The last bell had barely faded when the classroom filled with lazy chatter — desks scraping, laughter spilling, the smell of cafeteria bread still lingering.Jae-Hyun sat near the window, half-turned toward the view outside, one hand resting on his chin as Jae-Suk and the others replayed yesterday's game for what had to be the tenth time.
"You saw that crossover," Jae-Suk said, eyes wide. "He looked like he practiced it in a dream. Min-Seok didn't even see the ball—"
"Yeah, and then that dunk—" another chimed in. "I swear, if someone recorded that, it'd go viral in like, ten minutes."
Jae-Hyun didn't respond. Just a faint curve at the corner of his mouth.
The door slid open with a metallic click.
And just like that, every voice died.
Standing at the doorway was Seo Ji-Woon — the captain of the basketball team, tall enough to block the fluorescent light, his uniform sleeves rolled up, his duffel bag slung casually over his shoulder.
He was a third-year. School celebrity. His reputation carried enough weight that he didn't need to say anything at all — the quiet around him was the announcement.
He scanned the room once, eyes locking on Jae-Hyun like he'd known exactly where he'd be sitting.
"Jae-Hyun, right?"
A few students froze mid-step. Others turned in disbelief.
"The captain?"
"What's he doing here?"
"Did he just say Jae-Hyun?"
"No way—"
Ji-Woon stepped closer, his sneakers whispering against the floor. The air felt heavier now — like everyone was holding their breath.
"I saw you play yesterday," Ji-Woon said, tone calm but threaded with something like awe. "You didn't just beat Min-Seok. You dismantled him. I haven't seen handles or precision like that from any of my players this season."
Murmurs rippled around the room.
"Dismantled is right…"
"Even the coach was watching, wasn't he?"
"He's so getting scouted."
Ji-Woon's voice cut through the noise again — steady, confident.
"I'll be honest — you're wasted just playing pickup games. With skills like yours, you could lead us straight to nationals. We need a player like you."
For a heartbeat, the only sound was the ticking wall clock.
Jae-Suk nearly choked. "Nationals, bro. Do you hear that? That's, like— that's huge."
But Jae-Hyun didn't move. Didn't smile. He just exhaled quietly, eyes drifting from Min-Seok to the open window and back.
"…I'm not interested."
The room exploded.
"What?"
"He's joking, right?"
"Did he just— refuse Seo Ji-Woon?"
"Is he out of his mind?"
Ji-Woon froze for half a second — not offended, just surprised, like someone who hadn't heard no in a long time. Then, to his credit, he smirked.
"Not interested," he repeated, as if tasting the words. "You do realize people beg for a chance like this?"
Jae-Hyun's gaze didn't waver. "They can have it."
A collective gasp swept the room.
Jae-Suk gawked. "Hyung, what— you're insane. That's nationals. That's—"
"I told you," Jae-Hyun said, leaning back in his chair. "I just play when I want to."
Ji-Woon studied him for a moment longer, something like intrigue sparking behind his eyes.
Finally, he smiled faintly — not mockery, but respect.
"Fine. Think about it," he said, adjusting his bag strap. "Talent like yours doesn't come around often. If you change your mind…"
He tapped the edge of Jae-Hyun's desk once, lightly. "The court's waiting."
Then he turned and walked out — leaving a silence so charged it might as well have been thunder.
The door clicked shut.
And then chaos.
"Did you just say no to Seo Ji-Woon?!"
"Are you trying to be mysterious or just allergic to success?"
"I can't— my brain— what—"
Jae-Hyun only shrugged, pulling his earphones from his pocket."Too much noise," he said, slipping them in as if the whole world had gone back to background static.
Outside, sunlight hit the glass — golden, sharp, the kind that made everything look suspended for a moment.
- - -
The morning sunlight poured through the panoramic windows of Hwaseong Dynamics' top-floor conference room, scattering over polished oak and brushed steel. The hum of the city below barely reached the room; inside, the air was climate-controlled, filtered, still. Only the soft shuffle of papers broke the silence.
Every seat was filled — the entire executive lineup gathered under the authority of CEO Han Do-Kyung, a man whose measured gaze could cut through excuses like glass.
On the table lay a single folder marked "NovaSec: Operation Hwaseong."
For a moment, no one spoke.
Then Han leaned forward, elbows on the table, voice calm but edged with curiosity.
"Let's begin. I understand the operation has concluded."
The Technical Director, Choi Min-Soo, nodded. "Yes, sir. Two weeks in total. All objectives met. Zero downtime. NovaSec executed flawlessly."
A low murmur of approval rippled through the room.
"Flawlessly?" Han repeated, brows lifting slightly. "Not even minor interference?"
"None, sir," Min-Soo confirmed. "Our system load remained stable. Employees didn't even notice when the firewall protocols were rewritten."
Across the table, the Head of Operations chuckled softly. "They make it look like magic."
Han's lips curved faintly. "Magic usually hides something. I'd like to know what."
The comment drew a few uneasy glances, but before anyone could speak, the head of Corporate Intelligence, Cha Hye-Won, adjusted her glasses and leaned forward. "Sir, we've been analyzing NovaSec's digital footprint. They maintain complete opacity — no metadata leaks, no staff profiles, no identifiable endpoints. It's like their network folds in on itself. We couldn't find anything beyond what's already public."
Han's fingers tapped once on the table. "So, in other words… ghosts."
"Yes, sir," Hye-Won said quietly. "Highly skilled ones."
Han reclined in his chair, eyes on the folder. "And yet, they appear when needed. Interesting."
Min-Soo exhaled slowly, then slid a heavier file across the table. The sound of paper against wood cut through the silence.
"Sir, before we celebrate too soon, you need to see this."
Han arched a brow. "What is it?"
Min-Soo's tone shifted — careful, weighted. "During the operation, NovaSec detected a latent virus within our network. They neutralized it without incident… but their analysis indicates it wasn't random malware. It was a deliberate infiltration — planted by organized external actors."
The words hung in the air like smoke.
Han's expression didn't change, but several executives straightened in their seats.
"Deliberate infiltration?" the Head of Operations echoed. "You mean— spies?"
Min-Soo nodded grimly. "Yes, sir. Based on NovaSec's report, the virus originated from multiple IP clusters — likely coordinated by a team, not an individual. It was masked under routine file exchanges, likely embedded months ago."
A murmur of disbelief swept the table.
Hye-Won frowned, flipping through her own notes. "How long were we compromised?"
"Hard to say," Min-Soo replied. "NovaSec believes the payload hadn't fully activated. They caught it in its dormant state."
Han steepled his fingers. "And what do they propose we do next?"
Min-Soo hesitated. "They've offered to trace the intrusion — locate the source. But it requires a separate contract. Full access to certain subsystems… and, of course, additional fees."
The Head of Finance, Park Jin-Ho, adjusted his tie uneasily. "How much are we talking?"
"Significant," Min-Soo admitted. "But the scope is complex. They'd be operating beyond standard patchwork — this would involve behavioral tracing, deep traffic correlation, possibly months of monitoring."
Han's gaze swept the table. "And what happens if we don't pursue this?"
The Head of IT Security, Yoon Tae-Kyung, spoke up, voice steady but tense. "Sir, the immediate threat is neutralized and our systems have been reinforced. However… NovaSec's analysts warned that whoever deployed the virus may attempt again, using a different vector. If we don't trace them now, they could adapt — and next time, we might not detect it so easily."
Han was silent for a moment. The sunlight glinted off his watch as he turned slightly toward the window.
"So we're secure now… but not safe," he murmured.
The line carried through the room like a verdict.
Park Jin-Ho leaned forward. "Sir, before committing— we should at least evaluate the return on investment. We're talking millions of won for an intangible guarantee. We can't verify how they'll trace the intrusion, or whether the results will even be verifiable."
Han turned his gaze on him, calm but cutting. "You think protecting our intellectual property is intangible?"
"No, sir, I just mean—"
"Enough."
Han's voice was soft, but the finality in it was unmistakable. "If we lose client data or R&D blueprints, that cost will dwarf any contract."
The room went still.
Finally, Hye-Won broke the silence. "Sir, NovaSec's reputation is… exceptional. They operate quietly, effectively. No leaks, no failures, no exposure."
Min-Soo nodded. "They've already proven their precision here. Our systems never once slowed, even during active reinforcement. If we authorize them for tracing, I'm confident the process will be invisible."
Han tapped the folder once, thoughtful. "And what exactly are their terms?"
Min-Soo flipped to a page near the back. "They'll require remote administrative access for seventy-two hours to initiate tracking. After that, they'll deploy autonomous scanners to monitor activity. They promise minimal disruption, and they've provided a liability clause ensuring any collateral damage is covered by them."
"And the payment?"
"Half upfront, half on completion."
Han exhaled quietly through his nose. "They know their worth."
Yoon Tae-Kyung's brow furrowed. "Sir, there's one more thing. NovaSec insists on running the operation independently. They've requested that we avoid parallel monitoring during that period — no internal audits, no packet duplication. They say it could interfere with their systems."
The statement drew instant tension.
"You mean they want blind access?" Hye-Won asked sharply.
Min-Soo hesitated. "Technically, yes."
The room erupted in low whispers.
"That's risky—""They could extract proprietary data—""Or plant something new—"
Han raised a hand, and silence fell. His eyes were unreadable, voice even.
"Do you trust them, Director Choi?"
Min-Soo met his gaze. "Yes, sir. If there's anyone capable of finding the culprits, it's them. And frankly— we're out of our depth here."
Han studied him for a long moment, then nodded once.
"Very well. Proceed."
A few executives blinked in disbelief.
"Sir— you're approving the contract?"
"Yes," Han said simply. "Prepare the paperwork. Authorize the transfer. I want NovaSec operational within forty-eight hours."
Park Jin-Ho opened his mouth as if to protest, but one look from Han silenced him.
"Cost," Han said, "is a variable. Security is not."
Min-Soo let out a quiet breath of relief. "Understood, sir. I'll coordinate with NovaSec directly. They'll begin once payment is processed."
"Good," Han replied, leaning back in his chair. "But before you contact them, I want a detailed brief on their methodology — projections, contingencies, expected outcomes. Have it on my desk by morning."
"Yes, sir."
"Let's make this simple," he said. "We don't second-guess the people who keep us safe. But we don't take our eyes off them either."
The executives nodded, pens scratching as they began their tasks. The air buzzed with movement — papers exchanged, muted phone calls made, quiet orders issued.
Han left the room. Behind him, voices murmured again:
"Do you really think NovaSec can find the source?""If anyone can, it's them.""Still… it's eerie. Like they already know who did it."