A Lifetime of Savings

"Ma'am, is something the matter?"

The old woman flinched and clutched her smartphone tighter. Her eyes darted, wild and lost, and the words tumbled out of her the way they do from someone being hunted.

"D-don't worry about it. I just have some business — I'm sending some money, that's all… Go away. Don't interfere."

She brushed me off and kept working the ATM, but a faint male voice leaked from the phone pressed to her ear.

"J-just a moment… You want me to press it now? I-I'm sorry. He says to press it again… I'll do it right away, just don't hang up."

I stole a glance at the screen.

"Ma'am, I'm sorry to bother you — are you making a transfer right now?"

"I told you to get out of the way. Why are you hovering?"

"The ATMs may be running slow because of a server issue. If you'd like, I can help you at the counter."

She looked at me for a moment, then pulled the phone to her chest and whispered.

"Then… please hurry. This is, well… money I scraped together in a rush, that's right. The rent — I have to send the rent now."

The words came out in a tangle, no thread of sense holding them together. She either didn't understand what was happening, or fear had already taken the wheel.

"Ma'am, we can take care of this for you at the counter inside. Right away."

I kept my voice even, loading it with as much calm as I could, and she let me guide her in.

"P-please, then. I'm counting on you."

I settled her at an open window — Yeon-hui's window, as it happened.

"Welcome. How can I help you today?"

Yeon-hui greeted her with a bright, professional smile. Then her eyes met mine.

I shaped the words silently and tipped my chin toward the old woman.

Voice phishing.

Yeon-hui's eyes went wide. A heartbeat later she had her face back under control.

"Ma'am, if you give me the account number, I'll process this for you right now."

"H-here, this number — type it in from this. Ah, I didn't hang up. I'll send it soon, so… just wait a little longer."

Yeon-hui entered the account number and, without breaking stride, reached out and pressed the call button. The smile never left her face. Neither did the steadiness in her voice.

"And the transfer amount?"

"Ten million won… h-hurry up!"

"One moment, please."

Yeon-hui's fingers moved across the keyboard as she pulled up the account. I stood there taut, waiting for the police to arrive.

They can't be late. Not for this.

There wasn't much a bank could actually do in a situation like this. A teller could freeze a transaction on their own judgment. They could put in a request to flag a suspected voice-phishing account. Even that couldn't hold for long without the customer's consent. Until the police showed up and talked to her themselves, we just had to stall.

"H-hurry up. What's taking a young person so long?"

"I'm sorry. We're running a server check today."

Yeon-hui answered with a gentle smile. Beside the old woman — who was shifting from foot to foot with impatience — I spoke quietly.

"It'll be done soon. Just a little longer, please."

She still had the phone clamped to her ear.

"They say it's almost done. They're processing it now… No, they haven't caught on. Don't worry…"

Her voice was a thin, shaking whisper, pitched not to be overheard. Anxiety, pressure, and raw fear, all braided together.

That was when Team Leader Jeong Soo-yeon and the camera crew caught the shift in the air and started to swing their lens around.

Don't come over.

I stopped them with a look and a silent shape of the words the instant they took a step toward me.

They froze. Jeong Soo-yeon was still reading my face when the branch manager, who had already pieced it together, started explaining in a low voice.

And then —

The automatic doors at the front chimed open. Two police officers, dispatched on the report, walked into the bank.

"Hello, ma'am. Would you mind speaking with us for a moment?"

"G-get away from me! Miss, just deposit the money. My grandson is… he's in danger. Please, hurry!"

Urgency burned in her eyes. Her shoulders heaved as if she couldn't catch her breath, and the phone in her hand was slick with sweat. She rapped on the teller glass with that same hand, hounding Yeon-hui to finish.

Yeon-hui didn't flinch.

"This account number… it's flagged as a suspected voice-phishing account."

The officers moved in at once.

"Ma'am, I need you to stay calm. First, hang up the phone. The priority is contacting your child directly. This matches a voice-phishing method that's been causing a lot of damage lately."

The officer's explanation was quiet and firm, and it settled into her ears with a weight she couldn't shake off.

"Wh-what?"

Her gaze wavered. The wrinkled tips of her fingers trembled. Her lips had gone dry. After a long hesitation, she slowly lowered the phone she'd been clutching.

Beep. Beep.

The other end hung up first.

The fear hadn't fully left her yet when a call came in from her actual son.

"Hyun-seok. Why weren't you answering your phone?! Jisoo… is our Jisoo all right? Oh — at daycare? Thank goodness… thank goodness."

Her voice frayed into something like a sob. She gripped the withdrawal passbook in her hand and couldn't speak for a long time. When she finally lifted her head, her eyes found mine.

"Thank you, young man. If it hadn't been for you… it would have been a disaster."

I bowed my head quietly.

"I'm just glad there was no harm done. Truly."

Her lips trembled ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠around the passbook she held so tightly, and the rims of her eyes had gone red. Something I couldn't name tightened in my chest, a heat spreading quietly behind my ribs. The simple, solid fact of it: I had protected something precious to someone. That feeling filled me without any fanfare at all.

"Thank you… thank you so much."

In the end I didn't say a word. I let a smile be the answer.

That was when the branch manager came over and clapped me on the shoulder.

"Good work, Kim. Initial response is what matters most in these things… you handled it well."

"I'm just glad no one was hurt."

The old woman was escorted to a counseling room under police protection. Yeon-hui was buried in the aftermath and the customer handling. I was about to return to my post when —

"In-ha."

Jeong Soo-yeon approached with a small smile. Behind her, the camera crew waited quietly with their equipment still in hand.

"If you have a moment, would a short interview be possible?"

Her tone was courteous, but there was no mistaking the expectation underneath it. I shook my head.

"If this is about what happened today… I'll have to decline."

"I'm sorry?"

A flicker of surprise. I went on, unhurried.

"And I'd prefer that today's incident not end up on camera."

"That's… a real shame. You stopped a customer from being defrauded. From our side, it's exactly the kind of story worth telling."

Regret sat openly in Jeong Soo-yeon's eyes. She looked ready to talk me into it by any angle she could find. I kept my voice even.

"I only did what I was supposed to do. I have no interest in drawing attention for it."

She still wanted to put me at the center of the frame — to package me as the man who had single-handedly stopped a voice-phishing scam. But that —

That's not what I want.

Being cast as some kind of hero. Ending up in other people's mouths because of it. That was not the direction I was trying to go.

"More than anything… this wasn't something I did alone. Our teller kept her composure and ran the account check, and the police responded quickly."

I drew a breath, then added the rest quietly.

That was the honest truth of where I stood. I was a contract worker, and I was employed at Ciel Bank. I had no intention of denying either of those facts. I simply didn't want to be defined by them. The path I was walking, the things I had decided to value — those mattered more. It was fine if no one ever knew. A good deed was enough, left as nothing more than a good deed.

"I'll respect that, In-ha."

The disappointment was still in her voice, but so was sincerity.

"Then we won't mention any names. We'll build it around staff interviews and use it for a company-level campaign — fraud-prevention awareness. That much should be all right, shouldn't it?"

"Yes. That's fine."

I nodded. Only then did Jeong Soo-yeon look as if she could breathe, and a gentle smile returned to her face.

"You're a quietly remarkable person, In-ha."

I didn't answer that. I only bowed my head.

From beyond the counseling room, the branch manager watched me with open satisfaction and gave a small nod. Across the counter, Yeon-hui sent me a sly little smile with her eyes.

And I went back to my place. The same place as always — beside the entrance, where people passed through and I was there to meet them.

Back to a bank security guard's post.

Giseong Study Group.

With the Ciel Bank Cup main draw ahead of me, I made my way to the dojo. The compact car I'd won as the Biryong Tournament prize still hadn't been delivered, so I was stuck taking public transit — a small disappointment.

When I opened the door, Jeong Soo-yeon and the camera crew were already there, finishing their setup.

"Come on in, In-ha. We'll stay in the corner and keep the filming quiet. We won't get in the way."

I nodded. I'd already cleared it in advance through Master Kang Hyuk and Master Park Jin-woo. A few of the study group's players looked briefly tense at the cameras, but they settled soon enough and turned their focus back to their games.

"You made it."

Master Park Jin-woo came out of the inner office with a bright face and an outstretched hand.

"A little late, but congratulations on reaching the Ciel Bank Cup main draw. Two of our own from the study group made it through — you and Yuzuha."

"Thank you."

The door opened again, and a familiar voice spilled in.

"In-ha oppa!"

Yuzuha. A tracksuit and a light jacket — ordinary clothes that still made her look like a model, thanks to her height and proportions. She started pulling drinks from the carrier in her hand and passing them out, one for each person in the room.

"I got yours too, oppa. Iced Americano."

"Thanks."

I took the coffee with a smile.

"All right, you two — ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠let's go inside."

We followed Master Park into the small office at the back of the dojo. It was the room Master Kang Hyuk usually used: a desk, a monitor, a compact sofa and table. Jeong Soo-yeon and the camera crew kept their distance, settling against the wall. The lens started rolling from well back, gathering our conversation without crowding it.

"Shall we start with this?"

When did he even put all this together…

I'd felt it during the open qualifying too — Master Park's thoroughness was something you had to respect.

"You both already know this, but the Ciel Bank Cup main draw is seeded by lottery. You could draw ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠a title favorite in the first round. The two of you could even draw each other."

Yuzuha and I exchanged a quiet look. She smiled without saying anything.

"The truth is, you can't do any real opponent-specific prep when you don't know who you're facing. In a situation like that, you're better off sharpening the instincts that play to your strengths than trying to patch up your weaknesses."

I nodded. Yuzuha was watching the screen with a serious light in her eyes.

"You especially, Yuzuha. It was close. Through most of the open qualifying you were being pushed back, and the majority of those games turned around in the middle when you induced a reading error from your opponent."

"…Yes."

She bit her lip around the small answer.

"Those kinds of openings don't come around in the main draw. Players at that level don't make many mistakes to begin with, and they will not hand you the flow of a game."

She listened in silence. She looked like someone who already knew ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠it better than anyone in the room.

Master Park's gaze shifted to me.

"In-ha, on the other hand…"

He paused, as if choosing the words, then spoke in a voice that was low and solid.

"I couldn't even rate it."

"I'm sorry?"

I asked it back, caught off guard.

"It wasn't Go at a level I can evaluate. That fourth-round game where you beat Byun Woo-bin — that sense, that intuition. I wanted to ask where on earth you even learn something like that."

"That's…"

This time I was the one scrambling. I couldn't find an answer that would sit right, so I closed my mouth on something vague.

"I know. You don't have to say it. Or rather — you couldn't say it, could you. That isn't something you get from being taught, and it isn't something you get from imitation."

Master Park nodded slowly.

The words hung in the air for a long time. Yuzuha lifted her eyes to me, and there was agreement in them.

"But don't let it go to your head."

Master Park's voice dropped, serious now.

"Because among the top players you'll face in the main draw, there isn't a single one who isn't a genius."

I drew a quiet breath. For some reason, that landed deeper than the rest.

Real geniuses.

Existences that might already stand beyond the size of the talent I had been given. And the stage where I would meet them was the Ciel Bank Cup main draw.

"Especially the ones being picked as favorites — Jeong Si-hoo 9-dan, Kim Eun-woo 9-dan. From China, Luo Quan 9-dan, Jin Mohui 9-dan, Zhou Xuwan 9-dan. And Japan's Fujisaki 9-dan. Calling them geniuses doesn't even cover it. They're once-in-a-generation talents."

Jeong Si-hoo 9-dan had held the world number-one ranking for seven years running — an overwhelming presence. I'd read an article that Zhou Xuwan 9-dan had recently broken a seventy-percent AI matching rate. The rest were among the very best players on the planet.

"I'm not telling you to be intimidated. Quite the opposite."

Master Park went on, quietly.

"I've been looking forward to your Go, In-ha. That said…"

He looked from me to Yuzuha and back again. Expectation sat in that gaze, and a thread of tension with it.

"We should prepare for the worst."

"The worst?"

"…The case where you draw Jeong Si-hoo 9-dan or Luo Quan 9-dan in the first round and go out. The case where you fail to qualify as a professional."

The room went still for a moment. A cold, practical worst-case: professional qualification delayed, remaining an amateur. He had given me the words more coolly than anyone, and with more care than anyone.

"Which is why I wanted to ask…"

He looked at the two of us in turn.