Facade Soul

Seoul Earlier that morning

The alarm didn't wake him.

He was already awake staring at the ceiling, counting the cracks in the plaster. Three hundred and seventeen,He'd counted them every morning for three years. It was a ritual. A way to remind himself he was still alive.

Kang Jun-seo sat up slowly, the thin blanket sliding off his shoulders. The apartment was small one room, a kitchen alcove, a bathroom with tiles that never quite warmed. But it was his. The only space in the world that belonged only to him.

The morning light filtered through the dirty window, casting pale gold across the bare concrete floor. He owned almost nothing, A mattress on the floor, A table, Two chairs one broken. A small television he never watched. The walls were empty, except for one photograph tucked in the corner of the mirror.

Him and Min-joon.Ahn Min-joon stood behind him, one hand on Jun-seo's shoulder. Both in formal suits. Both in the middle of a mission that had gone right one of the few times.

Jun-seo's fingers trembled as he touched the photograph.Three years ago today.

The anniversary of the day Min-joon adopted him. Not officially or never officially. But in every way that mattered.

He pressed his palm to his chest, feeling the hollow ache beneath his ribs.

"I'm still here, father." He said with blank face but from beneath the overwhelmed emotion which making him to bear the loneliness pain again.

"I keep my promise.", He reminded the words he said to min-joon.

The shower ran cold. He didn't mind.

Jun-seo stood under the shower, letting the water pound against his shoulders, his back, the scars that mapped his body like a cartography of violence which he'd gained as a child. The water heater had been broken for months. He hadn't reported it. Small discomforts kept him sharp.

He shaved carefully the razor moving in precise strokes along his jawline. His face in the mirror was sharp, angular, the kind of face that didn't invite conversation, Dark black eyes, Too old for his age showing tiredness. A mouth that rarely smiled.

Twenty-six years old, he thought. And I look like I've lived fifty.

He toweled off. Dressed.

The clothing was practical dark gray tactical pants, a black turtle neck sweater, a leather jacket that had seen better days. Simple. Unremarkable. The kind of outfit that let you disappear into a crowd.

He checked himself in the mirror one last time.

Red.

That was his codename. Short. Simple. His handler Director Jin Tae-sung had given it to him three years ago.

"You're like a red thread," Tae-sung had said. "Visible. Dangerous. Impossible to miss until you want to be."

Jun-seo had never asked what it meant. He didn't need to understand. He just needed to be it.

He pulled on his boots. Grabbed his bag. Locked the door behind him.The morning Seoul streets were already alive.

Jun-seo walked through the neighborhood of his apartment a forgotten corner of the city where old buildings leaned against new ones, where the smell of kimchi jjigae wafted from small restaurants, where people glanced at strangers and quickly looked away.

Good, he thought. Notice nothing. Remember nothing.

He walked three blocks to the subway station. The platform was crowded with commuters businessmen in pressed suits, students with heavy bags, elderly women clutching grocery bags. No one looked at him twice.

He merged into the crowd like water merging into a river.

This is how survival feels, he thought. Invisible. Nameless. Free.

The train arrived. He boarded. Found a corner. Stood in silence, one hand on the overhead rail, his eyes moving across every face.

A habit, he told himself. Nothing more.But he knew it was more. It was how he'd been trained. How he'd survived.

NIS Headquarters

jun-seo reaches the building.The building rose before him a tower of glass and steel in the heart of the government district. forty-three floors of concrete and secrets. The most secure building in the country.

Jun-seo entered through the underground parking. His badge a black card with a silver chrysanthemum granted him access to the private elevator.The ride was silent. His reflection stared back at him from the polished steel doors.

You're not ready, a voice whispered in his head. You'll never be ready.He crushed the voice,crushed the doubt. There is no ready. There is only do.

The doors opened.

The office was on the forty-third floor. The highest level.Jun-seo was expected.

Director Jin Tae-sung sat behind a desk that could have held a small car. He was six two tall, silver haired, with the kind of face that had seen everything and approved of nothing. His eyes were black pits in a weathered landscape.

His second-in-command, Director Park Ji-yeon, stood to his left.Both were waiting.

"Sit," Tae-sung said. Jun-seo sat.

"You know why you're here," Tae-sung continued. His voice was gravel and granite. "Fourteen months ago, we lost Captain Ahn Min-joon."The name hit like a fist.

Jun-seo's jaw tightened. His hands curled into fists at his sides.Tell me something I don't know, he thought. Tell me it's not what I think.

"A car crash," Park said quickly. "That's what we told you. That's what we told everyone."."But it wasn't," Tae-sung interrupted. His eyes were cold. "It was murder."

"Let me tell you something, Jun-seo," Tae-sung said. He leaned forward. "Something you don't know."

He pressed a button on his desk.A screen flickered to life.Photos appeared. Documents. Names.

"Five years ago 2015 we sent seven agents to Russia. Each one was given the same mission you're being given now. Find the network, Find the source, Bring us proof."

The photos showed faces. Young faces. Brave faces."They all died."Jun-seo's breath caught.

"One by one, Shot in Moscow, Drowned in the Volga, Disappeared in St. Petersburg, One went mad in a Siberian prison took his own life."

The screen scrolled. Names appeared.Lee Sung-ho, Park Chang-min, Kim Hyun-woo, Choi Jin-tae, Yoo Min-soo,and Son Jae-rim.

Six names. Six agents."Min-joon was the seventh.",Tae-sung said.

Jun-seo's vision blurred. He blinked it away.Not tears. Not now."Why didn't he die with the others?"

"He was better," Tae-sung said quietly. "Smarter, He found the network, Followed the trail. And then he found him."

"Black .?"

Tae-sung shook his head.

"'The Ghost of Russia,'" Park corrected. "No one knows his real name. No one knows his face. He runs everything drugs, weapons, human trafficking and other illegal bussinesses. His men are everywhere."

"Including here?".Tae-sung's silence was answer enough.

"He killed Min-joon," Jun-seo said flatly. "Because Min-joon got close."."He killed him because Min-joon was going to expose everything." Tae-sung stood. "And now we need someone to finish what he started."

"The mission is simple," Park said. She pulled a folder from the desk. "You go in, You find the network, You find the Ghost, bring the evidence back to korea."

"My cover?", Jun-seo said.

"Your cover: Kimjoon, a Korean-Russian businessman seeking investment opportunities. Ji-yeon prepared everything, Documents, Bank accounts, Business history.".Jun-seo took the folder.His fake identity stared back at him.

Kimjoon, Age 28, Businessman, Born Busan. Moved to Russia at 22, Seeking opportunities in import-export.

"Leave from Incheon tonight," Tae-sung said. "St. Petersburg first. Then Moscow. You'll meet your contact there."

"Name?", Jun-seo asked handling his fake identity.

"Yuki Tanaka, He's been on our payroll for three years, Quiet man, Good eyes.", park said.

Jun-seo stood.

"Red."

He stopped at the door."Success means you come back." Tae-sung's voice was softer now. Almost fatherly. "Failure means you join the others."

"I know.", jun-seo said.

"One more thing."

Jun-seo turned.

"Min-joon was proud of you." Tae-sung's eyes were unreadable. "He always said you were the son he never had.".Jun-seo didn't answer.

He walked out.

Incheon Airport that night

The plane was a Dreamliner wide-bodied, comfortable.Jun-seo boarded as Kimjoon.Business class, Seat 4A, A glass of whiskey neat in his hand.

He stared out the window at the Seoul lights falling away below.His mind wandered to his family.

Father died when I was six. Sudden. Unexpected. The man who taught me to ride a bike, to fish, to never cry suddenly gone.

Mother held on for more years.Cancer, The slow kind, The kind that eats you from the inside. She died right after university finals.

Min-joon paid for everything.Tuition, Books, Food, A place to live when I had nothing.He never asked for anything in return.

Jun-seo closed his eyes.

I'm going to find the Ghost, he thought. And I'm going to make him pay.

The flight 8 hours later

Somewhere over Siberia, Jun-seo finally slept.

He dreamed of a house. A small house in the countryside. Fields of barley, A river, Children laughing.

Min-joon was there.He was smiling."You did it, son," he said. "You did it."

As he move forward to grab the hand of min-joon the black shadow appeared starting to sinking him under itself as like, the warning or the fate who will again starting to play with him just same like his childhood.

Jun-seo woke with tears on his face. He wiped them away. Later, he told himself. Grieve later.

For now, there was only the mission. Thought for a moment