Casting Call
At Yeon-woo's words, every pair of eyes in the conference room went wide.
"Looking at the careers listed in their contracts, they really are remarkable people," Representative Jeong Hyeok said, and the others nodded in agreement.
"But will they actually accept?"
"Well, we'd have to hire them officially and pay them properly."
Yeon-woo steered the discussion toward making a formal contract offer, saying they might accept if approached that way — though in truth, he was already certain they would.
Our operatives were glued to every live broadcast of Survival Island when it aired domestically, talking nonstop about how fun it was.
Kim Su-hyeok had even submitted a formal suggestion — without knowing Yeon-woo was Alpha-Beta — that anyone with that level of skill ought to be recruited into the security firm, and that they should start scouting talent from related clubs.
The secure channel the operatives used for chatter had been full of it too; for days on end, Survival Island had been the only topic of conversation.
They're people I can trust completely with my back. And if anything goes wrong during Global Match, having Han Hae-un able to keep them under control later is a bonus.
While Yeon-woo quietly settled on Kim Su-hyeok and Park Jung-hyeon, Gong Min-jeong resumed her explanation of the rules.
"As you can see from the materials, this season of Global Match will feature players from twenty countries around the world. And this series has one major distinguishing feature."
At the words "major distinguishing feature," every gaze in the room locked onto her.
"Last season, players moved freely all day, returned to their lodgings once combat hours ended, and the next morning started again from wherever they'd left off."
Yeon-woo nodded. That rule was exactly how he'd eliminated someone the moment the second day began.
"But this season is a team competition, so the rules are different."
Gong Min-jeong pointed at the screen as she laid it out. Every three hours, the team leader would set a target location — and no matter what, the team had to reach that area. The team leader would be issued a tablet PC that displayed opponents' positions as dots on a map, refreshed every three hours. Using that information, they would choose a point at least five hundred meters from their current position, formulate strategy and tactics accordingly, and arrive within the three-hour window no matter what stood in their way.
"Since the participating celebrity is the team leader, that means a non-specialist is making all the strategic and tactical decisions?"
Gong Min-jeong nodded at Yeon-woo's observation.
"During the ten minutes the team leader spends deciding strategy, the other team members — the specialists — have to stay at least ten meters away under a 'Silent Rule.' No conversation of any kind. Break it and you're disqualified on the spot."
Yeon-woo stroked his chin.
Hmm. So they're deliberately killing the turtle strategy — camping in one spot and waiting for everyone else to get eliminated. This just got interesting.
With a rule like that, holing up for an ambush or simply hiding would be nearly impossible. He knew from Survival Island and countless real operations that advancing five hundred meters in three hours under armed contact was a genuine ordeal.
There'll be a lot more fighting than I expected.
Depending on the destination the team leader set and the route they took, someone would end up on someone else's tail, or seize the high ground — and someone else would walk straight into a firefight in open terrain.
Blue Whale Gate, as expected… Details like this must have come straight out of their think tank.
Founding Saebyeol Tank — no, Saebyeol Creative — had been an excellent decision, Yeon-woo thought. Ideas this sharp could be applied not only to dramas and films, but to variety shows and every other field as well.
Yeon-woo nodded at Han Hae-un's voice coming through the headset.
In their previous lives, Yeon-woo and Han Hae-un had themselves been Grade-A classified matter — the highest security tier that existed. In this life, reborn from scratch, they shared no link whatsoever to who they had been. The three operatives were different. Before Yeon-woo and Hae-un recruited them, they had simply been discharged soldiers with somewhat glittering service records.
Outwardly, their public trajectory was textbook: leave the military, take a few quiet years to rest, found a security firm, and grow the business step by step. A model case of career soldiers adapting to civilian life after discharge or retirement — the kind of path that could serve as a perfect template for others.
"This way, Kim Su-hyeok and the others' real identities become the best masks they could ask for."
Yeon-woo nodded again.
From Baeksol's perspective, they might know that Yeon-woo and Han Hae-un existed — but they could never connect those names to the people actively opposing them. Knowing who they had been in a past life would require literally dying and coming back.
Kim Su-hyeok, Lee Gyu-jin, and Park Jung-hyeon, on the other hand, still existed in national databases. A few searches would identify them clearly, and Baeksol could reasonably conclude it had the capacity to interfere with their business.
But they'd never find a motive to treat them as enemies.
The three operatives weren't former NIS, so they shared no points of contact with Baeksol — and Baeksol would never imagine that the three even knew it existed.
"In that case, the real identities that go public should be built up as successful businessmen — grow the security firm's reputation and scale."
On operations they all used false identities anyway, so that was never a problem. Yeon-woo was looking further ahead. Someday, once Baeksol was entirely behind bars, the three operatives would leave Yeon-woo and Hae-un and live their own lives. The successful-businessman identities they had cultivated would finally become their real lives.
Regret colored Hae-un's voice. He clearly wanted to join them himself.
A sitting prosecutor randomly showing up as a contestant would make no sense…
"So I gathered."
Somehow, Hae-un's voice carried a sulky edge born of pure envy.
Ugh. He's not about to make them run extra drills out of spite, is he…
A few days later, an official casting request from Saebyeol Media arrived at the security firm Pridwen.
Regarding a guest appearance and business collaboration for Survival Island — Global Match…
Kim Su-hyeok's expression turned complicated as he took the request form.
"An appearance…"
His first thought the moment he saw it was I want to do this. But upper-level authorization was required, so he scratched his cheek and logged into the secure channel.
Beep—
The connection tone to Alpha-Beta sounded, and Kim Su-hyeok spoke.
"I have a matter to report. Saebyeol Media has requested that Park Jung-hyeon and I appear as guest players on the overseas television program Survival Island — Global Match…"
The answer came before he had even finished speaking.
"Sir? But this is a television appearance — identity exposure could be an issue…"
The celebrity contestants were already famous faces who would only gain more recognition from appearing. Guest players — specialists and safety personnel drawn from former military and related fields — were ordinary civilians, and the production would take every care to protect their identities.
At Alpha-Beta's authorization, Kim Su-hyeok cheered silently. Then Hae-un's voice came through again, still connected as Alpha-Beta.
"Yes, sir. Understood."
Click—
The secure channel disconnected. Buzzing with the thought of actually competing on the Survival Island he'd only ever watched on television, Kim Su-hyeok headed for the filing cabinet.
"Let's see. M8 through M14…"
Rattle—
He opened the cabinet. The files under M8 alone were packed solid — intelligence on active NIS agents suspected of being Baeksol's overseas operatives. Kim Su-hyeok stared, doubting his own eyes.
"W-wait. If this whole stretch is just M8…"
Then how much was left from M9 through M14 combined?
"I have to do all of this…?"
The next day, a hollow-eyed Kim Su-hyeok greeted Park Jung-hyeon and Lee Gyu-jin as they reported to the fifth floor of the Saebyeol Building.
"…Team Leader, are you two-timing or something? You look like someone drained the life force out of you all night."
"Do I look like you?"
Kim Su-hyeok dismissed Lee Gyu-jin's nonsense without missing a beat and handed the casting proposal to Park Jung-hyeon.
"What's this?"
"Read it and you'll know."
Park Jung-hyeon reviewed the casting proposal and tilted his head.
"This is really for me?"
"You and me."
Lee Gyu-jin, who had been peeking over a shoulder, opened his mouth.
"What?! What about me?"
"Only the two of us who are publicly known — me and Park Jung-hyeon — are participating."
Lee Gyu-jin's voice turned indignant.
"Come on — Gukbap barely watched the show when it aired, and the ones who actually tuned in live every week were Team Leader and me. So why Gukbap…"
"No idea. That's what Saebyeol requested. And you — you're on leave in Hawaii for the duration."
The look of pure injustice on Lee Gyu-jin's face transformed as if by magic.
"Ooooh, finally — I get leave! In that case, I accept."
Park Jung-hyeon, by contrast, looked as unimpressed as ever. His interests were very clearly defined. If told to go, he went. If told to do something, he did it.
"So we're appearing to support Actor Ryu Yeon-woo?"
"That's right."
Park Jung-hyeon thought of Yeon-woo's warm hands during the last U.S. trip — quietly setting down a portion of gukbap for him without a word.
"Mm. He's a good person."
Watching him, Kim Su-hyeok continued.
"There's an individual appearance incentive. Roughly a thousand bowls of gukbap per episode. The longer we survive, the more episodes we appear in — so the incentive scales up."
"A th-thousand bowls…!"
His salary already overflowed, but the moment it was converted into gukbap, the simple light in Park Jung-hyeon's eyes changed. Fighting spirit began to blaze in them.