The office was quieter at night—muted, heavy, like sound itself walked on tiptoe. The wall-length windows spilled city lights onto polished floors, and the glass reflected Jae-Hyun's silhouette as he waited.
The elevator chimed softly.
Mr. Oh stepped out, loosening his tie and rubbing at the crease between his brows. "You picked the worst hour," he sighed, but his voice dropped to a careful pitch. "It's confirmed. NIS piggy-backed on Black Wall's breach. They're inside NovaSec's system."
Jae-Hyun didn't turn. He just reached for the mug cooling beside the transparent dashboard—black tea, still steaming slightly. "And?"
Mr. Oh blinked. "You sound strangely… calm."
Jae-Hyun lifted the drink, blew across its rim. "Should I be panicking?"
"Jae-Hyun, they can shut us down if we're flagged as a national threat."
A quiet ping.
Somewhere deep in the wall, a soft violet light pulsed.
"Cons?" Jae-Hyun prompted.
Mr. Oh swallowed. "Well, for starters—"
He ran a hand through his hair. "They could just… snap their fingers and shut everything down. No discussion, no appeal, just… poof. Every terminal, every server, offline. Gone. And not just for a few minutes—weeks, maybe months, depending on how they decide to classify us."
Jae-Hyun tilted his head, calm as always. "And you think this is… alarming?"
Mr. Oh's eyes widened. "Alarming? Alarming doesn't even cover it. Imagine every transaction, every partnership, frozen instantly. Investors see it, they panic, they pull out. Contracts collapse mid-signature. Deals we've spent weeks arranging—gone."
Jae-Hyun sipped his tea, watching the steam curl lazily. "And?"
"Containment," Mr. Oh stated, voice dropping. He leaned in, lowering his voice as if speaking louder might make it worse. "Not just cyber containment. Physical. Teams that descend like… like stormtroopers, wiping out access points, servers, everything in reach. They move fast. Too fast for any normal response. You blink, and entire departments could be offline, employees stranded, our operations paralyzed. Poof."
Jae-Hyun's fingers drummed lightly on the armrest, unfazed.
"And then," Mr. Oh continued, pacing slightly, "they can classify the whole company under national surveillance. Every employee, every system, every email—they watch. Every one of us becomes a potential suspect. Stock plummets overnight. Partners call to renegotiate or back out entirely. Investors start asking awkward questions. Media sniffing around…" He shivered. "The headlines alone could bankrupt us before we even realize what happened."
Jae-Hyun raised an eyebrow. "Sounds inconvenient."
Mr. Oh's frustration spiked. "Inconvenient?! You call this inconvenient? This is the kind of thing that ruins careers, dissolves companies, wipes reputations clean from the public record! And don't think they won't—they will do it if they feel threatened. And the worst…" His voice dropped to a whisper. "The absolute worst, Jae-Hyun… they can neutralize leadership. Which in government language… means removal. Poof. Not a warning. Not a call. Just gone."
Jae-Hyun took another sip of his tea, expression still unreadable. "And you think they'll act?"
Mr. Oh hesitated, then said, "I don't know. That's the thing—they might. And if they decide to, you'll be looking at a scenario where nothing functions. Nobody can stop them. Everything we've built… meaningless. All I'm saying… we need to be aware, prepared, and proactive before the finger points at us. Poof."
Jae-Hyun set down his tea with a quiet click, eyes calm but sharp. "Stop exaggerating."
Mr. Oh blinked. "Excuse me?"
"Using more 'poofs' won't change anything," Jae-Hyun said evenly. "It doesn't make the risk more real. It doesn't make the consequences faster. It just makes you sound… panicked."
Mr. Oh's shoulders slumped slightly. "I—I'm just trying to make you understand the gravity!"
Jae-Hyun's lips twitched, almost a smile. "I understand perfectly. You don't need the sound effects."
Mr. Oh exhaled, half embarrassed, half relieved. "Right… right. No more poofs. I'll… try to be more factual."
Jae-Hyun sipped his tea again like he was listening to the weather forecast. "Mm. That sounds really unpleasant."
Mr. Oh stared. "Jae-Hyun, they could paint you as a cyber-terrorist. Overnight."
A new ping. This one warmer.Jae-Hyun tapped the holographic board. "And here's why they won't."
The mirror interface expanded—a digital pool shimmering with overlapping reflections.
"Black Wall's mess is contained here." He pointed to a cloudy, tangled sector of the mirror. "If NIS sees this, they'll panic. They'll escalate."
"And escalation," Mr. Oh muttered grimly, "means we become priority number one."
"Exactly. So I'll condition the mirror."
"Condition?"
"They'll see clean architecture, routine systems… nothing alarming. A curated gallery of harmless code."
"Like a museum tour."
Jae-Hyun smirked. "With velvet ropes."
Lights shimmered, reorganizing into neat pathways. Filters whispered into place—like invisible curtains.
Mr. Oh watched the system warp and smooth itself until the chaos was tucked neatly behind polite windows.
"That buys us…?"
"As long as I need," Jae-Hyun said.
Another ping. This one deeper—like a plucked wire.
He enlarged it, revealing a glowing folder.Bold title: PROJECT: ASTRA BLADE PROTOCOL.
"Black Wall found the bait."
Mr. Oh's eyebrows shot up. "They think that's… viable?"
"They think it's what I want next," Jae-Hyun corrected. "Which means they'll try to execute it first. Beat us to market. Gain leverage."
"But—" Mr. Oh leaned in. "It won't work right?"
"Exactly. It's structurally a catastrophe," Jae-Hyun continued. "Dependencies conflict. Licensing impossible. Hardware cost unsustainable. And the user-end would melt GPUs."
Mr. Oh let out a low whistle."So when they try to build it—"
"They fail in public." Jae-Hyun's voice softened. "Investors panic. Reputation disintegrates. Bankruptcy isn't improbable."
"but, what if they get lucky?"
"There's no luck in a maze I built," Jae-Hyun whispered.
"You're… removing them from the board."
"Temporarily," Jae-Hyun said lightly. "They'll be too busy with lawsuits to bother us."
Mr. Oh sank onto the couch. "Remind me never to get on your bad side."
"You're already on my payroll," Jae-Hyun replied. "That's worse."
A second fake folder floated above: ARCHIVE: PROJECT ORACLE RESONANCE
Dark. Thrilling. Completely fake.
"Which one do you think they'll bite?" Mr. Oh asked.
"They'll panic and choose both."
"And then drown."
Jae-Hyun's smile sharpened, crisp as the skyline outside.
He flicked two fingers, dropping silent alarms onto each folder.
No loud beeps. Just soft pings in his wristband, like raindrops.
He watched them settle.
"Breadcrumbs," Jae-Hyun murmured. "Enough for them to feel clever."
"You terrify me sometimes," Mr. Oh confessed.
"That's healthy."
The next day, the cafeteria buzzed like a live wire. Trays clattered, spoons scraped bowls, and the mingled smell of fried dumplings, kimchi, and instant ramen drifted under the fluorescent lights. Jae-Hyun sat at the usual table, tray in front of him, posture straight, expression unreadable. Across from him, Tae-Ho was already grinning, his chopsticks mid-air as he slurped the steaming noodles.
"I swear," Tae-Ho said, waving his chopsticks like a wand, "I've always liked it when they serve instant ramen for lunch. It's… perfect."
"Perfect?" Jae-Suk snorted. "You mean, it's edible, barely. There's a difference."
Tae-Ho's grin widened. "Edible? Come on, it's nostalgic. Remember middle school? They never served any decent ramen, and this right here is gourmet by comparison."
Raon, sitting at the edge of the table, fork halfway to his mouth, tilted his head. "Gourmet?" he repeated. "You're literally eating noodles that took three minutes to prepare in boiling water, Tae-Ho. Gourmet is a stretch."
Jae-Hyun, as always, said nothing. He picked up a dumpling with delicate precision, eyes flicking across the table, calculating. Noticing nothing.
"Hey, quiet one," Jae-Suk nudged him with an elbow. "You're just going to sit there and look… normal?"
Jae-Hyun raised an eyebrow, "Normal is overrated."
"Ugh," Raon said, exasperated. "You do say things like that just to be cryptic."
Tae-Ho laughed. "Cryptic? More like terrifying. I can't tell if he's joking or planning the world's most subtle coup."
"Maybe both," Jae-Suk muttered, eyes narrowing.
"Anyway," Raon said casually, digging into his own tray, "school's firewall…" His voice dropped into a low, almost conversational tone, "weird that it's still using outdated TLS handshakes. A good hacker could slip right in."
The table went silent. Even the clatter of trays seemed to pause mid-air.
Jae-Hyun froze internally. The chopsticks in his hand hovered above his dumpling. No normal student should even know that language. Most students never even looked past the login screen.
Tae-Ho blinked. "Uh… what?"
"TLS… handshakes?" Jae-Suk asked, furrowing his brow.
Raon shrugged like it was nothing. "It's… uh, school network stuff. Just noticed it this morning. Makes the system more predictable, I guess. Not that anyone could exploit it. Just… weird."
Jae-Hyun's mind was racing. Pattern recognition. Advanced observation. The way he noticed a subtle flaw like it was nothing… His lips pressed together. Something about Raon made the air feel electric.
Tae-Ho laughed nervously. "Wow… okay. You're either a prodigy or some sort of… network nerd who spends too much time on Discord."
"Neither," Raon said lightly, shrugging again. "Just… looked at it. Someone has to notice these things, right?"
Jae-Hyun finally spoke, calm but deliberate. "Raon. How do you know that?"
Raon blinked, momentarily caught off guard. "Uh… just… looked it up? I dunno. Some reading. Hacker forums. Articles." He waved it off like it wasn't a big deal.
Jae-Hyun didn't press further. For now. His eyes lingered on Raon a fraction longer than he should. There was something about the boy's casual knowledge that shouldn't exist. But the others were oblivious. Tae-Ho had already returned to slurping noodles, Jae-Suk was busy poking at his tray, and Raon had moved on to his kimchi with carefree efficiency.
Tae-Ho leaned back, sighing. "Anyway, this ramen is awesome. The broth is—"
"—basically salt water," Jae-Suk interjected.
"Tae-Ho, you just said it was perfect," Raon laughed. "Which is it?"
"Both," Tae-Ho said, throwing his hands in the air. "Salt water that makes you nostalgic. Perfect."
Jae-Hyun silently picked up a dumpling, rolling it between his fingers. He studied Raon for a moment. Something about the way Raon had mentioned TLS, the absolute casualness of it… it deserved a reward.
"Anyway," Jae-Hyun said, pushing his tray forward ever so slightly, "want my dumpling?"
Raon's eyes widened. "…Yes."
"You monster," Jae-Hyun muttered under his breath. "I wasn't actually offering."
Raon took it anyway, grinning. "You shouldn't bait people."
Tae-Ho's fork froze mid-air. "Wait… what? He offered you a dumpling? He never offers me dumplings!"
Jae-Suk glared. "And me! I've been his friend forever and I never get… this treatment. What the hell, Jae-Hyun?"
Jae-Hyun raised a single brow, perfectly calm. "You're all welcome to try."
Tae-Ho whined dramatically, stabbing his noodles. "Try? demand! You can't just give one to him and act like it's fine. This is social injustice."
Raon laughed, still holding the dumpling. "Relax, boys. I didn't even know it was a big deal."
"You didn't know?" Jae-Suk groaned. "Do you even understand what just happened?"
Raon shrugged again. "I ate the dumpling. Happy?"
Jae-Hyun allowed a tiny smirk. Just the slightest curve at the corner of his mouth.
The table erupted back into their usual banter. Tae-Ho mimicked the dumpling drama, stabbing his noodles with exaggerated fury. Jae-Suk continued to grumble about fairness in food distribution. Raon leaned back, wiping his hands casually, throwing in jokes about "network security vs. dumpling security" that only made Jae-Hyun's internal eyebrow raise.
"And another thing," Raon said suddenly, leaning forward with exaggerated curiosity. "Why is your tea always perfect? Seriously, who brews it like that at school?"
Jae-Hyun's hand hovered over the teacup. "Practice."
"Practice? You're kidding me, right?" Tae-Ho said, flopping back into his seat.
Raon laughed. "Maybe, I practice alot. I could even guess which students are going to burn their noodles before they finish boiling."
Tae-Ho nearly choked on his ramen. "What? How is that even possible?"
Jae-Suk groaned, "I don't even want to know how you know that, Raon. Just… don't. Please."
Jae-Hyun allowed a faint smirk, perfectly subtle. "It's called observation. And patience. Two things you clearly lack."
Tae-Ho waved his chopsticks. "Observation? Patience? You mean… watching people burn noodles counts as a skill now?"
Raon grinned, holding the dumpling. "Apparently. And I'm really good at it."
Jae-Hyun sipped his tea, eyes flicking toward the cafeteria door. The boy didn't know it yet, but he'd just dropped a pebble into Jae-Hyun's quiet, orderly world.