Agent Seo's Gift of Gab (1)

"Oh? Hello, Agent Otter!"

An unexpected figure greeted me when I opened the door to Baek Sa-ra's hospital room.

Ha Yu-ju, her left arm wrapped snugly in bandages, sitting across from Baek Sa-ra.

She was still recovering from the surgery to reattach her severed fingers after losing her wrist. But the moment Baek Sa-ra was hospitalized, apparently, she'd come running.

Though what on earth were the two of them doing?

Nail art?

Astoundingly enough, Yu-ju was decorating Baek Sa-ra's nails with one hand.

"Hello, Ha Yu-ju. I didn't realize you were already here."

"That's fine, come on in! Oh—wait, no. Should I move out of the way for you?"

Yu-ju grinned, her gaze darting back and forth between me and Baek Sa-ra. Her mischievous expression made me smile and shake my head.

"No, stay right there. I just stopped by to drop off a book."

I lifted the book in my hand to show her. Yu-ju turned back to me, and her eyes went round.

"Huh? Agent, where are you off to?"

Only now had she properly taken in my outfit. I was wearing the Bureau's dress uniform.

The Bureau's attire was divided into dress uniforms and duty uniforms, and of the two, the dress uniform was a sharply tailored, formal affair meant for official occasions. Which meant that while I looked like I was off to receive some grand commendation, the truth of the matter was that I'd been asked to help out with a simple piece of work.

"The Post-Management Team asked me to come have a talk with Choi Sang-eun."

"Ahh. It really suits you, Agent. Since you're all dressed up anyway, want me to do your nails too?"

"No, I'm quite alright."

Yu-ju asked while pressing glitter onto Baek Sa-ra's fingernails, and I declined with speed. As it was, I'd been on edge since yesterday, wondering why a few of my roommate's nails were glittering green—so it had been Yu-ju's handiwork all along.

Careful not to disturb her work, I set the book down gently on the table. Baek Sa-ra, who had been following my movements with her eyes, offered her thanks.

"Thank you, Otter."

"Don't mention it."

‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠

After taking a blow to the head from Alpha in the National Theater and falling three stories, Baek Sa-ra had ultimately been admitted. So I'd brought along the book I'd promised her, something to pass the time while she rested.

"There. Done…"

Having completed her masterpiece, Yu-ju stepped back with an air of satisfaction. She really did have gifted hands. Baek Sa-ra's nails gleamed in a tidy, delicate rose pink.

"Unni, this time, don't go eating them, okay?"

With that saucy warning delivered, Yu-ju began briskly packing up her tools. Impressive, really—both that she could pull off work like that one-handed, and that she could stay so chipper after being hurt that badly.

Yu-ju was from the Page facility too, after all. And unlike Jae-gyeom, who'd ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠only met Baek Sa-ra after being hired by the Bureau, Yu-ju's time at Page had actually overlapped with hers. Maybe that was why the two of them seemed close as sisters.

"Oh, right, Agent."

Yu-ju suddenly piped up as if something had just occurred to her.

"Those Contaminated People? They caught all of them. Did you hear?"

"Yes, I saw the photos that went up, too."

"Huh? The mugshots are already posted?"

At my words, Yu-ju scurried over to the bed, grabbed the tablet she'd been sprawled on top of, and hurried back.

"Whoa, it's real!"

It was a post from the Bureau's internal network. Beneath that brief announcement, the mugshots of the arrested Contaminated People ran in a long, orderly line.

"Unni, recognize anyone?"

"Mmm… hard to say?"

"Oh! This guy. It says he's the one behind the 'threats against agents.' Do you know him?"

"No, his face doesn't ring a bell at all."

"What, seriously…? So he's just a nobody?"

The perpetrator of the agent-death threats that Yu-ju had pointed out was the bear cub's older brother—the man who'd sworn to kill me. Which also made him the guy who'd tried to cozy up to Baek Sa-ra by name-dropping an "older brother," and yet Baek Sa-ra clearly had no idea who he was. So I, too, quietly agreed with Yu-ju's dismissal.

The old sayings never lie. Birds of a feather flock together, and empty carts make the most noise—all of it true. Apparently this one, like the bear cub, had been just a small fry with a big mouth.

"Anyway, good news, right, Otter?"

"Haha, yes…"

The man who'd been sharpening his knives to kill me was caught. From my perspective, that was a good thing. And yet… how to put it.

I supposed it was time to start rethinking my image of the Bureau after all.

To me, the Special Management Bureau had been a collection of insufferably arrogant slackers who never actually did their jobs, hiding behind excuse after excuse. But now I had to admit it: they really were that good. When they decided to act, they acted properly.

And above all, the Otter Survival Movement ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Headquarters was far more powerful than I'd ever imagined.

In fact, the reason the bear cub's brother had been nabbed so quickly was a little absurd.

Did he have any idea? That this single message would send the members of the Survival HQ into a fury.

Of course he didn't. Even I only found out yesterday.

Five days ago, while I was still trapped in the National Theater, the Survival HQ people had been watching over me. The moment that message went out, they exploded into action.

From what I hear, the general stance was something like: Agent Otter's already running on fumes and now you threaten him? We're going to grind you into powder first.

Honestly, that bear cub's brother was just unlucky. The Survival HQ had been suffering from severe pent-up frustration, forced to watch me tumble head over heels like a rolling hoop, and then—lo and behold—a target they could actually catch and beat down appeared. Serves him right, they'd all agreed in perfect unison.

The flames didn't stop there, either—they leapt all the way to the outside contractor managing the National Theater. The General Affairs section chief personally stepped forward and lodged a fierce protest: Your negligence and your failure to report put our otter—no, our agent—in danger.

"The General Affairs section chief is one of Survival HQ's biggest whales. Number one in donations!"

Thumbs up!

Yu-ju raised her thumb high, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠bragging about the Survival HQ's reach and riches.

"That's why the Apophis people actually admitted it was all their fault this time and apologized. And they're normally so shameless about it."

Apophis was the name of the outside contractor that managed the special zones—a company founded by retired Bureau operatives, I'd heard. Its strength: outstanding operational capability. Its flaw: an insistence on being treated like the senior class. All told, they'd land somewhere around 'a competent but difficult-to-handle external partner'—and the company that had been managing the problematic National Theater was none other than Apophis.

And even Apophis, this time, couldn't so much as peep before being made to answer for it. As a result, those Contaminated People were dealt with at truly lightning speed: the Analysis Team tracked down their hideout, the Control Team mapped the organization's scale, the Exploration Team secured the infiltration route, and the General Affairs chief squeezed Apophis until it squealed.

"Yes, I heard. The Survival HQ members worked very hard, ah, apparently."

"Worked hard? Our name is literally 'the Otter Survival Movement Headquarters'!"

Thumbs up, take two!

Fine. The talent of a Bureau agent. The virtue to turn an otter into a human. With a combination like that, of course they were powerful.

So I will laugh no more, Survival HQ. I still have my doubts about whether this is right, but—keep taking care of me, Survival HQ…

Still, if you receive something, you ought to give something back in return.

"I understand what you're saying."

Choi Sang-eun replied to my persuasion, though reluctantly.

"It's the kind of news that would turn the world upside down. If word got out that things like this exist, the panic would be enormous."

This was the interview room of the Crisis Management Division's Post-Management Team. The Choi Sang-eun sitting across from me now was dressed in the gray tracksuit the Bureau provided.

On top of that, he hadn't been able to shave for ten days, which aged him a good five years from when I'd first seen him.

Five days ago, Choi Sang-eun had walked out of the National Theater alongside me. But he hadn't been allowed to go home yet—all because he'd dug in his heels and refused to sign the confidentiality agreement. So the Post-Management Team, the department responsible for getting civilians home, had come to me for help. Since Choi Sang-eun and I knew each other, they wanted me to talk him around instead.

"I'm sure your organization has its own difficulties. And Park Hyun-jin risked her life to—what was her name again? Park Hyun-jin, right?"

"No. My name is Seo Do-woon."

When I gave my real name, Choi Sang-eun laughed weakly.

True to form, his whole demeanor had softened the moment he laid eyes on me. There was still the bond of having shared hardship with me for the six days we were trapped in the zone together—and above all, he'd apparently pegged me as some kind of hero agent who'd thrown himself bare-handed into a danger zone to save civilians.

"Yes—I saw firsthand how devotedly you worked, Seo Do-woon."

Mm. Yes. Sorry, but I'm going to make use of that misconception.

"I only did my job. Every one of our staff would say the same."

"You fought like it was a war out there. I'm grateful you saved us with your lives on the line. I genuinely respect you."

Oh no, journalist—actually, it's a bit different from that…

"But this isn't some incident happening at a remote frontier. It's unfolding in the middle of Seoul, to random crowds of people. The ones who died before the performance even started—maybe they could have been saved."

That was Choi Sang-eun's argument: if innocent civilians being dragged into special zones was simply going to keep happening, then people should be warned, the way they prepare for fires or landslides.

It wasn't an unreasonable point. But the familiar disasters and the zones were different animals entirely.

"Revealing the truth is important, of course. But you know as well as I do, journalist—some facts are more useful left buried."

"…"

"Later, once this whole affair has been sorted out, disclosure might be possible. But not now. What happens if this lawless space becomes known to the public without any safeguards in place?"

"It'll stagnate."

Stagnate?

"Like dirty water pooling in a sewer. Every kind of filth will fill it up, because nothing there gets stopped—murder, human trafficking, you name it, no one's there to intervene. And once people start developing monster-like powers on top of that? Anyone with nothing to lose, anyone sick of reality, will flock there in droves. Once the problem swells to that size, it will inevitably seep back out to the surface, and…"

I hadn't thought that far. Truly worthy of a journalist—he'd reached enlightenment in the ways of the world's darkness.

"I suppose there's no helping it, then."

In the end, Choi Sang-eun was persuaded by his own words.

"I'll keep my silence. In exchange, when the time comes to put the record together—contact me. I want to be part of it. That's non-negotiable."

At Choi Sang-eun's declaration of surrender, I stole a glance at the window in the door behind his shoulder.

Some grown man was pressing his face against the glass, watching us. It was Heo Gu-young, chief of the Post-Management Team. I gave him a slight nod—and he clapped both hands over his mouth, nearly in tears.

I turned back to Choi Sang-eun.

"Thank you for your cooperation."

Mission complete. And I hope Chief Heo Gu-young finally gets his freedom too.

Before offering Choi Sang-eun my final farewell, I brought up one last question.

"One more thing I'd like to ask you, journalist."

"Oh, of course."

"That performance you witnessed in there—you remember it?"

"Of course I remember."

"The white humanoid figure that appeared in it. When did it start stretching its neck out toward my side of the house?"

The show had unfolded on that stage from creation to apocalypse, and a white rose had bloomed. And that rose had taken the shape of a hanged man.

But I'd had to shut my eyes to resist that uncanny pull, so I never saw when the figure first lifted its face toward mine. From my own vantage point it was chilling enough—but from another spectator's seat, it must have looked utterly grotesque.

"The white man, you mean?"

But Choi Sang-eun tilted his head as if hearing it for the very first time. Then he asked back, genuinely puzzled:

"Was there something like that?"