Chapter 1 - It’s Just Us Again
The night was cold and empty, Seoul humming faintly around her like a city that didn’t care. Luly walked aimlessly down the streets, her white bear tucked tightly against her chest. Her eyes were raw from crying, her face pale under the orange streetlights. She didn’t know where she was going—only that she couldn’t go back. Not to the dorm. Not to her penthouse that wasn’t hers anymore. Not to her father.
She stopped under a flickering streetlight, staring down at the bear. Her voice was small, hoarse.
“It’s just us again, Bear,” she whispered. “Guess it was too good to be true, huh?”
A car passed. Then another. She kept walking, her steps slow, shoes scuffing against the concrete.
That’s when she noticed the van. It slowed down as it approached, tinted windows hiding whoever was inside. Her body tensed.
The side window rolled down. A man leaned out—dark suit, clean cut, but not one of her father’s security. His tone was calm, almost polite. “Luly Mar?”
Luly froze, hugging the bear tighter. “Who’s asking?”
The man raised his hands slightly, showing he had nothing in them. “Don’t worry. We don’t work for your father.”
Her jaw tightened. “That’s what someone working for him would say.”
The man gave a faint smile. “Fair point. But if we did, you’d already be in the car, wouldn’t you?”
She stared at him, unsure. He nodded toward the open van door. “You’re out here with no phone, no driver, no protection. You’re smart enough to know that’s not safe. We’re not here to hurt you. We want to offer you something.”
Luly hesitated. “Offer me what?”
“Work,” he said simply. “Something suited to your abilities.”
Luly’s eyes narrowed. “You don’t even know me.”
“Oh, we do,” he replied. “You’re Luly Mar. Creator of AQUA. Investor at seventeen. The girl who walked out of her father’s shadow—and now, it seems, he’s trying to bury you in it again.”
The words cut deep, but she didn’t flinch. She was too tired for pride. “And if I say no?”
“Then we drive away, and you keep walking until you collapse. Seems like a bad deal, doesn’t it?”
The man’s voice was even, emotionless. But something about it—his tone, his composure—didn’t sound like a threat. It sounded like truth.
Luly looked around. The street was empty, the city indifferent. She looked at the bear, then at the van. Her lips trembled slightly.
She finally said, “Fine. I’ll hear you out.”
The man nodded once. “Good. Get in.”
She climbed into the van, still clutching the bear tightly. The air inside was cold, the seats black leather, everything too clean. There were two men in the front and one in the back beside her, typing quietly on a tablet.
The door slid shut. The van started moving.
Luly turned to the driver. “Where are we going?”
He didn’t answer right away.
Finally, his voice came from the front, calm and final. “We’ll let you know when we arrive at the building.”
Luly looked out the window. The city lights streaked past her reflection, fractured and distant. Her fingers gripped the bear tighter.
She whispered to it softly, barely audible, “I guess we’re starting over again.”
The van drove for nearly an hour through a silent stretch of highway until the lights of the city disappeared behind them. The road narrowed, then opened into a long private lane lined with dark pine trees and floodlights. Ahead stood a gated facility, surrounded by high concrete walls and guards in black uniforms holding rifles.
Luly stared through the tinted glass, gripping her bear tightly. When they passed the main gate, she saw it—clean, clinical letters on the white wall:
HEADQUARTERS SOUTH KOREA.
Her stomach sank.
The van stopped at the front entrance. The men guided her inside—not roughly, but with the quiet authority of people used to control. The lobby was sleek and sterile, marble floors, glass walls, the hum of machines somewhere below.
They led her down a long hallway into a conference room.
Inside were six people, each seated at the table. No name tags, no visible rank, but their presence was heavy, the kind of gravity that filled rooms when power had no need to announce itself.
The man at the center smiled faintly. “Nice to finally meet you, Miss Mar.”
Luly sat down slowly, still holding the bear in her lap. “You know who I am.”
“Of course we do,” he said smoothly. “We know everything about you. Including the fact that your father has exiled you.”
Her jaw tightened. “You people move fast.”
He ignored the remark. “We also know what your father made you do. You’ve hacked foreign networks, extracted data, wiped entire companies from existence. You’re skilled in infiltration, hand-to-hand combat, and weapons handling. You’ve been a useful shadow in your father’s empire.”
Luly said nothing.
He leaned forward. “We’re offering you something better. Freedom.”
Luly frowned. “Freedom doesn’t come from men in suits.”
That drew a small smile from the woman seated beside him. “Not usually. But in this case, it might.”
The man continued, his tone even. “We want to recruit you as an operative. Not just for South Korea, but for the United States and their allied nations.”
Luly blinked slowly. “An agent?”
“Not an ordinary one,” he said. “You’ll conduct missions that require your unique skill set—retrieving intel, hacking into secure networks, destroying research or evidence. You’ll work only when needed. Every mission you complete will earn you one million dollars.”
Luly raised a brow. “That’s a steep price for someone you just met.”
He smiled faintly. “We prefer professionals who already understand how to operate off the grid.”
She crossed her legs, unimpressed. “Do you kill people?”
He shook his head. “No. We don’t kill unless necessary. We like keeping things clean—less media coverage, fewer complications.”
Her gaze didn’t waver. “Why should I accept? My father will find a way to take it all from me anyway.”
The woman at the table spoke this time, her voice low but firm. “Not when you work for us. Your father may own half the world’s money, but he doesn’t control governments. When you’re with us, you’ll have diplomatic backing, immunity, and protection under international law. No court, no agency, no country can touch you.”
The room went quiet.
Luly leaned back in her chair, thinking. Her thumb brushed the bear’s paw. Then she said quietly, “I’ll do it. But on one condition.”
The man nodded. “Name it.”
“I’m changing my last name,” she said. “I don’t want to be associated with him anymore.”
He nodded approvingly. “That can be arranged. What will your new name be?”
Luly hesitated, then said with quiet certainty, “Reyes.”
The man smiled for the first time. “Then welcome aboard, Luly Reyes.”
He stood, offering his hand. “We’ll send you to our main facility—Headquarters United States—for training. You’ll receive your first assignment once you complete it. Your father will never know where you are.”
Luly shook his hand firmly, her expression cold, composed, determined.
“When do I leave?”
He said, “Tomorrow morning. Your flight is already arranged.”
As the meeting ended and she stood to leave, Luly looked down at the bear in her arms and whispered softly, almost to herself,
“Guess we’ve got work to do, Bear.”
The next morning, the dorm door rattled under a harsh knock. Before anyone could even answer, it swung open. Arturo Mar walked in, surrounded by men in black suits, their expressions cold and efficient. The entire dorm fell silent.
Minjae stood up first, his voice uneasy. “Sir—”
Arturo cut him off sharply. “Where is she?”
Haesoo stepped out from the hallway, still in yesterday’s shirt, his face pale from a sleepless night. “I told you already. I broke up with her.”
Arturo turned to him, his eyes sharp, burning. “Then tell me why she hasn’t come home.”
Haesoo’s stomach twisted. “She probably needed space.”
Arturo scoffed, pacing forward until he was standing right in front of Haesoo. “She’s been gone all night. No calls, no texts, no activity on any of her accounts. You think she just needed space?”
He turned to one of his men. “Set it up.”
The men moved quickly, setting laptops on the coffee table, connecting small black devices, a tangle of cables and signal boosters. The blue glow of multiple screens filled the room as they began pulling surveillance data.
Arturo’s voice was sharp. “Track her last known movement.”
One of the security men typed rapidly. “We’ve got her leaving your dorm area at 10:47 p.m. She’s walking south toward the main road. Alone.”
On the screen, footage from a nearby street camera appeared—grainy, timestamped. There she was. Luly, walking with her white bear in her arms, her head down, coat swaying in the night wind.
Haesoo’s breath caught in his throat.
“Zoom in,” Arturo ordered.
The footage jumped closer.
Luly stopped on the side of the street. A van appeared. It slowed beside her. Two men inside spoke to her through the window.
Haesoo took a step closer to the screen, his voice barely above a whisper. “What’s that van…?”
They watched as Luly hesitated, then—after a few seconds—opened the door and climbed inside.
Arturo’s eyes darkened. “Who are they?”
One of the guards scrolled through the traffic network, tracing the plate. “The number’s registered to a private government fleet, sir. But… the system’s not giving me access.”
“Then force it,” Arturo snapped.
The man started typing again—but then the cursor froze. The screen flickered. Lines of data began disappearing, one by one. Camera feeds turned black. GPS coordinates blinked out.
“Sir,” the man said, his voice shaking slightly, “someone’s wiping the trail.”
Arturo leaned forward, his tone lethal. “From where?”
“Everywhere,” the guard said quietly. “They’re scrubbing the footage from the city servers. Whoever it is, they have root access.”
Haesoo’s hands curled into fists. “That’s not possible. Not even you can—”
Arturo’s glare snapped to him. “Don’t tell me what’s possible, boy.”
Another guard muttered, “Sir, we just lost her last ping near the east district. It’s gone. No trace left.”
Arturo stared at the blank screens for a long, heavy moment. Then he said quietly, “They took her.”
Haesoo’s chest constricted. “Who?”
Arturo didn’t answer right away. His jaw clenched, his eyes narrowing. “Someone with clearance higher than mine.”
He turned to his men. “Find out who touched that feed. I don’t care how deep you have to dig. I want names.”
As the guards began tearing through code and networks, Haesoo stood frozen, staring at the dark screen where Luly’s image had disappeared.
He whispered, “She’s gone.”
Arturo looked at him, his tone cold. “If she’s smart, she won’t try to contact you again. If she does—pray they don’t trace it back to you.”
He turned sharply, his coat brushing past as he headed for the door. His security followed in silence, leaving the dorm in an eerie stillness.
The last thing Arturo said before stepping out was low, final, and heavy enough to make the air go still.
“Luly Mar is no longer my daughter.”
The door closed, and Haesoo sank onto the couch, his knuckles white, the echo of her name still burning in his chest.
Dongmin was the first to break the silence. The tension in the dorm was suffocating; the air still felt cold from Arturo’s presence. The laptops were still open, their screens black where the footage had vanished.
He swallowed hard, his voice small but heavy. “They took Luly.”
Haesoo’s head snapped toward him, his expression raw, desperate. “What?”
Dongmin pointed to the frozen image still faintly burned on the monitor—the last frame before everything went dark. “You saw it, right? The van. They pulled up, talked to her, then she got in. And then—boom—all the footage gone. They took her.”
Minjae shook his head slowly, his tone firmer, more measured. “No.”
Everyone turned to him.
“She went with them,” Minjae said quietly. “There’s a difference.”
Eunwoo frowned. “What are you saying?”
Minjae leaned forward, elbows on his knees, eyes still locked on the black screen. “If someone kidnapped her, there’d be chaos. Struggle. Noise. The system wouldn’t go dark—it’d spike with alerts. But everything just… vanished. That’s not an abduction. That’s authorization.”
Haesoo’s throat tightened. “You think she knew them?”
Minjae looked at him, voice calm but laced with weight. “I think she chose to go.”
Dongmin frowned. “That doesn’t make sense. Why would she just leave? She doesn’t even have money, she—”
“She’s Luly,” Minjae interrupted softly. “When does she ever stay cornered?”
Haesoo stood up abruptly, pacing toward the door and back again, his voice shaking. “She wouldn’t leave without saying anything.”
“Maybe she didn’t want you to stop her,” Jisung said quietly from the couch. He hadn’t spoken until now. “She probably knew whatever this was… it wasn’t something she could drag you into.”
Haesoo turned sharply. “You’re saying she left on purpose? After everything?”
Minjae met his eyes. “I’m saying she’s not gone. Not in the way you think. She’s doing something. And knowing her… she’ll come back when she’s ready.”
Dongmin crossed his arms, still uneasy. “You make it sound like she’s some kind of spy movie character.”
Minjae gave a tired half-smile. “You ever seen anyone erase city surveillance in under thirty seconds?”
No one spoke.
Haesoo looked at the blank screens one last time, his voice barely audible. “She didn’t even take her phone.”
Minjae replied softly, “Maybe she doesn’t need it anymore.”
The room fell silent again. Only the hum of the computers remained, cold and constant, as if waiting for a signal that would never come.
The helicopter sliced through the gray Pacific mist as dawn broke over the island. Below, the cliffs of the HQ compound rose like a fortress—steel, glass, and silence. It wasn’t on any map. No flights passed overhead. No networks traced its signal.
When Luly stepped out, the wind bit her skin, but she didn’t flinch. Her bear was gone. Her name was gone. The woman walking down that landing pad was not Luly Mar. She was Luly Reyes.
A tall instructor in combat gear met her at the edge of the pad. “Welcome to Headquarters,” he said, voice clipped. “Off the coast of California. You’ll refer to this place as the Island. No phones, no letters, no contact with anyone from your past. From now on, you follow orders or you don’t come back.”
Luly stared him down. “Got it.”
The first weeks were merciless. They stripped everything that made her human—sleep, comfort, sentiment. Her mornings started before the sun rose. Hand-to-hand combat until her knuckles bled. Tactical analysis until her mind felt like splintered glass. Shooting drills, surveillance, endurance tests, code-breaking marathons.
The instructors shouted the same mantra every day:
“Feelings get us killed!”
At first, it grated her nerves. But slowly, she began to understand. Feeling meant hesitation. Hesitation meant death.
Her movements became precise, mechanical, perfect.
At night, she sat alone in the glass dorms overlooking the black water, replaying the last image of Haesoo’s face in her mind. Each repetition hardened her resolve. Each echo of her father’s voice made her colder.
By the start of December, they threw her into live missions.
The first was in Singapore—data extraction from a biotech firm’s encrypted vault.
The second in Madrid—neutralizing a corporate leak without firing a shot.
Then New York, Tokyo, Geneva.
Each time, she returned with results so clean, so exact, that her supervisors stopped giving her instructions. They gave her targets.
Within weeks, her record was flawless.
“Reyes,” the director told her one evening, handing her a file stamped CLASSIFIED. “You’re the fastest we’ve ever trained.”
She didn’t even blink. “You pay me to be faster.”
By the end of the month, she had made fifty million dollars. Clean. Untraceable. Every deposit routed through layers of encrypted wallets that even her father couldn’t crack.
But Luly didn’t spend it. She built with it.
In the quiet of her quarters, with the ocean wind howling outside, she sat before her computer, coding line after line until her vision blurred. She was rebuilding something. Smarter. Faster. Ruthless.
A self-learning algorithm that could predict global market shifts before they happened—feeding off micro-trends, human behavior, and regional instability.
She whispered to herself, “Better than AQUA this time.”
The screen flickered with the first successful simulation. Profit. Stability. Precision.
She saved the file and titled it simply:
REYES.
Her reflection glimmered faintly in the screen’s glow. Not the girl who used to hum to her bear. Not the daughter who cried in alleys.
The voice in her ear from Command crackled through the comms. “Reyes, next mission briefing in ten.”
She closed her laptop, stood, and adjusted her gloves. “Copy.”
Her instructor passed her in the hall, smirking. “You don’t stop, do you?”
Luly gave him a small, cold smile. “You taught me feelings get us killed. I’m making sure I never die again.”
He chuckled darkly. “Good. Then maybe you’ll outlive the rest of us.”
She looked toward the endless stretch of black ocean and whispered, almost to herself, “I already have.”
By January, the numbers didn’t even surprise her anymore.
The spreadsheet on her monitor glowed faintly against the dim light of her HQ quarters. Sixty million USD. The digits looked almost meaningless now—just another mark of precision, another reflection of control.
The door slid open and two officers from command entered, both wearing dark suits instead of combat fatigues. That meant something official.
“Agent Reyes,” one of them said. “Congratulations. You’ve exceeded every expectation we had. Fifty confirmed missions, zero failures. Cleanest record in your unit.”
Luly stood from her desk, her tone calm, eyes steady. “I told you I don’t fail.”
The second officer smiled faintly. “That’s exactly why we’re here. You’re being reassigned.”
She raised a brow. “Reassigned?”
He nodded. “You’ll be deployed to South Korea. You’ll act as an external operative under our allied agreement. The government has requested you specifically. You’ll be paid by them—one million dollars a day. Even on standby. Whether you lift a finger or not.”
Luly’s gaze didn’t flicker. “That’s a lot for silence.”
The man smirked. “It’s not your silence they’re paying for, Reyes. It’s your presence. Having you on their soil means leverage.”
He gestured toward the hallway. “You’ll have an assistant assigned for logistics and protection. He’ll handle external contact and reports.”
A man stepped into the room behind them. Tall, clean-cut, black hair neatly combed back. His posture military straight.
“This is Park Jin,” the officer said. “Former field agent. Fluent in six languages. He’ll make sure you don’t die or disappear.”
Luly looked him up and down, unimpressed. “I don’t plan on doing either.”
Jin gave a small, polite nod. “Let’s keep it that way.”
The officers handed her a sleek black file. “South Korea will transfer you in forty-eight hours. You’ll operate under your civilian identity—Luly Reyes, private investor. We’ll manage your cover. You’ll report through secure channels only.”
Luly accepted the file and glanced back at her monitor. Her portfolio dashboard glowed bright green. In a single month, she’d turned her fifty million into three hundred million.
The market simulation AI—REYES—was working flawlessly. Predicting every fluctuation with surgical accuracy.
She said quietly, “Send me the flight details. I’ll be ready.”
The officers nodded and left.
Jin lingered a moment longer, watching her as she typed a few final commands into her terminal.
He broke the silence. “Three hundred million, huh? Not bad for someone who just lost everything a few months ago.”
Luly’s lips curved faintly, but her eyes stayed cold. “I didn’t lose everything. I cut off the dead weight.”
Jin tilted his head slightly. “You mean your father.”
“I mean weakness,” she replied.
Jin exhaled slowly, folding his arms. “And what about Haesoo?”
Luly paused only for a fraction of a second barely enough for anyone to notice. Then she shut her laptop and said, “He belongs to another life.”
Jin studied her expression for a moment, then nodded. “Alright then, Reyes. Welcome back to the living.”
She adjusted her gloves and walked past him toward the glass door, her voice low and certain.
“I was never dead.”
By February first, the winter air in Seoul was thin and gray, the kind that bit through coats and crawled into bone. The dorm was quiet that morning, too quiet for a group like SOL7. Even Dongmin wasn’t joking around. The air felt heavier somehow—like everyone was waiting for something that wasn’t going to happen.
Haesoo sat on the couch, hoodie up, scrolling through his phone even though there were no new messages. He’d done it every day since October.
Jisung looked up from his notebook, studying him for a moment. “You still checking?”
Haesoo didn’t look up. “Yeah.”
“Nothing?”
Haesoo locked the screen. “Not since the night she left.”
Minjae walked in from the kitchen, coffee in hand, his voice calm but weighed down. “You should stop expecting it, Hae. If she wanted to reach out, she would’ve by now.”
Haesoo exhaled slowly, staring at the TV that wasn’t even on. “You don’t get it. She’s not the type to just disappear. Not like this.”
Eunwoo sank into the armchair beside him, speaking softly. “She lost everything, man. Maybe she just… doesn’t want anyone to see her like that.”
Haesoo turned to him sharply. “Then she could’ve told me that herself.”
Dongmin leaned against the wall, crossing his arms. “Maybe she couldn’t. Maybe her dad really cut her off from everything. Accounts, numbers, phones, security. The guy’s a monster.”
Minjae sighed. “Still, no one’s seen her anywhere. No reports. No leaks. Not even gossip. You’d think someone like her couldn’t vanish this clean.”
Haesoo rubbed the back of his neck, eyes distant. “She said once… if she ever went silent, it meant she was somewhere she couldn’t be found.”
Joon, who had been quiet until then, looked up from his phone. “Sounds like something she’d say right before doing something insane.”
Dongmin snorted softly. “You mean like rewriting the stock market or hacking her dad’s empire?”
“Exactly,” Joon muttered.
Haesoo sat back, staring at the ceiling. “She wouldn’t let him win. No matter what happened, she’d find a way to take back what he stole.”
Minjae placed his coffee down on the table, watching Haesoo carefully. “You think she’s coming back?”
Haesoo’s jaw tightened. “I don’t think. I know.”
Eunwoo gave a quiet half-smile. “How can you be so sure?”
Haesoo’s voice softened, almost a whisper. “Because she doesn’t leave stories unfinished.”
The room went silent again, each of them processing the quiet conviction in his tone. Outside, the snow was starting to fall soft, pale, slow like the world itself was waiting with him.
By mid-February, Seoul was covered in snow, the kind that softened every sound and turned the streets silver under the streetlights. SOL7 had just finished a long rehearsal and were heading out to eat ramen together, their breath fogging the air as they joked and shoved each other playfully on the icy sidewalk.
Dongmin rubbed his hands together. “I swear, if the ramen place is closed, I’m eating snow.”
Taeyul suddenly stopped walking, squinting across the street. “Wait—” he said, voice dropping. “That’s Luly.”
The others turned.
Across the road, under the glow of a streetlamp, a woman stood near a café entrance. She was dressed in winter clothes a cream coat belted at the waist, wool scarf, gloves, and tall boots. Her dark hair spilled over her shoulders, glossy even in the snowlight. She held a cup between both hands, the steam rising gently as flakes melted into her hair.
A tall man approached her from behind, his voice low but firm. “Reyes,” he said.
She turned toward him immediately, taking the hot chocolate he offered.
“Let’s go,” the man added. “We have a meeting.”
She gave a small nod, her face calm, unreadable.
Dongmin blinked, looking between her and the others. “Wait… did he just call her Reyes?”
Taeyul’s eyes didn’t leave her. “Yeah. But that’s her. I’m sure of it.”
Jisung frowned, trying to get a clearer look through the falling snow. “Maybe you’re seeing things. People can look like her.”
Taeyul shook his head, his breath coming out sharp. “No. That’s Luly. The way she stands look at her hands, the way she holds the cup. That’s her.”
Minjae stared silently, the tension heavy in his jaw. “Then why did he call her Reyes? That’s not her name.”
Haesoo hadn’t said a word. His hands tightened around the ramen cup he’d been carrying, his heart pounding so loud he could barely hear the street. He watched as she and the man walked to a sleek black car waiting by the curb. She didn’t look back once.
Dongmin broke the silence. “Are you sure it’s her? She didn’t even look at us.”
Eunwoo’s voice was quieter. “She looked right through us.”
Haesoo’s throat tightened as the car door closed. He whispered, voice breaking slightly, “That was her.”
The others stood in silence as the car pulled away into the snow.
Dongmin muttered under his breath, still confused. “Then why Reyes?”
Haesoo didn’t answer. The snow kept falling, melting on his lashes, and he stood there frozen long after the taillights disappeared because even from across the street, even under a new name, he knew that calm voice, that way of breathing in winter air like it belonged to her.
She had come back.
But not as Luly Mar anymore.
By the end of February, the headlines across every major media outlet had shifted from idol gossip to tech wars. The name REYES was everywhere — in scrolling tickers, breaking news banners, and investor reports.
Inside KSJ’s break room, the boys were eating instant noodles, the TV on low volume until Dongmin grabbed the remote and turned it up.
“Hey,” he said, noodles hanging from his chopsticks. “They’re talking about Luly again.”
The screen showed an anchor speaking over graphics of fluctuating stock charts and a glowing interface model.
“In just two weeks, the algorithm known as REYES has outperformed AQUA, the globally renowned predictive system originally designed by Luly Mar, now under the control of Arturo Mar Enterprises. Experts are calling REYES the successor to AQUA—more adaptive, faster, and nearly impossible to replicate.”
Taeyul blinked, setting down his chopsticks. “Wait… REYES? Like the guy called her that day?”
Minjae leaned forward, brow furrowed. “Yeah. Same name.”
Dongmin frowned. “So… she made a new program?”
Jisung crossed his arms, thinking aloud. “That’s what it sounds like. They said it’s better than AQUA. Which means she’s back in the game.”
Eunwoo shook his head slowly, a half-smile of disbelief. “She really rebuilt everything from scratch. Like nothing happened.”
Haesoo didn’t say anything at first. His gaze stayed locked on the screen. The anchor’s voice carried on:
“The developer remains anonymous, only going by the name Reyes. But sources confirm the algorithm’s infrastructure matches the design philosophy of AQUA’s original creator.”
Dongmin turned to him. “You think she did it?”
Haesoo exhaled through his nose, quiet but certain. “I know she did.”
Taeyul leaned back, staring at the TV. “She’s really something, huh?”
Minjae nodded. “She didn’t just recover—she came back stronger.”
The room fell silent for a moment, the hum of the vending machine filling the space.
Haesoo’s voice was low when he finally spoke again, almost like he was talking to himself. “That’s what she does. When the world takes everything from her, she builds it again.”
Dongmin nudged him lightly. “You still miss her, don’t you?”
Haesoo didn’t answer, his eyes still on the name flashing across the screen.
REYES.
It was her. The girl who had once fallen asleep talking to her bear, who had built empires before she was twenty, who had lost everything because she chose him.
And now she’d rebuilt it all without looking back.
By the end of February, Seoul’s night was alive with neon and snowmelt, and Luly sat in a quiet corner of a small pizza shop with Jin. A half-eaten pepperoni pizza sat between them, the warmth from the oven fogging the window beside their table.
She leaned back in her chair, smiling faintly, that rare, quiet kind of satisfaction on her face. “I can’t believe it,” she said softly, taking a sip of soda. “Three months. Just three. And I did it on my own.”
Jin nodded, his expression calm but proud. “You didn’t just rebuild, Reyes. You buried them. AQUA looks like a toy next to what you’ve made.”
Luly gave a small laugh. “A billion dollars. My father used to say I’d never survive without him.” She tilted her head slightly, eyes cold with amusement. “He was wrong.”
The bell above the door rang.
The noise of familiar voices made her pause mid-bite. Jin’s eyes flicked to the entrance. SOL7 had just walked in, laughing, shaking off the cold as they crowded near the counter. Haesoo froze the moment he saw her.
She was sitting under warm golden lights, her long dark hair perfectly straight, a simple black turtleneck and tailored coat on. Calm, composed, untouchable.
“Luly?” he said, disbelief soft in his voice as he took a hesitant step forward.
Her eyes flicked up at him—blank, unbothered, like he was any other stranger in the city. Then she turned back to Jin. “You were saying about the merger in Dubai?”
Jin didn’t even glance at Haesoo. He spoke smoothly, picking up the conversation without a pause. “It went exactly as expected. We own sixty percent now.”
Haesoo stood there, the noise of the restaurant fading around him. “Luly…” he tried again, quieter this time.
She didn’t look at him.
Dongmin, standing behind him, whispered, “That’s definitely her.”
Minjae’s jaw tightened. “Yeah. But she’s not looking at him.”
Luly reached for another slice of pizza, her movements perfectly steady. She bit into it, chewed slowly, wiped her fingers with a napkin, and finally said, still facing Jin, “Let’s go. The air here feels dirty.”
Jin stood, pulling a black card from his wallet and tossing it on the table for the bill. He looked down at Haesoo briefly, his tone sharp and dismissive. “Come on, Reyes. We shouldn’t waste time where there’s trash lying around.”
The word hit the table like a stone.
Haesoo’s fists clenched, but Luly was already standing, adjusting her coat. She looked at Jin and said coolly, “You’re right.”
Without another glance, she walked past Haesoo, her perfume trailing faintly behind—strawberries and cotton candy, just like before.
The boys stood in silence as the door closed behind her.
Dongmin finally muttered, “Damn… she didn’t even blink.”
Minjae sighed, rubbing his face. “She’s not the same anymore.”
Haesoo just stared at the empty booth, the untouched soda glass, the faint lipstick print on its rim.
“She is,” he said quietly. “She’s just reminding me what happens when you break her.”
By the beginning of March, Luly was everywhere again — not on gossip sites this time, but in national headlines.
Every major network ran the same footage: Luly stepping out of a black car in front of the Blue House, cameras flashing from every direction. She was dressed in a cream suit with pearl buttons, hair smooth and glossy, her expression unreadable. Park Jin walked just behind her, always in her shadow but clearly her right hand.
“Reyes,” one reporter called out, “is it true you’ve been working directly with government branches?”
Luly turned slightly toward the crowd, her voice calm and controlled. “I’m simply working where I’m needed.”
“And about your father—”
She cut them off with a faint smile. “That’s not a relevant question anymore.”
That line played on every channel for the rest of the day.
At KSJ, the boys were in the break room eating takeout, the television mounted in the corner. The broadcast switched to a press conference. The President himself was standing behind a podium.
“In response to recent inquiries about Ms. Mar,” he said clearly, “I’d like to clarify—her legal name is Luly Reyes. She’s one of our most valuable independent partners. Please use her proper name in all future reports.”
The room went silent.
Dongmin blinked at the screen. “The president just corrected the media for her.”
Jisung let out a low whistle. “She went from being disowned to having presidents defend her. That’s… insane.”
Eunwoo shook his head slowly. “She’s really untouchable now. Reyes, huh? She dropped Mar completely.”
Taeyul laughed softly. “Can’t blame her. If I had a family like hers, I’d change my name too.”
Minjae leaned forward on the table, thoughtful. “She didn’t just come back. She rewrote who she is.”
Haesoo sat quietly in the corner, chopsticks still in hand, eyes fixed on the screen. The camera caught Luly exiting the building again—press flashing, politicians crowding around her, Jin walking beside her like a shadow. She didn’t smile for the cameras, but she didn’t flinch either.
Dongmin nudged him lightly. “Hey. You okay?”
Haesoo’s voice was low. “She really doesn’t need anyone now.”
Minjae looked at him. “Maybe she never did.”
Haesoo didn’t respond. On the TV, she was walking past the microphones, coat swaying, a security wall parting the crowd for her. She didn’t look back once.
It hit him then—Luly Mar was gone. The girl who laughed at his hoodie, who cooked lasagna barefoot in her kitchen, who used to talk to her bear.
The woman on screen was Luly Reyes, and she had already stepped far beyond his reach.
By mid-March, Luly’s name had become a permanent fixture in the entertainment and business columns again—only this time, not as a CEO or prodigy, but as a mystery constantly photographed on someone’s arm.
Every few days, new pictures surfaced. One week she was leaving a high-end restaurant in Gangnam with a well-known idol, the next week walking through a gala beside the CEO of a global conglomerate. Each time, the headlines recycled the same words: Reyes’s new boyfriend, power couple rumor, billionaire heiress caught in late-night rendezvous.
At KSJ, the boys were huddled around Taeyul’s phone, the glow of the screen illuminating their faces as he scrolled through a gossip article.
Dongmin leaned over. “That’s the third guy this month.”
Jisung muttered, “She’s moving faster than our comeback schedule.”
Eunwoo frowned. “You think she’s really dating them?”
Minjae shook his head slowly. “No. Look at her eyes in the photos. She’s working. There’s purpose there.”
Haesoo sat at the back of the studio, earbuds hanging around his neck, trying not to look but unable to stop himself. The newest set of pictures showed her in a velvet black dress, hand resting on the arm of a foreign diplomat, expression polished and distant.
Dongmin squinted at the image. “She doesn’t even smile anymore.”
Taeyul said quietly, “Maybe she doesn’t need to.”
What none of them saw—what none of the cameras caught—were the nights after those events.
Behind closed doors, Luly would drop her clutch on a hotel desk, slip off her heels, and hand a small encrypted device to Jin. “Got it,” she’d say calmly, voice tired. “Access codes, trade logs, and private correspondence. That’s three missions closed.”
Jin would glance at her with that faint, rare look of respect. “You’re getting too good at this.”
Luly smirked, pulling the pins from her hair. “They keep underestimating me. Makes the job easy.”
Then, in the dark of her penthouse, she’d pour herself water, stare out the glass at Seoul’s skyline, and whisper under her breath, “Let them think I’m just dating.”
She’d tuck the encrypted drive into her safe, close it quietly, and go to bed.
By morning, the tabloids would already have new headlines about her and another man.
And somewhere in a briefing room miles away, her name Agent Reyes would appear on the board marked Completed Missions: 47.
The ballroom was all crystal and gold, chandeliers glittering like constellations above the crowd. Cameras flashed. Champagne poured. SOL7 entered through the main doors, a ripple of whispers following them as the rookie idols in tuxedos looked around like they had stepped into another planet.
Minjae straightened his tie and whispered, “Just keep walking and pretend we belong here.”
Dongmin leaned close, eyes wide. “We don’t belong here, hyung. That guy over there owns half of Seoul.”
Eunwoo muttered, “And the lady beside him probably owns the other half.”
They drifted through the crowd until the noise became too much. Minjae motioned toward a quiet corridor, lined with marble statues and dim golden light. “Let’s just take five minutes. No one will notice.”
But someone did.
As they turned the corner, they froze.
At the end of the hallway stood Luly—elegant and untouchable in a fitted black gown, hair in a sleek twist, diamond earrings catching the light. Jin stood beside her in his usual black suit, silent and sharp-eyed. And opposite them, with two guards and a half-drunk glass of whiskey, was Arturo Mar.
Haesoo’s chest tightened instantly.
Arturo’s voice was low and venomous. “So this is where you hide now? Surrounded by politicians and idols, pretending you’re not my daughter?”
Luly’s tone was calm, but there was fire behind her eyes. “I’m not pretending, Arturo. We aren’t related anymore.”
He laughed, a deep mocking sound. “You think a name change and some new friends erase your blood?”
Luly took a slow step closer, unflinching even as the guards tensed. “I erased you from my life the day you decided power mattered more than family.”
Arturo’s jaw tightened. “You’ll come crawling back. You always do.”
That’s when he reached out, too close, his hand catching her arm. Jin moved instantly, but Luly didn’t need him.
Her body shifted like instinct—fluid, fast, deliberate. A single twist of her wrist, and Arturo’s arm was pinned behind his back before he could react. He grunted, knees buckling under her effortless precision.
Gasps echoed down the corridor. The guards froze, unsure whether to intervene.
Luly leaned down slightly, voice cold and sharp as ice. “You’re out of your mind if you think you have any power over me.” She let him go and stepped back, heels clicking against the marble. “You’re a rookie compared to me. I made my first billion last month. And it’s only growing.”
Arturo straightened, face red with fury. “You ungrateful—”
Luly cut him off, her voice steady and commanding. “Do you have any idea how much power I have now? How many governments are backing me?” She tilted her head, calm but merciless. “You were just holding me back. I was meant for greater things.”
Jin spoke quietly from beside her. “You’re wasting your breath, Reyes. He can’t comprehend what he’s lost.”
She smiled faintly. “You’re right.”
Arturo tried to gather what little dignity he had left, glaring at her. “You think this ends well for you? The world turns fast, daughter.”
She gave a slow, mirthless laugh. “Then let it spin. I don’t need it to stop for me.”
For a moment, silence hung in the air sharp and suffocating.
Then she turned, brushing past him like he was invisible. Her perfume lingered in the space she left behind, faintly sweet and cold. Jin followed her without a word.
SOL7 stood frozen at the end of the hall, wide-eyed.
Dongmin whispered, “Did she just neutralize her dad in a gala?”
Taeyul blinked. “She said rookie. To a billionaire.”
Minjae exhaled slowly. “She’s not the same Luly we knew.”
Haesoo’s gaze stayed on the end of the hall, where she’d disappeared. His voice was barely above a whisper. “No. She’s something else now.”
The night air was cold and quiet, neon from the convenience store spilling across the sidewalk in soft color. Haesoo saw her before she saw him. Luly in an oversized T shirt, shorts barely visible, sneakers scuffing the pavement as she skipped like nothing in the world could touch her. For a second he just stood there, chest tight, watching her disappear through the sliding doors.
He followed without thinking.
He waited outside, hands in his pockets, heart pounding like he was sixteen again. The doors slid open and she stepped out with a bag in her hand, humming to herself. She looked up and froze for half a second.
Then she smiled.
“Jeon Haesoo.” Her voice was light, almost amused. “You stalking me now.”
He blinked. “I… I just saw you. I was heading this way.”
She lifted the bag. “Sure you were.” A small laugh. “What do you want.”
“I just… wanted to talk.” He shifted, nervous. “You looked… happy.”
Her eyes softened, just a little. “I am.”
That alone knocked the air out of him.
They started walking together. Side by side like they used to. Like nothing had burned between them. Like nothing had broken.
He talked. About schedules. About the gala. About how the members were doing. She listened. She responded. She joked. She even nudged his arm when he said something stupid.
It felt normal. Too normal.
It felt like the old times.
When they reached the gates, he finally noticed them. Tall black iron. Security walking slow, deliberate circles. Cameras tracking. The place was massive, clean, untouchable.
He swallowed. “You live here now.”
She glanced at him. “Temporary.”
The gates opened. She didn’t hesitate. Just walked in like she owned the world. He followed.
Marble floors. Open kitchen. Glass walls. City lights pouring in. Everything white and expensive and silent.
He barely had time to look around before she turned, grabbed his collar, and kissed him.
Hard.
He gasped, startled, but his body reacted before his brain did. His hands came up, gripping her waist, pulling her closer. Her mouth was demanding, rough, hungry. Teeth. Tongue. No hesitation.
“Luly…” he breathed against her lips.
She didn’t answer. She pushed him backward until his legs hit the couch. He fell onto it and she climbed onto him immediately, straddling him, hands already tugging at his shirt.
He groaned. “Wait…”
She didn’t.
Clothes came off in messy, desperate movements. Her T shirt gone. His hoodie gone. Skin on skin. Heat. Breath. Her mouth on his neck, biting, sucking, making him shudder.
“Fuck,” he whispered. “Luly…”
She rolled her hips and he was gone. Completely. His hands grabbed her, fingers digging into her thighs. She sank onto him without warning and he choked on a sound, head falling back.
“God—”
She moved. Fast. Hard. No teasing. No softness. Just using him. Riding him like she had something to prove. He thrust up instinctively, chasing the feeling, already losing control.
“Look at you,” she murmured, breath hot against his ear. “Still so easy.”
He moaned. “Luly, I missed you…”
She laughed quietly. “Did you.”
He nodded, desperate. “Every day.”
Her pace didn’t slow. If anything it got harsher. More punishing. He was shaking, gripping the couch, trying not to lose it too fast.
“Say it,” she whispered.
“Say what.”
“Say you want me.”
“I want you,” he said instantly. “I never stopped wanting you.”
That was all it took. She leaned down, kissed him hard, and they both lost it. His body went tight, a broken sound leaving his throat as he came. She followed, biting down on his shoulder to muffle her own gasp.
For a second, there was only breathing. Heat. The sound of their hearts.
Then she pushed off him.
“Get off me.”
He blinked, confused. “What.”
She slid off his lap, already standing, already reaching for her clothes. “I said get off me.”
He sat up, disoriented. “Luly… did I do something wrong.”
She pulled her shirt over her head, movements sharp. “You think this meant something.”
He stood, panic creeping in. “Didn’t it.”
She laughed. Not kind. Not soft. “What did you think. That I wanted you back. That I missed you.”
He stared at her. “You kissed me.”
“Yes.” She met his eyes, cold. “And now I’m done.”
“Luly…”
She pointed at the floor. “Clothes. Now.”
He moved automatically, grabbing his hoodie, hands shaking. “I don’t understand. I thought…”
She cut him off. “You thought I wanted you. That I was weak. That I needed you.”
She stepped closer, voice low and lethal. “I just used you. Like you used me. And tossed me when it wasn’t convenient.”
His face drained. “That’s not what I did.”
She tilted her head. “Isn’t it. You broke me and walked away. So I returned the favor.”
His voice cracked. “You know I didn’t want to.”
She shrugged. “Intent doesn’t change damage.”
He swallowed hard. “You didn’t have to do this.”
“Yes,” she said flatly. “I did.”
He looked at her, eyes glassy. “You hate me.”
She paused. Just for a breath.
Then. “No. I don’t.”
That almost hurt more.
She opened the door. “Leave.”
He stood there, chest tight, voice small. “Did any of it feel real to you.”
She didn’t look at him. “You played yourself, Haesoo.”
The door stayed open.
He walked out.
And she closed it behind him.
Haesoo walked down the quiet street, the cold air cutting through his jacket. The sound of the city blurred into something distant and muffled. His hands were shoved deep into his pockets, fingers trembling—not from the cold but from the way his body still remembered her.
Every step away from her house felt heavier, like he was dragging pieces of himself that didn’t want to leave. The scent of her perfume still clung to him—sweet and faint, like it refused to fade. His skin still burned where she’d touched him. His lips still tingled from her kiss. It felt like his body hadn’t realized yet that it was over.
He replayed her voice in his head. You played yourself, Haesoo.
It echoed like a taunt, sharp and merciless.
He wanted to hate her for it—for being cruel, for using him, for smiling while she tore him apart—but deep down he knew why she did it. She wasn’t trying to hurt him. She was trying to end something she couldn’t survive reliving.
He had broken her first.
And now she was just finishing what he started.
He stopped under a streetlight, exhaling hard, the light painting his breath white. He looked back once, at the gated mansion glowing faintly behind him. It didn’t look like her. It looked like everything she had built to replace what he had ruined.
He laughed quietly, bitterly. “Guess you really don’t need me anymore, huh?”
The wind swallowed his words.
He started walking again, slower this time, the ache in his chest spreading like frost. Every block felt longer, emptier. For the first time, he realized he wasn’t angry—just hollow. She had looked at him like a stranger, touched him like a memory, and discarded him like a phase she had outgrown.
But what haunted him wasn’t the rejection. It was that small flicker, that half-second pause before she told him to leave—the way her voice almost broke.
That was the Luly he had loved.
And he knew she was still in there, buried under the armor she’d built to survive him.
He shoved his hands deeper into his pockets and kept walking, whispering to himself, “If she wanted to hurt me… she succeeded.”
The night swallowed the words whole.
