“Overseas headline news. It has been confirmed that a Korean wife, who went on her honeymoon to Azerbaijan, shot her husband and fled, sending shockwaves through the local community. This is reporter Lee Jisu.”

The broadcast cut over to the reporter.

“At around midnight on the 7th, police received a firearm report from a guesthouse in Azerbaijan. On site, they discovered the thirty-two-year-old husband, Mr. Lee, lying collapsed from a gunshot wound. The couple had traveled overseas to hold a simple ceremony during their honeymoon, but less than a day «N.o.v.e.l.i.g.h.t» after their wedding, it ended in tragedy. The twenty-eight-year-old wife, Ms. Joo, was immediately arrested at the scene...”

“Pffft—!”

Hur Channa spat out a mouthful of half-chewed rice grains.

“Ah, damn it!”

Her brother-in-law, Jeong Pilgyu, who had his little daughter sitting on his lap, quickly covered the child’s face with his hand, annoyed.

But Channa didn’t care. She frantically grabbed the remote and turned the volume up to maximum. Her eyes locked on the TV screen, staring blankly at a face that filled one side of it.

A face far, far too familiar.

“Witnesses all testified that the couple had seemed perfectly ordinary and happy, but it has been confirmed that Ms. Joo, arrested on the spot, escaped from the detention cell, prompting Interpol to launch a pursuit.”

Channa dropped her spoon to the floor, her eyes still glued to the screen. Jeong Pilgyu, who had been scolding her, also glanced at the TV by chance and stammered, “Th-that face...”

“Stop staring at the damn TV with your mouths hanging open!”

Her older sister shouted sharply while spoon-feeding their child. Pilgyu jabbed his wife’s thigh, signaling her to look closer.

He twisted one eyelid strangely and rolled his eyeball to make a ridiculous face, only for his wife to sneer, “That ugly mug sure has variety,” though she finally, reluctantly, stole a glance at Channa.

Except for the time when their second sister had been left behind in the North, she had never seen her younger sibling look so grave. Pilgyu whispered quietly:

“That coworker who once saved you... the one you really trusted...”

“Ah...! You mean our Channa’s savior comrade?”

Her sister’s eyes widened as she studied the screen carefully.

It was true—it was him...! But...

“As the police investigated possible domestic violence records or other grudges, they discovered that Ms. Joo’s passport was forged, raising suspicions the crime had been premeditated from the start...”

Channa suddenly leapt to her feet.

“I Mo-ssi, I Mo-ssi... who is this husband Mr. Lee?” she muttered over and over, furiously brushing rice grains from the corner of her mouth. Then she hastily grabbed only her phone and laptop and dashed toward the front door.

Jeong Pilgyu shouted at her retreating figure:

“Hur Channa, wake up! There’s nothing you can do!”

“But there’s no way Ganna-unnie would kill someone without a reason!”

“Honestly, I always thought Han Seoryeong was bound to cause a major incident someday—”

“That Mr. Lee is the problem here!”

Channa shot him a fierce glare, cutting him off.

“I’ll just head to the detention center!”

“What the hell for?!”

“To visit the Special Report Team!”

So it wasn’t some fling with that Jin Hoje guy after all? Then who the hell was this Mr. Lee she had married in secret without telling anyone?! Channa quickly tied her sneakers.

If it was the teammates she had once worked alongside with her sister—yes, maybe they would know.

After all, Ganna-unnie was a woman obsessed only with her ex-husband. She wasn’t someone to change her heart so easily...

Channa’s train of thought came to an abrupt halt.

Ah... so that’s it.

Mr. Lee... that husband... it was him.

So she had taken him all the way there...! Channa’s hair stood on end as she flung the front door open. In that case, she needed to see that bastard’s face first.

“We extend our deepest condolences to the deceased.”

It was a funeral without a bereaved family. Since Deputy Director Ju Seolheon had no one close enough to summon, the NIS conducted the procedures.

Employees who had worked with her for years lit incense, and notable figures from politics and business paid their respects.

No doubt black ops agents who never signed the guestbook had also blended into the crowd.

Na Wonchang, with his cap pulled low, quietly observed the faces coming and going.

So the Team Leader... really isn’t coming?

“......”

There was something he absolutely had to deliver.

His expression grew darker.

Ju Seolheon’s death had been officially declared as acute cerebral hemorrhage. The Russian, Rygai Viktor, who died alongside her, had his body handed over through the Russian Embassy, though their attitude remained frosty throughout.

Perhaps it was because reports kept surfacing that the NIS Director himself had been taking Russian money.

Black funds distributed into Korean politics through the Russian Orthodox Church, and Blast Corporation serving as their henchmen—all exposed in the press, filling the social pages with scandal for days.

Ju Seolheon had finally achieved her ambition of becoming the top of the NIS...

Wonchang cracked open a bottle of soju he could barely drink. She had been a cold, calculating superior, but he couldn’t shake the thought of how futilely she had gone. Still, the last time he saw her face, she had looked strangely at peace.

“Ugh... bitter...”

He winced, forcing down a shot of soju.

And just like that, the unofficial First Team of the Foreign National Interests Division vanished without a sound. Wonchang listlessly poked at his now-cold gukbap, still dazed.

With no Deputy Director, no Team Leader, what was left for the First Team to even do...? The future felt bleak.

“...Police dispatched to the scene discovered the thirty-two-year-old husband, Mr. Lee, collapsed from a gunshot wound. The Korean couple had traveled overseas to hold a simple ceremony during their honeymoon...”

His head jerked up at that moment. Filling half the TV screen was none other than Owl’s montage. Startled, he knocked over his soju glass.

“...It has been confirmed that she escaped from the detention cell, prompting Interpol to pursue.”

Why... why is Owl appearing as an Interpol fugitive?

“The husband, Mr. Lee, was rushed to the hospital and underwent emergency surgery, but remains in a coma.”

“......!”

Wonchang grabbed his windbreaker and backpack from the floor and bolted upright. In a coma—Mr. Lee?!

If Owl had truly shot her husband, then that husband could only be... Lee Wooshin, who had gone overseas with her!

Apologizing repeatedly to the people he bumped into, Wonchang pushed his way through the crowd. How could this happen right after the Deputy Director’s death?! Checking the NIS ID card in his pocket, he quickly hailed a taxi.

He had to confirm Lee Wooshin’s condition immediately.

“Incheon Airport, please!”

***

Each time he opened his eyes, he glimpsed the glaring surgical lights, a strange ceiling, the face of a foreign doctor.

The rushing wheels of the gurney, the oxygen mask pressed over his nose, the fogged and blurry vision...

His side throbbed as if pierced by a burning iron rod. Beyond that scattered sensory stream, he remembered nothing.

He had been dreaming of something...

“――”

He was a little boy, skating with his parents on a frozen lake.

His parents spun around and around, holding each other as though waltzing, and the boy was unafraid of the winter wind. Born with this lake as his gift, the little Solzhenitsyn roamed across its blue expanse.

“Yuri...!” From a distance, the loving couple waved to their son. Yuri—! Don’t go too far, it’s dangerous there...!

The boy scraped his blades to a stop, peering down at the mirrorlike ice.

“—Boss, Team Leader!”

Ah... who was that? Beneath the transparent ice, someone’s face appeared.

With a crash, a man tumbled from a long bench, crawling up with both arms to block his view.

His heavy eyelids blinked slowly, revealing a youthful man with tears brimming.

“Team Leader, are you waking up?”

“......”

“Please... please open your eyes. It’s already been a week!”

“......”

“You can hear me, right?”

But the boy only tapped the ice with his skate blade—tap, tap.

“I tried looking for her, but there’s no trace...”

The man ruffled his hair in frustration.

“Owl has vanished without a single trace.”

...Owl? The boy frowned, but the distant call of “Yuri—!” pulled him without hesitation. He slashed the ice, circling the lake again and again.

One lap, two laps, three, four... and when he looked down again, the man below seemed even more gaunt, rubbing his tired eyes.

“...It’s already been two months, Team Leader... You can’t keep sleeping like this. Even Interpol has given up, the golden time for pursuit is long gone. Other than scattered eyewitness reports, there’s no hope. If this keeps up, we may never find her...”

“Don’t you dare say such unlucky crap!”

A girl he didn’t recognize suddenly grabbed the man by the collar. The boy squinted down through the ice.

“They said his life isn’t in danger—so maybe I should just smash that thick skull with a hammer!”

“Are you crazy?!”

“You’ve got the nerve to talk back? You forget those slimy enemy bastards who toyed with my sister?!”

I can hear all of you fighting. The boy thought hazily. But his breath was shallow, his eyes closing again.

If he didn’t hold on now, the deep sleep would swallow him again. Luckily, a sharp wind brushed both his cheeks.

Yuri—! His father’s gentle voice echoed. The boy gazed toward the white birch forest, past its snowy canopy, to the grand spires of the Winter Castle rising tall.

It was time to return to the Solzhenitsyn estate.