Chapter Text
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The next day, they meet again for incident report.
The room smells wrong.
Not dangerous — just cleaner than usual. Fresh sealant, recently vented air. Ijin notes it automatically and then discards it. No threat.
They’re supposed to be debriefing. That’s the word on the board.
But no one is standing where they usually stand.
Mr. Park isn’t at the front while Mr. Lee isn’t leaning against the far wall.
They’re off to the side.
Watching.
Not evaluating. Not supervising.
Watching.
Ijin shifts in his seat without thinking, shoulders tightening a fraction.
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They’re being given space.
That’s the wrong part.
Seokju notices because adults never do this by accident. When he speaks during debriefs, someone usually interrupts — to clarify, to redirect, to translate what he said into something procedural.
This time, when he clears his throat, no one fills the silence.
The team leads’ eyes stay on him. Focused.
It feels like standing at the edge of a drop and realizing there’s no railing.
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Park Jisuk asks the question wrong.
“What did you notice first?” he says.
Not what went wrong.
First.
“The position,” Ijin answers. “Before it mattered.”
No follow-up. No challenge.
Jisuk nods once and writes it down.
Writes it down.
Ijin’s fingers curl slowly into his palm.
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Lee Siwon turns to Seokju.
“What about you?”
Not confirm.
Not add on.
You.
Seokju hesitates.
“I didn’t think it was an intruder,” he says carefully. “It could’ve been an electrical fault.”
“And that’s not in the logs,” Siwon says.
“No,” Seokju agrees. “It wouldn’t be.”
A pause.
Siwon doesn’t smile but his voice lowers.
“Then we’ll adjust.”
We.
Not you’ll need to explain this later.
Not we’ll verify.
Seokju’s chest tightens.
Conditioning explains compliance.
This isn’t that.
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“Anything you want to add?” Jisuk asks.
That’s new. Ijin opens his mouth, then stops. He looks at Seokju. Seokju looks back.
They don’t nod.
They don’t signal.
They just know they’re both thinking the same thing.
They’re not waiting for us to be wrong.
=====
The realization hits him sideways. It isn’t about trust. It’s about responsibility.
Adults who don’t listen are dangerous.
Adults who listen carefully are heavier.
“If we say stop,” Seokju says, voice steady, “you won’t ask us to justify it first.”
The room still.
“No,” Jisuk answers immediately. “We’ll move first.”
“Then we’ll figure out why together.” Siwon adds.
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Later, in the corridor, Seokju speaks first.
“They didn’t look at us like kids.”
Ijin considers that.
“They looked at us like hazards,” he says.
Seokju exhales softly.
“Or warnings.”
They walk on.
Behind them, the adults don’t follow.
They don’t need to.
They’re already watching — just differently now.
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END