After nearly three hours of flight, they finally set foot on Sakhalin soil.

The moment Seoryeong stepped off the Blast Corp transport craft, she was hit by a piercing cold that stung the bridge of her nose. The island weather, pushing close to minus ten degrees, was brutal enough to make her want to turn back.

She stood there, dazed, letting the winter wind slap against her cheeks—until Lee Wooshin passed by and yanked the hood of her coat over her head.

“I skimmed the satellite data—”

He glanced her way mid-call with Channa. When Seoryeong flinched, he mouthed silently, What? She turned away without any reason and adjusted the military-grade duffel slung over her shoulder.

When they started walking, the old jeep prepped for the team was already waiting. Gitaemin was at the trunk inspecting the firearms, and Jin Hoje was crouched by the tire, shaking his head.

“Don’t even know if this thing’ll run properly.”

“You’re in the back. Rookie rides shotgun.”

Wooshin slammed the door shut and got in the driver’s seat. The rest of the team climbed in.

Seoryeong hesitated for a second but ultimately gave in to the cold and opened the passenger door. The rusty handle gave a sharp creak. Even the seatbelt was half-severed and unusable.

“Wait, Team Leader—!”

Jin Hoje shouted from the back as he scrambled in.

“It’s too dangerous for you to sit next to the rookie like that!”

His voice rang sharp in the air. The other operatives stiffened in agreement.

Normally, when the team leader was driving, the sniper—Gitaemin—would sit beside him for close-range coverage. He was the best at tactical cover shooting. Meanwhile, Dawit, the second-in-command, needed to stay with the other fighters in case the team leader was incapacitated. That meant the standard formation had Dawit and Jin Hoje escorting the rookie front and back.

Even when Lee Wooshin looked relaxed outside of operations, once the mission started he was like a ghost—methodical, flawless. So this sudden break from protocol threw them all off.

“Team Leader, what if there’s an incident—?”

Jin Hoje looked between the driver’s seat and passenger seat with anxious eyes.

“One of you could die, just like that!”

At that, Seoryeong flinched. Her shoulders jumped. As the unease turned toward him, Wooshin clicked his tongue. With one arm, he pushed Jin Hoje’s forehead back into the seat and started the engine.

The loud rumble vibrated under their seats. As Wooshin worked the manual gears and stepped on the clutch, the rusted exhaust coughed.

“What’s there to worry about when Dawit’s got the armband?”

“Excuse me?”

“That’s why I made him second-in-command.”

“......!”

Seoryeong frowned and stared at him. His words carried the casual assumption that if anything happened, she was the one who’d get hurt. It scratched at something inside her.

He definitely felt her staring, but said nothing—just stepped harder on the gas and sped across the open plains.

Am I dead weight to Lee Wooshin right now? Or is it him treating me that way? Is this why he told me to stay close—? She clenched her teeth in silence.

Jin Hoje slumped back in his seat with a grumble. The vehicle jolted and rocked every time they hit a bump.

She turned to the window. Outside, wide fields stretched endlessly. Her heart had been racing for no reason since earlier.

“――.”

Surveilling children in a monastery...

Seoryeong kept [N O V E L I G H T] mentally reviewing every detail of the mission brief even as the ride tossed her around like turbulence.

The jeep tore down the unpaved road. Stones cracked under the tires. Earthy smells wafted in through a window that didn’t close properly.

In the wide, horizon-like fields, oversized wild plants had grown thick and tangled. Giant butterburs, their umbrella-like leaves wider than a person’s shoulders, rose taller than a human. You could probably take shelter from rain under them. Ethnic Koreans were scattered throughout the dense vegetation.

Seoryeong suddenly felt nauseous. She wanted to divert her thoughts, but couldn’t seem to look away from the landscape.

“...By the way, sir. That story you didn’t finish before—the one about that famous Russian prime minister’s family...”

The jeep hit a rock or something, and jolted violently. Wooshin reached out quickly, palm cupping the top of her head. Only the others—whose heads slammed into the roof—swallowed curses under their breath.

There was something strangely rigid in the way Wooshin glanced at her just then. She clutched the worn handle and continued:

“The one who supposedly married a Korean woman?”

“Ahh... That romance!”

Jin Hoje brightened immediately, only for Gitaemin to scoff as he assembled a pistol.

“Hey, don’t go sugarcoating shit for the rookie. If you’re gonna explain, explain properly. Romance, my ass.”

“Dude, what did I—!”

“Han Seoryeong, don’t get swayed by this idiot. That story’s famous because it’s a tragedy.”

“A tragedy?”

“Yeah. Solzhenitsyn’s tragedy, they call it. Whole family died in an accident. Probably wiped out their entire bloodline.”

Silence fell briefly inside the jeep. Seoryeong turned sharply toward Jin Hoje, as if betrayed.

Her face practically screamed, Didn’t you say it was a romance? Jin Hoje drew his head into his shoulders awkwardly. Then, in a small, sheepish voice, he muttered:

“But still, they got married across borders, social status, even a huge age gap...! And they died on the same day. So technically it’s kind of beautiful...”

Gitaemin smacked the back of his friend’s head. Seoryeong thought for a moment, then asked again.

“What kind of accident was it?”

“That’s enough.”

The conversation was cut off cold by Wooshin, who had been silent the entire time. Jaw clenched, he took a hard turn, and the team’s bodies tipped with the motion. The seats creaked.

“Two kilometers to target. Stay alert.”

Past the final stretch of unpaved road, the red-brick monastery finally came into view. Seoryeong bit down on her lower lip, trying to swallow the rising sourness in her throat.

The vehicle was just starting to slow down when someone suddenly sprang out, yanked the door open, and grabbed her leg.

“――!”

She slipped from the seat instantly, a solid hand wedging itself under her arm like it was pulling a baby out of the womb.

She grabbed for the door handle, but it tore off in her hand. Her body tumbled out of the jeep.

It all happened in under a second.

“That fucker—!”

Screeeeech—! Wooshin slammed on the brakes, screaming.

But it was too late.

Seoryeong decided to use the man’s body as a cushion and twisted her weight.

They crashed together. She smelled something unfamiliar as they rolled across the dirt.

Haa... haa... Her attacker was breathing hard, still clinging to her. Between breaths, bursts of euphoric laughter slipped out.

“Sonya... my Sonya... finally...!”

Black hair swam in her vision. Under the sunlight, the strands shimmered with a hint of red depending on the angle.

Their noses brushed. Their eyes met. Deep, pitch-black pupils that pierced right through her. Eyes you don’t forget.

A priest—grinding against her in that public restroom stall, one hand on the wall.

Now, that same man bared his white teeth in a radiant smile.

“Han Seoryeong—!”

Wooshin roared, slamming the jeep door shut. From the back seat, three barrels trained dead-on.

In that brief instant, the priest whispered in her ear:

“I called your husband here too.”

Her body froze. At the same time, strong hands yanked them apart. Wooshin stomped the priest’s head with his boot and wrenched his arm back.

With his face smashed into the mud, the priest gasped for air, twisted in pain. But Wooshin only grabbed him by the side of the head and bashed it repeatedly into a jagged stone.

“Sonya, Sonya, look, look how cruel your husband—AARGH!”

Wooshin suddenly dislocated the priest’s shoulder. Crack. Pop. One arm flopped uselessly.

The priest screamed, mouth wide, wailing. Tears streamed as he begged for his life.

It was unbearable to listen to. But Wooshin’s expression remained cold as ice.

Is he even allowed to beat him like this? Seoryeong snapped out of it.

This was a monastery, not Wooshin’s turf. Whatever the reason, they’d just brutalized one of the locals.

She dusted herself off and grabbed his arm.

“He’s part of the monastery. If this goes sideways, it could turn into a huge mess.”

“.......”

A heavy silence. Wooshin’s eyes, dim and submerged, turned toward her. Why? her clear expression seemed to ask.

He said nothing, just pulled the priest upright.

The man’s lips were pressed tight, his shoulders shaking. With his sickly pallor and mud-and-blood-caked form, he looked pitiful.

Limping forward, the priest started to offer a handshake—but paused, annoyed at his dangling arm. Then, expressionless, he popped his shoulder back into place with a crack, smiled again, and held out his hand.

“Kiya. I am Kiya. My Korean not so good. I speak banmal, okay?”

The tears at the edge of his eyes looked fake—like smeared paint.

Kiya’s gaze stuck to her like a magnet. His expression, whether overjoyed or overwhelmed, was clearly hoping for something.

Why do all creeps have that same look... He’s not about to yank his pants down, is he?

She narrowed her eyes.

Maybe it was the rolling around, or her already upset stomach...

“Urgh—! Hggk, hhk—!”

She vomited directly onto Kiya’s outstretched hand.