While thinking such thoughts, Tae-ui sighed.

He didn’t really expect it to be like that. It was obvious this place was forbidden to ordinary people—of course, to ordinary members as well. It was also clear that such places had their own reasons. Yet Tae-ui got off.

Looking back later, he didn’t know why he got off. If he hadn’t, at least the safety he’d known so far would have been guaranteed, but once he got off, he had no idea what lay ahead. Tae-ui hated such uncertain, unstable risks.

Still, what made him get off must have been the box hidden deep in human instinct.

Seconds after Tae-ui stepped out, the elevator doors closed. He thought it wasteful to use an elevator meant to detect weight for connecting just two points, but that thought didn’t last long.

Tae-ui stopped walking as he saw the scene before him.

They said it was 2,000 pyeong (approx. 6,600 sq meters). An entire floor of that size was completely open. He could see the far wall at the opposite end. Between that wall and the wall behind Tae-ui stretched a vast space filled with large and small container boxes arranged regularly. It was a huge warehouse.

“Damn... It smells suspicious from the first glance...”

Tae-ui muttered with a sigh and slowly approached the steel shelves holding the containers. The shelves reached the ceiling, probably as high as a typical second floor. The steel pillars were heavy, fixed firmly between floor and ceiling, supporting dense metal mesh on which containers were lined up.

The containers varied. From ones as small as drawers to ones as large as small buildings, they were neatly organized by size. Some were wooden, some metal. Their only common trait was that there was no marking on the outside.

“This isn’t good... I should’ve just gone back up.”

Tae-ui clicked his tongue, but as soon as he got off the elevator, it was as if he’d given up on going back.

His footsteps echoed loudly. The hard asphalt floor didn’t absorb the sound. Though the space was packed, there was no reason for loud echoes, yet his footsteps grated on his ears as if they were not his own—perhaps because he wasn’t confident, or because he was alone.

He approached a small container a few steps ahead and tapped its lid with his knuckles, expecting a sound from inside, but there was no response. He pushed it lightly with his fingertips, but it didn’t move. Putting all his strength into it and pushing lightly made it shake just a bit.

The ✧ NоvеIight ✧ (Original source) box on the bottom shelf was nailed shut. But the box directly above, the same size and shape, had a lid covering it but was not fixed. Tae-ui stared at it for a moment, put his hand on the lid, and gently pushed.

The heavy lid seemed to resist staying in place, but slowly slid aside. The contents inside came into view.

“...”

Damn.

Tae-ui swallowed the wave of nausea rising uncontrollably. No words came out.

He stared inside for a moment, then closed the lid again and opened the next box. The same contents were inside. Going deeper, he found a box about twice the size of the previous one. Most boxes of that size were nailed shut and couldn’t be opened.

After examining the nearby steel shelves for a while, he finally found one box that was open. Without hesitation, he opened it this time. He never wanted to see this, but it was exactly what he expected.

“...It just gets worse...”

Tae-ui moved forward, leaving the lid open. Surely there were surveillance cameras installed throughout this warehouse. It was impossible to enter without leaving a trace. Thinking of that oddly gave him some composure.

He walked straight to the very back of the warehouse, occasionally opening lids to check contents. Where he stopped was a container the size of a room.

It was at the deepest part of the warehouse.

That container, perhaps because of its size or for other reasons, wasn’t closed. Like a wall of a temporary building had been torn off, one side of the container was completely open.

Inside lay a massive chunk of metal so heavy that even several men wouldn’t be able to lift it.

Tae-ui stared blankly at the container for a long time. More precisely, at the shiny black chunk inside. The smooth curves connected sharply and gently, as if the metal could take flight any moment.

“...Ha.”

How long he had been there, he didn’t know. Eventually a short bitter laugh escaped his lips, his gaze fixed on the object.

“Damn... This is crazy...”

Tae-ui scratched his head like a fool. He couldn’t help it; he didn’t know what else to do. His thoughts were a tangled mess inside his head.

“Damn, the crazy one is me, coming this far.”

When a troubled voice came from behind his shoulder, Tae-ui turned without surprise. He had heard footsteps approaching, so there was no reason to be startled. The voice came without trying to hide the footsteps and stopped about a dozen steps behind him.

“I thought you’d come at lunch, but you’re here surprisingly early. Did you take a jet?”

“When I talked to you, I was already at the airport. I heard something bad happened at the branch, so I wrapped up training immediately and was called back.”

When Tae-ui asked nonchalantly, his uncle replied the same. He took a step closer, glanced at the container Tae-ui had been looking at, tilted his head as if admiring a sculpture, then muttered casually,

“A beautiful fuselage, isn’t it?”

“Yes. The most beautiful bomb I’ve ever seen.”

Tae-ui whispered, admiring or perhaps lamenting. His tired voice carried a deep sigh.

“This was the last thing Jae-ui made.”

His uncle slowly walked to the massive fuselage, stopped, and stroked the black metal with his palm. Tae-ui stared quietly at both of them and murmured.

“Did you make the others in the other containers too?”

His uncle traced the black sheen silently for a moment, then tilted his head ambiguously.

“Some of them. But most are not. They’re generally just products for sale.”

“Products... of UNHRDO?”

“More precisely, joint products. And if half are products, then the rest must be donations.”

His uncle spoke calmly. He slid his fingers over the steel with a hint of regret, then turned away with an indifferent expression, meeting Tae-ui’s gaze.

Tae-ui rubbed his furrowed brow and let out a weak laugh. He had no choice but to laugh bitterly.

“This is just adding insult to injury... products and donations.”

He muttered bitterly. His uncle said no more, but Tae-ui wasn’t stupid or oblivious enough not to understand what he meant.

“Is the UNHRDO headquarters in America?”

Tae-ui asked almost to himself. His uncle raised an eyebrow instead of answering. Tae-ui smirked.

“They sell weapons to Iran there, secretly supplying communist rebels in other countries?”

Tae-ui joked weakly. His uncle smiled faintly.

“UNHRDO is not an organization belonging to America. It’s influenced heavily, but six countries share the power evenly.”

“Indeed. Six countries evenly... sharing power. One for all, all for one...?”

His uncle only smiled and said nothing.

A short distance away, as Tae-ui walked back to close the lid of the box he had left open, his uncle said briefly.

“No comment beyond that.”

Tae-ui looked around. Containers stacked floor to ceiling filled the warehouse. Beyond the visible ones blocked by containers lay even more.

Inside them lay weapons ready to be taken out and used at any moment.

“A guy like Morro would go crazy with joy.”

Tae-ui tried to joke and laugh but couldn’t. His strength drained, and he collapsed onto the floor, completely knocked out.

“How much of this is secret?”

Tae-ui muttered. His uncle covered the lids one by one, giving Tae-ui a brief glance.

“Among people you’d know, only a handful are above that line. The director, deputy director, instructors include only me and Rick. The rest you probably know—though I’ve never said it directly.”

“...Ah.”

Tae-ui nodded repeatedly. Though his mind still felt like dreaming and he couldn’t fully accept the situation, his nodding was like a toy soldier, steady and continuous.

The director, deputy director, and developer made sense. But the reason why only two instructors were singled out did not come to mind immediately. However, he didn’t need to think long. He soon guessed why they were mixed in.

That explained it. Now he understood Ilay’s strange privilege. That’s why his uncle was the “man needed by UNHRDO.”

Tae-ui chuckled lightly. That began a low, dry laughter that would not stop for a long while.

At this point, all he could do was laugh.

The United Nations Human Resources Development Organization.

The international organization everyone wanted to join, secretly leading illegal activities. Who would believe it?

If this broke, it would be an exclusive scoop the likes of which had never been seen before.

Of course, before it broke, he himself would disappear without a trace, or it would be hushed up before a single letter appeared on the surface.

Compared to this, Mackin was nothing.

“What are you supposed to do when an international treaty is broken by an international organization...? Maybe it was created for this very reason... Ah, didn’t they say the Asian branch was the newest branch of UNHRDO?”

“Tae-ui.”

Muttering with a bitter smile, Tae-ui stopped talking. His uncle cut him off and called his name. After a brief silence, his uncle shook his head awkwardly and forced a smile.

“What you imagine and what you say out loud are very different. Imagination becomes reality.”

This time, Tae-ui was silent. Not stupid enough to ignore his uncle’s warning, he sat on the floor, staring silently at his feet before quietly sighing.

It was a truly terrible feeling. He had never felt so foolish before. Unknowingly, he found himself dancing and singing like a clown somewhere he didn’t know.

“What about hyung?”

Tae-ui suddenly asked. But his uncle, who seemed to know everything, slowly shook his head.

“I don’t know. I searched everywhere but still can’t find any clue.”

Tae-ui buried his face in his knees. Exhausted and limp, he couldn’t move. He thought it wouldn’t be strange if he fossilized there.

Ridiculous. Tae-ui thought with self-mockery. He wasn’t especially moral or conscientious. He wasn’t a pure young man full of dreams who saw the world so simply. Even when he heard rumors of corruption somewhere, he brushed it off, thinking that was just how people lived. Maybe if he weren’t so tired now, he might have gotten angry or scolded and then turned away.

But now he was so exhausted he could collapse if someone breathed near him. The fact that he was here pressed down on him like hundreds of tons of iron weights. Especially since he was directly or indirectly involved in this system, it was unbearable.

“Maybe if I went to your house and Jae-ui was there, I’d have taken you instead of him. From the start, I thought you were the one to ask for help, so I came to get you.”

 

Click-clack, the sound of footsteps came closer. One step, then another.

“You definitely have skill, and you’re smart. Even if things around you go wrong regardless of your effort, it’s not your fault. At least in this environment, you were good enough to be here.”

“Uncle... that’s just sophistry.”

Tae-ui smiled weakly and spoke. If being caught in this situation wasn’t due to his misfortune but his personality or some faint talent he didn’t even know if he had, then he was ready to discard it all.

He lifted his head buried in his knees. A few steps away, his uncle stood looking down at him. He would never apologize or make excuses.

“Uncle, I’ll be going now.”

Tae-ui said. His uncle thought for a moment, then placed his hand on his knee and bent down. Like a small child, his face came close to Tae-ui’s head.

“If it were you, you could rise to the position you want here.”

“Thanks for the high evaluation, uncle, but I don’t want any position here.”

Tae-ui smirked.

Position? How far could he rise? To the instructor’s seat like that crazy bastard who beats people without punishment, or the sly uncle standing before him? The deputy director’s seat filled with factional strife? Or the director’s, wearing a fancy mask and contributing to the slaughter anywhere in the world?

There was no place for Tae-ui to climb.

“I’m exhausted.”

“...”

“I want to go home, sleep for a week without thinking about anything. The bed here is too restless to sleep deeply.”

Tae-ui muttered bitterly. His uncle looked at him silently, then suddenly, jokingly, almost teasingly, spoke the truth.

“For a while, your home won’t be a good place either. Unwanted guests might come and go. This time, it won’t be Jae-ui, but the guests looking for you, Tae-ui.”

“What’s that supposed to mean...”

Tae-ui muttered sincerely, burying his face in his knees again. Yeah, maybe. His uncle was rarely wrong. Most likely, it was true. After all, Tae-ui was involved in the deputy director scandal. No one knew what kind of people or for what purpose might come calling.

His peaceful home was gone. His heart had already left here. Then where should he go? He had nowhere.

“I’ve become a homeless, property-less nobody in an instant... Uncle, that’s cruel.”

Tae-ui murmured, his face in his knees. Whether his uncle heard it properly, he didn’t know. His uncle stared silently at him for a while.

“Tae-ui, when you first came here, our deal was for half a year, right?”

“There isn’t much left now.”

Fearing his uncle might say to stay for the full half year, Tae-ui answered sulkily. Even if told to stay for six months, he planned to leave. He didn’t want to be here anymore. The promise with his uncle wouldn’t bind him.

“Then for the remaining time, work for me somewhere else, not here.”

His uncle’s serious voice fell over him. Tae-ui stayed silent for a moment.

How long had they been like that? His uncle patiently waited for Tae-ui’s answer.

Finally, Tae-ui slowly lifted his head and, with weary eyes, looked at his uncle and whispered a sigh.

“Uncle... you’re really shameless.”

His uncle smiled. Seeing his uncle’s eyes soften for the first time that day, Tae-ui sighed.

“Uncle, I have no idea where hyung is. Even with all the networks used, the person can’t be found, so how could I find him?”

When Tae-ui said that, his uncle slightly raised an eyebrow, then burst into a quiet laugh. As if caught off guard, his uncle continued laughing without stopping and gently stroked Tae-ui’s head. Tae-ui was cleverer and more perceptive than his uncle expected. Even with a few clues, he could accurately grasp the core.

“I don’t expect results. The process is enough. Until the time runs out, you can remain a special agent of UNHRDO and bill all expenses. Even the money you throw to beggars. Understand?”

His uncle gently stroked Tae-ui’s cheek like when he was very young. Tae-ui looked at him obediently like a child.

“A month or two. By then, things inside will settle. Those to be demoted will be, those transferred will leave, and mouths will be silenced. After that, come back home. I’ll drop by often, not as much as now, but still.”

“You haven’t come even once in three years since father died. What’s with ‘I’ll drop by more often than now’?”

Even as he was weak, Tae-ui seized on the words of his uncle that bothered him. His uncle’s laugh softly brushed past his ear.

Tae-ui rested his hand on his uncle’s cheek and gently tilted his head. His whole body was weak, and he wanted to collapse and sleep forever. He felt like he wouldn’t wake up for a hundred years if he closed his eyes.

“Fine. Let’s do that. Two months. I don’t think I’ll find hyung, but I’ll try. I want to see him too.”

Tae-ui muttered quietly like a sleep-addled voice. His uncle silently listened.

After a pause, Tae-ui continued.

“But I don’t need the special agent identity of UNHRDO. Even ‘Jeong Tae-ui’ is dangerous. Give me a new name. One nobody knows, no one suspects—one that truly exists in this world... Even you, uncle, won’t be able to know it.”

So that no trace of him remains here. Leaving no clue to find Jeong Tae-ui.

A new name, one no one—even his uncle—could discover.

His uncle looked at Tae-ui silently. The hand that had stayed on Tae-ui’s cheek started moving again, calmly stroking his head. The gentle touch felt comforting.

“Alright. Let’s do that. I’ll create an identity with the name, nationality, age, and personal info you want. Then I won’t even look at the record and burn it in an envelope. ...But if you disappear like Jae-ui, I’ll be a little sad.”

“I’ll contact you sometimes. Since it’s under the pretext of searching for hyung, I’ll keep you updated.”

Tae-ui smiled faintly and murmured. His uncle stroked him a while longer, then slowly nodded.

“Alright. Shall we get up now? It’s time to start the day again.”

Tae-ui took his uncle’s extended hand and stood from where he had been sitting. He felt like he might never rise again, but now he had to get up and walk. If he just stayed seated, he’d be stuck there forever.

Following a few steps behind his uncle, Tae-ui looked toward the elevator standing far off. When he rides that elevator and the doors open again, that will be outside. No longer the UNHRDO branch, but outside—waiting beyond that door.

Everything was tiring now, and he was exhausted. All the things that bound Jeong Tae-ui were unbearably heavy. Now, shedding them, Tae-ui was ready to leave. And once he left, he would never return.

His uncle said that after time passed, he could return home. But Tae-ui held no attachment. Even if he could never return, it didn’t matter with his tired heart. At this moment, if he could just rest his worn and tattered heart, any future refuge meant nothing.

The elevator approached. His uncle entered the open wooden door and waited for Tae-ui. Once his uncle stepped in and out, Tae-ui had to say goodbye to himself.

He hesitated briefly at the door. His uncle waited silently. But what was there to hesitate about now? Nothing could hold him back.

Tae-ui quietly raised his hand and tapped his chest, as if soothing his weary heart. Then, he took a step forward to stay elsewhere.
__________________

End of Volume 3. To be continued in Volume 4.