Night Has Come
Night had fallen.
The accident at Chairman Kang Chun-gyu’s autobiography launch event was officially closed as a temporary ECU malfunction. The vehicle’s manufacturer was connected to the matter, and because the incident had occurred during a fairly significant event, it could not be allowed to spiral into a scandal.
In the meantime, Kang In-hyuk went about his days as usual, commuting to the office without deviation. By keeping Tae Ju-ha alive, he had confirmed the possibility that he, too, could escape death.
Just then, an approval alert chimed on his computer. Deputy Director Jung Jong-hyun, one of his team members, had submitted the additional execution plan for second-quarter stock operations.
After scanning the document, In-hyuk leaned out from behind his monitor.
“If you have time right now, let’s hold a quick meeting.”
The others tore their eyes from their screens and exchanged wary glances. Approvals had always dropped instantly after submission; there had never been any need for meetings before.
“Are you all too busy?”
“…Not at all.”
Jung Jong-hyun, the highest-ranking member present, answered first. The rest stood and followed him into a small conference room.
“I’ve reviewed the report you compiled and submitted, Deputy Jung.”
“Is there a problem?”
Jung Jong-hyun had chosen the investment targets with genuine care. The other team members saw nothing objectionable either; the projections were modest but safe. If In-hyuk intended to find fault, he was ready to push back.
“The targets themselves are adequate. Merely adequate. Low risk naturally means limited returns.”
“There are clients who want their assets managed safely. We’re well aware of that, but I believe it’s unwise to chase risk for its own sake.”
“And what if the information carries a high probability of success?”
Eyes met again across the table. Once more, Jung Jong-hyun spoke for the group.
“We’re aware your recent returns have been exceptional, Team Leader. But every one of those positions carried high risk. Can you guarantee the same certainty this time?”
“If you’re not interested, you don’t have to participate.”
The team members’ pupils darted. A private community existed among fund managers; information was shared freely, so everyone knew who was generating the best numbers. Lately the name on everyone’s lips had been Kang In-hyuk of Tae Shin Asset Management. A few clients had boasted of unusually high returns, and their peers had flooded the office with inquiries.
“Could you share supporting data to verify those returns?”
In-hyuk met their gazes one by one.
“I have it. But I don’t believe the level of trust required to share it yet exists.”
“Are you suggesting we would leak it?”
“There’s no rule saying you wouldn’t.”
In-hyuk had no intention of becoming an easy mark inside Tae Shin Asset Management, no matter how important his position was. More than people who nitpicked every word, he needed people who would trust him and follow.
The conference room fell silent.
In-hyuk continued in the same calm tone.
“As you’ve probably already guessed, I have no plans to keep a low profile or coast through my work. If you’re willing to trust me and follow my lead, we’ll discuss future operation plans in detail later. Excuse me for now.”
His phone began to vibrate in his pocket.
“There is unfortunate news the Chairman instructed me to deliver.”
The gravity in the man’s voice was unmistakable even through the speaker.
“What happened?”
“Pyo Jun-woo was taken during transport. We are pursuing every lead, but we’ve found no trace of him yet.”
In-hyuk exhaled sharply and stepped into an empty conference room to continue the conversation in private.
“It appears information leaked from inside KQ Group’s security detail.”
When he had visited Chairman Kang Chun-gyu again, additional guards had been stationed. The men would have seen Pyo Jun-woo captured and returned from the hospital; learning the transport schedule would have been child’s play.
“That is our current assessment.”
“So you’re asking me to overlook it because the situation can’t be helped.”
The people who had nearly died were In-hyuk and Tae Ju-ha. They had already turned a blind eye once for the sake of KQ Group’s image, but losing Pyo Jun-woo entirely was another matter.
“Considering the relationship between our organizations, I must ask for your understanding. The Chairman said to tell you that if there is anything you need, you have only to ask.”
In-hyuk did not hesitate.
“Understood. Tell him to ask Representative Director Tae Ju-ha what she wants. Not me.”
“Are you certain, Mr. Kang In-hyuk?”
“I have no demands from KQ Group at the moment. I’m in the middle of work, so I’ll hang up now.”
After ending the call, In-hyuk opened a hidden application on his phone. A map of South Korea filled the screen, and a single red dot soon appeared. The location tracker he had slipped into the inner pocket of Pyo Jun-woo’s suit jacket at the hospital was still transmitting.
TRACKING ACTIVE
Map of South Korea
RED DOT: Pyo Jun-woo’s location
“Looks like it wasn’t discovered.”
The black-box transmitter and the tracker had been prepared on the assumption that Tae Ju-ha’s death had not been an accident. He had not expected them to prove useful so quickly. There had been another reason for planting the device on Pyo Jun-woo.
The technique he used was definitely TMT. Which means he’s connected to UID…
Tactical Murder Techniques. A martial art built on striking only the body’s most lethal vital points in order to kill. It was a skill taught exclusively within UID, the intelligence unit under the Defense Intelligence Command where In-hyuk had once served.
Yet Pyo Jun-woo appeared to be the same age as him. If the man had belonged to UID, In-hyuk—who had joined at its founding—would have known.
In-hyuk stared hard at the pulsing red dot.
Before long, night had come.
In-hyuk stood near Sambong Mountain in Hwaseong, Gyeonggi Province—the exact coordinates shown on his phone.
“A single road in from here?”
The satellite map confirmed it. He had already left the highway and followed the twisting back road for some time before arriving. Without the precise location, the address alone would have been nearly impossible to find.
“Hiding in a place like this… these people are far more sinister than I thought.”
Whispering quietly in the darkness, In-hyuk stepped out of the car dressed entirely in black. Twenty minutes on foot remained to the target. He slipped into the adjacent forest, circled wide, and approached at a rapid pace.
An old warehouse, clearly built decades ago, came into view. Tire tracks left the paved surface and led toward a vinyl greenhouse on the side. The faint scent of fresh cigarette smoke still lingered in the air.
Under normal circumstances, a human nose would have missed it. But ever since his regression, In-hyuk’s senses had grown far sharper.
This is the place.
He had considered the possibility that the tracker had been found and a trap prepared. From behind his back he produced a black full-face skull mask—the kind used in survival games—and pulled it on. He had no intention of revealing his face.
Let’s find out exactly who orchestrated this.
He picked up a stone, moved away from the greenhouse, grabbed the rainwater downspout on the warehouse wall, and climbed. Once on the roof, he found a cracked gap. Light and voices leaked through.
The angle was poor; he could only see the tops of two heads.
The men were speaking Japanese. The voice that answered belonged to Pyo Jun-woo.
“At dawn two days from now, cross from Busan Port through Fukuoka to the branch. Someone will be waiting.”
“Understood.”
In-hyuk did not hesitate. He hurled the stone he had collected toward the warehouse entrance.
Thud.
The conversation stopped. One set of footsteps moved toward the door. At the same moment, In-hyuk dropped from the opposite side of the roof and dove through a side window.
Four in total, including the one who went outside.
Other men had been standing in blind spots. While they were still startled, In-hyuk closed the distance. They reacted instantly, military knives flashing.
When the first blade reached his face, In-hyuk twisted his head aside and drove the edge of his hand into the man’s throat.
“Gahk—!”
As the choked cry rang out, In-hyuk’s free hand knocked the knife from the man’s grip, seized it, and spun. The blade slashed across the attacker’s wrist and torso before flying toward the next target.
Swish—thunk!
“Urk!”
A man farther back charged the now-empty-handed In-hyuk. In-hyuk’s arm whipped forward; something struck the attacker squarely in the solar plexus.
“Koff!”
The man’s head snapped back. In-hyuk drove a knee upward into his jaw, then stripped the knife from his loosening fingers, slammed him to the ground, and severed the hamstring muscles behind both knees without hesitation.
“Aaaaagh!”
“At that point you’ll have no choice but to crawl.”
The voice emerging from the skull mask was distorted. A voice modulator hidden in the mouthpiece concealed his identity as thoroughly as the mask hid his face.
Three men down. In-hyuk turned toward the entrance. Pyo Jun-woo, who had gone to investigate the noise, was nowhere to be seen.
“Faster situational awareness than I expected.”
In-hyuk stepped outside at once.
Rustle. Rustle.
The sound of someone pushing through underbrush came from the forest behind the warehouse.
“He ran that way?”
.
.
.
Pyo Jun-woo sprinted through the pitch-black forest, unable to believe what he had just witnessed. Three senior operatives who had rescued him had been neutralized in the space of a heartbeat—by a single man.
With a broken arm, fighting such an opponent offered zero chance of victory. Escape had been his only option.
“Was that the KQ security team?”
They were the only ones who had any reason to pursue him. Yet if it had been them, multiple agents should have surrounded the warehouse, not one lone figure.
“How did they find this location? Unless—!”
There had been no pursuit vehicles after their escape. Sensing something wrong, Pyo Jun-woo stopped running and slipped deeper into the bushes. With his relatively undamaged left hand he patted down his torn clothing.
Soon he discovered a small hole in the inner pocket of his jacket. His fingers probed farther and closed around a device the size of a fingernail.
“When did he plant this?”
A fatal error.
He looked back in the direction he had come from.
“Is he… not following?”
The full-face skull mask the enemy had worn flashed through his mind. It was a common design easily found online, yet the skill he had displayed sent a chill racing down Pyo Jun-woo’s spine.
“Wait. The technique that man used…!”
Pyo Jun-woo felt a sickeningly familiar sensation.
At that moment, something dropped swiftly from the branches above.