Storm in a Teacup (2)
“Please take good care of us, Miss Lee Suah.”
“Yes...”
Connie glanced at me for a moment before offering a handshake to my sister, Suah. My sister gripped her hand steadily, without so much as a tremor even in front of a company director.
Connie turned to Suah. “You look awfully young for a chief researcher. Good genes?”
“I actually am young.”
“Hmm... I see.”
Suah’s signature terse style often sparked misunderstandings. My sister never bothered with small talk on questions with clear answers.
While Connie faltered in the stilted exchange, Jin Do-gyun—the chief researcher—jumped in. “Miss Suah was a student of mine from my professor days. She’s been on the Starfish project since the development phase, a true collaborator.”
“Impressive.”
“Yes, even with my chief title, it’s joint development through and through. Miss Suah is...”
The chief researcher lavished praise on Suah. Then, with a faintly uneasy look, he added, “The president was set to attend personally, but a sudden issue prevented it. We appreciate your understanding.”
“We got the heads-up in advance. Looking forward to the demo.”
“Then...”
I’d already gotten the rundown from Connie. The presidents of Mirdi Defense and Dongjin Shield knew the truth behind this undercover op. No surprise they didn’t need to roll out the red carpet for agents like us.
...Come to think of it, I’d pegged Suah as your average office drone. As I reflected on my own family-blind spot, it was my turn to shake her hand.
Praying my voice wouldn’t crack, I said, “Ben... Johnson.”
“Lee Suah.”
And that was that. Suah traded quick nods with the rest and melted into the cluster of staff monitoring the robot.
Moments later, the Starfish demo kicked off.
“Whoa.”
The exclamation escaped me. Was this the same bot I’d seen at Korea University? In action, it was a straight-up invincible soldier.
“I saw the Starfish in action during the last incident, but this is a world apart.”
Once the demo wrapped, Connie zeroed in on the discrepancy.
A researcher wiped sweat as he answered. “That was... non-lethal mode, actually. For civilian safety, we...”
The spiel was wordy, but the context made it click. The government wanted to beam “Korea is safe” vibes on live TV—no way they could air terrorists getting mulched into paste.
The researcher looked hard done by but couldn’t spit it out plain.
Connie pressed on. “And your take on the EMP shutdown?”
“Not your garden-variety EMP. It reverse-engineered the military-grade protection circuits for a voltage overload...”
“Any countermeasures in the works?”
“The current setup’s vulnerable to repeats, so we’re multilayering the circuits...”
The so-called chief researcher visibly aged with every jab from Connie.
After the marathon breakdown, Connie summed it up. “So complete defense isn’t feasible.”
“Correct. But we can cap the damage and make recovery viable.”
“Reboot times make it lethal in combat, no?”
“That’s...”
Cost cuts via standardization and cheaper units. The back-and-forth dragged on, thick tension blanketing the demo hall. Managers and staff hung on Connie’s every word, nerves frayed.
Me? I was geeking out. Holy shit, the real-deal Starfish!
Lucky for me, I was just “Rosalyn’s husband, the actor”—free to ogle without a care. As a game endgame boss bot, no Chase Field player could resist. Private room chat’s gonna lose it when I brag.
A voice piped up beside me. “Robot fan?”
“Huh?”
I turned. Suah was eyeing me. Playing it cool, I replied, “Yeah. Pretty badass, right?”
“Top-tier specs.”
I’d meant the looks, but she took it technical. Weird—she never chats up strangers. Don’t tell me it’s the actor glow? Just as I worried, she dropped a bomb.
“You’ve been staring since earlier. Something you need?”
“Ah...”
Busted. I’d been proudly watching my hard-working sis and overdone it. Brainstorming to dodge the creep vibe, old chats with her surfaced.
“Uh... as a researcher, I wondered if you’d fixed the joint gaps from high-accel maneuvers.”
“And you, Mr. Ben... Johnson?”
“Huh?”
Counter-question. I fumbled a bit. “Add auxiliary drives? Best bet’s tweaking the software accel... profile for control. Probably.”
“...”
Suah went quiet, scanning me head to toe. Sweat beading, but she finally spoke. “We’re iterating that way. It’s just...”
“Problem?”
“No. Matches our team’s angle—caught me off guard.”
“...Overheard it somewhere. Wife’s in arms, y’know.”
“You give off a familiar vibe.”
The gut-punch line spun my head. Grinning it off as a joke. “That... a compliment?”
“Nah. Just the feel.”
Suah at work was tougher than family mode. While we talked, the demo apparently ended. Chief researcher shuffled offstage, haggard. Private session wrapped.
Back in the car, I broached Connie cautiously. “Babe, we’re basically done, right?”
“Mission’s wrapped, yeah. Can drop the awkward talk now.”
“Kinda fun, though.”
Connie playfully swatted my joke, then pulled out her phone to scan docs.
“Assassination attempt during the op.”
“For real? When? Missed it completely.”
“Not us. Someone else neutralized them. Deadeye and Hollowman, names say.”
“...What kinda names?”
I snorted at the goofy handles. Connie flipped pages. “Interpol most-wanted criminals. Not game-changers, though.”
“Eh, whatever—old news.”
I mulled the demo, then ventured carefully. “You know, right?”
“Miss Lee Suah? Obviously.”
“Yeah, that whole...”
Tough to broach subtly. Connie smiled, easing me. “Military bot dev’s classified as hell. Unlike what you’re fretting, she’s protected.”
“Phew... Seemed risky.”
“Latest intel: Night Goblin unit from NIS on guard duty. She’s golden.”
“Cool.”
Tension melted. I loosened my choking tie, replaying the day. “No hits, felt like a date.”
“Mmm... yeah.”
Connie, mid-sip, choked on my mumble and splashed her face. Good thing the suit had a handkerchief.
“Lemme wipe that.”
“Thanks—wait, I got it.”
As she dabbed, I recalled the last item. Schedule? More like downtime.
“Treat it as a break. Rosalyn insisted.”
“This?”
“Whole place rented out—should be chill.”
Connie said it with swagger. I sank into the seat, eyeing easy street.
......
Waaaaaah! Ben Johnson! Over here! I love you! Ben Johnson!
“Connie... not chill.”
“Sorry.”
Last stop: chicken joint meal, per Rosalyn’s request. En route, fans clocked Ben Johnson—chaos.
I waved with a smile. “Thank you, thank you!”
Window gawkers packed the view as we ate. Chicken hitting mouth or nose? Who knows. Connie cracked up at me.
“Now it really feels like a date.”
“Heh, yeah? Kinda fun, novel experience.”
Feels like zoo monkey hour.
Anyway, demolished a bird for the cameras and headed hotelward. Gaming in mind, but desk clerk looked pained.
“S-sorry, reservation glitch—one room only.”
“Fine by us.”
Connie glanced my way, smooth. Couples sharing a suite? Normal. No awkward cohab.
Johnson-level booking meant king-size separation. I flopped onto bed. Exhaustion hit; sleep beckoned. Then—
“Ben.”
“Yeah?”
Lifted my head. Connie peeked through the door, post-shower damp hair glistening. Blue eyes soft.
“Mind if I come in?”
“‘Course—c’mon.”
She shut the door behind her. The click echoed huge. Hotel robe clung; she sat bedside, sweet scent wafting.
“Mmm...”
Air thickened. I sat up beside her. Silence stretched, then Connie spoke slow.
“There’s something important I need to tell you.”