The coffee was cold.
That was the first truth of Lee Min-jun's day. The bitter, lukewarm liquid sat in a paper cup in his hand, a pathetic offering for a Senior Manager who wouldn't even look at him.
The second truth was the silence.
It wasn't a quiet silence. The 43rd floor of the Kronos Capital tower was a symphony of fake sounds. The clack of designer keyboards. The murmur of hushed, important-sounding phone calls. The whisper of tailored suits against leather chairs. But beneath it all, in the spaces between the sounds, was a deeper, emptier silence. The silence of things not being said.
Min-jun stood outside Manager Park's glass-walled office, waiting. He was twenty-two. His suit was cheap, the fabric itching at his neck. He was an intern in the Mergers & Acquisitions division, which meant he was a glorified, unpaid servant. He had been here for three months. He had learned nothing about finance and everything about how to be invisible.
"Just let him sign the damn report so I can go to my lunch. The new Italian place. Carla from Compliance is going to be there. Need to make an impression. Maybe if I…"
The voice was clear. Crisp. It was Manager Park's voice, but his mouth wasn't moving. He was staring at his monitor, a frown on his face.
Min-jun blinked. A headache, sudden and sharp, spiked behind his right eye. Stress. It had to be stress. Lack of sleep. The cold coffee.
Manager Park finally looked up. His eyes, behind thin-framed glasses, were like polished stones. "The report."
"Yes, sir." Min-jun stepped forward, placing the folder on the desk. "I've compiled the due diligence notes on the Sejong Pharma acquisition, as you asked. All the public filings are cross-referenced."
Park opened the folder. He scanned the first page. His face showed nothing.
"…useless. Public filings. A monkey could do this. I need the real notes. The ones from the private investigator. The ones about the CEO's daughter's… medical condition. Where are those? Did the idiot intern not get the secure file?"
Min-jun froze. The words echoed in his skull. They didn't come through his ears. They just… appeared. Fully formed. Private investigator? Medical condition?
He stared at Manager Park. The man's lips were pressed in a thin line of professional disapproval. But the voice in Min-jun's head was annoyed, impatient, and cruel.
"Why is he staring? Idiot. Probably hungry. They never feed the interns. Well, not my problem. Need to call the PI. Get the dirt. The board wants this deal closed clean, but 'clean' just means the dirt is well-buried."
"Is there a problem, Intern Lee?" Park's real voice cut through the phantom one. It was flat. Cold.
"N-no, sir," Min-jun stammered. The headache pulsed. "The secure file… I wasn't… I didn't receive any instructions about a private investigator's report."
For a fraction of a second, Manager Park's eye twitched. A microscopic crack in the stone. His real voice stayed calm. "I see. There seems to be a miscommunication. You may go."
"Shit. He wasn't supposed to know about that. Who talked? Was it Choi from Legal? That bloated, backstabbing… Doesn't matter. The intern is a nobody. He'll forget. They all forget. Now, how to get the file before the 2 PM call…"
Min-jun bowed, his heart hammering against his ribs. He backed out of the office, the two voices—the real one and the secret one—clashing in his mind.
He walked back to his desk, a tiny cubicle in a sea of identical tiny cubicles. He sat down. The world had not changed. The grey carpet was still grey. The fluorescent lights still hummed. But everything was different.
He looked around.
At the next cubicle, Senior Analyst Kim was typing furiously, a smile on her face as she looked at her screen.
"...and if I fudge these growth projections by just 2.5%, the bonus hits the target. Martin in Accounting will look the other way. He owes me for the Singapore incident. A little creative accounting. It's not a crime if you don't get caught. It's just… strategy."
Min-jun's breath hitched. He looked away.
He looked at the Director of Strategic Investments, Mr. Oh, walking past with two visitors. Mr. Oh was laughing, a deep, hearty sound, clapping a man on the back.
"...absolute pleasure to have you here, truly. Once we finalize the offshore holdings, the tax burden vanishes. Like magic. The wife will get her new yacht. The mistress will stop whining for a week. Everyone's happy. Just don't mention the environmental violations in the Philippines. The report is buried, but the bodies, well…"
Min-jun dropped his pen. It clattered on the desk. The headache was a constant drumbeat now, a price for the noise. The secret noise. It only happened when he looked at someone in a business suit. The cleaner, more expensive the suit, the louder and clearer the thoughts.
A system. It felt like a system. An insane, impossible system.
A notification, clear and silent, appeared in the corner of his vision, like text on a transparent screen.
[Truth Seeker System Initialized.]
[User: Lee Min-jun.]
[Core Function: 'Inner Monologue Access' Active.]
[Range: 10 meters.]
[Trigger: Visual contact with subject wearing formal business attire.]
[Warning: Cognitive load detected. Prolonged use induces mental fatigue, migraines, and eventual system collapse. Manage your truth intake.]
[Sub-Function: 'Secret Database' Locked. Requirements unmet.]
Min-jun leaned back in his chair, his hands trembling. He wasn't going crazy. This was real. He could hear the truth. The ugly, selfish, terrifying truth behind every smile, every handshake, every boardroom decision.
In a world built on facades, he was the only one without walls.
A soft, distressed sound broke his stupor. It was a real sound. He turned.
A few cubicles down, near the window, was Evelyn from the Public Relations team. She was stunning, the kind of beautiful that seemed out of place in the grey office. But her eyes were red-rimmed. She was trying to subtly wipe a tear away, her shoulders hunched. She wore an elegant cream-colored suit.
Standing over her, speaking in a low, pleasant tone that everyone else would interpret as managerial concern, was Director Han. He was in his fifties, silver-haired, known for his philanthropy and calm demeanor. He placed a fatherly hand on her shoulder.
His real voice was gentle. "It's alright, Evelyn. These things happen. We'll manage the story. Don't you worry."
Min-jun focused. The headache spiked, vicious.
Director Han's inner voice slithered into his mind. It was a different texture from the others—smoother, colder, more possessive.
"Good. The fear is back. The tears are perfect. She'll do anything now. That photo of her at the host bar is safe with me. As long as she understands. A dinner. Tonight. My penthouse. No more excuses. That dress I bought for her. She'll wear it. She'll smile. And if she doesn't… well, her father's debt to my subsidiary becomes public. Such a fragile, beautiful bird. It's better in a gilded cage."
Rage. Cold and pure, it washed over Min-jun, cutting through his own shock and fear. This wasn't just corporate greed. This was evil. Wrapped in a Brioni suit and a philanthropic reputation.
Evelyn nodded, forcing a brittle smile. "Th-thank you, Director Han. I'm sorry for the trouble."
"You will be," his inner voice cooed. "You will be."
Director Han gave her shoulder a final squeeze and walked away, nodding amiably at others.
Min-jun watched him go. He looked at Evelyn, sitting alone, her mask of composure crumbling the moment the director was out of sight. She was trapped. A prisoner of secrets.
He looked down at his own hands. The hands of an intern. No power. No money. No influence.
But he had the truth.
The cold coffee, the silent office, the itching suit—it all faded into background noise. A new sensation filled him. A terrifying, electrifying sense of clarity.
He didn't have money. He didn't have power.
But he knew Director Han's secret. He knew about the photo. The blackmail. The penthouse.
The drumbeat in his head was a warning. A cost.
He accepted it.
Min-jun took a deep breath, stood up, and walked toward the break room. He needed to make a new cup of coffee. This one needed to be hot.
And as he walked past Evelyn's cubicle, he didn't look at her. He didn't say a word. But a plan, fragile and dangerous, began to form in the new silence of his own mind—the only mind in this entire tower that was, for once, truly his own.