At first, she thought she was seeing it wrong because one side of his face was shrouded in shadow. But as she got closer, she realized it—he truly had no eye. As the distance narrowed, the decayed remains of the man’s ruined eye came into sharp view. Could it be... he had ✪ Nоvеlіgһt ✪ (Official version) mutilated himself—there?

“Come... closer...”

Ligai rasped in a voice like metal scraping, waving a wrist that looked as if it might snap in two. When the rosary on his wrist finally came into focus, he thrust his face forward.

Maybe it was hard to judge while he was seated, but Ligai was actually quite tall, even with his hunched back. Seoryeong flinched and stepped backward, but she couldn’t fully retreat.

His bony figure leaned in, looming over her. One eye socket was completely hollow, and the other eye was so torn and punctured it couldn’t even open. Yet Ligai buried his face deep into her hair.

“Black hair...”

Confirming the color of her hair, the man slumped back into the chair. He’d treated her like a ghost earlier, and it was the same now—but strangely, it felt like she had passed through some kind of gate.

—...No eyes? Did you say... no eyes?

After a long silence, the earpiece crackled with a cold voice. She knew she needed to answer quickly to calm Lee Wooshin, whose nerves had been frayed lately. But all her focus was locked on Ligai.

“Diaspora... diaspora...”

Seoryeong leaned in, trying to hear the words he kept muttering. What on earth was the phrase Director Kang Taegon had been collecting—and what kind of information was so critical that it had gotten agents killed? Her face stiffened as she gripped the armrest of the chair.

“I’m sorry, Prime Minister... I’m sorry, ma’am... I’m sorry I couldn’t save you... Prime Minister, I’m sorry... I’m sorry for getting involved in diaspora... Your grandchild... I’m sorry, ma’am...”

Whether it was remorse or a plea, he repeated it endlessly. She’d seen patients in nursing homes like this—those trapped in a single moment in time, unable to escape. It reminded her of advanced dementia.

But still... what was diaspora? Seoryeong silently mouthed the unfamiliar word.

Suddenly, as if he’d heard even that faint breath, Ligai snapped his head up and seized her wrist.

“Child...!”

The force of his grip was so intense she winced.

“I... I discovered the truth...”

Even without eyes, the sheen on his face gave him a bizarre, almost luminous look. Could this so-called “truth” be what Director Kang was after? Seoryeong’s nerves stretched taut at his whisper.

“I finally found the real truth...”

But the empty eye socket, reaching blindly through the air, suddenly seemed to crumple downward in a grotesque smile.

“The world doesn’t care about the weak.”

Ligai slipped the rosary he wore onto Seoryeong’s wrist. Even then, that dry, scraping laughter continued.

“Even morality was just a luxury built by the strong.”

“.......”

“But I had no choice but to keep believing that I had saved them... Even now, I’m still protecting them... Even if it’s fake, I had to live believing it... Because otherwise, I couldn’t endure. Hic... hic... I’m sorry, Prime Minister... I’m sorry, ma’am...”

Seoryeong’s face hardened as she looked down at the rosary now on her wrist. She didn’t know this man’s story, but his mind was completely shattered. He seemed like someone who’d collapsed under a weight he couldn’t bear.

“Ugh...”

The man pressed his forehead against his withered hands and groaned. Then suddenly, as if seizing up in a seizure, he screamed—“Aaaagh...!”

Seoryeong tried to calm him, grabbing his arms, but one flailing strike caught her in the head.

“My eye... Bring me my eye! My eye! Bring it to me right now!”

Staggering from the blow, she watched him point insistently to his eye and then rushed outside. She shouted to the foreign man standing still outside the door:

“глаз!”

Eye! The moment the guard heard the word, he pulled a key from his belt. Ligai’s screams still echoed from the dark chamber.

Told she couldn’t leave her post unattended, Seoryeong immediately sprinted toward the priest’s quarters where Ligai had been staying. The scream—raw with agony—seemed to shove her in the back. As soon as she got outside, she pressed her earpiece hard.

“Instructor, what’s ‘diaspora’?”

—Han Seoryeong...!

Wooshin’s bellow exploded through her earpiece.

—Why the f**k are you even wearing that thing if you’re gonna ignore comms whenever you feel like it?!

“The situation wasn’t great.”

—You ever give a damn about the guy waiting outside?!

“Well, I’m contacting you now.”

—So damn carefree, aren’t you... haah... Stop driving people crazy, please...!

“More importantly—have you ever heard the word ‘diaspora’?”

She brushed off his fury, and in response, his breath through the earpiece turned icy cold.

You really... The voice squeezed through clenched teeth, barely holding back a surge of emotions. As if the distance between them had frozen solid, he replied:

—Diaspora is a term for people who’ve left their homeland and now live in a foreign land.

By then, Seoryeong had arrived at the priest’s quarters and began searching the room thoroughly. She immediately spotted it—a transparent, elongated container holding an ocular prosthetic.

“......”

Floating in antiseptic fluid, the eye looked disturbingly lifelike—down to the veins. These days, prosthetic eyes were precise enough to fool iris scanners. She didn’t want to stare too closely. She shoved it into her pocket without hesitation.

“I’m going back now.”

But Wooshin didn’t respond. All she heard was static—maybe there was a comms glitch.

Seoryeong walked back, still eyeing the busy workers around her with suspicion.

So when a small figure suddenly crashed into her, she hadn’t expected it at all.

“――!”

A little girl in choir robes bounced off Seoryeong’s stomach. She’d come out of the bathroom and seemed to be part of today’s event.

As the child struggled to stand, the other ear’s in-ear comm from Blast Corp buzzed to life.

—This is Alpha. We’re checking for one missing choir member. Begin immediate search.

“This is Bravo. I think I’ve found her.”

—Bravo, this is Alpha. Proceed to the chapel seating immediately. Over.

“Understood.”

But the child, clutching her stomach and sweating coldly, didn’t look well. Without hesitation, Seoryeong lifted her onto her back.

“Hang in there, sweetheart...”

The prosthetic eye sloshing in her pocket felt strangely wrong. And then, the child—light as she was—tightened her arms firmly around Seoryeong’s neck.

The girl’s wide sleeves brushed Seoryeong’s nose and lips. And suddenly, her head spun. There was no time to think. Her knees buckled.

“――!”

Seoryeong leaned forward, still cradling the child’s hips. She shook her head, trying to stay awake—but the girl rubbed herself against her even more tightly. A cold sensation spread, her jaw muscles locked, and all strength drained from her limbs.

Ah... Too late. It had to be a paralytic toxin—absorbed through the skin.

Thud! Seoryeong collapsed with the child on top of her, forehead slamming into the floor. Had she let her guard down just because it was a child? Her thoughts grew sluggish with the impact.

“Ugh... urgh...”

She tried to speak, but all that came out was drool. Her tongue must’ve been the first thing to freeze. She reached for her earpiece to call Wooshin—but her arm wouldn’t lift.

Her eyelids turned to bricks. And then—familiar shoes entered her field of view, slowly walking closer.

Shoes exactly like hers.

What... what is that?

The size matched, same brand and suit line, even the hairstyle had been styled just like hers. As her eyes rose, she met the gaze of a woman with the exact same face—down to the eyebrows and features.

“Ugh... urgh...!”

What the hell is going on...? Am I hallucinating? Did I get drugged?

Seoryeong forced her eyes open, staring at the ‘Han Seoryeong’ right in front of her.

“Owl switch is starting.”

The voice in her ear was disturbingly familiar.

Who... whose voice was that...?

And then the false ‘Han Seoryeong’ grabbed her and dragged her into a nearby room.

There, as if a funeral had recently taken place, a large, thick coffin sat.

The impostor pulled out both in-ear pieces from Seoryeong’s ears and placed her into the coffin.

Then, sticking a round film to her own neck, she calmly adjusted her collar.

Seoryeong could only stare in shock as it all happened. She tried to resist, to grab onto the edge of the coffin—but her fingers had no strength.

“De... Deputy...”

She forced out a mangled whisper toward her own horrifying reflection.

“Ju... Seolheon... Deputy Director...!”

What was she planning now... what new twisted scheme—!

Her breathing turned ragged. Even her vocal cords felt paralyzed.

Ju Seolheon, wearing her face, stood above her, staring into the coffin.

“...Congratulations on the wedding.”

Her lips twitched, as if to say something more. But then—bang!—she slammed the coffin lid shut without hesitation.

“Ghh...!”

The narrow, dark space crushed the air from her lungs. She had to escape before the paralysis spread fully—but all she could do was scratch at the coffin walls.

The only thing she could feel was the cold glass tube—the case holding Ligai’s prosthetic eye.

Somehow, the chill of the disinfectant felt like it was slowing the poison.

“Ugh...―”

Seoryeong gripped the case tightly in her palm, absorbing its cold. Bit by bit, she extended her arm toward the faint glow at the coffin’s edge.

And then she met it—eye to eye—the prosthetic iris glowing in the dark.

“――”

In that moment, it was like staring into the cosmos. A shattered sun trapped in obsidian.

Each filament of the iris burned into her mind.

Click.

No way. The sound of a rusted lock—aligning and clicking open—rang loud inside her head.

A black tide surged violently through her.

And then—

Like death itself, a wave of terrible memories crashed in.