After the successful completion of the Hwaseong Dynamics operation, NovaSec's triumph lingered like a hum beneath the city's neon glow. Executives across Seoul spoke the name NovaSec with equal parts awe and caution. The company's precision had shaken even their competitors.
Mr. Oh entered Jae-Hyun's office with quiet urgency, a leather file pressed to his chest."The operation's complete," he said, placing the report on the desk. "Hwaseong Dynamics is satisfied—but I think they're hesitating. They're considering whether to sign a new contract regarding the internal spy threats we uncovered."
Jae-Hyun didn't look up right away. The rhythmic click of his pen stopped mid-tap.
"I expected as much," he murmured. "Your thoughts?"
"I believe they'll agree," Mr. Oh replied, straightening instinctively. "The CEO is cautious — maybe too cautious. He'll want control over every moving piece. If we present this as securing absolute stability, not fearmongering, he'll sign. The technical director will push for it too. He's the kind who'd rather pay than risk exposure."
Jae-Hyun leaned back, hands steepled. The faint blue glow from the monitor washed across his face. "Make it clear that delay increases their vulnerability. Use urgency not fear. Panic breeds mistakes. I want control, not chaos."
"Yes, Jae-Hyun," Mr. Oh replied. "I'll highlight the risk-reward ratio and leave no room for hesitation."
"Excellent," Jae-Hyun said, leaning back. "Once they sign, we begin immediately. Timing matters."
He reached for his coffee, the faintest smile flickering as the steam rose — calm, poised, unreadable.
- - -
Meanwhile, in a corridor in Hwaseong Dynamics…
The hallway was quiet, except for the faint hum of fluorescent lights and the hurried footsteps of two men moving away from the conference room.
One of them was pacing, shoulders tense, voice barely contained. "You heard what they said in there. NovaSec's taking over the investigation. If they start digging deeper, we're finished."
The calm one adjusted his cufflinks, gaze steady. "I heard."
"You said no one would find out!" His voice cracked, barely restrained panic bleeding through. "You swore it was airtight. If they trace the breach—"
"They won't."
The other man stopped pacing, incredulous. "How can you be so damn sure?"
"Because I hired professionals," came the quiet reply. "NovaSec will chase ghosts. They'll only meet dead ends."
"Ghosts?" He scoffed, his voice shaking. "You think they won't notice missing funds, missing data? They already know there was infiltration!"
A faint smile touched the calm man's lips. "Knowing isn't the same as proving."
The pacing one grabbed his arm. "Listen to me. We need to stop this. Shut it down, now, before they dig deeper."
"Stop?" His tone sharpened, the calm giving way to a flicker of irritation. "After everything we've set up? No. It's too late for that."
The air between them thickened. The nervous man's breath came fast. "You don't get it. If they find out who's behind this—"
"They won't." The calm one's voice dropped to a low murmur, cutting through his panic like ice. "I've covered every angle. NovaSec's systems won't even register the pattern. They'll hit a wall, write it off as an external probe, and move on."
The trembling man's throat tightened. "And if you're wrong?"
"I'm never wrong," came the reply — smooth, almost amused. "You worry too much. That's what gets people caught."
For a long moment, neither spoke. The sound of footsteps echoed faintly down the hallway — approaching, then fading again.
Finally, the calm man straightened his jacket. "Go home. Act normal. The more noise you make, the faster suspicion spreads."
Then he left without looking back, leaving the other man standing alone in the empty corridor, heart pounding.
- - -
The next morning, sunlight cut sharp across the classroom, glinting off polished desks and clean floors. The hum of chatter filled the air—a typical start to another day that felt anything but typical after yesterday's strange paper plane incident.
"Hey, Jae-Suk," Tae-Ho said, tilting his head. "You've got… something on your face."
Jae-Suk frowned and reached up to his cheek. "What? Where?!"
"Right there!" Tae-Ho pointed dramatically, laughing. "You didn't even notice!"
Jae-Hyun strolled in at that moment, catching the tail end of the scene. He raised an eyebrow, a small smile tugging at his lips.
"Something on your face, huh?" Jae-Hyun said, joining Tae-Ho in teasing. "Better get it off before it spreads."
Jae-Suk blinked, panic rising slightly. He leaned closer to his desk, brushing at his face repeatedly, his movements awkward and frantic. "I… I don't see anything! Is it here? Or… here?!"
Tae-Ho and Jae-Hyun exchanged glances, barely holding back laughter. "You're missing it," Tae-Ho teased, pointing to his nose.
"I don't see anything!" Jae-Suk exclaimed, moving to the window to check his reflection. He pressed his face against the glass, scrutinizing every angle. Nothing.
Then it hit him. He spun around, and the two boys were practically doubled over, laughing so hard they had to hold their desks.
"You got me!" Jae-Suk exclaimed, a flush creeping up his neck. "There's nothing on my face!"
Jae-Hyun just smiled faintly. "Maybe next time, check a mirror before panicking."
Before Jae-Suk could respond, a sudden whistling sound cut through the classroom. Both boys turned in surprise as a paper plane zipped past, narrowly missing Tae-Ho.
"What the—?" Tae-Ho exclaimed, ducking instinctively.
A paper plane. Again.
"…Don't tell me that's... again," someone whispered.
Jae-Hyun turned his head slowly. Calm eyes, tracing trajectories. Another plane fluttered in from the hallway—then another, landing squarely on the teacher's desk.
He stepped forward, unfolding one.Four words, written in neat black ink: Don't ignore what's watching.
A hush rippled through the room.
Jae-Suk broke it first. "Okay, that's officially creepy."
Tae-Ho's eyes widened. "What… does that mean?"
"I don't know," Jae-Hyun said, shrugging slightly. "But whoever is doing this, they're organized. Look at the flight paths—they're deliberate."
"Maybe it's the ghost again," someone muttered from the back. "Third-floor curse, remember?"
Tae-Ho rolled his eyes. "Ghost? Really?" But a slight shiver ran down his spine as another plane zoomed past his head.
Jae-Suk swallowed. "You think whoever's doing this—like—is watching us right now?"
"Maybe," Jae-Hyun said softly, folding the note again. "But whoever it is—they're not random. Look." He gestured at the planes. "Every one landed in the same pattern as yesterday. Same desks. Same path."
Tae-Ho leaned forward, wide-eyed. "Do you think it's the ghost?"
"Maybe," Jae-Hyun replied coolly. "Or maybe it's someone very clever and very mischievous."
They laughed nervously, teasing each other about becoming "ghost hunters", while trying to decipher the cryptic messages. The combination of fear and curiosity made them giddy, whispering guesses about who—or what—might be behind it.
By the time the teacher returned, the classroom was calm, with students pretending nothing unusual had happened. But some kept glancing at the corners, half-expecting another plane to slice through the silence.
- - -
By lunch, the tension had mostly dissolved into rumor and laughter. The cafeteria buzzed with energy—students debating everything from ghost stories to the last basketball match. The trio sat at their usual spot near the windows, sunlight warming the table.
"Bro, I'm telling you," Jae-Suk said through a mouthful of rice, "if that paper plane ghost shows up again, I'm transferring schools."
"You can't transfer," Tae-Ho said flatly. "Who else would I copy math homework from?"
Jae-Suk grinned. "The ghost, maybe."
Even Jae-Hyun laughed softly at that. But the peace didn't last. A voice boomed across the cafeteria—deep, confident, and way too loud for comfort.
"YAH, JUNG JAE-HYUN!"
The table stilled. Heads turned. A few students started whispering.
From across the cafeteria strode Seo Ji-Woon. His gym jacket hung loose, sleeves pushed up. His hair was still damp from morning practice, and his face carried a grin that could light up a crowd.
Tae-Ho muttered under his breath, "Here we go again…"
Ji-Woon reached their table and slapped Jae-Suk's shoulder like they were old friends. "Sorry to interrupt your romantic lunch," he said with a grin, then turned to Jae-Hyun. "Mind if I sit?"
Before anyone could answer, he sat.
Whispers spread from nearby tables.
"He's asking again, isn't he?"
"Just say yes already, Jae-Hyun."
"They'd destroy nationals with him on the team."
Ji-Woon leaned forward, eyes bright with determination. "You know why I'm here."
Jae-Hyun set down his chopsticks slowly. "You've been here every day for two weeks. I'd say I have a guess."
A few students snickered. Ji-Woon just laughed, unfazed. "And yet you keep saying no. Thought maybe you'd changed your mind."
Jae-Suk groaned quietly. "Hyung, can't you just join so he'll stop coming?"
Ji-Woon shot him a grin. "Exactly! Listen to your friend. He's wise."
Jae-Hyun's expression didn't shift. Calm, unreadable. "And what makes you think I'd be any good on your team?"
That earned a burst of laughter from a nearby table. Ji-Woon's grin only grew. "Oh, come on. You're the Jae-Hyun who shut Min-Seok down last game, remember? And he's the star of out team!"
Ji-Woon stood up, gesturing wildly. "You move like you've been doing this since birth. You see angles before they even exist. I've never seen anyone read the court like that. You don't play—you orchestrate."
There was a spark of genuine admiration in his voice, the kind that silenced even the whisperers.
But Jae-Hyun's tone stayed cool. "Flattery's not going to change my answer."
Ji-Woon sat back down, sighing dramatically. "You're killing me, man. Do you know how many people would kill for this spot? You'd be the key to us hitting nationals. The team's been rebuilding for years, and we're finally close. You could be the difference."
Tae-Ho whispered, "He really doesn't quit."
Jae-Suk nudged Jae-Hyun. "Come on, man. He's begging you. Just join already."
But Jae-Hyun shook his head once. "I'm not interested."
Silence spread like wildfire. Even Ji-Woon blinked, momentarily thrown off by how flatly it was said. Around them, murmurs rose—disbelief, frustration, a few gasps of "He really said no again?"
Ji-Woon leaned across the table, lowering his voice just enough to sound persuasive. "Look, Jae-Hyun, it's kind of your fault Min-Seok hasn't been coming to practice. He's been totally out of it since that match. Without him, we don't stand a chance in the competition. So please, just join the team—you could help us win."
Jae-Hyun didn't even look up from his food. His tone was flat, almost bored. "That's his problem, not mine. Maybe if he didn't use his skills and popularity to bully anyone, he wouldn't have anything to be depressed about."
Ji-Woon chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. "You're a tough one. Fine. I'll stop bothering you…" He stood, grinning down at him. "…after you think about it one more time."
Jae-Hyun gave a small, polite nod. "I'll think about it," he said—though the lack of conviction was almost amusing.
Ji-Woon groaned, running a hand through his hair. "You're impossible," he muttered, but there was laughter in it. "You're missing out, genius."
He started walking off, but not before calling over his shoulder, "I'll see you tomorrow, same time!"
Tae-Ho burst out laughing. "He's not giving up, dude."
"He's persistent," Jae-Suk added. "You gotta respect that."
Jae-Hyun just reached for his drink. "Persistence isn't the same as purpose," he said quietly.
That earned a pause from both of them. Tae-Ho blinked. "Deep. I'm writing that down."
Jae-Suk rolled his eyes. "Of course you are."
Around them, conversations picked back up—students gossiping about Ji-Woon's latest "recruitment attempt," others joking about the ghost again. Someone shouted, "If the paper plane ghost shows up at practice, I'm out!" and laughter erupted across the cafeteria.
Jae-Hyun smiled faintly at that, but his eyes had drifted toward the window. For a moment, he seemed distant, detached from the noise and warmth, mind elsewhere.
Tae-Ho waved a hand in front of him. "Earth to Jae-Hyun?"
He blinked, the faintest smirk tugging at his lips. "Just thinking."
"About what?"
He picked up his tray, standing. "Timing," he said simply. "It's everything."
Tae-Ho and Jae-Suk exchanged a glance."Did he just—?""Yeah. He definitely just dropped a mysterious one-liner again."
They laughed, trailing after him toward the trash bins.
For now, the cafeteria buzzed with laughter and whispers of basketball, paper planes, and one unreadable boy who always seemed to stay ten moves ahead.