The Raid

Kim Su-hyeok looked at the young actor holding out his hand right in front of him.

"It's a pleasure to meet you. I'm actor Ryu Yeon-woo."

He had known, of course, that Ryu Yeon-woo was a talent signed to this company, but he had never expected the man to appear at the contract signing itself.

"Nice to meet you. Kim Su-hyeok."

As he clasped the offered hand in greeting, Kim Su-hyeok thought to himself,

There's something oddly familiar about him. Maybe because I've seen him so much on TV?

They were meeting for the first time in person, yet a strange sense of déjà vu lingered. At his age, Kim Su-hyeok felt a little embarrassed to call himself anyone's fan, but he had recently binged the dramas and films starring Ryu Yeon-woo.

Having that very person speaking to him face-to-face felt surreal, yet this was still part of the mission, so he shook off the distraction.

"From now on, whether your schedules are domestic or overseas, Pridwen will handle security with absolute thoroughness."

Yeon-woo nodded at Kim Su-hyeok's words.

"That's reassuring. I expect we'll be seeing each other often."

After sealing the security contract with Pridwen, Yeon-woo headed for the café on the third floor.

Kim Ju-seong, who had been wiping cups, looked up as Yeon-woo stepped inside.

"The usual coffee?"

"Yes. Please."

Kim Ju-seong smiled and worked the machine as he continued.

"Parabola took first place in its time slot. Congratulations, Yeon-woo."

"Thank you. You should start thinking about returning to the industry yourself, Representative. You've been running nothing but this café for almost a full year now."

Kim Ju-seong gave a short laugh and shrugged.

"What would you even do with an old man like me? Director Yoon and Representative Jeong are already handling everything perfectly well."

Yeon-woo tilted his head.

"Old man? Someone of your caliber is still in his prime, Representative Kim. You're far too capable—there's no shortage of work waiting for you."

The look in Yeon-woo's eyes as he regarded Kim Ju-seong was the same calculating gleam he had worn when deciding how best to put the freshly discharged An Jun-ho to use. Leaving a talent like Kim Ju-seong parked behind a café counter was a criminal waste of manpower. It wasn't that Executive Director Yoon Mi-yeon or CEO Jeong Hyeok were failing at their posts; rather, Yeon-woo would simply have to create something new—something interesting enough to capture Kim Ju-seong's full attention and drive.

"Hmm. That look in your eyes is definitely the look of someone used to putting people to work. Perhaps Chairman Seo of the Ihan Group was right after all."

Yeon-woo chuckled.

"When did you two start talking about me behind my back?"

"He reaches out from time to time. He seems quite fond of Actor Ryu. Why not pay him a visit and offer your greetings when you have a free moment?"

"All right. I'll do that."

Yeon-woo nodded.

Chairman Seo Tae-gwang of the Ihan Group had, in a sense, made a value investment back when Yeon-woo was still relatively unknown. At the time the advertising fee from Ihan Tech had been so absurdly high that Yeon-woo had wondered whether there was some hidden agenda. Looking back now, with Yeon-woo's current guarantee, the old figure almost felt cheap.

Time for a contract renewal soon.

Just as they had discussed back then, a new deal would almost certainly see Yeon-woo installed as the main model not only for Ihan Tech but for the sprawling tentacles of the Ihan Group's other subsidiaries as well.

While he was still sorting his thoughts, Kim Ju-seong slid a tray with a mug across the counter.

"Coffee's ready."

"Ah—thank you."

Yeon-woo took the cup, settled into a corner seat by the window, and opened his phone.

Yeon-woo nodded at the immediate reply.

The secret workshop in Gimpo that Kim Su-hyeok and Lee Gyu-jin had been continuously monitoring was like a piggy bank. Unidentified cargo was hauled in by truck after truck and never came back out once it went inside. They must have built a sizable underground facility; the stockpile had been accumulating steadily, and now seemed the perfect moment to slit the piggy bank open.

"We've got a serious problem."

Kim Gye-sik ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠scowled at the man who had barged in without knocking and immediately announced disaster.

"What the hell is with all the 'serious problems' lately? Can't we have a small problem for once?"

"This is… genuinely serious. Gimpo got hit."

"What?!"

Kim Gye-sik had been about to brush the report off as a joke; instead his eyes flew wide. He shot to his feet so fast the wheeled office chair skidded backward and slammed into the wall.

"When you say Gimpo, you mean the Gimpo I'm thinking of?"

"…Yes. That's the one."

Kim Gye-sik's face drained of color in an instant. He turned back to the messenger.

"What the fuck… 'Got hit'? That better not mean some random burglary. Spit it out properly."

The man lowered his head, expression grim.

"The prosecution obtained a search-and-seizure warrant and raided the place just now. The small fry inside have already been arrested on the spot, and they've blanketed the perimeter with investigators—approaching is risky."

Kim Gye-sik stared at him in pure incomprehension.

"A search warrant processed that fast without us knowing a thing? We've got people on the payroll inside the prosecution and the courts—more than a few. These bastards shove their snouts all the way into our living room and nobody notices? How the hell is that possible?!"

"An unidentified tipster went straight to the Seoul Northern District Prosecutors' Office. Kwon Chang-jung himself went out to the scene."

Kim Gye-sik raked a hand roughly through his hair and began drumming his fingers on the desk.

"Kwon Chang-jung… That bastard. The Pitbull."

"That's him."

"Fuck. This is a complete mess."

Pitbull Kwon Chang-jung was famous for bulldozing any drug-related case without asking questions or cutting deals. And the people above him were not the sort Baeksol could pressure through their usual control lines; realistically, burying this now was impossible. The Pitbull's father was Kwon Doo-yeop, who had served as Minister of Justice during the civilian government, and the family was a traditional legal dynasty packed with sitting judges, prosecutors, and partners at major law firms.

"Damn it. Cut every tail you can. Anyone who looks like they'll talk if they get caught—just kill them, pour cement, and dump them in the sea."

"Understood."

Seeing the man still standing there with that bleak face, Kim Gye-sik barked again.

"Why the fuck are you still here, you idiot? Move!"

"Yes, sir!"

The fire was already at their feet. Kim Gye-sik watched his subordinate bolt out the door, then scrubbed both hands over his face as if washing it dry.

"Ha… How the hell do I even report this? We need to dig up that anonymous tipster first, somehow."

The Okinawa incident had barely cooled. He felt as if his skull were about to split trying to figure ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠out where everything had started to unravel.

With the operation now in the prosecution's hands, Yeon-woo and his agents quietly slipped back beneath the surface.

We never expected to bag anyone important with this in the first place.

Given how thoroughly the enemy operated as a cellular organization, finding a single warehouse was never going to lead them to its true owner. All they could do was seize the drugs that would have become the syndicate's war chest and inflict financial damage. ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠But in the present situation, that financial damage was exactly what mattered.

Baeksol had taken a heavy hit in Okinawa and had been unable to replenish the volume of product they normally moved. They had scraped together every hidden slush fund they could find and bought replacement product from Southeast Asia and the Middle East. Those goods had entered the country and filled the piggy bank to bursting—precisely when Yeon-woo and his team had raised the blade called Pitbull and slit the belly open.

No matter how thoroughly the legislative, judicial, and executive branches of this country had rotted, people who still possessed a conscience and fulfilled the duties of their office existed everywhere. Just as Jeon Su-hwan had in his previous life.

Yeon-woo set the phone down and looked at the report lying on the table. This one had not come from Han Hae-un; it was a schedule brief supplied by Saebyeol Entertainment.

Yeon-woo skimmed the report and stroked his chin.

Plenty of schedules lined up. Actually, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠that works out well. We'll need to stay quiet for a while…

Moving quietly as an operative meant, conversely, that he would have to stay highly visible as an actor.

Hmm. Episode five airs next week, so the story should start moving in earnest.

Episodes one through four of Parabola had featured a large ensemble of lead-level roles and had mostly spent their time establishing each character's background. In the drama, Jin Yu-han and Son Jin-uk—both gifted athletes who were nevertheless hopeless at basketball—gave Ryu Yeon-woo private lessons, and through those sessions their own backstories unfolded naturally.

There was Jin Yu-han, once a top prospect whose sudden injury right before college entrance exams had shattered his dream of going pro. And there was Son Jin-uk, who had quit teaching after winning the lottery and was now searching for the work he truly loved and wanted to do.

Yet the protagonist Ryu Yeon-woo himself had barely been explored. All the audience had been given was the "resolution of deficiency"—the way his chronic condition eased whenever he played basketball—and a sense of "anticipation" that the mental disorder which made every object appear in slow motion under extreme focus might, on the court, become a special ability allowing him to shine.

Sports dramas, and basketball dramas in particular, were not mainstream in the industry, so the writers had approached the audience carefully, step by step. They had drawn viewers in with the protagonist's "resolution of deficiency" and "anticipation." From here on, something had to explode—something that would lock the audience in completely.

And that something is the content of episode five, about to air.

In the drama, Ryu Yeon-woo had little in common with the rest of the cast beyond the fact that basketball made his headaches disappear. Even though he was the lead, he felt oddly detached from the other members. Netizen feedback reflecting that impression had already begun to surface online. Negative takes were starting to appear, especially in clubs dedicated to professional analysis of dramas and films.

Some even harshly argued that while the cast was luxurious, placing Ryu Yeon-woo—with his excessively striking looks—in the protagonist's seat was actually a negative factor.

But the early structure of the drama had been intentional to a degree. The final piece the protagonist still needed—the powerful motivation—was about to arrive.