. “Listen, I’m a very wealthy man. Whatever you need, I can—”

“Is that so?” Havana grinned, leaning closer to Kang until they were practically nose to nose. “Great! Then you can afford to shut up and move.”

In the end, none of them had a choice. Barcelona and Havana’s methods were… persuasive, to say the least. A flash of a gun here, a chilling threat there, and the three “volunteers” were on their feet, albeit reluctantly.

James’ heart pounded as he walked toward the pair, trying to maintain a facade of calm. Behind him, Kim Do-hee muttered curses under her breath, while Kang Sungmin looked ready to faint.

Barcelona clapped his hands cheerfully. “See? That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

Havana leaned closer to James as they passed, his tone dripping with faux sympathy. “Don’t worry, diplomat. We’ll take real good care of you.”

James swallowed hard, his composure crumbling. For the first time in his career, he truly felt out of his depth.

*******

Kim Do-hee

Kim Do-hee had always prided herself on being unshakable. Decades in politics had taught her to maintain an ironclad demeanor, no matter the crisis. She’d stared down generals in tense war room negotiations, signed off on classified defense strategies that could vaporize entire continents, and smiled through more photo ops than she cared to count. Yet, here she was, held hostage at a wedding, of all places, with a front-row seat to chaos that no military briefing could have prepared her for.

The hostages’ groggy faces around her mirrored her own disbelief. Had it really been almost 12 hours? She couldn’t tell anymore. The once-luxurious ballroom now stank of stale sweat and fear, with slumped figures huddled together in their designer evening wear, crumpled and creased beyond recognition. Even the grand chandelier above seemed to mock them, its brilliance dulled by the collective despair below.

Her polished heels—now scuffed—were a sore reminder that she hadn’t had a chance to change since the ordeal began. And the thought of her signature red lipstick smudged? Unacceptable. If there was one thing Kim Do-hee despised more than incompetence, it was disarray.

She bit back her frustration as her gaze flicked toward the ballroom doors, her mind racing. Where the hell are the police? The National Intelligence Service? The goddamned FBI? Was the entire world taking a leisurely coffee break while she, a sitting Minister of Defense, was held captive by a group of lunatics in masks? Unacceptable.

Despite her fury, she knew better than to show it. She stayed stone-faced, her sharp eyes cataloging every move the kidnappers made. They were clever, she had to admit. There hadn’t been a single misstep on their part—not yet.

When those two walked into the room, though, even Kim Do-hee felt her pulse quicken.

Barcelona and Havana entered the ballroom like they owned the place, their identical suits pristine and their Hahoetal masks gleaming under the dim chandelier light. Yet, for all their uniformity, the stark difference in their demeanors was enough to send a chill through the room.

Kim Do-hee noted how the other hostages avoided eye contact with the duo, their heads lowering instinctively, like prey sensing danger.

The ballroom fell into dead silence, when Havana read off the names of the three „volunteers“.

Kim Do-hee exchanged a glance with Kang Sungmin and James Wilson. The real estate tycoon’s face was pale as milk, while the diplomat looked like he was calculating how quickly he could negotiate his way out of this nightmare.

“Let’s not keep the audience waiting,” Barcelona added, gesturing toward the door with a mock bow. “Chop-chop!”

The three of them shuffled out of the ballroom, their movements stiff with dread. Kim Do-hee could feel the weight of the other hostages’ eyes on her back, their collective unease practically tangible.

They were led down a series of hallways until they reached a room flooded with light. Kim Do-hee blinked against the glare, her sharp eyes taking in the setup before them.

It was a improvised makeshift studio. Bright lights illuminated a small stage, where a man and a woman sat in cheap-looking chairs, papers clutched in their hands. They looked exhausted—skin pale, eyes sunken—but the cameras in front of them were rolling, capturing their every strained movement.

Behind the setup stood two more masked figures. One was seated at a laptop, typing away with an air of casual efficiency. The other, standing tall, wore the same suit and mask as the rest, but his commanding posture made it clear he was in charge.

“Good morning!” the standing man said, spreading his arms like a game show host. “Welcome to today’s special broadcast. I’m Vienna, and I’ll be your host for this segment.”

Kim Do-hee’s stomach sank. Whatever this was, it wasn’t going to end well.

Kang Sungmin, to his credit, found his voice. “What the hell is this about?” he demanded, though his voice cracked halfway through.

Vienna ignored him, continuing as though he hadn’t spoken. “I’m thrilled to announce that you three have been chosen as today’s stars! The audience is dying to meet you.”

“What audience?” James Wilson asked sharply, though his voice was less authoritative than he probably intended.

“Oh, you’ll see,” Vienna said with a chuckle.

Kim Do-hee’s gut tightened. She wasn’t sure what was more unsettling—the situation or the way Vienna seemed to be enjoying himself.

As Kang Sungmin began sputtering protests, Kim Do-hee forced herself to remain calm. She couldn’t afford to panic. Not yet. But as she looked at the camera lens trained on her, she had the sinking feeling that this wasn’t going to be a simple Q&A session.

*******

[Live Broadcast - Wedding Korea TV]

The screen buzzes to life again, revealing the brightly lit set where chaos and mystery have become synonymous. The two moderators, Kim Hyejin and Park Jinwoo, sit at their now-familiar table, their nerves frayed and evident. The camera pans slowly to capture the stillness of the air before locking onto the ominous figure standing before them—the masked man, his Hahoetal mask adding a surreal eeriness to his composed presence.

With a small tilt of his head, the masked man begins to speak, his voice smooth yet dripping with amusement.

[Masked Man]:
“Ah, you’re all back. Still glued to your screens, are you? Good. I wouldn’t want you to miss what’s next.”

[He gestures lazily to the table in front of him, where a piece of paper lies ominously.]

[Masked Man]:
“First, some updates about our lovely bride, Han Yejin. I hope you’ve all been keeping an eye on the auction. You see, we contacted the top three bidders—oh, they were eager, very eager. And for good reason. Each one of them now holds the key to Han Yejin’s darkest, most unbelievable secret.”

[He chuckles, his laugh soft but chilling, as the moderators squirm in their seats.]

[Masked Man]:
“Now, before you start begging for the details, let me make this clear. The buyers wanted to remain anonymous, so you won’t hear from me about what the secret is. But…”

[The masked man pauses, turning to look directly into the camera, his eyes narrowing behind the mask.]

[Masked Man]:
“…secrets have a way of leaking, don’t they? Newspapers, social media, the works. Keep your ears to the ground, folks. Who knows? Maybe some of the bidders are more than happy to sell this secret to the press. Or maybe not.”

[The moderators exchange terrified glances as he claps his hands together, the sound echoing ominously in the silent room.]

[Masked Man]:
“But let’s not dwell too much on that, shall we? Wouldn’t want things to get boring. Now, for todays entertainment…”

[He steps to the side, gesturing dramatically as the camera pans to reveal three individuals seated on a newly arranged couch. Each of them looks utterly petrified, their hands fidgeting nervously in their laps. The masked man walks toward them slowly, taking his time, as though savoring their discomfort.]

[Masked Man]:
“…ladies and gentlemen, let me introduce our very special guests.”

[He stops abruptly, his presence looming over the three individuals as he motions to the moderators.]

[Masked Man]:
“Hyejin, Jinwoo, do the honors, please.”

[Both moderators hesitate, their hands trembling as they shuffle through their notes. Finally, Kim Hyejin clears her throat, her voice barely steady.]

[Kim Hyejin]:
“O-Our first guest is… Kim Do-hee, the Minister of Defense.”

[The camera zooms in on Kim Do-hee, her sharp suit doing little to mask the fear etched across her face. She sits rigid, her jaw tight, her hands clutching at the edge of the couch. Her red lipstick, normally her trademark, is slightly smudged around the edges.]

[Kim Hyejin]:
“Minister Kim is known for her unwavering commitment to law and order, but, uh… well… tonight, she might have to… d-defend herself in a different way.”

[Hyejin’s voice falters as Park Jinwoo jumps in, trying to smooth over the awkwardness.]

[Park Jinwoo]:
“Yes, yes, uh… Minister Kim’s… impeccable record speaks for itself, doesn’t it?”

[The masked man laughs softly, cutting through the tension.]

[Masked Man]:
“Impeccable? Hmm. We’ll see about that. Next.”

[Hyejin stammers as she reads the next name.]

[Kim Hyejin]:
“J-James Wilson, a distinguished diplomat from the United States…”

[The camera pans to James Wilson, who shifts uncomfortably in his seat, his polished demeanor now replaced by visible anxiety. His expensive suit is immaculate, but a faint sheen of sweat glistens on his forehead.]

[Park Jinwoo]:
“Diplomatic immunity aside, uh, Mr. Wilson… seems to have, um, caught our attention for reasons that are… not entirely diplomatic.”

[Wilson glares briefly at the moderators, but his fear outweighs his anger.]

[Masked Man]:
“Oh, James. Don’t look so sour. You’re a guest of honor, after all.”

[The masked man’s tone drips with sarcasm as he turns to the final guest.]

[Kim Hyejin]:
“And… lastly, we have CEO Kang Sungmin, the head of… a leading real estate company.”

[The camera zooms in on Kang Sungmin, whose confident exterior is cracking. He adjusts his tie nervously, his fingers twitching as though resisting the urge to bolt from his seat.]

[Park Jinwoo]:
“Mr. Kang is known for his, uh… innovative development projects. A real visionary in the real estate world…”

[Masked Man]:
“‘Visionary’? That’s one way to put it. Another might be… ruthless.”

[The masked man steps forward, his tone suddenly playful yet sharp.]

[Masked Man]:
“Now that we’ve met our contestants—oops, I mean guests—it’s time to explain the rules. We’re hosting a little… talk show.”

[He claps his hands once more, the sound ringing out like a gunshot. The three guests visibly flinch.]

[Masked Man]:
“Here’s how it works: You, dear viewers, will vote for the person whose secret you’re dying to know. Each vote comes with a small donation, of course. At the end of the voting period, we’ll reveal the secret of the person with the most votes—at the next livestream, right here, for your viewing pleasure.”

[The three guests exchange wary glances, their fear palpable.]

[Masked Man]:
“Oh, don’t look so grim! You have some time to convince the audience why they should vote for someone else. Surely you know something about each other that might be… more interesting? So, go on. Plead your case. Or throw each other under the bus. The choice is yours. Just remember—only one of you will face the truth at the next livestream.”

[The masked man steps back, his arms crossed as he watches them squirm. The camera lingers on their faces, each one a portrait of desperation and terror.]

[Masked Man]:
“Let the games begin.”

[A countdown timer ticks ominously in the corner: 59:37 min remaining.]

[The camera pans to the two moderators, Kim Hyejin and Park Jinwoo, who are clearly struggling to keep their composure. Hyejin’s smile is forced, her eyes darting nervously to the masked man. Jinwoo’s voice quivers slightly as he flips through his cue cards, his hand visibly shaking.]

[Kim Hyejin]:
“R-Right! Moving on to todays questions. Uh, Minister Kim, let’s start with you!”

[The camera zooms in on Kim Do-hee, her jaw clenched so tight it looks like she’s chewing on her own rage.]

[Kim Hyejin]:
“Critics often say your policies lack compassion. How do you respond to accusations that you’re… um… heartless?”

[Kim Do-hee takes a deep breath, her voice sharp and cold.]

[Kim Do-hee]:
“Leadership isn’t about winning popularity contests. Compassion is a luxury when national security is at stake.”

[Masked Man]:
“Oh, sure, Minister. National security. Tell me, does that include the personal security of your offshore accounts? Or is that just a coincidence?”

[Kim Do-hee’s head snaps toward him, her composure wavering for the first time.]

[Kim Do-hee]:
“You’re insinuating something baseless.”

[Masked Man]:
“Am I? Don’t worry, Minister. The voters will decide if it’s baseless. Won’t they?”

[The camera cuts to the audience poll leaderboard, showing a sudden spike in votes for Kim Do-hee, her face darkening as she sees it.]

[Park Jinwoo]:
“A-Alright! Mr. Wilson, your turn!”

[James Wilson, visibly irritated, crosses his arms.]

[Park Jinwoo]:
“You’ve been a diplomat for over twenty years. What’s the most compromising situation you’ve ever been in?”

[James Wilson]: [stiffens]
“That’s classified.”

[Masked Man]:
“‘Classified,’ he says. How convenient. Come on, James, give the people what they paid for. How about that little incident in Jakarta? You know, the one with the diamonds and the… fireworks?”

[Wilson’s face drains of color, his voice tight:]

[James Wilson]:
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

[Masked Man]:
“Oh, don’t play dumb. It doesn’t suit you. But fine, keep your secrets for now. Let’s see if the voters want to pry them out of you.”

[Kim Hyejin]:
“R-Right. CEO Kang, let’s talk about your business ethics. You’ve been called ruthless in your pursuit of success. How do you balance ambition with morality?”

[Kang Sungmin, sweating under the studio lights, forces a laugh.]

[Kang Sungmin]:
“Oh, it’s all about balance, of course! Speaking of balance, Minister Kim here—didn’t you once cut funding for housing to build a bunker? Now that’s ruthless.”

[Kim Do-hee narrows her eyes, her voice dangerously low.]

[Kim Do-hee]:
“That decision saved lives. You wouldn’t understand the weight of responsibility.”

[Masked Man]:
“Oh, this is fun. Keep going, Kang. Maybe if you dig hard enough, you’ll find a secret of your own you forgot about. Like that little project in Gangnam… ring a bell?”

[Kang Sungmin]: [His smile falters.]
“I-I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

[Masked Man]:
“Sure you don’t. But the voters might. Speaking of, how are those polls looking?”

[The camera cuts to the leaderboard again, showing Kang Sungmin gaining votes rapidly.]

[Park Jinwoo]:
“Mr. Wilson, care to chime in?”

[Wilson exhales sharply, his patience clearly wearing thin.]

[James Wilson]:
“Why should I? It’s clear Mr. Kang here is doing an excellent job digging his own grave.”

[Kang Sungmin]:
“Excuse me? If anyone’s secrets are worth voting for, it’s yours, Mr. Diplomat. What about your little… rendezvous in Paris? Should we talk about that?”

[Wilson’s composure snaps, and he leans forward, his voice icy.]

[James Wilson]:
“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

[Kang Sungmin]:
“Oh, don’t I? Let’s just say… not all of your ‘diplomatic missions’ are in the official records.”

[Kim Hyejin]:
“Okay, okay, let’s bring it back to the audience. Minister Kim, some say you’ve been too…focused on defense and not enough on human rights”

[Kim Do-hee sighs audibly, clearly trying to maintain her composure.]

[Kim Do-hee]:
“My track record speaks for itself. But if anyone here needs to justify their actions, it’s Mr. Kang. Isn’t it true your company’s latest project displaced hundreds of families without proper compensation?”

[Kang Sungmin sputters, his nervous smile cracking.]

[Kang Sungmin]:
“That’s… a gross misrepresentation of the situation!”

[Masked Man]:
“Oh, Sungmin. You’re trying so hard, it’s adorable. But let me give you a little tip: when you point fingers, three point back at you. Or in your case, a whole neighborhood points back.”

[Park Jinwoo]:
“Minister Kim, Mr. Wilson, any final words before we check the live results?”

[Kang Sungmin, now visibly panicking, blurts out:]

[Kang Sung-min]:
“Y-You should vote for the Minister! Her secrets are way worse than mine!”

[Kim Do-hee’s glare is sharp enough to pierce steel, while Wilson mutters something under his breath that sounds suspiciously like a swear word.]

[Masked Man]:
“And don’t forget: your vote doesn’t just reveal their secrets—it decides their fate. Tick-tock, everyone. See you at the next livestream!”

[Hyejin flinches visibly, her hands gripping her microphone like it’s a lifeline. Jinwoo fumbles with his cards, mumbling something about the next segment.]

[The screen cuts to the timer, ticking down ominously: 44:12 min remaining.]

*******

Jungkook

The police tent buzzed with tension as officers clustered around a screen streaming the live broadcast. The livestream was about to begin, and everyone—including Jungkook, Seokjin, and Captain Park—was primed to analyze every detail.

Jungkook leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, a frown already etched into his face. Han Yejin, the bride, would be the obvious focus of todays spectacle. The team had spent the past hour preparing for every potential outcome, piecing together every scrap of information on her background to predict Seonsaengnim’s next move.

“Alright,” Captain Park said, pacing the cramped tent like a caged tiger. “This livestream is our chance. Han Yejin is the key. They press is informed how to handle this.”

Jungkook didn’t bother responding. His eyes were glued to the screen as the broadcast began. The masked man appeared first, standing ominously in front of the familiar set—polished, professional, and designed to make even the bravest viewers squirm.

The camera panned, revealing three seated guests: Kim Do-hee, the steely Minister of Defense; James Wilson, the slick foreign diplomat; and Kang Sung-min, the jittery CEO.

The police tent fell into a stunned silence before erupting into chaos.

“What the—” Jungkook sat upright, his hand reflexively slamming the table. “Where is Han Yejin?!”

“Is that… Minister Kim?” an officer stammered, his face pale.

“And James Wilson?! The freaking diplomat?” Seokjin’s voice pitched higher than usual, his fingers frozen over his keyboard.

Captain Park’s expression darkened like a thundercloud. “Son of a—what is this?!”

“We prepped for Han Yejin,” Jungkook growled, his mind racing. “We didn’t plan for—” He pointed at the screen, his voice rising with each name. “The Minister of Defense?! A foreign diplomat?! And—”

“Kang Sungmin,” Seokjin muttered, visibly trying to process the mess. “Okay, he’s just a CEO. That’s… manageable.”

Jungkook shot him an incredulous look. “Manageable?! He’s tied to half the corrupt deals in Seoul!”

“And that guy,” Seokjin said, pointing at Wilson, “has diplomatic immunity! Do you know what happens if this goes sideways? We’re talking international scandal level sideways.”

“Shut it, both of you,” Captain Park barked, his face red. “Focus on the livestream!”

On-screen, the guests shifted uncomfortably as the masked man began his interrogation.

Jungkook felt the bile rise in his throat.

“This is different,” he muttered. “He’s never had this many high-profile targets in one broadcast. What’s he trying to do?”

“Raise the stakes,” Seokjin said grimly. “And judging by the way Captain Park’s about to explode, I’d say it’s working.”

When the broadcast ended, the tent fell into a tense, suffocating silence. Captain Park’s nostrils flared as he spun on his heel, grabbing the phone off his desk with a sharp, “Out! Everyone except Jungkook and Seokjin, get out!”

The officers filed out without a word, their heads down.

“FBI,” Captain Park muttered, dialing furiously.

The call was brief, and from the snippets Jungkook overheard, it didn’t sound good.

“We’re this close to an international catastrophe,” Park hissed into the phone. “Yes, I’m aware of Wilson’s status… No, we cannot let those secrets get out—” He paused, listening, his fingers drumming impatiently on the desk. “Fine. I’ll handle it.”

He slammed the phone down and turned to Seokjin.

“Tell me you can rig that goddamn website.”

Seokjin blinked. “Rig it? Captain, that site has some of the best encryption I’ve ever seen. I don’t know how we’d—”

“Then buy the votes!” Park bellowed.

Jungkook gaped at him. “Are you serious? You want to pay these criminals?!”

“You think I like this, Jungkook?!” Park shot back. “You think I want to funnel money to lunatics playing dress-up?!”

“Then don’t!”

“This isn’t up for debate!” Park’s voice cracked like a whip. “Do you have any idea what happens if Kim Do-hee’s secrets come out? Or Wilson’s?! The scandals we’ve seen so far are a joke compared to what they’re hiding!”

Seokjin shifted uncomfortably. “But Captain, even if we buy votes, there’s no guarantee—”

“Make it happen, Seokjin!” Park snapped. “Kang Sungmin is the least of our problems. We’re going to make sure he’s the fall guy. Understand?”

Seokjin hesitated, then nodded reluctantly. “I’ll do what I can.”

Jungkook slammed his fist on the table. “This is wrong. You’re playing right into their hands!”

“I don’t care!” Park shot back. “This isn’t about right or wrong. It’s about minimizing damage. You think I like sacrificing Kang Sungmin? Tough. He’s a pawn. And sometimes, pawns have to be sacrificed.”

The tent fell silent again, the weight of the situation pressing down on all of them.

“Get to work,” Park ordered, his tone brooking no argument.

Seokjin sighed and turned back to his laptop, while Jungkook stared at the screen, the masked man’s words echoing in his mind.

“Sometimes pawns have to be sacrificed,” he muttered bitterly. “And what happens when we’re the pawns?”

******

Seokjin

Seokjin stared at the glowing screen, the flickering light casting sharp shadows over his furrowed brow. HiddenTruths. The website was nothing short of a masterpiece—a labyrinth of encryption so layered and complex it felt more like an art piece than a tool for extortion. He should admire it. A part of him did. But right now, all he could feel was a sick twist in his stomach as he prepared to do something that went against every principle he thought he had when he joined the police force.

“Buy the votes,” Captain Park had barked, as though it was the simplest thing in the world.

Votes. Fake votes. For Kang Sungmin, of all people. It wasn’t just wrong—it was pathetic. Seokjin had done morally questionable things before. Hell, he’d thrived in moral grey zones for years when he went by the name Ghost in the shadowy world of hacking. But he thought he’d left all that behind when he joined the force, trading his black hat for a badge.

But here he was, in the middle of a morally ambiguous dumpster fire, creating burner accounts to buy votes for a corrupt CEO.

Jungkook sat across from him, silent but visibly fuming. His disapproval hung in the air like a storm cloud, and Seokjin tried to ignore it as he began the process of creating burner accounts to purchase votes.

“Do you even hear yourself?” Jungkook muttered.

“Orders are orders,” Seokjin replied without looking up, his fingers flying over the keyboard.

“You think this is the way?”

“No, I think it’s a way,” Seokjin snapped, his patience fraying. “And I don’t have the luxury of debating ethics with you right now.”

Jungkook’s glare was scorching, but he didn’t respond.

Seokjin ignored him and continued typing, creating account after account with the efficiency of someone who’d clearly done this before. Each username was a work of art: KimchiKing92, VoteForKang123, SungminFanboy, and his personal favorite, TotallyNotThePolice99.

The interface of HiddenTruths was deceptively simple—sleek, minimalist, with no frills to distract from its functionality. But beneath the surface lay the kind of complexity that only a handful of people in the world could comprehend. It was brilliant. Too brilliant.

He paused.

The backend coding… there was something about it. Something familiar.

It wasn’t obvious—not something any run-of-the-mill hacker or cyber sleuth would catch. But to Seokjin, it was like hearing an old melody in the static. A distinct rhythm in the lines of code, a signature style hidden in the subtle quirks of the website’s architecture.

His pulse quickened.

It couldn’t be.

He leaned in closer, his eyes narrowing as he dissected the code. Every line confirmed what he didn’t want to believe. This wasn’t just a coincidence. It was him.

Yoongi.

Seokjin’s breath caught.

He hadn’t heard that name in years—not since the days when Ghost and Dædalus ruled the dark web like twin kings. Yoongi, under the alias Dædalus, had been his partner in countless heists, digital infiltrations, and elaborate schemes. Together, they were unstoppable—a perfect harmony of Seokjin’s calculated precision and Yoongi’s chaotic brilliance.

But those days hadn’t lasted.

Seokjin’s conscience had started gnawing at him, louder and sharper with every passing job. It began with small questions—Should we really do this? What if this hurts someone?—questions Yoongi always dismissed with a lazy shrug or a sharp joke. But Seokjin couldn’t ignore the growing weight of guilt. He wanted out, wanted to stop looking over his shoulder and start living on the right side of the law.

The next morning, Yoongi was gone.

No warning, no goodbye—just an empty chair in the internet café.

Seokjin had told himself it didn’t matter, that it was better this way. Yoongi had always been a flight risk, and they were bound to part ways eventually. But deep down, he’d never stopped wondering where Yoongi had gone or why he’d left without a real goodbye.

And now, staring at the name Cairo etched into this tangled web of lies and heist plans, Seokjin’s chest tightened. He didn’t need proof. He knew it was him.

“Damn you, Yoongi,” Seokjin muttered under his breath, a mix of anger and reluctant admiration curling his lips into a grim smile.

Cairo.

His memory yanked him back to a cramped, smoke-filled apartment years ago, where the air always smelled of instant ramen and three-day-old coffee.

“Hyung, you’re doing it wrong,” a raspy voice had grumbled from behind him. Seokjin, sitting cross-legged on the floor, had glared at the younger man lounging on a beanbag with a laptop precariously balanced on his knees.

“I’m not doing it wrong, Yoongi,” Seokjin had snapped, stabbing at his keyboard dramatically. “I’m testing vulnerabilities in their firewall.”

Yoongi had rolled his eyes so hard they practically did a full 360. “You’re brute-forcing it like a noob. I told you, finesse, hyung. It’s about finesse.”

“Finesse doesn’t get the job done faster, genius,” Seokjin had fired back.

Yoongi had leaned over, tapped three keys on Seokjin’s laptop, and the whole system they were hacking had folded like a cheap chair. Yoongi then leaned back in his beanbag, smirking. “See? Finesse.”

Seokjin’s jaw had dropped. “What the—how did you—? You just—”

“Because I’m me.” Yoongi had shrugged, closing his laptop with a satisfying click.

“I hate you.”

“No, you don’t. You just hate that I’m smarter than you.”

Another memory appeared. Years ago, in the dim, smoky glow of a dingy internet café in Daegu, Seokjin and Yoongi sat side by side, their monitors casting eerie blue light onto their faces.

It had been a typical night for them—breaking into encrypted systems, piecing through hidden secrets, all while sharing a bag of greasy chips. The quiet hum of computers and occasional click of a mechanical keyboard were their soundtrack, punctuated by Seokjin’s occasional frustrated groans whenever he hit a dead end.

“You need a name,” Yoongi had said suddenly, breaking the silence. His tone was nonchalant, but his fingers never stopped dancing across the keyboard.

Seokjin glanced at him, a chip halfway to his mouth. “What do you mean? I already have a name.”

Yoongi rolled his eyes, his smirk sharp as ever. “Not your real name, dumbass. A hacker name. You know, an alias. Something cool. Unique.”

“Why?” Seokjin asked, crunching down on the chip. “You think anyone cares about names when you’re busy breaking into a government database? They’ll just call me ‘prisoner’ when they catch me.”

“First of all,” Yoongi said, leaning back and stretching, “that’s a defeatist attitude. Second, you’re not exactly ‘Anonymous’ material. You need something that says, ‘I’m good, but I’m not trying too hard.’”

Seokjin arched a brow. “Oh, like your name isn’t trying too hard? What’s yours again? Dædalus?”

Yoongi grinned, the glow of the monitor reflecting in his dark eyes. “Exactly. It’s perfect.”

“Perfectly pretentious,” Seokjin muttered.

“Shut up and listen,” Yoongi said, leaning forward like he was about to tell some grand secret. “Dædalus was the greatest craftsman in Greek mythology. He built the labyrinth, outsmarted a king, and made wings to escape when he was trapped. Genius stuff.”

Seokjin tilted his head, unimpressed. “So, what, you’re comparing yourself to some ancient Greek dude? You’re not exactly building wings, Yoongi. We’re sitting in an internet café, eating stale chips, in Daegu.”

Yoongi chuckled. “That’s the point. Daegu’s my labyrinth. It’s a city that traps you in its monotony, and I’m the guy smart enough to get out.” He shrugged, feigning modesty. “Also, it sounds cool.”

Seokjin snorted. “You could’ve just said that part and saved us the TED Talk.”

Yoongi gave him a look, the kind that meant he wasn’t done yet. “But you, Seokjin… You need something different. You’re not flashy. You slip in and out, leave no trace.”

“That’s called being careful,” Seokjin said, annoyed.

“That’s called being a ghost,” Yoongi countered, his voice quieter now, almost reverent. “You don’t get noticed, but you’re always there. Always watching. Nobody sees you coming, but they feel you when you’re gone.”

Seokjin paused, the words settling over him. He wanted to brush it off, make a joke about how corny Yoongi was, but deep down, it resonated. Ghost. It wasn’t just a name—it was who he was. Invisible but effective.

“Fine,” Seokjin said at last, leaning back and folding his arms. “I’ll be Ghost.”

Yoongi grinned, triumphant. “Good. Now get your ghostly ass in gear and crack this firewall. We’ve got fifteen minutes before the admins wake up.”

The memory played out in vivid detail, and Seokjin couldn’t help but smirk bitterly at the irony. Yoongi had chosen his name because it suited him, but now, staring at the name Dædalus embedded in the source code of the HiddenTruths website, Seokjin felt more like a ghost than ever. Invisible. Powerless. Trapped in the labyrinth of his past.

“Still as dramatic as ever,” Seokjin muttered under his breath, his voice tinged with frustration and nostalgia. “Daegu’s Dædalus.”

He leaned back in his chair, letting out a long sigh. His old name hung in the air between him and the screen, like an echo from a life he thought he’d left behind. Ghost and Dædalus, reunited in the worst possible way.

Back in the present, Seokjin groaned, burying his face in his hands. “Of all the hackers in the world… it had to be him.”

Yoongi had chosen a new name for himself, but his style was unmistakable. The way the encryption folded in on itself like an Escher staircase, the use of unique markers only a seasoned hacker would notice. But what sealed it was the Easter egg embedded deep within the site—a phrase written in hex code, invisible unless you knew exactly where to look.

“Ghosts never forget.”

Seokjin leaned back, his heart pounding.

Yoongi was here. Involved in this heist. And, if his instincts were right, sitting inside the Lotte World Tower at this very moment.

He stared at the screen, his mind racing. What the hell was Yoongi doing here? Was he working for Seonsaengnim? Running the tech for this entire operation? And, more importantly, what was Seokjin supposed to do with this information?

If he said anything, it could blow his own cover. He’d worked hard to bury Ghost’s legacy, to build a new life as a cop. But if he stayed silent… could he trust Yoongi to keep his secret?

His gaze lingered on the folder containing the hours of audio he’d extracted from the bugging devices. It was maddening to sift through, but one phrase in particular had been playing in his head like a broken record.

“If you don’t shut up, I’ll call him ‘Your Replacement.’”

Cairo’s words. Cold, cutting, with just the faintest edge of irritation. It wasn’t the sound of the voice—it had been distorted, scrambled enough that no one could recognize it outright—but something about the way he spoke refused to let Seokjin rest.

Now that he knew the truth, Seokjin’s hands trembled slightly as he clicked on the audio file. The familiar crackle of static greeted him before the voices came through.

He hit pause, his fingers hovering over the touchpad. It wasn’t just the tone—it was the rhythm, the deliberate way he spaced his words, the subtle emphasis on unbelievable. That sharp cadence was unmistakable. It was Yoongi. It had always been Yoongi.

Seokjin hit play again, his ears now attuned not to the sound, but to the essence of the voice—the way Yoongi let his annoyance simmer just enough to show, how he always paired sarcasm with precision, each word like a blade cutting through the air.

Seokjin leaned back in his chair, letting out a low breath. There it was. He could practically see Yoongi sitting across from him all those years ago, throwing out the same kind of sharp-edged remarks during their late-night hacking marathons.

“Damn it, Yoongi,” Seokjin muttered under his breath, scrubbing a hand through his hair. “Why didn’t I catch it sooner?”

But the answer was obvious: he hadn’t wanted to. Recognizing Yoongi would’ve meant acknowledging the life he thought he’d left behind, the mistakes he’d buried in a shallow grave.

He clicked the file closed and stared at his laptop screen, the folder of recordings glowing like a ghostly reminder. His codename had never felt more appropriate than it did now. Ghost. That’s what he’d chosen when he left the dark web, thinking he could disappear into the law and reinvent himself. It was meant to be a clean break—a signal to himself that he could leave behind everything Dædalus represented.

But Yoongi? Yoongi had never been the type to leave quietly. Even now, his presence haunted Seokjin, threading itself through encrypted files, distorted voices, and old memories Seokjin had tried to forget.

“Ghost,” Seokjin whispered to himself, his lips curling into a bitter smile. He’d chosen that name to symbolize his escape. But now it felt more like a curse. Because no matter how much he tried to vanish, Yoongi had found him again—just like he always did.

The tent’s flap opened, and Jungkook strode in, cutting through Seokjin’s spiraling thoughts.

“You won’t believe this,” Jungkook said, his voice tinged with satisfaction. “They got someone.”

Seokjin blinked, trying to process the words. “What?”

“Special forces,” Jungkook continued, pulling out a chair and sitting down. “They arrested someone outside the pick-up point we got from the bugged devices in the tower. The one named ‘Signal.’”

“They’re bringing him here now,” Jungkook added, a rare grin tugging at his lips. “Finally, a win for us.”

Seokjin forced a smile, but his mind was elsewhere. 

He glanced back at the screen, at the digital breadcrumbs Yoongi had unknowingly left behind.

“Ghosts never forget.”

Neither did Seokjin. But what he did next could determine whether his past stayed buried—or dragged him down with it.