The week that followed was dissonance in the flesh. As a data analyst, Kim Seongjun spent the days inputting numbers with the partitioned mind of a hard drive-he had one sector programmed to run all that mundane sales data; the other was hidden, encrypted, and running complex simulation models of corporate warfare. All lunch breaks were spent having park lunches, making encrypted calls to the Hong Manager, his voice a low commanding murmur amid the lively chirping of birds and the chatter of office workers.
"The leak worked," Hong said, triumphantly. "Dohoon had a press conference for defense, and now the headlines seem to doubt his authenticity." "Good. Now we press the advantage. I want a full audit of Daehan Group's subsidiaries. Look for weaknesses, anything we can use as leverage." "That would be… aggressive, sir." "The war has started, Manager Hong. I'm going to finish it." The voice was cold, the tone final. After hanging up, he would slip the mobile phone back into his pocket and go back to the bench; somewhere around it would be the ghost of Cha Seongjun, lingering around a man eating a kimbap.
By the night, he was being woven into the precarious fabric of the neighborhood. Mina, with her solar-like warmth, made it her responsibility to integrate him into everything. She took him to the local market, where she taught him the fine line between negotiating with the ajummas-a skill which he deemed far more challenging than any negotiation in his offices.
"You can't just pay the asking price!" she chastised lightly after he paid way over budget for a bunch of green onions. "You have to look like you've been doing this your whole life. A little skepticism! Like this." She demonstrated, bantering easily with the vendor until he laughed and threw in an extra pepper for free.
Seongjun watched, hypnotized. There was a different kind of power making the ground under him shake-not of wealth or title but of true human link-the type of currency he had learned very little to trade in.
The hum between his two lives was now constant and low. One such evening, after returning from the subway, there was a sleek black sedan idling outside his building—definite swan in a duck pond. His heart hammered against his ribs. *Dohoon?* As if on cue, the power window came down to reveal the anxiety-stamped face of Hong Manager.
"Sir, I am so very sorry to invade your privacy," whispered Hong and quickly glanced around, making him nervous. "But it is critical. I have documents to be signed by you urgently. The physical copies. They are too sensitive for digital." Seongjun tightened his jaws. "Not here." "There's no time, sir. The board meeting is tomorrow morning. It's about the succession plan. Chairman Manho is... making moves."
This was like a bucket of ice water. Seongjun rapidly scanned the street. It was, after all, relatively quiet. "Five minutes. In the car."
He slid into the car's luxurious leather interior, and the familiar scent of polished wood and clean air stung his senses, urging him to remember all he'd left behind. He was Cha Seongjun again for five minutes, scanning legal documents with his eyes and signing flourishy lines better suited in a boardroom than a rusty rooftop room with a fine pen. He issued short, terse instructions to the suddenly weak-looking Manager Hong.
The transition to Kim Seongjun again felt jarringly out of place as he stepped out of the car. The building door creaked as it swung open. He turned to Mina, who was staring wide-eyed at him, recycling bag in hand, eyes darting between him and the retreating black sedan.
"That was... a chauffeur?" she asked, her tone somehow spared.
A sharp, cold bolt of fright shot through him. He'd made a mistake. "No," he said, too quickly. "A... a client. From the company. He was dropping off some urgent work." Even in his judgement, the explanation was lame.
Mina frowned. "A client? In a car like that? For a data analyst at a small IT firm?" Her natural good-heartedness wrestled with rising speculation. She was no fool.
Seongjun's mind desperately tumbled around for some likely alternative. "Well, it was... a high-profile client. Very hush-hush. They insisted on a personal drop-off." He tried to force a tired smile. "Part of the mini-crisis the other night."
He saw her not-quite conviction consider his words, but she was kind enough to swallow them and let it slide with an almost hesitant nod. "You must be working for quite a firm," she said lightly, though the warmth of her tone soured a few degrees. Then she turned and went back inside.
Seongjun stood on the street, the signed documents now feeling like a lead weight in his bag. That was a close call. Way too close. The sticky web of lies is fragile and he is already beginning to trip over the threads. One minor slip before the one person he dreaded damaging the most. The thin edge he was walking on had become paper-slim.