Special Agent and the Cat
The next morning, Yeon-woo woke with a hangover and sat on the edge of the bed, clutching his spinning head.
"Ugh... Do Teacher Jeong Cheol-min and Hyung Jin-uk always drink like this? At this rate there won't be any brain cells left."
He staggered upright, took a shower, and by the time he stepped out, his young body had already eased the hangover somewhat.
Buzz—
His smartphone rang at just the right moment. Checking it, he found a report waiting from Han Hae-un.
After sending the reply, Yeon-woo perched on the sofa, rinsed his throat with mineral water, and opened the attached file.
"Hmm..."
As he read the report he stroked his chin, lost in thought.
He dug deeper than I expected.
According to the report, Reporter Kim Joon-kyung and the other two were walking a razor-thin line. Of course they themselves had no idea...
If they dig just a little further they might reach other money-laundering fronts Baeksol operates.
The problem was that Kim Joon-kyung and his NTS allies still had no clear picture of exactly whom they were up against. The routes they were probing were information Yeon-woo and the other operatives had already mapped almost completely, so for them to push deeper and catch Baeksol's eye would, at this stage, do more harm than good.
Naturally we have to protect them on humanitarian grounds—their lives could be in danger—but Kim Joon-kyung and the other two will also be useful in many ways when we face Baeksol going forward.
Just as Baeksol had spent decades building its own networks, Yeon-woo and his team needed lines of their own in every sector if they were going to fight them.
The prosecution, where Han Hae-un worked, had already been largely mapped. Who were Baeksol's collaborators, and who remained clean. Through the Gimpo incident they had confirmed beyond doubt that "Pitbull" Kwon Chang-jung and his entire legal family had no connection to Baeksol whatsoever.
In the business world, the LN management battle and the subsequent marketing contracts had at least proven that Baeksol's tentacles had not reached Leehan Group or SL Group.
Other fields still needed thorough vetting, but this was a chance to build a filter that could separate clean public servants and journalists from the rest.
Of course Baeksol has always mixed financial rewards, drug supply, and well-timed threats—carrot and stick—to construct their private networks...
Yeon-woo and his operatives had no intention of choosing that method.
Because it wasn't justice?
No. Nothing so grand or outdated.
Carrot and stick only work if you keep feeding them. The moment you stop, the relationship cracks. Even if you keep supplying them, they grow dull with time.
So to gather people they needed a value that, in a way, felt even more rustic and childish than justice itself.
That value is a sense of mission.
The reason Yeon-woo, Han Hae-un, Kim Su-hyeok, Lee Gyu-jin, and Park Jung-hyeon threw themselves into work that could cost them their lives at any moment was, in truth, nothing more than that rustic, childish motive.
Investigation Analysis Division Director Yoo Do-hyun, Inspection Officer Oh Young-jin, and Reporter Kim Joon-kyung.
He needed to learn how much resolve they truly carried while digging into Baeksol's trail—whether they were people who could walk the same road from here on.
Time passed. Parabola moved into the arc where Yeon-woo and the rest of the team, now fully united, threw themselves into basketball practice for the tournament.
Episode 6's ratings still could not open a wide gap; terrestrial network Daytona, which had poured money into production, showed its remaining strength. Parabola had to settle for a narrow one-percentage-point lead.
More time passed, and the first schedule after the ambassador contracts approached.
As previously discussed, he had signed simultaneously with fashion house Armand and watch brand Capela. Domestic and international media, of course, splashed the mouth-watering news across their front pages.
On the way to the shoot, Yeon-woo skimmed the articles inside Kim Min-su's car, then glanced at Lee Ye-eun in the passenger seat. Her face was flushed with pure excitement.
"Noona, that good?"
Lee Ye-eun shot him a look that said the question itself was ridiculous.
"Of course! It's Armand! And the first Asian ever!"
Watching her clench her fists, Yeon-woo allowed a small smile. He had never cared much about fashion; he had simply accepted the offers to raise the overseas-recognition score that would feed into corporate evaluations. To fashion major Lee Ye-eun, however, the meaning was anything but light.
"When I was in college I even did a presentation on Armand's founder, Armand Jean Duplessis! Being the ambassador for a brand like that is huge!"
Faced with her fervor, Yeon-woo gave an awkward laugh and scratched the back of his head.
They kept sending proposals for a whole year and waited... If I'd known she'd be this happy I should have accepted sooner.
While those thoughts drifted, Kim Min-su's car pulled into a studio in Paju. After parking they followed a guide staffer into the vast factory-style interior, where Armand personnel walked forward to greet Yeon-woo.
"Huk... They're all foreigners."
Yeon-woo smiled at Lee Ye-eun's whisper.
"Judging by their looks, most of them are probably French."
Lee Ye-eun tilted her head.
"Huh? How do French people look different?"
"Well... clean-cut handsome, I guess. A little less greasy than Italians."
"Come on, what kind of answer is that? Then are you French too?"
"..."
Just as Westerners often cannot tell Koreans, Chinese, and Japanese apart, Asians rarely catch the subtle national differences among Europeans. Europe had plenty of immigrants and long-mixed bloodlines, yet after more than a decade living there Yeon-woo could still sense the faint national flavor in each face.
One of the approaching staff extended a hand.
"A pleasure, Mister Ryu. We sent love letters for so long, and at last we are joined. I am Vincent Clerc, chief designer of Armand."
The English still carried a strong French accent. Yeon-woo smiled, took the offered hand, and answered—naturally, in French.
"The pleasure is mine. Being a complete outsider to fashion I had never accepted any brand ambassadorship, yet with Armand I found myself wanting to try."
It was the polished, conciliatory rhetoric honed through years of European high-society diplomacy. Pure flattery, yet the corner of Vincent Clerc's mouth lifted. Only a beat later did he realize the language that had just entered his ears was his mother tongue.
"...Oh? You speak French? No—not merely speak it; the pronunciation was perfect...?"
Yeon-woo answered with a bright smile.
"Isn't French the language of fashion? Working with Armand, one ought to manage at least this much."
Of course he had learned it because it was the language of diplomacy, not fashion. In Europe it was, in some circles, used even more than English—especially after Britain's Brexit exit from the EU. In his previous life as a shadow diplomat, fluency in French had been a given.
"Haha, Mister Ryu truly knows how to make a person feel good. When I saw on your profile that you were fluent in English, German, and Italian I wondered if you were Hermes rather than human—yet you speak French as well."
Yeon-woo offered a light smile. In Roman myth Hermes was the messenger god who also governed language; being compared to a deity meant Vincent Clerc had clearly taken a liking to him.
"Not at all. My German and Italian are only enough for simple interviews or scripted lines. My skill is shallow."
In truth German and Italian were nowhere near as fluent as his French.
Just then Yeon-woo noticed Lee Ye-eun fidgeting beside him. She leaned in and whispered.
"Yeon-woo, is that guy Vincent Clerc? I could swear he just said that while talking."
"That's right. He introduced himself as Vincent Clerc."
Lee Ye-eun's eyes ballooned to the size of saucers.
"Huk! I'm your big fan! Really!"
She delivered the line in textbook K-pronunciation, reading it like a schoolbook. Vincent Clerc smiled.
"Oh, really? Thank you."
Watching the exchange, Yeon-woo nodded to himself.
Come to think of it, he did introduce himself as chief designer. Looks like she's a genuine fan.
Even Lee Ye-eun, who was usually bold enough never to feel small anywhere, was clearly nervous. Yeon-woo gave Vincent Clerc a brief introduction.
"She's my dedicated stylist. Extremely talented."
"Oh, is that so? I saw several of your photographs in the profile—were they all this young lady's work?"
Realizing they were talking about her, Lee Ye-eun opened her mouth.
"M-my name is Lee Ye-eun!"
"Ya-ong? What a cute name. Nice to meet you."
"Ah, no, not Ya-ong..."
To the very end Vincent Clerc never managed to distinguish "Lee Ye-eun" from "Ya-ong."
The photoshoot began. Natural, striking poses kept flowing out of Yeon-woo, drawing soft exclamations throughout the studio.
"Oh, this actor really knows how to use his body. Simply striking a pose and truly using the body are different things—it's like watching an active fashion model."
The photographer's words drew a nod from Vincent Clerc, who stood beside him studying the monitor.
"I've almost never used Asian models, yet he suits it astonishingly well."
Yet a two-percent shadow of regret still lingered in Vincent Clerc's eyes. It had nothing to do with Yeon-woo's looks or poses. Rather, it felt as though a superb ingredient was being cooked into something far too ordinary.
Someone else felt the same quiet dissatisfaction. Ya-ong—no, Lee Ye-eun—watching Yeon-woo shoot, also sensed that something was missing. In a way, no one understood every corner of Yeon-woo's style and body better than she did.
Ah!
An idea struck. She immediately borrowed the car keys from Kim Min-su and sprinted to the parking lot. Minutes later she returned carrying something she had dug out of a box in the trunk corner.
Kim Min-su tilted his head at the sight.
"What did you bring?"
"This!"
What Lee Ye-eun pulled from her coat was the model pistol Kim Min-su had painstakingly claw-machined from every arcade in downtown Paju years earlier during the Master Plan shoot. Coincidentally, today's location was also Paju.
She carried the prop gun over to Vincent Clerc and the photographer.
"E-excuse me."
"Oh, Miss Ya-ong."
"007! James Bond! (Have you seen Survival Island? If he holds this gun for the shoot he'll look just like James Bond.)"
Lee Ye-eun compressed an entire speech into two words and a desperate gesture. She instantly regretted never having studied English properly. Then, eyes sparkling, she held out the model pistol as if pleading that they absolutely use it.