HYDP C5

Chapter 5

“You know you can spoof a tracker’s location.”

“…Right.”

“Then do you think I’d be crazy enough to set the location to here? I already changed it.”

“…Wow. So you had the presence of mind for that even in the middle of all this?”

“Exactly. I realized it earlier too. What a relief.”

He praised his past, meticulous self. Fortunately, this place’s location wouldn’t be exposed to anyone.

“So where did you send them? The place you used to live?”

“No.”

“Then?”

“Spit it out,” Huigang said, thumping him in the chest with a fist—thump, thump.

“The pawnshop.”

“……”

“Horangyong-dong Pawnshop.”

At the same time, a smile touched his lips.

[Assassin Supervision Department]

On one side of the department, the silhouette of a man sprawled sleeping on a sofa was oddly razor-edged.

Even asleep, his face was full of vigilance. The sharply slanting bridge of his nose was his greatest asset. Even with eyes closed, the severe impression didn’t soften. Yet, incongruously for such a face, a single mole on the ridge of his nose drew the gaze.

The man’s name was Cheonguk.

He was the team leader of the Assassin Supervision Department and, at the same time, the most expensive contract killer currently active.

After handing over retirees to headquarters until dawn, he had crashed on the office sofa without even stopping by home.

It was working hours for everyone, but no one dared wake him.

His long legs jutting past the end of a too-short sofa looked ridiculous for his build, but he was unbothered.

The youngest on the team rose, meaning to fuss and help, but the teammate beside him firmly dissuaded the attempt.

“Why are his work boots that filthy? Doesn’t he baby those?”

“The retiree bolted into the mountains.”

“Ah… should’ve run on level ground—how’d he end up in the mountains… With the boss’s hobby being trail running, bad move….”

Sympathizing with today’s catch, the team shook their heads and turned back to monitoring the feeds in real time from their stations.

The Assassin Supervision Department was a special operations unit that monitored retired contract killers and eliminated them on the spot if they obstructed the bureau. Leading that unit was the man sleeping over there, Cheonguk.

No one paid the sofa any mind. Then, from a corner, came the rough slam of a phone being hung up.

“That son of a bitch! Contract killing’s been officially recognized for how long now!”

“What’s the gripe this time?”

“Calling us murderer scum. Then what does that make him. Running his mouth all retired and righteous!”

A few years back, when the government recognized “contract killing” as a legal occupation, the organization-bureau born of that was the “Assassin Bureau.”

Moreover, beyond contract hits, it officially carried out rapid removals of criminals for national security and order.

Some fiercely opposed it as legalizing murder; others countered that it was a justified measure to deal with those the law could hardly judge.

In any case, thousands of requests came in each year, but only a few made it to HQ after stringent procedures—just a handful were realized annually.

“Man… staring at monitors all day is boring.”

“Hey! You know that’s banned talk, right? You want to work? Where do you think you are, spouting that insane line!”

At the youngest’s mutter, the senior snapped, but the kid only grumbled, “Come on, seriously,” under his breath.

“Some taboos need breaking. How long are we going to believe in that superstition—”

WEE-OOO— WEE-OOO—!

“…W-what the hell?”

“……”

Then it hit.

With a roar, every system in the office began blaring a red alert. The inner walls flushed crimson, and a massive message flashed on the central monitor.

[Alert posture engaged]

[Tracking target confirming]

[Target: Yeon Sanhong]

[Immediate response required]

The office froze in an instant.

A name nearly consigned to oblivion surfaced again. And with it came a warning that could not be taken lightly.

The alarm didn’t stop easily.

The lights still blinked eye-wateringly. The entire wall bleeding red doubled the fear.

“What the hell is that now?”

“Never seen this warning before… what is this situation….”

“…Fuck. We’re working late.”

“Report response plans. Now.”

Reactions varied.

Some were baffled—first time seeing such an alert. Others had heard of it but never experienced it, left at a loss. The situation was strange and unsettling for everyone.

Worse, no one had the authority to silence the alarm, and as it blared on, the department filled with a mounting dread.

One person jabbed madly at the monitor trying to shut it off; another tried to call upstairs, but the lines seemed overloaded and wouldn’t connect.

Meanwhile, the ominous alarm kept flooding the space, tightening every nerve.

“This noise is killing my head… how do we even disable it….”

The youngest’s voice wobbled, but no one had an answer.

For the department, that signal was so rare it was normal to never hear it in a lifetime.

In fact, it was a signal that should never occur, heralding the worst-case scenario. If it sounded, it meant someone was in mortal peril—little short of an omen that death was now unavoidable.

“Is it really that person?”

“If it is… what do we do?”

The confusion spread, uncontrollable.

The alarm choked their breathing, and the numerals and letters on the monitor blurred their vision.

Then the man on the sofa, Cheonguk, finally pried open heavy eyelids. His face was murderous at having his sleep truly interrupted, but he yawned wearily and stretched out long with fatigue.

Rising fully, he cut through the cacophony and stepped to the monitor. With practiced fingers, he tapped a few keys, and unbelievably, the alarm cut off at once.

“…….”

“…….”

Silence fell, like a dead mouse in the walls. The team rubbed their ringing ears and stared at him. For a moment, he looked like a savior.

“…Damn it, told them to turn the volume down….”

“……”

He grumbled that the decibels were unacceptable, then shot a strange look at his team, who were blankly staring at only him.

“What are you gawking at, you little punks.”

“…Boss. Did you see that? Is that for real? There wasn’t any drill scheduled today!”

“Why would I flap my gums for no reason? If it weren’t real, would my phone be getting blown up right now?”

Scowling with unfiltered annoyance, he held up the phone still buzzing with calls and rolled his shoulders and neck.

“You stay here on standby. I’ll go alone.”

“Alone, sir?”

“Don’t make me say it twice. And if I call, respond immediately. If not, I’ll ram your car on your way home.”

“……”

After the threat, he crouched and cinched the laces on his work boots tight again.

“You know what name I’ve heard most since I started this job?”

“……”

“Yeon Sanhong.”

“……”

“That Yeon Sanhong. And now, after years, by some miracle his location pops up?”

With a full dose of sneer, he looked over his team.

“No idea why he’s showing himself now after hiding all this time, but today, he dies.”

“…Yes, sir. We’ll stand by.”

He was already striding out of the office like it was nothing.

The corridor to the upper floors was still in an uproar from the earlier alarm. As he cut through, employees cautiously called out to him.

“Team Leader Cheon. Please take care….”

“Of what.”

“You’re going to handle it now, right? We’re sincerely cheering you on…!”

“Who are you to cheer me. Do your own job properly.”

“……”

His temperament was notorious even in-house; he was known as trash.

Curses were his daily language rather than praise, and he always came dead last in internal peer surveys. Even told that a bonus went to first place, he never cared—he’d just yell to let him sleep instead.

They’d meant it as encouragement, to lift his spirits, but the icy comeback made the employee turn away in embarrassment. After the long corridor, he reached the department’s dedicated equipment room, humming under his breath, and lifted an old steel case. Opening the familiar locks, he took out a metal-mark balisong, a long-in-the-tooth M1911 pistol, and a suppressor.

They were little more than decorations.

He quickly changed into techwear, then sat a moment, deep in thought. Spotting dried dirt on his boots, he bent and carefully wiped them clean.

“After this, I’m definitely getting a beer.”

One of the few wishes in Cheonguk’s life.