Baeksol's Pressure

Han Hae-un sent over photos of the agents he had selected and the refurbished interior of the Mokhwa Building.

The name on the sign was perfect. Nothing about it looked suspicious, and nothing about it invited curiosity. It was the kind of business no ordinary person would ever wander into by accident.

The interior had been laid out cleanly, with the secret rooms and the working spaces properly sealed off from each other.

"You've got a decent eye for aesthetics," Yeon-woo said, studying the photos.

Hae-un laughed on the other end of the line.

"I dress rather well, too, you know."

"Don't you wear the same suit every day?"

"You simply failed to catch the subtle differences."

Yeon-woo snorted and moved on.

"The agents are following orders?"

"Yes. They treat the domestic field like their own front yard — no caution whatsoever."

Through Hae-un, Yeon-woo had ordered the agents to put the operative believed to be codenamed Hwang-geum under surveillance. Inside the Republic of Korea there was neither pretext nor legal grounds to investigate an NIS black agent, so Hwang-geum had been strutting around as he pleased.

"All three of them are pros."

"Yes. I believe we selected well."

The ideal number for perfect surveillance of a single target had always been three.

"We should be able to submit a report by next week or so."

"Got it. Don't leave any digital trail for the report. Deliver it in hard copy only — no duplicates."

"Understood."

Something seemed to occur to Yeon-woo, and he spoke again.

"Ah — the tickets I gave you last time. You've got someone to bring, right?"

"Ahem. Of course."

Yeon-woo nodded at Hae-un's answer and ended the call.

Meanwhile, Hae-un hung up, stepped out of the car, and rode the elevator up.

Ding.

When he reached his floor, he opened the door with the ease of long habit.

"Oh my, Prosecutor — you're here."

"Ah, yes. Where's the director?"

"She stepped into the restroom. Go ahead and change first."

Hae-un nodded and headed into the changing room.

It had already been six months of Pilates.

While he was changing, Jeong Hae-min returned from the restroom.

"Mina, Jua — what are you two doing?"

"Ah, Director. That again. We failed, of course."

Hae-min smiled at the two Pilates instructors slumped dejectedly in front of the monitor.

"You want to see it that badly?"

"It's all anyone's talking about these days. The play Mirror."

Just then Hae-un emerged in his workout clothes.

"Ah — you're here."

"Yes."

Things between Hae-un and Hae-min had progressed far enough that he now watched her child for her when something urgent came up. Why his eyes filled with tears whenever he looked at the child was still a mystery, but he clearly adored the boy. People who loved children and animals were rarely the bad sort, weren't they?

Even so, they were still only friends.

And today, Hae-un was preparing to take one step further.

"Um…"

"Yes?"

"I happened to come into some tickets. Do you… enjoy the theater, by any chance?"

"Ah…"

Hae-min's face took on a troubled look. It wasn't that she disliked Hae-un — but a play was a date by any reasonable measure, and she still felt she needed more time to prepare herself for that.

She was about to decline when the instructors beside her spotted the tickets in Hae-un's hand.

"Huh? Wait—! Prosecutor. Are those tickets for Mirror?"

"Ah, yes. They are."

"How— how many do you have?!"

Hae-un's eyes flicked rapidly across Hae-min's expression, the instructors' faces, and the screen still open on the computer. Combining information under the worst conditions and extracting the best possible outcome — that was a spy's destiny.

"Four."

He pointed at himself, at Hae-min, and at the two instructors in front of the computer, then held up four fingers.

The instructors understood at once. They latched onto Hae-min from both sides and started hauling her toward the door.

"Director! We're going! Please!"

"Benefits! Employee benefits!"

Hae-min watched them shake her back and forth, then gave in with a helpless nod.

"All right, all right… Stop pulling. You'll stretch my clothes."

"Then it's settled. These are for this Saturday."

The instructors tilted their heads at that.

"Huh? Performances are only Wednesday, Friday, and Sunday, though?"

"Ah — it's a private showing. Invitation only."

"No way!"

Leaving the instructors bouncing with joy behind him, Hae-un excused himself to the restroom and stepped outside. Still in his Pilates tights, he clasped his hands respectfully and dialed a number.

"Yeah. What is it?"

"Ah, Team Leader. I swear my loyalty. Would it be possible to get two more tickets?"

"So you haven't been loyal until now?"

"Pardon? No, that isn't what I—"

A soft snort came through the receiver, followed by an answer.

"Fine. Two more."

"Thank you! Loyalty!"

Nowhere did the news of the play Mirror whip up a fiercer storm than in the fan cafes of Ryu Yeon-woo and Jin Yu-han.

And then, like rain after a long drought, a notice appeared.

The moment the notice went up, the fan cafe erupted into a frenzy.

The people who wanted tickets to the special performances were beyond counting.

And Yeon-woo received a call from one of them.

"Oppa!"

"Uh— yeah?"

Startled by the sheer force of the roar, Yeon-woo pulled the phone away from his ear for a second before putting it back. The source of the lion's roar ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠was his little sister, So-hyun.

"I need tickets!"

"I already gave you some. I told you to come with Mom and Dad."

"No — I want to go with my friends too."

Yeon-woo shrugged, a little surprised.

"Since when? You've never cared much about what I do."

"Jin Yu-han oppa is in it."

Only then did Yeon-woo nod.

Ah. That side of things.

He checked the remaining ticket count and shook his head.

"First week is already full, so no. Second Saturday I can spare about three."

"Really?! Thank you!"

"You're heading into senior year, though. You need to study."

"Huh? Why does the signal feel so bad all of a sudden—"

Click.

Yeon-woo stared at the dead phone and shook his head slowly from side to side.

After the opening performance, they met new audiences through Wednesday and Friday. The more the members performed, the more the lines settled into their mouths, and their craft climbed steadily higher.

Reviews from people who had seen the play began to pile up online — and one man found nothing to smile about.

"Hey! No Se-jun! Run a correction today. Right now."

Se-jun's eyes narrowed at the editor-in-chief's words.

"Chief! A reporter raising questions isn't wrongdoing. Issuing a full correction is going too far, isn't it?"

The editor shoved a stack of printed articles at him.

"You know what these are? I'd love to throw them in your face right now. I'm holding back."

"What?"

"These are the articles tearing into our paper like a pack of dogs on a bone — because you gave them the opening."

Se-jun took the pages and read. They were pieces condemning No Se-jun and News7 for running a hit piece without verifying a single fact.

"Oh, please — as if they don't churn out clickbait titles for page views themselves! Why are they even—"

"Why?"

The editor glared at him and spoke again.

"Because it pays. Standing with Ryu Yeon-woo and chewing you up pays better. You pathetic bastard."

Under that burning stare, Se-jun hung his head. The editor shook his own and sighed.

"You land an exclusive, you sit on it and build a good relationship. Ugh. Honestly."

While Se-jun, swallowing bitterness, drafted a belated correction, a Saturday special performance was unfolding on the small stage of Theater Group Saebyeol.

Into the seats filed Yeon-woo's family, the other actors' families, Hong Yu-ri, and Han Hae-un.

"Prosecutor, thank you so much — we got to see Mirror because of you!"

Hae-un glanced sideways at Jeong Hae-min, then accepted the instructors' thanks.

"Not at all. I'm the one who's grateful."

"But how did you even get tickets? And not for a regular performance, either."

"Ah — someone I happened to meet through work."

The instructors nodded, then whispered as they eyed the man sitting in the row ahead.

"Mina — is that Son Jin-uk in front of us?"

"For real? Wait — I think it is. No way!"

They were still murmuring when the house lights dimmed and a ship's horn sounded. The audience was pulled under almost at once. Time slipped past, and before long Yeon-woo's closing narration brought the play to its end.

After the commemorative photos, the Pilates group left the theater looking thoroughly satisfied.

"That was incredible."

"Ahh — a photo standing between Ryu Yeon-woo and Jin Yu-han. I'm so happy."

They were comparing the pictures they'd taken when they glanced around and asked Hae-min,

"Huh? Director — where's the prosecutor?"

"Mm. He said he needed a quick word with the acquaintance who invited us. He'll be out in ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠a bit."

At that moment, Yeon-woo and Hae-un were talking in the third-floor storage room of the building.

Yeon-woo skimmed the hard-copy report Hae-un had brought and stroked his chin.

"Hwang-geum's been meeting these people?"

"Yes. Double-checked."

The file Yeon-woo was reading laid out the circumstances under which the Baeksol operative presumed to be codenamed Hwang-geum had been meeting LN Media's major shareholders, along with their profiles.

"These are all founding partners who built the company with CEO Kim Ju-seong. Most of them are retired and living off dividends. ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Until now, they've left voting authority entirely in Kim Ju-seong's hands."

At present, LN Media's voting power sat at fifty-one percent under Kim Ju-seong — thirty-eight percent held by the CEO himself, and thirteen percent belonging to directors who had delegated their authority to him.

But in the photographs Yeon-woo was looking at, the major shareholders who controlled that thirteen percent ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠were seated with the man codenamed Hwang-geum.

And between them sat one more person.

The Baeksol figure who had followed them all the way to LA to try his schemes.

"James Choi. Originally an expert in hostile corporate M&A in the States — specializing in proxy fights, as I recall."

Hae-un nodded.

A proxy fight was the practice of collecting shareholders' voting rights by proxy in order to secure speaking power at a general meeting. And in this case, the objective was obvious.

"It looks like they mean to oust CEO Kim Ju-seong from LN and install James Choi in his place."

"Hmm."

If they played this right, a way to deal Baeksol a serious blow was beginning to take shape.