How to play the Gayageum
[Live Broadcast - Wedding Korea TV]
[The broadcast is split into two sections: on one side, the masked man standing leisurely with his tablet, and on the other, the live poll results flashing in bold red letters. The audience has spoken.]
SELECTED FILE: PROJECT IRON SHIELD
[The masked man tilts his head as he reads the results, letting out a low, amused chuckle. He taps the screen of his tablet, enlarging the file for dramatic effect. Kim Do-hee, still seated under the harsh spotlight, doesn’t move—her expression is frozen, her jaw clenched so tightly it might snap.]
[Masked Man]:
“Well, well, well. The people have taste. I must admit, this was my personal favorite.”
[He lifts his gaze to the camera, his Hahoetal mask grinning wide.]
[Masked Man]:
“Shall we begin?”
[The studio falls deathly silent. Even the moderators seem to be holding their breath, their hands clasped so tightly their knuckles turn white.]
Project Iron Shield: A Defense Initiative or a National Embarrassment?
[The screen behind the masked man flickers to life, displaying blurry but unmistakable classified military documents. A few words are blacked out, but key phrases jump out immediately: “Unauthorized Weapons Testing”, “Civilian Collateral Damage,” and most damning of all—“Direct Ministerial Approval: K. Do-hee.”]
[Masked Man]:
“Now, Minister, I’d love to hear your explanation for this little… passion project of yours.”
[Kim Do-hee’s nails dig into the armrests of her chair, but her face remains impassive. A muscle in her jaw ticks.]
[Kim Do-hee]:
“I have no comment.”
[The masked man tsks, shaking his head.]
[Masked Man]:
“No, no, Minister. That’s what politicians say when there’s a slight accounting error. This? This is so much worse.”
[He swipes on the tablet, and the screen changes to display grainy surveillance footage—covert military test sites, soldiers in unmarked uniforms, and—oh—was that a missile test near a civilian fishing village? The footage zooms in on a burning boat, the figures on board scrambling into the water.]
[Masked Man]:
“Oops. Looks like someone didn’t read the fine print before pressing the big red button.”
[A murmur runs through the live chat, comments flooding in so fast the feed can barely keep up.]
“HOLY SH*T DID THEY BOMB THEIR OWN PEOPLE???”
“So THIS is where our tax money is going, huh?”
“Oh she’s SO finished.”
[Kim Do-hee exhales slowly, controlling her temper with the precision of someone used to hostile press conferences. She finally speaks.]
[Kim Do-hee]:
“You’re misrepresenting the situation.”
[Masked Man]:
“Am I? Then by all means, represent it correctly. The floor is yours.”
[She hesitates—just for a split second—but the masked man catches it immediately, laughing softly.]
[Masked Man]:
“No? No clarification? Then let me do the honors. Project Iron Shield was supposed to be South Korea’s next-generation missile defense system. Only problem? It didn’t work.”
[He swipes again, revealing a classified report from an internal military review. Key sections are highlighted in neon yellow.]
“Significant miscalculations in trajectory resulted in test failures.”
“Financial irregularities suggest misallocation of funds.”
“Ministerial involvement in altering risk assessment reports.”
[Masked Man]:
“Now, let’s break this down in simpler terms for our dear viewers, yeah? Not only did the project fail spectacularly, but some of that defense budget seems to have… mysteriously disappeared.”
[A new set of documents appears—bank statements, offshore account transfers, some under names suspiciously similar to those of Kim Do-hee’s closest aides.]
[Masked Man]:
“Minister, would you like to comment on where these millions of won actually went? Or should we just assume someone’s been investing in a very nice retirement plan?”
[Kim Do-hee’s eyes narrow slightly, but she says nothing.]
[Masked Man]:
“No? Well, let’s not bore the audience with just financial fraud. Let’s talk about that last test. The one that left a few… unintended victims.”
[The footage plays again—this time enhanced. The burning fishing boat, the desperate figures in the water. A timestamp in the corner shows it happened three years ago.]
[Masked Man]:
“A little village off the southern coast. Population? About 300 hardworking fishermen and their families. A routine weapons test was supposed to take place in open water. But something went wrong.”
[The footage cuts to a government statement from three years ago. Kim Do-hee’s younger self stands at a podium, addressing reporters with her usual unshakable poise.]
[Kim Do-hee (Past)]:
“The unfortunate fire in Yeongdo was the result of an accident involving a fishing vessel’s faulty engine. There is no evidence to suggest military involvement.”
[The screen zooms back to the present.]
[Masked Man]:
“Funny. The internal report we just saw tells a very different story.”
[He turns toward Kim Do-hee, his voice dripping with mock sympathy.]
[Masked Man]:
“Tell me, Minister—how does it feel knowing your little science experiment burned a few families alive?”
[A beat. Kim Do-hee doesn’t flinch, but her silence speaks louder than words. The moderators stare at her, horrified, as if realizing for the first time just who they’ve been sharing a studio with.]
[Park Jinwoo]:
“M-Minister Kim, surely this isn’t—”
[Kim Do-hee]:
“This is a blatant manipulation of facts.”
[Masked Man]:
“Oh? Which part? The millions you lost, the civilians who died, or the fact that you lied straight to the public’s face?”
[Another wave of furious comments flood the live chat.]
“I KNEW SHE WAS CORRUPT BUT THIS???”
“HOW DO THESE PEOPLE SLEEP AT NIGHT”
“JAIL. IMMEDIATELY.”
[Masked Man]:
“Now, Minister, I could be generous. I could let you try to justify yourself. Or…”
[The screen flickers to a new poll.]
WOULD YOU LIKE TO UNLOCK THE NEXT FILE?
[YES] — 89%
[NO] — 11%
[Masked Man]:
“Oh, look at that. The people aren’t done with you yet.”
[The camera zooms in on Kim Do-hee’s face. For the first time, a flicker of something—fear?—crosses her expression.]
[Masked Man]:
“Shall we move on to The Blue Orchid Incident?”
[With a soft click, the next file opens. The masked man doesn’t speak right away—he lets the tension simmer, his gloved finger slowly dragging across the tablet screen as if savoring the moment. The moderators shift uncomfortably in their seats, while Kim Do-hee remains still, her expression unreadable.]
[Masked Man]:
“Ah… The Blue Orchid Incident. Now, this one… this one is truly special.”
[The screen flickers back to life, revealing an image—a luxurious, dimly lit lounge with deep blue velvet seating and a massive crystal chandelier hanging above the bar. The neon sign over the entrance glows in elegant cursive: Blue Orchid Club. The name is familiar, even infamous, though no one ever speaks of it openly.]
[Masked Man]:
“Let’s take a little trip down memory lane, shall we? Seoul’s elite have their playgrounds—private clubs, exclusive parties, secret places where rules don’t apply. And in the heart of Gangnam, The Blue Orchid Club was the crown jewel of them all.”
[The image shifts to a collage of grainy surveillance shots—powerful politicians, CEOs, celebrities slipping through the club’s discreet side entrance. The photos are taken at different times, different years, but one thing remains consistent: Kim Do-hee is always there.]
[Kim Do-hee’s knuckles whiten on the armrest, but she doesn’t react beyond that.]
[Masked Man]:
“Oh, don’t look so surprised, Minister. You were quite the regular. But unlike most of your little friends, you weren’t just a guest, were you?”
[A new image appears: a financial document—a shareholder agreement. At the bottom, neatly typed, is a name: Kim Do-hee.]
[Masked Man]:
“That’s right, ladies and gentlemen. The Blue Orchid Club wasn’t just a place for our dear Minister to unwind. She owned it.”
[The live chat explodes.]
“WTF SHE WAS LITERALLY RUNNING THE PLACE???”
“Oh she’s DONE. PACK IT UP.”
“Knew she was shady but THIS???”
[The moderators gape at her. Even Park Jinwoo, who had tried to defend her earlier, seems shaken.]
[Park Jinwoo]:
“M-Minister Kim… this can’t be true.”
[Kim Do-hee]:
“This is absurd.”
[Masked Man]:
“Oh, it’s absurd, alright. But not in the way you think.”
[With a flick, the screen changes again. This time, it’s not just names—it’s contracts. Confidential agreements detailing the services offered at Blue Orchid. And they go far beyond expensive drinks and private booths.]
[Masked Man]:
“You see, The Blue Orchid Club wasn’t just about rubbing shoulders with the elite. It was… let’s call it a ‘concierge service’ for the powerful. You didn’t just offer luxury, Minister—you offered leverage.”
[The documents zoom in. Sections are highlighted.]
“Personal Discretionary Packages”
“Exclusive Membership Insurance—Security & Media Protection”
“Political Risk Management—Crisis Containment & Reputation Control”
[Masked Man]:
“Sounds fancy, huh? But let’s break it down for the audience. If you were rich enough, powerful enough, The Blue Orchid didn’t just provide entertainment—it provided protection. Got caught in a scandal? Your name disappeared from the news. Someone threatened to expose you? They disappeared first. A political rival gaining too much ground? Well…”
[The screen cuts to a series of redacted police reports. All cases linked to high-profile figures. All investigations mysteriously dropped.]
[Masked Man]:
“Let’s talk numbers. At least seventeen disappearances linked to your club. Cases dismissed. Witnesses silenced. But the best part?”
[Another file opens. A bank transaction. A massive deposit into an offshore account. The sender? Blue Orchid Holdings. The recipient? Kim Do-hee.]
[Masked Man]:
“Minister, tell me, do you sleep well at night knowing how much blood money lines your pockets?”
[A long silence. Kim Do-hee’s lips press together into a thin line.]
[Kim Do-hee]:
“This is nothing more than conspiracy theory garbage.”
[Masked Man]:
“Now, Minister, I know you love to pretend you’re untouchable, but I think our viewers might disagree. So let’s ask them, yeah?”
[A new poll flashes on the screen.]
SHOULD MINISTER KIM BE REMOVED FROM OFFICE?
[YES] — 94%
[NO] — 6%
[Kim Do-hee doesn’t even look at the results. She knows. She’s lost control. For the first time in her career, she isn’t the one pulling the strings.]
[Masked Man]:
“Tick-tock, Minister. Your empire is crumbling.”
[The Masked Man lets the tension stretch, then tilts his head.]
[Masked Man]:
“You know… I could reveal the third secret right now. But where’s the fun in that?”
[He chuckles.]
[Masked Man]:
“Let’s make this a show.”
[A new countdown appears on the screen: ‘NEXT LIVE BROADCAST IN 3 HOURS.’]
[Masked Man]:
“That’s right, folks. We’re not done yet. The next revelation—the third secret about Minister Kim Do-hee—will be exposed in exactly three hours. And we’ll have a special guest joining us.”
[The chat goes wild.]
“SPECIAL GUEST????”
“WHO THE HELL IS IT???”
“THIS IS BETTER THAN NETFLIX WTF.”
[Masked Man]:
“So go ahead, grab some popcorn. Make some tea. Because when we come back?”
[The screen zooms in on Kim Do-hee’s face—her usually cold, calculated expression now replaced with thinly veiled panic.]
[Masked Man]:
“It’s going to be the beginning of her end. And not just hers”
[Cut to black.]
*******
Seokjin
The air in the police tent was thick with tension, the kind that made Seokjin want to dramatically exhale like the lead in a noir film. The big screen in front of them, broadcasting the latest nightmare orchestrated by the masked criminals, flickered with the damning images of South Korea’s most powerful figures having their dirty laundry aired for all to see.
And by dirty laundry, Seokjin didn’t mean Oops, they evaded some taxes or Scandal! She had an affair!—no, this was Oh, cool, our Minister of Defense is a literal war criminal levels of bad.
Captain Park, standing at the front of the tent, pinched the bridge of his nose so hard it looked like he was trying to teleport himself out of this situation through sheer willpower.
“This is a catastrophe,” he muttered, his voice dangerously close to breaking. “We knew the criminals were going to expose the winner’s secrets, but now they’re exposing the runner-up too?! Kim Do-hee wasn’t even supposed to be involved!”
Seokjin shifted in his seat, arms crossed. “Yeah, it’s almost like trusting masked criminals to follow an unspoken ethical guideline was a bad idea.”
Captain Park shot him a withering look before continuing. “I need to contact the Prime Minister immediately. This isn’t just a heist anymore. We have a full-blown political crisis on our hands.”
Jungkook, seated to his right, hadn’t spoken a word. Which, honestly, was scarier than him yelling. His hands were clenched into fists, his jaw tight, and his eyes were fixed on the screen in front of them—like he was trying to physically fight the criminals through the power of his mind.
Seokjin nudged him with his elbow. “Hey. Earth to Jungkook. You okay, or do I need to get you a punching bag before you explode?”
Jungkook exhaled sharply. “I knew corruption ran deep in the Elite, but this?” He shook his head, disbelief clouding his features. “If the crimes they’re exposing are real… This is insane.”
Seokjin hummed. “You know what’s also insane? Holding an entire luxury wedding hostage just to leak secrets like a YouTube drama channel.”
Jungkook didn’t react to the joke. He was too deep in his own head, his fingers twitching like he wanted to grab his gun and do something. “But this doesn’t make sense,” he murmured. “Heists and hostage situations have always been about money. Ransom. Demands. Not… this.”
Seokjin didn’t say it out loud, but he agreed. The typical criminal playbook didn’t include step five: livestream political chaos and auction off government secrets. This was terrifying.
But before Seokjin could spiral too far down that thought, he felt it.
The softest vibration.
The burner phone.
It had buzzed.
And Seokjin, in all his tech-savvy wisdom, had almost missed it because he was too busy making sarcastic commentary about the downfall of their government.
Very inconspicuously, he leaned back in his chair, stretching his arms behind his head. Then, under the guise of adjusting his jacket, he slipped his hand into his pocket and pulled out the phone just enough to see the screen.
Unknown Number:
When can we talk? Name a time.
Oh.
Oh, great.
Because this was exactly what he needed in the middle of a heist and a political crisis. A casual check-in from South Korea’s most wanted criminal mastermind.
Seokjin hesitated.
He should ignore it. He should block the number. He should chuck the phone into the nearest storm drain and pretend it never existed.
Instead, his fingers typed back:
Seokjin:
Thirty minutes.
The reply came almost instantly.
Unknown Number:
👍
A thumbs up.
Seokjin stared at it.
Because, sure, threatening letters and ominous recruitment offers were one thing. But just sending a casual thumbs-up emoji like this was a normal work meeting? That was actually unhinged.
Seokjin locked the phone and shoved it back into his pocket.
A few minutes later, he stood up, stretching dramatically. “Alright, I’m getting food. Anyone want anything?”
Jungkook barely spared him a glance, too busy fielding calls from journalists. He waved a dismissive hand. “Whatever.”
Seokjin smirked. “Great. I’ll get you something disgusting.”
He strolled out of the tent, hands in his pockets, trying very hard to ignore the fact that in just twenty minutes, he was about to have a very illegal conversation with the man behind all of this madness.
But it was fine.
Absolutely fine.
Right?
…Yeah. Probably not.
The distant hum of sirens and the faint chatter of officers faded behind him as he walked toward a secluded corner of the lot. It was an ugly little spot—overgrown weeds, a rusting fire escape, and a flickering streetlamp that looked like it had given up on life.
Perfect.
Here, no one would overhear him. No one would know that he was about to have a conversation that could probably get him fired, arrested, or—if Seonsaengnim was as insane as everyone claimed—worse.
His phone buzzed in his pocket.
For a second, he just stared at it, fingers hovering over the screen.
Was he really doing this? Talking to him? The man whose name sent entire police divisions into chaos? The madman who had orchestrated this circus with the finesse of a master conductor?
Yeah, apparently, he was.
He accepted the call and lifted the phone to his ear.
“Ah, Kim Seokjin.”
The voice was wrong.
It was distorted—metallic, warped, yet smooth like honey dripping from a knife. Seonsaengnim’s words dripped with an eerie sweetness, as if he were smiling through the line, as if he were speaking to an old friend instead of a cop actively trying to catch him.
“I have to say, I’m flattered. I never thought you’d pick up. But then again…” A small chuckle, amused and arrogant. “How could you resist, huh?”
Seokjin didn’t respond, letting the silence stretch.
Seonsaengnim exhaled dramatically, as if Seokjin’s lack of enthusiasm physically pained him.
“Come on, Seokjin-ssi. No pleasantries? Not even a little ‘hello, Seonsaengnim, how’s your criminal empire today?’ I must admit, I expected a warmer welcome.”
Seokjin’s jaw tightened. “I’m not here to play games.”
“Oh, but I love games,” Seonsaengnim purred. “And you used to love them too, didn’t you? You had quite the talent back in the day. A legend in certain… circles. I must say, it’s been a delight watching you work from the other side of the chessboard.”
Seokjin’s pulse jumped.
Of course, he knew.
He should have expected this. Seonsaengnim didn’t just exist—he studied people, unraveled them, picked apart their pasts like a patient predator.
“Well, Seokjin-ssi. I do my research.” His voice turned teasing, almost affectionate. “And oh, what a shame to see such talent go to waste in a place like the police force. You belong in the world of shadows, not behind a desk with a badge.”
“I’d rather rot in a cubicle than work for you,” Seokjin said flatly.
Seonsaengnim let out a mock gasp. “Ouch. You wound me.” Then, his voice dipped, low and persuasive. “But you haven’t heard my offer yet.”
Seokjin snorted. “Oh, this should be good.”
“What would it take,” Seonsaengnim murmured, “to get you on my side?”
A pause.
“I’ll admit, you’re not an easy man to buy. You’re not greedy. You’re not reckless. And you’re certainly not stupid.” A soft hum. “So tell me, Seokjin-ssi. What do you want? What’s the price for your loyalty?”
Seokjin had thought about this.
A part of him wanted to demand information. Who was he? How had he planned this? What was his next move? But those were tactical questions. Questions that any investigator would ask.
Right now, he wanted something more.
“I want to know who you really are.”
A beat of silence.
Then—
Seonsaengnim laughed.
It wasn’t a mocking cackle or a villainous sneer. No, this laugh was slow and rich, like he was genuinely delighted by the request.
“Oh, you are interesting.”
Seokjin didn’t react.
He had expected Seonsaengnim to refuse. To dance around the question, maybe drop a cryptic hint and vanish like a ghost.
But then, the voice on the other end of the line said something that made the hairs on the back of Seokjin’s neck stand up.
“Alright.”
Seokjin blinked. “What?”
“You want to meet me?” Seonsaengnim’s voice was amused. “Then let’s meet. One hour.”
Seokjin’s grip tightened on his phone. “You’re actually agreeing to this?”
“Why not?” Seonsaengnim chuckled. “You intrigue me, Seokjin-ssi. And besides… I love a good face-to-face.”
He gave Seokjin an address. A place deep in the city, far from prying eyes.
“Don’t be late,” he added, voice dipping into something almost playful. “I hate waiting.”
Then the call ended.
Seokjin stared at his screen, his heart pounding.
What the hell just happened?
******
Taehyung
Taehyung leaned back in his chair, his posture exuding exhaustion, —perhaps even a touch of despair. He was, after all, playing the role of Lee Jaesun, the unfortunate older brother of the groom. The man who had tragically missed his brother’s wedding due to a car accident and was now stuck in this godforsaken police tent while his family was held hostage by a lunatic in a mask.
A lunatic that, of course, was him.
With practiced ease, he let out a long, shaky sigh, his fingers running through his perfectly disheveled hair. He made sure his movements were just the right amount of restless—enough to seem like a man on edge but not one about to do anything reckless.
Then, his gaze followed Seokjin as the man stood up and walked toward the exit.
There he goes.
Seokjin’s movements were careful, measured. He was heading somewhere quiet, away from prying eyes. Away from Jungkook. Good. That meant he had taken the bait.
Taehyung’s lips curled slightly, but he wiped the smirk away before anyone could notice. Right now, he wasn’t Seonsaengnim. He was Jaesun, the worried brother. A brother who, conveniently, had the perfect excuse to step outside as well.
He turned to Jungkook, who was seated across from him, still focused on the mess of documents and radio transmissions in front of him. Even in the dim lighting of the tent, Jungkook looked sharp—intense, his brows furrowed as he analyzed whatever lead he was chasing.
Taehyung forced a shaky breath and leaned forward. “Excuse me, Detective Jeon?”
Jungkook immediately lifted his head, his expression softening when he saw Taehyung’s distressed face.
Ah. There they are.
The doe eyes.
Large, round, filled with concern—like Jungkook genuinely cared about his well-being. The kind of gaze that could make a lesser man crumble and confess to crimes he hadn’t even committed.
Taehyung had to physically restrain himself from grinning.
Someone should really tell Jungkook that those eyes were dangerous. If he wasn’t careful, someone like Taehyung might just grant him any wish he asked for with that gaze alone.
Not that Jungkook would ever ask for anything inappropriate. He was far too noble for that.
Shame.
Jaesun—not Seonsaengnim, Jaesun—rubbed at his temple as if the stress was becoming too much to bear. “I just… I need to make a quick call,” he murmured, his voice trembling in just the right way. “To my Halmeoni. She’s bedridden. She couldn’t come to the wedding, and now—” He exhaled sharply. “Now she’s terrified because the rest of the family is inside. She’s been calling me nonstop.”
Jungkook’s face immediately softened even more.
“Of course,” he said, nodding. “Take your time.”
Taehyung let out a shaky sigh of gratitude, standing up as if his limbs were heavy with exhaustion. He made sure to add an extra slouch to his posture, just enough to look like a man barely holding it together.
Jungkook watched him go with sympathy written all over his face.
Taehyung allowed himself one last inappropriate thought before stepping out of the tent.
Maybe one day, he’d get to indulge more in that gaze. But for now… there were more important matters.
Like securing Ghost for his side.
Taehyung walked a fair distance away from the tent, just enough to ensure no one could overhear him.
Taehyung walked further into the shadows, just far enough to ensure privacy, then pulled out the real phone—the one that mattered. The moment he pressed dial, he felt his pulse quicken—not out of nerves, but excitement. The kind that curled around his spine and made his fingers twitch with anticipation.
Let’s see if Ghost bites.
The line clicked, and Seokjin answered.
Silence.
No greeting. No questions. Just silence—tense, expectant.
Oh, this was going to be fun.
Taehyung let the silence stretch, savoring the tension like a fine wine. Then, with a slow, deliberate breath, he spoke, letting his voice slip into that familiar, honey-smooth cadence.
“Ah, Kim Seokjin.”
A pause.
A beat too long to be casual.
Taehyung smiled.
Seokjin was calculating. Good.
Seokjin wasn’t reacting the way most people did when faced with Seonsaengnim. No fear. No immediate defiance. Just cold, measured silence.
Most cops operated within rigid structures, predictable patterns—pawns in a game they didn’t even realize they were playing. But Seokjin? He was something else.
A knight, maybe. The kind that didn’t move in straight lines.
And knights could be unpredictable.
That’s what made them dangerous.
Taehyung tilted his head slightly, even though no one could see him. “And oh, what a shame to see such talent go to waste in a place like the police force. You belong in the world of shadows, not behind a desk with a badge”
A soft inhale, barely audible.
Ah.
There it was.
The smallest shift.
Taehyung allowed himself the pleasure of leaning into it, like a predator toying with its prey—except in this game, the prey had claws of its own.
He could picture Seokjin’s expression. The flicker of something behind his sharp eyes.
Annoyance? Maybe.
But more importantly?
Recognition.
Ghost wasn’t just a name. It was a past. One that still clung to Seokjin, no matter how hard he tried to bury it.
The real question was—how deep was that past buried?
And was Seokjin willing to dig it back up?
Then, finally—
“I want to know who you really are.”
Bold.
Seokjin was testing him, pushing boundaries, trying to see how much he could extract from the elusive Seonsaengnim.
But the thing about pushing boundaries?
You never knew when you’d push too far.
Taehyung let the silence stretch just long enough to make Seokjin wonder if he’d overplayed his hand. Just long enough to make him doubt.
“Alright.”
A beat of silence.
He could feel Seokjin’s surprise through the phone.
“You want to meet me?” Taehyung purred, amusement curling at the edges of his words. “Then let’s meet.”
And with a smirk, he pressed ‘end.’
For a moment, he just stood there, letting the November air cool his skin.
Then, slowly, he exhaled.
Ghost wanted to meet the devil.
Well.
Taehyung was more than happy to grant that wish.
*******
Jungkook
Jungkook slumped into his chair in the police tent, running a hand through his already-messy hair, exhaustion clawing at the edges of his patience. The inside of the tent was buzzing with officers scrambling to make sense of the absolute shitstorm they were in, but despite the chaos, it all felt like white noise to him.
Captain Park had stepped out earlier to deal with the Kim Do-hee disaster, which, in summary, was just another colossal fuck-up in a long string of fuck-ups. It had left Jungkook and the rest of the team trying to untangle the mess, but every time they pulled at a thread, it only tightened the noose around them.
This heist needed to end.
Now.
And yet—
It was impossible.
They had nothing.
Not one step closer to stopping it, not one inch closer to catching Seonsaengnim. The bastard was playing them like a damn gayageum, plucking the strings just enough to make them think they had something, only to snatch it away at the last second.
And the worst part?
Seonsaengnim had been awfully quiet.
No more calls, no taunting messages, no demands. The last they’d heard from him was this morning when he’d demanded that Lee Jaesun be returned to the tent. But he hadn’t followed up. Hadn’t checked in. Hadn’t called.
And Jungkook hated it.
The silence was worse than the taunts. Worse than the smug little riddles and the condescending laughter.
Because silence meant plotting.
And plotting meant something bad was about to happen.
Jungkook’s sharp gaze flickered toward Lee Jaesun, sitting at the other side of the tent. The man looked exhausted, his head slightly bowed as he stared at a half-empty cup of coffee in front of him. There was a crease between his brows, and despite the dark circles under his eyes, he was still—damn.
Still handsome.
Jungkook shoved that thought into the furthest, most neglected corner of his brain and set it on fire. He didn’t have the time for this.
Seokjin, who had returned a few minutes ago, silently placed a container of food in front of Jungkook before settling into his own seat.
Unusual.
Jungkook watched him from the corner of his eye.
Seokjin had been oddly quiet since returning. He wasn’t his usual snarky, dramatic self. No complaining, no sarcastic commentary about their lack of progress, not even a single ‘this is above my pay grade’ grumble.
That, combined with Seonsaengnim’s radio silence, was enough to make Jungkook’s skin crawl.
Something was wrong.
But what?
He didn’t get much time to dwell on it before Seokjin turned to him, a stack of papers in his hands.
“The report from the last livestream,” Seokjin said, sliding them across the table.
Jungkook barely spared them a glance. “Why are you bothering me with this? I was there. I saw it myself.”
“Just read it.”
There was something in his voice. Something too casual.
Jungkook scowled but picked up the papers anyway, flipping through the first few pages with the enthusiasm of someone being forced to do taxes.
But then—
His hands stilled.
Nestled in between the pages was a handwritten note.
His heartbeat stuttered.
The first line sent his brain into overdrive:
“Look inconspicuous. Remain calm. I don’t know if we’re bugged.”
Jungkook swallowed, forcing his face into neutrality as he adjusted his grip on the papers, making it look like he was just shuffling through them.
The note continued:
“Seonsaengnim contacted me. He wants me to join his team.”
What—?
Jungkook’s fingers twitched. He barely suppressed the urge to snap his head up and glare at Seokjin, but he knew better. Knew that if they were being listened to, any slip-up could be dangerous.
So he kept reading.
“I played along. Told him I’d need to see him in person before I made my decision.”
Jungkook’s pulse was hammering now, roaring in his ears.
“The meeting is set in an hour. No one else can know. If he’s really that arrogant, we might have a shot at catching him.”
Jungkook pressed his lips together, his grip on the pages tightening.
An hour.
Seokjin had set up a meeting with Seonsaengnim.
The man they had been chasing. The ghost who had slipped through their fingers at every turn. The mastermind who had made fools of the entire police force.
They might had a chance.
But—
His stomach twisted as he reached the last few lines.
“We can’t rule out the possibility that there’s an inside man in the police.”
Jungkook’s blood ran cold.
That thought—
It was the first time it had been put into words, but it had been lurking in the back of his mind for a while now.
It would explain so much.
Why Seonsaengnim was always one step ahead.
Why their plans kept crumbling before they could even set them in motion.
Why this heist had been flawless so far.
He inhaled deeply through his nose, forcing his body to remain relaxed, his expression unreadable.
Then, with the same casual air, he flicked his gaze up at Seokjin and smirked. “Good job,” he said smoothly, nodding approvingly.
Seokjin merely shrugged, his expression unreadable.
Jungkook tucked the note between the papers, storing it away where no one could see.
He had a lot to think about.
A meeting with Seonsaengnim.
A potential mole in the police.
And an hour to figure out how to not let this entire thing blow up in their faces.
No pressure.