Undercover 1

Undercover

All Roads Lead to the Mountain

This winter in Korea was unusually warm. Temperatures had stayed above freezing throughout December, and people wouldn't stop talking about the strange weather. Jokes circulated that bananas might actually grow in December. Everyone exchanged the same seasonal greeting as if they'd rehearsed it: Have a cozy year-end. The holidays passed, the new year arrived — and then the sky, as if scattering ash over all of it, chose today, sometime in mid-January, to deliver the first brutal cold snap of a very long winter. The weather forecast, as always, missed the moment that mattered most. Clear skies became a heavy gray ceiling. The pleasant above-freezing weather became a wind chill of negative fourteen degrees Celsius. It went without saying that the people who'd dressed light on the forecast's advice were now exhaling white clouds of breath alongside a string of curses.

Seojin Ha stared blankly at the red left-turn signal across the windshield, then let her gaze drift to the gray clouds massing behind it. They were dark enough to threaten rain — or worse, snow. If it snowed, the roads would ice over. If the roads iced over— her thoughts were already chaining themselves together, her brow beginning to furrow, when the light changed. She eased down on the accelerator, and her white SUV swept diagonally across the four-lane intersection. The moment she turned, the building rose up ahead of her, tall and immediate.

That was when Seojin faced something more bleak than the minus-fourteen cold, more oppressive than the gray sky, more daunting than the possibility of iced-over roads — the reality of what today actually was.

Today was her job interview day.

She'd parked haphazardly in the surface lot and immediately regretted it. The suit she'd dug out for the occasion — her first time wearing one in years — offered almost no protection. Wind cut straight through the open hem of her slacks. The suit itself was a plain black, nothing special, and she'd realized over time that the only occasions it ever came out were funerals. It had quietly solidified into her funeral suit. It was also four-season fabric, which in practice meant hot in summer and cold in winter. On a day like this she could easily have thrown a coat over it — but thanks to the meteorological service's spectacular failure, she hadn't registered the severity until she was already outside. This was her first winter at this officetel, and she'd completely forgotten the building managed its temperature centrally. It wasn't until she'd stopped at a nearby convenience store for a quick meal and caught a gust of wind full in the face that the cold registered — physically, unmistakably.

Anyway. Seojin walked. The interview time was cutting it close. Fortunately, arrows were posted on the pavement at regular intervals, and a large, neatly printed sign reading New Employee Open Recruitment — Interview Venue made the entrance easy enough to find.

The building stood noticeably taller and bluer than the ones flanking it on either side. This whole area was a business district she'd visited occasionally for various reasons, but she'd never once stepped inside any of these buildings. The lobby ceiling soared — it looked like they'd opened up half the second floor to create the height, with a cafeteria installed on the mezzanine above. Light cascaded from a translucent glass ceiling and bounced off marble floors, brightening every corner of the wide space. Scattered throughout were sofas in various lengths and colors, mixed with worn brown leather ones — someone had clearly tried to inject youth and energy into the atmosphere, but one look at the drooping shoulders and hollow eyes of the people passing through suggested a few sofas weren't going to cut it. Some sat on them anyway, coffee in hand, reviewing documents. Employees with ID badges hanging around their necks leaned over the second-floor railing, gazing down at the lobby below or talking among themselves.

Seojin straightened her clothes to settle her nerves and headed toward the front desk. She was pulled back to attention by a sudden chorus of voices — Good morning — as the lobby seemed to greet someone all at once.

Two people were walking toward the front desk. One was Soha Jeong, vice president of San Group. The other was her half-sister, Yunha Jeong, managing director of San Entertainment. Neither was physically imposing, but both carried an aura that rivaled their father the chairman's. The reputable media had long painted the half-sisters as rivals — often reaching for the phrase the newcomer ousting the incumbent. Soha had been born outside of marriage, and Yunha's biological mother had passed away before their father remarried — bringing Soha, already a teenager by then, into a household where Yunha had still been in early childhood. In terms of age, Soha was six years older than Seojin; Yunha was one year her senior. When Soha turned thirty, Chairman Jeong had elevated her to vice president, and with that, all the speculation about rivalry and drama had crystallized into something more permanent. Since then, he had handed over virtually all authority to the vice president and stepped back from management almost entirely. The public had come to an unspoken consensus: the real power at San Group, and its future chairperson, was Soha Jeong.

Seojin watched the two of them approach. Observation was her profession. It was instinct.

She looked at Yunha first. She wore a beige suit, and everything the press said about her style turned out to be true — the sleeves broke at exactly the right point, the trouser hem was perfect, her heels clicked against the marble with quiet authority. Dark wavy hair fell over her shoulders in a way that read as effortless, archetypal alpha energy. Minimal makeup, but her skin was luminous under the lights. At this level of wealth, she's definitely getting professional treatments, Seojin thought. Then she filed away another thought: maybe, like others, this one has her actual abilities obscured by the packaging.

Yunha was hugging her own arms as she walked, rubbing her hands up and down her sleeves. Unlike Soha beside her, she wasn't wearing a coat. Seojin wondered if she, too, had been betrayed by the weather forecast — maybe she also lived in an officetel with centralized heating and an underground garage, oblivious until the moment she stepped outside. The idea made Seojin laugh quietly at nothing.

Soha, by contrast, looked worn. Her lips were dry, the skin beneath her eyes darkened. She wore a black suit under a heavy coat and walked at a slightly slower pace, Yunha matching her step. She'd lost weight — her face and frame looked thinner than the last time Seojin had seen her on the news. Her features broadly resembled Yunha's, but her coloring was lighter — her hair more brown than black, her eyes the same. If someone said she and Seojin were sisters, it would be easier to believe than Soha and Yunha being related. Soha looked more gentle than her half-sister. Maybe that was time.

Seojin held Soha's gaze for a moment. She'd noticed, mid-observation, that Soha had been watching her steadily. Seojin didn't bow her head in greeting the way the others had — she was a visitor, not an employee; it wasn't expected. Instead she met Soha's eyes with an expression that gave nothing away. Something strange moved through her. A sense of familiarity. Brief, but with the weight of something long-felt. She wondered if she'd been staring too openly, but Soha's face showed no particular displeasure. She simply kept looking at Seojin. Quietly. Steadily.

A moment passed. Then another. Even for Seojin, who was accustomed to meeting people's eyes, the sustained gaze began to press on her. The two women were drawing closer. The look came with them. Seojin was standing directly in their path.

When only a few meters separated them, it occurred to her that she was blocking the way. That's why Soha kept staring, Seojin thought, and snapped herself back to attention. She couldn't afford to stall any longer — she might actually miss the interview. She broke the eye contact first, redirected her focus, turned her body to move.

That was when she heard the scream.