The tension in the command center eased, replaced by the focused, predatory hum of a successful hunt. Team Bravo was on the move, a silent, invisible shadow attached to their new target. On the monitors, Min-ji had already pulled up the subway system's internal CCTV feeds, giving them a live view from inside the train car. The target stood casually, holding onto a railing, looking for all the world like a man on his way home from work. He seemed completely oblivious.
"He's not a professional," Yoo-jin observed, watching the man's relaxed posture. "Not military or police. He's just a hired hand. Ryu is using disposable assets."
But as the train pulled out of the station and plunged into the darkness of the tunnel, a seed of doubt began to sprout in Nam Gyu-ri's mind. His cynical voice crackled over the comms, a discordant note in the symphony of their apparent success.
"Something's wrong, Yoo-jin," he said, a thoughtful, almost academic tone to his voice. "This is too clean. It's too easy."
"What are you talking about?" Yoo-jin countered, annoyed by the negativity. "Min-ji found him. Our team is on him. The plan is working."
"No, that's the problem," Gyu-ri insisted. "The plan is working exactly as a textbook intelligence agency would want it to. We identified a target, we established a tail, and now we follow him back to his base. This is MI6, not Ryu. This isn't his style. He's a sadist, an artist of terror. There's no artistry here, no cruelty. There is no psychological flourish. This isn't his signature."
"Maybe he's just being practical for once," Yoo-jin said, though Gyu-ri's words were unsettling.
"Ryu is never just practical," Gyu-ri scoffed. "Every move he makes is designed to inflict pain. This… this feels like a diversion. A beautifully executed piece of misdirection designed to make you feel competent and in control, right before he guts you. I think we have exactly what he wants us to have."
While the two men debated strategy, Ahn Da-eun, who had been a silent, intense observer on the sofa, suddenly stood up. Her eyes were wide with a dawning horror, but she wasn't looking at the surveillance feeds of the man on the train. She was staring at a secondary monitor, one showing a wider shot of the subway platform their target had just left. In the background of the shot, a large public information screen displayed the station's train schedules and line maps.
"Yoo-jin," she said, her voice a shocked whisper that cut through the argument. "Look at the screen. The train line. The destination."
Yoo-jin's gaze followed hers. He squinted at the screen, then ordered Min-ji to zoom in on the public display. The Hangul text was clear. The train their target was on was the light blue line, Line 4. But the sign also showed an interchange for Line 3, the orange line. And one of the major stops on that line, just a few stations away, was the Dongguk University station, the primary public transport link for the Seoul Detention Center.
The name of the station hung in the air like a ghost.
At that exact moment, as if summoned by a dark premonition, a different kind of alert flashed on the edge of Min-ji's screen. It wasn't one of her own surveillance systems. It was an automated flag from a news wire service she was monitoring, triggered by keywords.
"CEO-nim!" Min-ji's voice was sharp with a new, sudden alarm. "There's a breaking news report… an incident at the Seoul Detention Center. Just moments ago. They're calling it a 'minor gas leak' in the main visitor's area. The entire section has been evacuated." She was reading frantically. "Kwon Ji-hyuk's lawyer was there for a scheduled meeting. He's been taken to a nearby hospital for observation… complaining of dizziness."
The truth hit Han Yoo-jin with the physical force of a freight train.
The dead-drop. The backpack. The decoy courier. The obvious observer. The chase through the subway.
It was all a feint. A brilliant, elaborate, and perfectly executed piece of misdirection designed to focus his entire team, his entire security apparatus, on a meaningless errand.
Ryu's target was never Nam Gyu-ri. That had been a lie fed to their informant, a piece of bait for Yoo-jin to find. The phrase 'deleting files' didn't mean assassination. It meant erasing a liability.
Ryu knew Kwon Ji-hyuk was their weakest link. He was broken, terrified, isolated, and facing years in prison. He was ripe for the turning. He had engineered a public, non-lethal emergency at the detention center—a gas leak—to create chaos and, most importantly, to separate Ji-hyuk from his legal counsel at a critical moment. He had isolated his target completely.
Yoo-jin's face, a mask of horrified comprehension, was reflected on the dark screens. While his entire team of elite operatives, digital wizards, and strategic geniuses were chasing a nobody through the subway, Ryu's real operative—disguised as a prison guard, a maintenance worker, or even a fellow inmate—was walking into Kwon Ji-hyuk's cell. He wouldn't be carrying a weapon. He would be carrying an offer. A deal. A get-out-of-jail-free card. A simple, compelling story for Ji-hyuk to tell, one that would exonerate him completely while implicating someone else.
Ryu wasn't trying to kill an ally. He was trying to steal one. He was trying to take Yoo-jin's broken pawn and turn it into his own queen, aimed directly at the heart of Aura.
"He played you, Yoo-jin," Gyu-ri's voice murmured over the comms, this time without any hint of mockery, only a quiet, chilling respect for his former subordinate's genius. "He knew you'd go for the throat. He built you a throat to go for, and while you were biting down on the fake, he went for the soul."
The final shot was of Yoo-jin's face, frozen in a mask of utter horror. He had been so focused on the hunt, on the violent, tangible threat, that he had completely forgotten the psychological nature of his enemy. He hadn't just been outmaneuvered. He had been intellectually dismantled. And somewhere, in a cold prison cell, the future of his company was being rewritten by his enemy.