Chapter Text
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The incessant, rhythmic ticking of the antique grandfather clock nestled in the corner served as a heavy metronome for the cavernous office, its pendulum slicing through the otherwise impenetrable silence.
Head Director Bari Baek Soo-min sat barricaded behind a colossal mahogany desk, her polished shoes propped carelessly on its edge and her fingers steepled beneath her chin. Normally, the clock's steady ticking decked her patience, offering a sliver of order in a disordered profession. But not today. Today, the recurring tick-tock felt more like a countdown. Her gaze was locked onto the center of her desk, where a solitary, red-tabbed Class X folder lay shut.
Bari closed her eyes and dragged a hand down her face, pressing her fingertips into her temples to stave off a mounting headache. It wasn't that impossible cases hadn't crossed her desk before—she had built her reputation on the impossible. But this particular operation required a ghost, a scalpel, and a sledgehammer all rolled into one, and finding the right operative who fit the exact psychological profile was proving to be a nightmare.
The intercom situated near Bari’s elbow crackled to life. Her informant’s voice—usually bright, but currently laced with professional urgency—blared through the small speaker.
“Director?” Bobby asked. “She has arrived and she’s demanding a moment of your time.”
Bari lowered her feet to the floor with a soft thud and pressed the silver talk button. “Send her in, Bobby. Thank you.”
“Right away, ma'am.”
Bari stood, taking a brief second to compose herself. She smoothed her hands down the crisp front of her vest and straightened her tie. It wasn't every day that her second-in-command, the woman who practically ran the academy division with an iron fist, paid a personal visit to the top floor.
The heavy brass knob twisted, and with a soft, decisive click, the oak doors swung open.
A woman stepped inside. She moved with the smooth, measured confidence of a predator sizing up a room, her sleek navy dress perfectly tailored to her tall, slender frame. Her dark brown, calculating eyes trailed from the expanse of the office back to Bari. Not a single strand of her shiny black hair—save for the striking, thick highlight of silver tucked neatly behind her ear—was out of place in her severe bun.
“Director Baek. It's a pleasure to finally sit down with you in person,” Celine said, her voice a smooth alto as she crossed the Persian rug. She extended a hand.
Bari swallowed the dry lump in her throat and took it. Celine’s grip was like a vice—much firmer than her elegant appearance suggested. “And you as well, Director Kwon.”
“Celine. Just call me Celine.”
“Alright, Celine.” Bari gave a curt nod and gestured to one of the plush leather chairs opposite her desk. “Please, have a seat. And you can just call me Bari.”
“Thank you.” Celine smoothed her hands over the back of her dress and took her seat, perching on the very edge of the cushion. She crossed her legs, her posture military-straight. She didn't waste time glancing at the decor. Instead, she stared directly into Bari’s eyes, a single brow arched in silent challenge. “I assume you know why I've bypassed protocol to request this immediate conference?”
Bari fought a losing battle to mask the unease the older woman brought out in her. She glanced down at the red-tabbed folder. “I know.”
Celine offered a tight, solemn nod. She reached for the porcelain coffee cup Bari had prepared, pausing with her manicured fingers hovering just over the handle, “Is this for me?”
“Of course, help yourself.”
A ghost of a smile touched Celine’s pursed lips. She lifted the cup, took a measured sip, and set it down with a soft clink. The caffeine seemed to marginally soften the rigid line of her shoulders, though not enough to ease the knot twisting in Bari’s stomach. “Ryu Mi-Yeong,” Celine murmured, the name hanging heavy in the air between them. “And her daughter, Ryu Rumi.”
Bari let out a long, exhausted sigh. She leaned forward, planting her elbows heavily on the edge of the mahogany desk. “Celine, while I understand the council's urgency to move quickly on this... I am not convinced this is the right move. It feels entirely too reckless.”
“Oh?” Celine countered, her tone dangerously polite. “Do you have a better suggestion then? Perhaps one we haven't already exhausted in the last three board meetings?”
“No,” Bari admitted, her frustration bleeding through. “But is this really what the council believes will get us the intel we need? The girl is practically still so young.”
“She’s twenty-four, Bari. She is deemed passed the adult age bracket by every legal and covert organization that matters.”
“Technically, yes, but you know how this agency operates. Our undercover assets are professionally trained. They have years of psychological conditioning before taking on our advanced operations.”
“Not all of them.”
Bari frowned, her brows knitting together. The only agents anywhere near her age would be the fresh recruits still running simulations at the academy.
Celine leaned forward, her eyes flashing. She tapped a single, authoritative finger against a stack of performance files shoved near the corner of Bari's desk.
“I have it on very good authority that you have an active team with a flawless track record. The highest infiltration and combat scores the academy have seen in a decade.”
Bari balked. The realization hit her like a physical blow, “You cannot be serious.”
“Deadass.”
Bari shook her head vigorously and stood up, needing to pace the length of the room.
“That's—Celine, that’s ludicrous! They are completely unfledged in a real-world syndicate case!"
Celine scowled, her own temper flaring. She stood as well, planting both palms flat against the desktop and leaning into Bari's space, “Are you implying my students are incapable of executing their skills?"
“Celine—" This is madness.
"Bari, we've been discussing this with the Council for many months now. And they're getting restless with the currect movement surrounding this case, understandably so," But the Director wasn't quite convinced, Celine pressed the subject, "Look, we've trained them for years to carry out missions like this, now is the time to put them to work and showcase what they can truly do."
"I know,” Bari closed her eyes for a moment, holding her ground. "It's just..." She breathed once again, “Mira and Zoey are phenomenal agents, that I’d agree. They are bright and disciplined agents. It's... it's that other one.” Bari grimaced, rubbing her temples again, “I feel this is such a bad idea.”
Celine’s rigid shoulders finally relaxed. She stood to her full height, an undeniable glint of triumph in her eyes. “If you mean Agent Jinu. He is, at twenty-three, arguably the most lethal asset we have ever produced. His improvisational skill is beyond anything we've witnessed based on his recent reports.”
“That boy is a loose cannon!” Bari argued, her voice rising above its usual measured decibel. “He’s talented, yes, but he's a tempest in a glass cage. Not even you yourself can handle him.”
“Which is exactly why he is perfect for this,” Celine countered, her voice drifting to a deadly calmness. “He brings the exact type of unpredictable chaos we need to rattle out into this case.”
Bari fell silent. She stared at the ticking grandfather clock, loathing the fact that Celine was making sense. That Jinu kid had the terrifying talent required to crack this syndicate organization wide open. But the thought of letting him off the leash—and permitting him a signal to do anything—made a muscle in Bari’s jaw twitch uncomfortably.
“Are you absolutely certain about this, Celine?”
“It's the only safe bet we have left.”
Letting out a slow, defeated sigh, Bari reached across the desk and slammed her finger down on the intercom button.
“Bobby?”
“Yes, Director?”
“Could you please locate the Saja agents?”
“Of course, ma'am. Do you have a message for them?”
Bari stared down at the red Class X folder, her chest tightening uncomfortably.
“Tell them... tell them I need to see them in my office, immediately.” She paused, resigning herself to an exasperated sigh, “And tell them to bring their transfer muniments. They're going on a new assignment.”
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The acrid bite of cordite and the stale musk of sweat hung thick in the subterranean air of the Institute's firing range.
Jinu crouched low behind a chipped cement blockade, his breathing slow and measured. He held his handgun tight against his chest, the cool metal a familiar comfort. Inch by inch, he crept toward the jagged edge of the barrier, cocking his head to the side. He tuned out the persistent ringing in his ears, listening for the faint, mechanical hum of the range’s pneumatics.
Complete silence.
Satisfied, the raven head pivoted on his heel. He rushed upward in a fluid, viper-like strike, his weapon already raised and locked dead center. A wooden, human-shaped dummy sprang up from behind a rusted steel drum thirty feet downrange.
Jinu squeezed the trigger. The deafening cracks of his firearm echoed off the concrete walls, spitting brass casings onto the floor. He riddled the target with a brutal, rapid-fire cluster before the wooden silhouette had even fully straightened on its hinges.
Several feet to his right, Ahn Beom-seok—dubbed ‘Abby’ by the Institute due to the sheer, impressive mass of his physique of his age and excellence in close combat. He let out a heavy, irritated sigh.
“Why do you always have to be the first to shoot?” Abby grumbled, forcefully shoving his unfired weapon back into his tactical belt. “Can't you ever give anyone else a chance to pull a trigger?”
“And why would I do that?” Jinu arched a single brow, smoothly ejecting his magazine and holstering his gun.
“Because we are supposed to be practicing as a unit,” Abby shot back, crossing his massive arms over his chest.
The raven-haired agent just shrugged, a picture of absolute unapologetic arrogance. “I can't help it if you move with the speed of a glacier dipped in treacle. Hesitation leads to a very swift and ugly death in our line of work. And this,” Jinu said, sweeping a theatrical hand down the sleek line of his own body, “is far too pretty to be put in a box and buried in the cold, hard ground.”
Abby rolled his eyes so hard it looked painful. “Whatever, dude,” he muttered, shaking his head.
Ignoring the taller agent, Jinu sauntered down the lane to inspect his handiwork. He leaned in, letting his eyes trace the splintered damage he'd inflicted on the plywood. Three tightly clustered holes directly over the heart, and one perfectly placed between the eyes. All four were fatal kill shots.
A deeply satisfied smirk played upon his lips as he spun back to face his partner. “See? How can you possibly argue with my masterful skills? Look at this perfection, Abby. I hope you’re lavishing it in.”
“Is it strictly necessary for you to be a massive douchebag at all hours of the day?” Abby asked, his tone flat.
“Not at all hours,” Jinu replied smoothly, walking backward toward the heavy exit doors. “Just when I feel I can get the biggest rise out of you. It makes my whole day—and honestly, sometimes the lingering joy rushes me over well into the evening. You’re just my favorite target, chingu.”
Abby scrubbed a hand over his face. “Can you at least push the reset button when you leave? It's the literal least you could do since you didn't allow me a single practice shot.”
“Of course,” Jinu cooed, gazing at the taller man with the most innocent, wide-eyed expression he could muster. “Would you like me to set out your mags as well? We wouldn't want you to strain your pretty little self or chip your manicure, now would we?”
“Oh, shut the hell up,” Abby snapped, though he defensively curled his fingers inward, “Rom insisted on doing these nails earlier, and you don't say no to him when he has a buffer. What? You jealous? You want a topcoat too? It’s not a crime to look stylish while killing scoundrels, you know.”
Abby followed the defense with a colorful string of curses under his breath.
Jinu let out a sharp, ringing chuckle. “Sure, sure.”
As he turned away, a genuine sliver of amusement settled in Jinu's chest. It wouldn't be a truly successful day if he didn't relentlessly mess with Abby, or any of the Saja Boys, if he was being honest with himself. They had been through hell together. They had defused chemical bombs with mere seconds left on the clock, infiltrated heavily fortified cartel plantations, and even cross-dressed to infiltrate an exclusive high-society women’s gala to steal an artifact—a mission that only succeeded because of Romance’s terrifying chameleon-like skills.
Sure, Jinu knew he was an absolute ass most of the time. It was entirely on purpose.
Usually.
Walking down the sterile Institute corridor, his smirk faded into something a bit more thoughtful. Lately, the lines had started to blur. He couldn't always distinguish where the manufactured, arrogant persona ended and the real Jinu began. Maybe he actually had turned into a major asshole.
He shoved his hands into his pockets. The thought didn't bother him as much as it probably should have.
The abrasive attitude worked. It kept people at a safe, calculable distance. It was especially effective with the starry-eyed fledglings at the academy. They apparently adored the ‘bad boy’ routine—guys who treated them with reckless indifference, hooked up with them in the supply closets, and never called them back. If he had known being a magnificent jerk was the golden ticket to popularity, high school would have been a hell of a lot easier to navigate.
Oh well, he thought, if it ain't broke, don't fix it.
Reaching the end of the hall, Jinu plucked the shiny security lanyard from around his neck and swiped it against the reader. The heavy steel doors hissed open, granting him escape from the stifling atmosphere of the training wing.
Once over the threshold, he yanked the bulky, one-eyed tactical goggles off his face. Abby constantly referred to them as “unhorny glasses” because they managed to make even Jinu look profoundly uncool. He unceremoniously dumped them into the plastic return bin by the door and slammed his palm against the large red wall-button, resetting the range targets for whoever was unfortunate enough to follow him.
As he passed a series of closed-off briefing rooms, Jinu’s mind drifted to the evening ahead. He could just hang around the Institute. He could grab something from the mess hall and hit the range again to prep for their quarterly evaluations next week.
He snorted quietly to himself. Who am I kidding? I have that evaluation in the bag blindfolded.
Besides, what kind of loser stayed locked inside a subterranean government bunker on a Friday night? A massive one. He wasn't a decently compliant, rule-following lapdog like Abby, for god's sake. The city was practically begging for him to grace it with his presence.
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There was always the local club downtown—a pulsing, neon-lit trap of cheap drinks and deafening bass. But lately, the thrill had bled out of the place. Jinu was growing profoundly tired of the slim pickings and the monotonous predictability of the usual crowd. Hopefully, with the local university’s fall semester finally kicking off, the incoming wave of students might offer a fresh, less clingy rotation of distractions.
Near the end of the sterile corridor, he veered right, pushing through the doors into the Saja unit's hefty lounge room. The space was a familiar, messy haven of oversized leather sofas, two plush armchairs, and a massive flat-screen television currently muted on a sports channel.
“It's about time. Did you put enough holes in inanimate objects to tolerably stroke your fragile ego?” Romance drawled from his sprawling position across the cushy chair by the window.
His bright pink hair, usually styled to soft wolf cut in curtain fringe style, cascaded in messy, pastel waves down one side of his neck. One long leg was draped lazily over the armrest, completely disregarding the furniture's intended use. Holding a thick, hardcover novel against his chest, Romance twirled a vibrant lock of hair between three fingers, his sharp hazel eyes fixed entirely on the Saja leader.
Jinu rolled his eyes and plopped heavily onto the center of the couch, bringing the heel of his boot up to rest on the glass coffee table. “For your information, my ego requires zero fondling. I'm quite happy—ecstatic, even—with my current state of my life.”
“Of course you are,” Romance muttered.
He dropped the book onto the side table with a dull thud, jumped to his feet, and padded over to the small adjoining kitchenette. He pulled the refrigerator open, bending low to rummage through the crisper drawer.
Even though Jinu had practically grown up alongside these guys since they first entered the Institute, he was just flimsy enough to indulge in the thought-provoking idea of getting close with them. He figured there would be something medically wrong with him if he didn't at least objectively appreciate the gorgeous man currently rummaging for a snack. After all, Romance brought it on himself. He was wearing a dark, sweeping shirt with dangerously high side-slits—an atrocity Jinu firmly blamed on Abby’s fashion influence.
How dare he. And to top it off, a black lace choker rested tightly against his throat. If Romance didn't want him—or anyone else, for that matter—to look, then he shouldn't parade around the dorms dressed like an alluring centerfold. It was just common sense!
“Quit staring at my ass, you pervert. I’m practically your older brother,” Romance snapped over his shoulder. He turned, a shiny red apple clutched triumphantly in his hand, and strutted back to his chair, settling right back into his previous sprawling posture.
Jinu smirked, entirely unashamed. “Listen, practically and truthfully are vastly different concepts, Rom. And it's not like you never check me out.”
Romance scoffed loudly and snapped his gaze to the far wall, his hazel eyes narrowing to combat the faint, traitorous flush creeping up his neck.
“You’re still going on with that narrative, huh? Are you really that physically deprived of touch, Jinu?” A triumphant, cutting grin welled up on Romance’s lips as he glanced back at the raven-haired agent.
Jinu leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees. His non-denial of his statement was certainly not lost on him. “As flattering as it is that you've thought about this scenario enough to officially refuse me, the fact remains—I didn't actually ask, dongbanja.”
“Well, good. Because I don't know where that thing's been, and I genuinely do not want to find out.” Romance contrived a full-body shudder, taking a crisp bite of his apple. “You're a man-whore, Jinu.”
“How deeply ironic that you, of all people, should feel the moral necessity to point that out. But hey, I’ll take it as the best compliment I’ve heard today.” Jinu gestured broadly at the pink-haired man. “Now, refresh my memory. How many guys and girls were you grinding up against last weekend at the club? I think I counted six at one point in the evening—or wait, was it eight?” Jinu waved a dismissive hand in front of his face, playfully counting his fingers, “Hmm, I don't know. I lost count. But if that isn't throwing stones from a glass house, I don't know what is.”
He settled back into the plush couch cushions, lifting his other leg to the coffee table. He crossed his boots at the ankles and laced his fingers lazily behind his head. Jinu continues, “Well, at least Abby—”
“That is not the same thing at all, and you know it,” Romance interrupted, his voice spiking with genuine defensive heat across his face. His eyes narrowed to slits. “I was dancing with those people. I was not dragging them off to the backrooms to have my way with them like you do every single weekend. Also, leave Abby out of this. Ugh, why am I even arguing with a brick wall?”
Thoroughly agitated, Romance stood up, spun sharply on his heel, and stormed off into his private adjoining dorm room, the door clicking shut behind him.
Jinu’s smirk widened. He was immensely pleased at his innate ability to work his best friend into a tizzy. Romance had pegged his reputation correctly, but what the pink-haired agent didn't know was that the reality was a complete farce. While Jinu did enjoy his fair share of company, very trifling number of those girls and guys actually made it back to his bed the way everyone assumed.
He may have been dangerously loose with his flirtations and his lips, but when it came to his... let’s just say, other parts... he had strict boundaries. He figured if those people were so quick to scurry back to a dark alley with a complete stranger, they were probably just as quick with every other guy in the city. He wasn't remotely interested in exposing himself to whatever nastiness they might be carrying. But he certainly wasn't about to tell Romance—or anyone else at the Institute—the truth and ruin the untouchable, callous playboy reputation he had spent years cultivating.
He simply wanted to have fun, and as long as everyone believed he was a heartless hit-and-run guy, the clingy ones kept their distance.
Just the way he liked it.
A sudden, aggressive buzzing vibrated against Jinu's thigh. He reached down and fished his phone out of his pocket, glancing at the glowing ID.
Baby. Jinu pressed the green call button and slouched deeper into the cushions, raising his free hand to run it through his raven hair. “What's up, asshole?”
“Hey, mind your language!” A loud, rhythmic thumping of heavy bass and the piercing sound of squealing laughter blasted through the tiny phone speaker.
Jinu winced, pulling the device slightly away from his ear as he sat forward. “Where the hell are you?”
“At the club, obviously,” Baby shouted over the noise. “Dude, you need to get your ass down here.”
“Yeah? Is it that good?”
“Oh, totallyyyyy.”
Jinu frowned at the coffee table. While the prospect of a cheap hook-up usually sounded appealing, he was becoming painfully bored with the repetitive cycle of it. He let out a long sigh.
“Sounds fun, man, but... I don't know. I'm kind of whipped tonight.”
Lord, were those out-of-character lame words actually coming out of Jinu's mouth?
“Your favorite waitress is back,” Baby tempted, his voice dropping into a teasing, sing-songy lilt that cut right through the background static.
Jinu’s brows shot up. He sat straight up, his boots dropping off the coffee table. “Lizzie?”
“Who else?”
Lizzie. The gorgeous waitress who had effortlessly caught his eye and expertly thwarted his every advance for the entirety of last year. He was very determined to win her over, and when he finally did, she might actually be awarded the exceedingly rare pleasure of coming home with him. It was the absolute least he could do, given the fact that she'd played the most convincing, frustrating game of hard-to-get he'd ever witnessed.
It was sexy as hell, he has to admit.
Jinu hopped to his feet, a renewed surge of energy propelling him toward his bedroom to change. “Be there in twenty.”
Baby laughed, the sound bright and victorious. “Hell yeah!”
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Twenty-two minutes later, Jinu found himself navigating a churning sea of writhing bodies. The club was a sensory assault; a heavy, thumping bass line rattled around inside his ribcage, and strobe lights sliced through the hazy air, painting the patrons’ sweat-sheened skin in chaotic flashes of bruised blue, sickly green, and neon orange.
Several girls—and more than a few guys—tried to latch onto him as he slipped past. Hands brazenly grazed his chest and dragged across his ass, but Jinu didn't so much as break his stride or turn to see who the gropes belonged to. His dark eyes were trained exclusively on the sprawling bar near the back of the room. He knew exactly where Baby would be waiting, as the bar was his friend’s natural habitat.
He broke through the dense throng of dancers a few minutes later, easily spotting the mop of teal hair glowing under a blacklight. Jinu sauntered over, sliding into the narrow space beside Baby and leaning heavily against the granite counter on one elbow.
Almost immediately, the bartender drifted over. She flashed him a heavily glossed grin as she leaned over the bar, allowing her golden curls to create a deliberate veil around her plunging neckline.
“What can I get for you tonight?” she purred over the noise of the music.
Jinu cocked a devastating, practiced half-smile and leaned an inch closer, lowering his voice. “Just the usual, please.”
Her breath hitching in a slightly uneven shudder. She licked her lips and nodded, quickly moving down the bar to fish a cold bottle from the ice trough. When she returned, Jinu flashed her a slow, deliberate wink and slid a crumpled bill across the polished wood.
“Thanks.” Grabbing the bottle by the neck, he raised it in a silent toast to her before taking a long, ice-cold swig. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and finally turned to Baby. “So, scouting fresh meat, eh?” he asked, his gaze tracking over the crowded dance floor.
“You know it,” Baby sighed, taking a distracted sip from his own bottle. He looked like a kid lost in a candy store, his eyes wide and hungry. “I mean, just look at them all, Jinu. Have you ever seen anything so beautiful in your entire, miserable life?”
Jinu let out a sharp chuckle and took another drink, studying the cluster of giggling, oblivious co-eds grinding against each other a few feet away. “You really are a huge idiot, you know that, right?”
“Yeah,” Baby agreed in a dreamy, lovesick tone. “But I wouldn't have it any other way.”
“Well, well, well,” a sexy, teasingly familiar voice drifted over the rim of Jinu's bottle.
Jinu stopped mid-sip. He slowly lowered the glass, a genuine smile pulling at the corner of his mouth as he glanced to his left.
Lizzie stood a few feet away, a challenging smirk affixed to her striking features. One hand rested casually on the curve of her hip. A silver clip swept her shoulder-length auburn hair up into an elegant, messy twist at the back of her head, allowing a few loose strands to frame her face and lay damply against the slender column of her neck. A sharp, flirty glint sparkled in her almond-shaped green eyes.
“If it isn't my utter favorite patron of inappropriate propositions,” Lizzie mused, stepping closer. “How's it hanging, Eun-woo?”
Jinu chuckled, his voice drifted deep and soft. The first time she’d served him, she had mockingly called him Eun-woo, claiming his brooding aesthetic made him look like a knock-off version of the famous idol. Jinu, naturally, had fired back with a shamelessly lewd comment about what exact physical attributes the name more appropriately applied to. And thus began their dangerous, highly entertaining game of cat-and-mouse—a chase that had fueled Jinu's borderline obsession towards the woman.
“A little to the left,” Jinu countered without missing a beat. “But things are definitely looking up now that you've graced me with your presence.”
“Always the silver-tongued charmer, aren't you?” Lizzie rolled her green eyes, though her smile widened. She turned to the bartender, efficiently rattling off a tray of drink orders. When she looked back at him, she casually swiped a rogue chunk of auburn hair from her eyes, tucking it behind her ear.
“Of course. I wouldn't be me if I wasn't.” Jinu drew his bottom lip slowly between his teeth, allowing his dark eyes to rake brazenly up and down the length of her body. He made absolutely no effort to hide his appreciation of the tight uniform skirt she wore.
Lizzie’s cheeks immediately flushed a pretty, dusky pink. She turned away just as the bartender slid her tray of drinks across the counter. Balancing the heavy tray effortlessly on one palm, she glanced back at him and offered a wicked wink. “I have to get back to work. I’m training a new recruit tonight, and she is a handful.” Lizzie rolled her eyes dramatically. “You behave yourself now, rock-star. All right?”
“Behaving is vastly overrated. Don't you think?” He winked back.
“Whatever you say, Jinu.” She laughed, turning on her heel and melting back into the neon-lit crowd.
Jinu watched her go, his eyes lingering appreciatively on the sway of her hips until she disappeared completely. With a heavy sigh, he turned back to the bar, intending to signal for another round, only to find the space beside him empty. Baby was gone.
He craned his neck, his brow furrowing as he scanned the immediate vicinity. Annoyed that his friend had ditched him without a word, he abandoned the bar and waded back onto the dance floor. Almost instantly, several girls latched onto his arms, cooing his name and pressing their warm bodies against his sides.
He indulged them for a few minutes, throwing out lazy smiles and letting their hands wander. He didn't want to seem like an ungrateful jerk, but the truth was much simpler. Jinu practically fed on attention. He lapped it up like a starving man, regardless of the source. Positive, negative, fearful, or lustful—it didn't really matter. It validated the bulletproof persona he wore, reinforcing the armor that kept everyone at arm's length.
Once he finally managed to extricate himself and weave his way to the far side of the club, he spotted Baby near the restrooms. The teal-haired man had one arm propped against the wall, his posture dominating and intense as he spoke to a girl trapped between his arms. Jinu couldn't see the girl's face, so he couldn't tell if it was one of Baby’s regular encounter or a fresh target. All he could tell from the back of her head was that she was incredibly petite.
Curiosity piqued, Jinu started toward them, effortlessly sliding through the knot of patrons crowding the back booths.
He stepped into the shadowed, narrow alcove that housed the bathrooms and the employee-only areas. Just as he crossed in front of the heavy wooden door of the supply room, a hand shot out from the dark. Slender fingers locked onto the front of his shirt, yanking him out of the hallway with surprising, terrifying strength.
Before Jinu's combat instincts could even register the threat, the heavy door slammed shut, plunging them into near-pitch blackness. His back hit the door with a dull thud. Two hands flattened hard against his chest, and his senses were instantly overwhelmed by the heavy, intoxicating scent of vanilla and dark spice.
“I think we've played around long enough, don't you?” a breathless voice whispered against his jaw.
“Liz?” Jinu choked out, genuine surprise temporarily stalling his slick tongue.
“God, you're so hot,” she murmured. Her breath washed hotly over his face as she fisted her hands tighter into his collar, pulling his head down and crashing her mouth against his.
Jinu froze for exactly one point two seconds. Then, her teeth sharply grazed his bottom lip, pulling hard enough to sting, and the message became crystal clear: she was entirely done playing hard-to-get. She was ready, and she wanted it right now.
The shock melted into liquid heat. Jinu snaked his arms around her waist, bringing one large hand up to tangle lightly in her auburn hair. He gripped a thick handful of it, anchoring her face hard against his as he finally kissed her back.
His allure only seemed to spur her on. Lizzie let go of his shirt and reached around him, her hands cupping his ass and dragging his hips flush against hers.
Jinu let out a ragged, heavy breath. Slipping his hands down to her thighs, he hoisted her up effortlessly. He flipped their positions in one smooth motion, walking her backward until it was Lizzie pinned against the cinderblock wall. She let go of him to brace herself, and Jinu instantly seized both of her wrists. He stretched her arms high above her head, pinning them to the wall with just one of his hands.
Their mouths devoured each other in the dark—a desperate, messy war of teeth, breath, and sliding tongues, neither willing to surrender an inch of control. Jinu ran his free hand down the curve of her arm, tracing the line of her waist before dropping to the back of her upper thigh. He lifted her leg high, hitching it securely over his hip.
Lizzie gasped sharply into his mouth as his fingers dug possessively into her bare flesh, and he pressed his body flush into the cradle of her hips.
Suddenly, a blinding wedge of light sliced through the pitch-black storage room, stretching across the sticky linoleum and pooling directly at Jinu's boots. He whipped his head around, a feral hiss of annoyance and raw frustration boiling to the surface as his umber eyes locked onto the silhouette of a girl standing in the doorway.
“Lizzie, where do they keep the—” The girl's voice, bright and exasperated, died instantly in her throat. Her mouth dropped ajar, her wide, dark eyes taking in the highly compromised position of the two occupants. “Oop, what the hell?”
Lizzie let out a sharp, irritated huff. Slipping out from beneath Jinu's imposing frame, she aggressively yanked down the hem of her uniform skirt and planted both hands firmly on her hips. “What the fuck fo you want?” she snapped, her tone dripping with venom. “Have you honestly never heard of knocking?”
The new girl didn't flinch. Instead, she narrowed her brown eyes into dangerous slits. “I wasn't aware I needed to knock on a communal storage room,” she countered, her voice steady and laced with biting sarcasm. “You know, there are these amazing establishments called motels for you to do... whatever hygienic shit it is you were currently planning to do.”
Lizzie barked a harsh, condescending laugh. “Oh, that's rich. Coming from you. I'll be absolutely sure to take your stellar life advice into consideration the next time I'm feeling a little randy on the clock. Do you really think Ni-han would be perfectly fine with me clocking out just to go take care of a little personal business?”
The newbie boldly stepped forward, closing the distance. “Probably about as accepting as she'd be of you doing it right next to the industrial bleach,” she fired back.
Her fiery gaze flicked from Lizzie to Jinu, sweeping over his leather jacket and flushed face before narrowing once more,
“You know, this room is strictly for employees only. And from the looks of you, Pretty Boy, you don't exactly appear to be on the payroll.”
A slow, lazy grin tugged at the corner of Jinu's mouth. This new girl was a termagant; she clearly didn't take intimidation from anyone, even from her superiors. He liked that—uhh no, scratch that—he found her defiance exceedingly attractive.
Before Jinu could even draw breath to offer a slick retort, Lizzie lunged her body slightly forward. She grabbed the new girl aggressively by the forearm, yanking her roughly toward the door frame.
“Are you threatening me?” Lizzie hissed, her green eyes flashing.
The girl violently jerked her arm out of the waitress's grip, her stance shifting into something resembling a coiled spring.
“Oh, do you want me to threaten you?” she challenged, her voice dropping an octave. “Please, give me a valid reason. I'd like nothing more right now than to intimately introduce your nose to my leg.”
Oh, God, Jinu thought, a thrill shooting down his spine.
If this girl wasn't the most spectacularly awesome thing he'd encountered since that ridiculously rare spicy cream ramen Abby had scored for him ages ago, he honestly didn't know what was. A sick, twisted part of his brain desperately hoped she would actually throw the punch. Though, given the adrenaline already pumping through his veins, he wasn't entirely sure he'd be able to control his own physical reaction if she actually sparked a brawl.
From a purely physical standpoint, she was incredibly petite. But the lethal edge to her words and the squared, balanced way she held her shoulders told him she was anything but fragile. She was a total spitfire, completely unafraid to broadcast it to the world.
Unwilling to back down, Lizzie closed the gap and desperately thrust the heel of her hand into the girl chest, shoving the smaller girl backward several inches into the doorframe.
Instantly, something deep and feral sparked inside Jinu's chest. Before his brain could even process the command, he was already moving, closing in on the two women. It was a profoundly weird sensation; his body reacted purely on deeply ingrained instinct. He felt a sudden, inexplicable surge of protectiveness over the tiny girl he hadn't even officially met.
Stepping fluidly between them, he raised both hands, palms out, acting as a human barricade to pry them apart. “Lizzie, come on, drop it—”
He was abruptly cut off as he felt his own hand being forcefully swatted away. Glancing down in shock, he found the girl’s face glaring fiercely up at his, her brown eyes practically flickering with indignation.
“I don't need your damn help, Pretty Boy,” she spat, her glare utterly scathing. “I can manage perfectly well on my own, thank-you-very-much.”
Jinu's mouth actually fell open, his slick charm momentarily short-circuiting. “I—”.
“Save it,” she commanded, thrusting her hand up in a sharp, warding motion that demanded silence. She dismissed him entirely, snapping her furious gaze back to Lizzie. “All I wanted to know was where the extra napkin refills are kept. Tell me that, and you can both return to your pathetic, sweaty little make-out session.”.
God, he loved this attitude.
He loved it so much it was bordering on a problem. She suddenly glanced back up at him, a bizarre, calculating expression crossing her delicate features. Jinu swallowed thickly under the weight of her intense gaze.
What the hell?. Did she actually just make me... nervous?. No. Absolutely not.
That was physically impossible. No one ever made Jinu nervous. No one. Right? And especially not some random, aggressive waitress, no matter how ridiculously feisty and sexy she happened to be.
She raised a single, unimpressed brow, planting both hands on her hips in a mirror of Lizzie's earlier stance. “Hey, you gonna answer that?” she deadpanned, “Or are you just getting off on how it feels vibrating in your pocket?”.
Jinu furrowed his brows in genuine confusion, his brain foggy until he finally registered the persistent buzzing vibration against his thigh. It took him a humiliating second to realize it was his secured agency phone.
Oh shit—
Reaching down, he slipped his hand into his pocket and fished out the vibrating black rectangle. Giving the warring women a wide berth as they instantly resumed their vitriolic argument, he took a few steps backward into the hallway and slid his thumb across the glass screen to answer.
“What?” he barked irritably into the receiver.
He kept his eyes glued to the backroom, intensely wanting to go back and watch exactly how this magnificent cat-fight was going to unfold,
“Hey, watch your tone when talking to me,” came the sharp, unmistakable voice on the other end.
Jinu pinched the bridge of his nose, letting out a long, long-suffering sigh, “Alright I'm sorry. What do you want now, Rom?” he grumbled, “I was right in the middle of something very entertaining.”
“I don't care what debauchery you were in the middle of,” Romance snapped, his tone entirely devoid of its usual playful snark, “Dude, you need to get your ass back here. Now. We've been called in.”
Jinu's posture instantly went rigid, the playboy facade melting away to reveal the operative underneath. “This late? Are you serious?”.
“Yeah. You heard me,” Romance confirmed grimly, “That's what I said. So get your ass back to the Institute, quick! We need to brief up and see what the hell is going on.”
“Alright, I'm on my way,” Jinu muttered.
He tapped the screen and shoved the phone back into his pocket, a deeply dissatisfied pout spreading across his lips.
Behind him, the two girls were still viciously bickering back and forth, their voices echoing in the cramped hallway. He briefly considered popping his head back in to let the girl know he was leaving, but quickly decided against it. The sight of them completely in each other's faces was far too amusing to ruin with an interruption.
As he hastily made his way through the churning crowd toward the front exit, he spotted Baby near the bar. He managed to catch his friend’s eye over the throng of bodies. Baby raised his teal brows in a silent question. Jinu simply lifted his hands, pressing his thumb and pinky to his ear in a universal signal for a phone call, then gestured sharply toward the door with his chin before offering an apologetic shrug. Baby gave a terse nod of understanding, waving him off before immediately pivoting his attention back to the giggling platinum blonde standing in front of him.
Jinu pushed his way out the heavy double doors, stepping out of the stifling club and onto the noisy, chaotic street. Car horns blared incessantly as midnight city traffic rushed by in a blur of headlights. He moved swiftly past the long, shivering line of people anxiously awaiting entrance to the venue, crossing the cracked pavement to the small, dimly lit back lot where his sleek black motorcycle sat waiting in the shadows.
Shrugging into his heavy leather jacket, he pulled his tinted helmet securely over his head. He swung a long leg over the seat, straddling the heavy machine with practiced ease. He kicked the starter hard, and the powerful engine instantly roared to life, the entire vehicle vibrating with a deep, satisfying hum beneath him. Despite the abrupt end to his night, a wicked grin stretched across his lips beneath the visor as the bike shot violently forward, a rush of cold city wind sweeping past him into the dark.
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The city's midnight traffic moved as thick and slow as coagulated blood, but with his reckless ability to weave in and out of the stagnant lanes, Jinu's drive took a fraction of the time it took everyone else on the road.
Once he reached the formidable, gleaming glass-and-steel structure of the agency headquarters, he parked his bike in the designated underground garage and hopped onto the private executive elevator. Almost instantly, a gratingly cheerful, annoying jazz track began playing from the overhead speakers, causing Jinu to roll his eyes at the sheer clichéness of it all. Couldn't someone, somewhere in this multi-billion dollar intelligence firm, use real music in the elevators—if only to be somewhat different and establish a shred of individuality? But no, everyone had to blindly go along with the exact same unoriginal social norms of Glenn Miller and the lot pumping out of their high-end sound systems as agents endured a cosmically boring, sanitized ride up a skyscraper.
Finally, the elevator chimed with a soft ding and the brushed steel doors opened into a spacious, impeccably lit waiting area. A long, sleek reception desk carved from dark-cherry wood stretched out against the far wall.
Seated behind it was Bobby, the agency's distinguished-looking informant, his wavy hair meticulously pulled back. He looked up from his glowing monitors as Jinu stepped over the threshold, a knowing smile curving his lips.
“Agent Jinu, nice of you to finally join us,” he greeted, his tone laced with fond exasperation.
Jinu lets out a sigh, leaning his weight casually over the polished desk to scrawl his signature in the heavy attendance book.
“How would I possibly maintain my careless reputation if I was actually on time?” he tsked, tossing the pen back onto the ledger. “You know better than that, jeongbowon.”
Bobby simply shook his head, thoroughly unimpressed. “Yes, well, you know better than to keep Bari waiting too long, don't you? We wouldn't want a repeat of last time's punishment, would we?” he warned, raising a single, authoritative brow.
Jinu grimaced at the memory, a phantom ache blooming in his shoulders.
“Heh, no, I suppose not,” he conceded quietly. Pushing off the desk, he turned toward the imposing, large wooden doors on the other side of the room. “Catch you later, chingu.”
A soft, echoing chuckle followed him to the doorway. Without even pausing to mentally gather himself, Jinu—with Baby trailing closely behind him—pushed down on the heavy brass handle and unceremoniously opened the double doors to Bari's office.
Unsurprisingly, he found the rest of his unit already inside. Romance, Abby, and Mystery were seated on the nearest side of the room, while Bari sat firmly planted behind her massive mahogany desk. She sat bolt upright, an intense rigidity and barely concealed stress visible in the stiff way she held her shoulders.
Jinu immediately frowned, reading the heavy temperature of the room,
“Whatever it is, I probably did it and am not the least bit sorry,” he announced unapologetically.
Bari's left eye violently twitched. She let out a heavy sigh, gesturing broadly with her hand toward the empty seats,
“Have a seat first, agent,” she ordered, her voice clipped.
Once Baby stepped inside, Jinu kicked the door shut behind him with his heel. Instead of pulling his chair out normally, he placed his hands firmly on the backrest and catapulted himself fluidly over the back, settling himself deep into the leather seat. Baby quietly shuffled over and settled alongside Mystery, while Romance shook his head a little in second-hand embarrassment and Abby let out a long, weary sigh.
Bari leaned forward, planting her elbows on the desktop and clasping her hands so firmly in front of her that her knuckles turned white. A small, nervous bead of sweat had swelled at her brow, and the persistent twitch in her eye had only accelerated.
Watching her, Jinu idly thought to himself that Bari should probably get that medically checked. He wasn't entirely sure how normal it was for a commanding officer to have an eye twitching like a faulty strobe light all the time.
Bari took a deep, shuddering breath and settled back into her high-backed chair, steepling her fingers tightly under her chin,
“I had a visit from Director Celine this afternoon,” she announced to the quiet room.
“Seonsaengnim? Why?” Abby asked, genuine surprise coloring his deep voice.
“She was here about a case—a very important case.” Bari closed her eyes, pulling in another deep breath as if to fortify herself, before opening them once again and leaning dangerously forward. “Before I go on, I must tell you unequivocally that I think this is a bad idea. I don't believe you're at all ready for a responsibility as big as this.”
Her dark eyes fell directly onto Jinu, pinning him in place, and stayed there,
“But it's out of my hands. You lot have been requested and I have no choice but to surrender to what the Board decides.”
“What's this all about, Dae-Pyo-nim?” Romance asked, his usual snark replaced by sharp professionalism.
Bari abruptly stood from her chair and moved to the reinforced filing cabinet in the corner. She pulled open the third drawer, rifling through the dense paperwork until she extracted a thick, heavily redacted folder. Slapping it down hard on the center of her desk, she leaned over the scattered papers and jabbed the cover with her index finger,
“Are you at all familiar with Ryu Mi-yeong?”
Mystery broke the heavy silence, his voice a low, analytical murmur, “An outstanding lawyer in the state. She's represented an endless parade of high-profile clients—governors, businessmen, A-list celebrities, and she's heavily rumored to be working under the table for the Heirs of Kwon Ji-man.”
“That's true, yes,” Romance chimed in, though his sharp hazel eyes scrunched into a thoughtful furrow. “Though, some whispers suggest it’s actually her husband who is entrenched with the syndicate family.”
“Basically, we lack sufficient intel on both of them,” Baby added, offering a careless shrug as he leaned back into his chair.
“Yes, but,” Bari interjected, settling her stiff posture back against the leather of her chair. Opening the heavy red-tabbed file, she pulled out a glossy photograph and slid it across the mahogany surface in front of them.
The five agents simultaneously leaned forward, their eyes raking over the details presented. The image captured a distinguished-looking man possessing a set of stern, uncompromising dark brown eyes. His dark, slightly curly hair was combed elegantly backward in a sleek curtain style. Standing stiffly beside him was a woman whose striking beauty Jinu found naggingly familiar, with both figures clad in impeccable, high-end business attire.
The director continued, her tone laced with a bone-deep fatigue, “Song Do-yun and Ryu Mi-Yeong have been under active agency investigation for years. We've watched them from afar, surveyed Do-yun’s extensive network of business associates, and even sent deep-cover spies to work under him to gain access. So far, all of that has turned up absolutely nothing. We desperately need a better approach, a much more—personal—approach.”
Her dark eyes fell on the unit once more, heavy with expectation, “This is exactly where you all come in.”
The five operatives exchanged glances of genuine confusion.
What could a squad of wild twenty-somethings possibly have to offer that seasoned, veteran field spies could not?
Studying their confused faces, Bari retrieved the photograph and reached into the belly of the folder once more, extracting another sheet and slowly holding it up. Closing her eyes briefly and letting out a ragged breath, she continued the briefing,
“Since all other attempts to gain the critical information and the need to put him away have failed, the Board has contrived one last idea. One that, honestly, I am not at all comfortable with, but they firmly believe it's our only viable option.” She cleared her throat, the sound tight in the quiet room, “It's well known that Do-yun has an adopted son, Kwon Yeong-jin, who is rapidly following in his father's corrupt footsteps by working directly for him, and with the syndicate family. But, what the media world doesn't seem to know is the fact that he has a daughter as well.” Bari looked down at the sheet of paper in her hand, her expression unreadable, “Ryu Rumi. Age twenty-four, currently a college student, majoring in multimedia arts.”
Jinu scoffed loudly, the sound shattering the tension like glass. “So, the man has a daughter. Big deal. Does she work for his little mafia operation too?”
“Well, no,” Bari uttered, slowly shaking her head.
Jinu shrugged indifferently, crossing his arms defensively over his chest. “So why does she matter then?”
Bari eyed him carefully, her gaze sharp enough to draw blood. “Because she is how you're going to get in. She is how you're going to get us the information we need.”
Romance sat up, his sprawling posture instantly turning rigid, “What exactly are you saying?”
“I'm saying, your primary assignment is this girl,” she clarified bluntly. She shook the printed dossier in her hand for emphasis. “It will be your job to institute yourselves, seamlessly into her life. Gain her trust, access her connections, her—” Bari's eyes flicked over and froze intensely on Jinu, “...anything you need to do to get her to trust you, to invite you into the inner circle.”
“So...” Abby started, his voice laced with disbelief. “You're saying we need to... pretend to be friends with this innocent girl, and then weaponize her trust to gain access to her father?”
“That's exactly what I'm saying,” Bari confirmed, her tone unapologetically grim.
“Don’t you think that’s a bit cruel?” Romance refuted, a genuine empathy crossing his features, unusual of him, “I mean, she's not like her father, or her mother, and definitely not like that twisted adopted brother of hers, right? Isn't this oddly vindictive? I mean, to explicitly use a civilian like this?”
Bari nodded slowly in agreement, but Jinu brutally interrupted the moral debate. “Oh, come on, guys. It's just a job. We can't go around bleeding our hearts out over the target when we have an operation to execute. You know that's the reality, dae-pyo.”
Romance and Abby both gave their leader looks of utter disgusts,
“What?” Jinu challenged, a cocky edge returning to his voice, “That's just how our job works. If you can't separate your feelings to do it, you shouldn't be sitting in these chairs then.”
Mystery, sporting a deeply worried look, opened his mouth to argue the point, but Bari held up a single hand to demand silence.
“As much as it sickens me, your leader here is right,” she conceded bitterly, “You have to completely set aside your innate human feelings and focus entirely on the objective. This isn't how we like to do things, but this is what it's ultimately come down to. We have no other choice—well, it’s the safest option we could think of.”
A deeply satisfied smirk curved across Jinu’s lips, prompting Romance to roll his eyes as he stared at the ceiling.
“So, who is this lucky girl, anyway?” Abby asked with a resigned sigh.
Bari sighed once more, the weight of the assignment settling heavily over the room, and slid the paper she'd been holding face-up onto the desk in front of them.
Jinu casually glanced down, but the air instantly vanished from his lungs. His breath nearly caught in his throat, holding him in place.
Staring back at him from the photograph was a mass of soft, lustrous lilac curls framing a tiny, delicate face. Wide, subtly fierce dark brown eyes pierced through the glossy paper, the exact same eyes that had just glared him down outside a dingy storage room. Next to it sat another candid picture of her, this time styled in a long, messy braid, completely absorbed in a pocketbook while wrapped in a comfortable gravel-cream-colored sweatshirt.
That girl…
Jinu swallowed hard, the sudden dryness in his throat feeling like coarse sandpaper. The pieces fell into place with appalling promptness.
“I… I know this girl,” he murmured, the confession slipping past his lips before his brain could filter it.
“God, Jinu,” Abby groaned, dragging a heavy, calloused hand down his face, “Please tell me you haven't already blown the operation by screwing the target.” The velvet-haired operative pursed his lips, sliding his tongue out in a mocking, exasperated gesture.
Jinu’s head shot towards him, his dark eyes locking onto Abby with a scowl. “Uh, no?! But your staggeringly high faith in my ability to compromise a mission? That truly warms my deadbeat heart,” he snapped back, his voice dripping with rancor.
His gaze gravitated back to the photograph lying on the mahogany desk. He found himself studying the curve of her small, defiant smirk and the faint indentations of the dimples caving into her cheeks.
“I met her tonight. Briefly. She works as a waitress down at the club.”
“Good.” Bari didn't miss a beat. She snatched the glossy photograph back with ruthless efficiency and shoved it deep into the manila folder. For some inexplicable reason, the abruptness of the action—hiding the girl's face from view—sent a strange, possessive flare of irritation through Jinu, “Then it's settled. You will be the first to approach her.”
Jinu shifted uncomfortably in the plush leather chair, rubbing the back of his neck. “I'm not so sure that's a brilliant move, Dae-Pyo-nim. I didn't exactly get the impression that she liked me. At all.”
Romance barked a laugh, the deep sound echoing off the cavernous office walls. “Well, well. Agent Jinu openly admitting he isn't actually Hanunim’s ultimate gift to women. I genuinely never thought I'd live to see the day.”
Jinu’s grimace deepened into a lethal glare. “Am not admitting no such thing. I'm just saying we didn't exactly make the best first impressions on one another. That's all.”
Baby leaned over, hair flopping as he eagerly nudged Jinu in the ribs with a sharp elbow. “Oh, hell. What did you do? Did you grab her ass, Jinu? Seriously, tell us. Did you?”
Jinu slammed both palms flat onto the polished desk, the loud thud making Baby jump. He turned his glare onto the teal-haired, preemptively defending himself against the judgment he knew was coming from the rest.
“Grab— What?! No! For your information, I didn't even touch her. She actually walked in on me with my hands on someone else's ass. Are you all happy now?”
Romance let out a derisive snort, crossing his arms tightly over his chest. “Classic douche behavior. God, you truly never disappoint, lideo.”
The director sighed, a bone-weary sound that clearly suggested she was severely underpaid to deal with this unit.
“This is why I don’t approve of Celine’s idea in the first place,” She uttered, Mystery caught it up as he lets out a soft chuckle,
“Yes, well. You are operatives. You will figure it out. I expect you to have made some sort of progressive, well-documented contact by the end of next week.” Her dark, uncompromising eyes locked onto Jinu's, pinning him in place. The air in the room grew heavy, “Do not screw this up. This is probably the last chance we have.”
But Jinu and Abby pay her no mind as they scrambled in each other’s shoulders, arguing about who’s the bigger douche of the two. Romance pinched the bridge of his nose as he sinks his back against the cushion.
Bari leaned forward, pressing the silver intercom button once more, “Bobby?”
“Yes, Director?” Bobby's voice crackled through the speaker.
“I'm dispatching the boys out. Could you please hand them their mission care packets?”
“Of course, ma'am.”
The five agents—Abby, Romance, Mystery, Baby, and Jinu—stood in unison. Bari escorted them to the heavy oak doors, her expression oddly unreadable, “We're counting on you agents. Good luck.”
The heavy doors clicked shut behind them, sealing them out in the quiet reception area. Instantly, the sheer weight of the situation crashed down onto Jinu's shoulders. He had never expected his very first major assignment to be a beast of this magnitude.
Song Do-yun. Ryu Mi-Yeong. Heirs of Kwon Ji-man.
Hell. That was big-league stuff.
But more importantly, it meant that the tiny, purple-haired girl from the club was going to be an absolute handful. And for the first time in months, Jinu felt a genuine thrill of anticipation cut through his usual boredom. One he was more than willing to try and tame.
A wicked smirk pulled at the edges of his lips.
Walking beside him, Romance caught the expression, “What the hell are you grinning at?” the pink-haired agent demanded, his hazel eyes blistering with suspicion.
Jinu turned to him, leaning in close so only his team could hear. “Wouldn't you like to know?” he whispered.
Romance let out an irritated huff, throwing his hands up in defeat, while Abby chuckled softly beside them as they made their way toward Bobby’s desk to collect their files.
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