Jae Min stayed like that for a while—head bowed, eyes dim. Then, slowly, he rose. He walked to the small window, pushed the curtain aside, and stared out at the dimming sky. The weight of his past pressed against his ribs like a tightening vest.
His phone buzzed again.
He glanced at it.
A message from an unknown number.
"Meet me. The restaurant near the abandoned building. Tonight. 9PM."
No name. No signature. But he knew who it
was.
They always used burner lines.
He sighed, tossed the phone on his bed, and began pulling on a dark hoodie. Tonight, he wouldn't go as a disguised male student. He wouldn't be Jae Min.
He'd be Xin Ling.
The ghost from the past. The shadow they trained.
---
The evening air was crisp, but not cold. The streetlights glowed softly, their golden halos dancing on the pavement as the wind whispered through the trees. Xin Ling walked slowly, unhurried, her pace almost ghost-like. But tonight, she wasn't Jae Min — not the boy from school, not the secret agent in disguise.
Tonight, she was Xin Ling with long black pretty hair and a pretty face.
Her long, dark hair was tucked deep inside the hood of her black sweatshirt, shadowing most of her face. Hands in her pockets, she drifted down the sidewalk like a shadow, silent and unbothered by the world around her. She moved toward one of the darker corners of the city, where most buildings had been forgotten — cracked walls, shattered windows, and silence. The only thing that breathed life into this lonely street was a small restaurant at the corner, its yellow sign flickering like it had something to hide.
She paused briefly, staring at the building. Then she pushed the door open.
The place smelled like fried rice and cheap wine. Only a handful of people were inside — two customers drinking lazily at a corner table, a waiter scrolling through his phone behind the counter, and someone sitting alone by the window. His face was dipped in shadow, his seat half-hidden behind an old, creaky pillar.
Xin Ling's eyes narrowed slightly. Her footsteps echoed faintly as she walked across the floor and stopped beside him.
The man looked up and smiled. "My favorite girl," he said, rising to hug her.
Xin Ling stiffened. His arms wrapped around her lightly, but it still made her stomach turn. She waited it out like she always did, lips pressed tightly together, and when he finally let go, she pulled back and sat down without a word.
"How are you?" he asked, his voice too sweet for her taste.
Xin Ling rolled her eyes and reached for the glass on the table. She poured herself some wine, letting the scent float past her nose before replying. Her voice was low and sharp. "Why are you asking like you care?" she said. "I've been in this city, hiding in alleyways, trailing, or should I say babysitting, some innocent girl — living in the shadows for months. How do you think I'm doing?"
"Innocent?" the man scoffed. "So your little friendship with that bitch has made you believe she's innocent now, huh?"
Xin Ling's hand tightened around the glass. He leaned forward, his voice suddenly cold.
"Watch your tongue," he said. "Or I'll cut it out and take it back to Japan myself."
She didn't flinch. She simply turned her gaze away, took a sip from her drink, and exhaled quietly. Her heart beat steady.
"What are you doing in Seoul?" she asked after a moment. "Why call me here?"
He leaned back, a lazy smirk playing on his lips. "Now you sound like my daughter."
"I am not your daughter, I am am not some...." she said flatly, barely keeping her voice from rising when he interrupted.
"Then prove your worth." He sat up straighter. "I came here on business. But while I'm here, I decided to give you this task personally. I've gotten intel — Linda's out tonight. She's meeting someone."
Xin Ling's eyes met his.
"Someone?" she asked.
He nodded. "A man. But not just any man. Mr. Adam."
Her expression didn't change, but something flickered in her chest.
"Owner of the Adam's Empire," he continued. "He's been soo close to her lately. It's suspicious. His secretary's been circling too. There's something going on there, and I want to know what. Your mission is to follow her. Find out what they're talking about. What they could planning. What he wants from her. And don't fail me."
Xin Ling leaned back, folding her arms.
"You act like failing is a sin. I've never failed you and now failing one mission would sounds so deadly to you?." she muttered.
"It would be," he snapped. "You've never failed. I know that. But that's why I'm warning you now — do not start now. If you screw this up, Xin Ling, I swear I'll feed you to the dogs."
His voice rose. Her eyes widened for just a second. It wasn't the threat that shocked her — she had heard worse. It was the way he said it. Like she was a thing. Not a person. Not even a tool. Just trash.
Her jaw clenched.
She stood up slowly, pushing her chair back with a scrape.
"Location?" she asked.
He reached into his pocket and handed her a slip of paper. She snatched it without another word.
"Don't forget," he said, his tone dropping again. "You're nothing without me. You'd be dead in a gutter without my orders. So don't disappoint me."
Xin Ling didn't reply.
She turned and walked out of the restaurant, letting the door creak shut behind her. The cold air hit her face, mixing with the heat of her anger. Her boots clicked hard on the pavement as she walked away, faster this time. She didn't care who was watching. She needed to breathe. To think.
She had always known she was living in chains. But sometimes it took moments like this — being talked to like dirt, like shit — for the pain to burn hot again.
And it was burning.
Still, she couldn't show it. Not now.
Not yet.
As Xin Ling walked down the street, her chest burned with Anger. The streets were quieter now. Rain began to drizzle, soft and slow at first, like the sky was too tired to cry. She was walking without an umbrella, her hoodie already a little damp from the drizzle. Her steps were angry—sharp, stomping, ungraceful. Like her feet carried the weight of everything she wanted to scream out loud.
She hated him.
She hated the way he talked to her. The way he owned her. The way he always reminded her that freedom was a dream she didn't deserve.
The rain picked up a little, sliding down her cheek like tears she wouldn't cry. The city lights reflected in the puddles on the cracked pavement. Her fists clenched inside her hoodie pocket as she kept walking, her breath coming harder with every step.
Then suddenly, she stopped.
Her eyes scanned the buildings.
Shit.
She had passed it.
She had walked too far.
Frustration bubbled in her chest like a volcano. "Damn it!" she hissed, stomping her foot hard on the wet ground. She turned back and leaned against a wall, breathing fast. For a second, she closed her eyes and let the rain fall over her face. It cooled her anger, but only a little. She took a deep breath and wiped her cheek with her sleeve.
Then, she reached into her pocket and pulled out a plain black face mask. She slipped it on, adjusted her hoodie, and turned back down the street.
This time, she headed toward the right location.
Her steps were slower now—but sharper. The anger hadn't faded. It had only sharpened into focus. Her mind was clear. Her heart was numb.