[South Busan – Morning after Pier 17]
[Drift HQ]
The room was small, windowless, and still smelled like engine grease and mildew.
Instructor Lee sat tied to a steel chair bolted to the floor. His wrists were zip-tied. One shoulder hung at the wrong angle. His breathing was shallow, but steady. He looked like someone who had already prepared for everything — except the wait.
Across from him, Gilwoo sat with a cloth wrapped around his right hand, blood drying in the lines of his knuckles.
There was no torture.
No theatrics.
Just silence.
And time.
Lee finally broke it.
"You think beating me helps anything?"
Gilwoo said nothing.
"CTRL9 doesn't flinch. You hurt me? Someone else replaces me."
"Good," Gilwoo said quietly. "Then we'll break them too."
Lee's jaw tightened.
"He's not your problem."
Gilwoo's stare didn't shift.
"He will be."
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[Rooftop above a shuttered bakery, 7:45 AM]
Samuel sat on the rooftop edge, legs drawn in, arms folded. The cold wind pulled at his sleeves. He hadn't changed clothes. The cut on his lip had dried and cracked. He didn't notice.
The GPS chip Ji Yun had hidden blinked next to him. Every eight seconds.
He counted them.
Every blink was a failure. Every pause, another hour too late.
He could still hear her voice in fragments — not from memory, but from the corrupted audio clip she left behind.
"If… they move me… don't—don't follow—"
He didn't shut it off. Just let it loop.
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He didn't hear Eli arrive. Just the shuffle of footsteps and the click of a lighter.
Eli stood near the rooftop door, leaning against the frame, cigarette between his teeth.
"You've been sitting up here since before the sun."
Samuel didn't answer.
"Didn't eat. Didn't patch yourself up. That's not your routine."
Still nothing.
"She's not dead."
Samuel's jaw tensed.
"And you don't know that."
Eli took a slow drag. Let the silence stretch.
"You planning to hit CTRL9 again?"
"When I find her," Samuel said.
"You're limping."
"Not my legs that need to walk."
Eli smiled slightly. Not mocking — tired.
"You sound like someone who forgot what city he's in."
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[District Office, 10:02 AM]
[Seobu District HQ – Internal Affairs Division]
Two plainclothes officers sat at a table reviewing footage.
Street cam stills. Burn marks on Pier 17. Medical reports from students linked to underground crews.
At the center of the screen: Eli Nam, walking out of a burning warehouse with blood on his shirt and glass on his shoulder.
"He's calm," one officer said. "Doesn't even run."
"Because he doesn't expect anyone to touch him."
The other tapped the screen.
"Well, we're touching him now."
A file slid across the table.
Request: Pretrial Detention Authorization – Subject: Eli Nam
Signed. Stamped.
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[Drift HQ rooftop, 12:45 PM]
Gilwoo smoked in silence while Taejin leaned against the wall, cracking his knuckles out of habit.
"Lee say anything useful?" Taejin asked.
"Enough."
"Like?"
"He's not afraid of us. That's useful."
Taejin looked down at the street, where a Drift runner passed by with a sealed envelope.
"Ryu's off grid."
"Good," Gilwoo replied.
"You still think he's going to crack?"
"No. I think he already did."
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[Public library basement, 2:20 PM]
The room hadn't been used in years. Old desks, broken screens, damp ceiling. It was quiet.
Samuel sat alone with an unmarked cardboard box. Inside: old system logs, data printouts. Simulation reports from his CTRL9 training days — pages he wasn't supposed to have.
He flipped through slowly, like peeling off scabs.
One page caught his eye:
JI YUN – CLASS 07Project Status: COMPROMISEDRisk Level: HighProtocol: Redline
No time stamp.
No follow-up.
No signature.
Samuel closed the file.
He didn't speak. Didn't blink.
Then, softly:
"She told me not to follow."
"But I don't know what else to do."
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[Dogsung High stairwell, 3:15 PM]
Eli sat on the steps, head down, scrolling nothing on his phone.
A quiet buzz came from his pocket. He didn't answer it.
Footsteps echoed in the stairwell above.
Three pairs. Soft. Measured.
Not Drift.
Not students.
Not cops, either.
Eli stood.
Snapped his neck once.
Exhaled slowly.
And smiled.