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In hindsight, Kim Soleum thought hysterically that he should have expected that nothing would go right, especially when he was present. He must have gone crazy not to expect that the vacation would not turn into a mini horror, and he would still be scared to death, regardless of Agent Choi and Agent Bronze hovering over him like overprotective mother hens.
The sand gives under Kim Soleum’s shoes in a way that feels deliberate, fine and even, like someone bothered to maintain it. Not the uneven grit that clings to your ankles, not the kind that hides broken shells. This is clean sand, not littered with any mysteries to solve other than the shells by their feet.
The sea lies ahead of them in a long, calm sheet of blue. No loud waves, no wind strong enough to snap at clothing. The sky is high and open, an almost theatrical kind of perfection that makes Soleum briefly, irrationally suspicious—and then annoyed with himself for being that way.
“Look,” Agent Choi says, swinging an arm around Kim Soleum’s shoulders before he can step aside. His other arm hooks Agent Bronze with the same casual authority, pulling all three of them together like this was always the formation. Choi’s grin is sharp, pleased. “Hyunmoo Team One. So good at our jobs, they had to physically remove us from the field.”
Bronze allows the contact but doesn’t relax into it. Sunglasses on, expression unreadable, his attention already drifting outward. He’s scanning without making it obvious—lifeguard tower, food stalls, the clusters of beachgoers spaced just far enough apart to feel intentional.
Choi continues, voice carrying easily over the sound of the water. “Reward leave. Commendation attached. Did you read the memo, Soleum-ah? Apparently, we’re ‘setting an example.’”
Soleum exhales despite himself. The smugness is familiar, oddly comforting. Choi only sounds like this when he knows he’s right.
“I read it,” Soleum says. “Three times.”
“Good,” Choi replies, squeezing his shoulder once before letting go. “Then you know this isn’t a test. No hidden objectives. No surprise evaluations. Just the government saying, ‘Please don’t die for at least one week.’”
“That part wasn’t in the memo,” Bronze says dryly.
“It was implied.”
They walk further onto the sand. Soleum sets his bag down with habitual care, lining it up with Bronze’s as it matters. He tells himself to stop that. There’s no perimeter to respect here. No equipment to account for. This beach is on a list—one of several designated recuperation spots vetted for safety, accessibility, and “low anomaly probability.”
Not zero. Just low.
Down the shore, a food stall is grilling squid, the smell of smoke and sauce drifting pleasantly on the breeze. A couple nearby is arguing in low voices while setting up a parasol. Somewhere closer to the water, a group of college kids are laughing too loudly, taking turns daring each other into the shallows.
Normal.
“This is what excellence gets you,” Choi says, stretching his arms overhead. “Sun, sea, and a legal obligation to relax.”
Agent Bronze checks his watch. Then tilts it slightly, as if adjusting for glare, and checks again.
Kim Soleum pulls his phone out without thinking. No signal. He stares at the empty bars for a second longer than necessary, then locks the screen and slips it back into his pocket. Beaches are like that. Everyone knows reception drops near the water. It’s not even worth mentioning.
The sun hangs high overhead, bright but not oppressive. Warm in a way that sinks into skin without asking permission.
For a flicker of a second, a memory stirs—late-night scrolling, a forum post with too many replies and a joking title. A beach. Clear weather. A warning buried halfway down the thread about how noon didn’t end when it should have.
Kim Soleum swallows and lets the thought go.
This place is approved. This leave is earned. And nothing, absolutely nothing, is supposed to happen here.
The sun hangs there.
Not glaring like beaches often felt to him. Just present—fixed in a way Soleum doesn’t consciously name yet, only feels as a faint resistance when he tries to place the time. Like someone who barely knew the sun’s warmth decided to paint it and place it in the sky.
Agent Choi drops onto the sand with a satisfied grunt, legs stretched out, palms braced behind him. His posture is relaxed, but it still carries possessiveness—an unspoken declaration that the area is claimed, that this is where they’re staying.
“I’m officially starting my break now,” Agent Choi says. “Anyone needs permission to relax, I’m granting it.”
Agent Bronze lowers himself more carefully, choosing a spot where he can see both the water and the access path without turning his head. He doesn’t lie back. He never does when he’s outside a public place, and Kim Soleum can attest to the fact that the only time he has seen Ryu Jaekwan relax was in the breakroom, away from public sight.
Kim Soleum hesitates a second before sitting, a habit tugging at him. He lines his bag up beside Agent Bronze’s without thinking, then catches himself and almost moves it—stops. Leave it.
Agent Choi notices, of course. He always does.
“Hey,” Choi says lightly, nudging Soleum’s knee with his foot. “You’re allowed to exist without optimising things for once.”
Kim Soleum huffs out a quiet laugh. “I know.”
Agent Choi digs into his bag and tosses Kim Soleum a bottled drink. The throw is careless, confident he’ll catch it.
“Drink,” Agent Choi adds. “That’s not a suggestion.”
Kim Soleum catches it, nods automatically, and twists the cap. The sweetness is artificial and cold, and not something he was used to. He pondered on the taste; it had been too long since he felt the sweet tickling down his throat.
A shadow passes over them.
Kim Soleum looks up without meaning to—then relaxes when he sees a nearby couple adjusting a parasol. The man bows his head slightly in apology without stopping what he’s doing. The woman smiles, brief and polite, then turns away.
“See?” Agent Choi says, catching Soleum’s reaction. His tone is teasing, but there’s an edge of reassurance under it. “Normal people. No weird rituals. No ominous chanting.”
Agent Bronze hums. He reaches down, scoops up a handful of sand, and lets it run through his fingers slowly. Fine. Uniform. Too clean.
“Maintenance is thorough,” Soleum says, more observation than comment.
“Good,” Choi replies. “I don’t want my reward to be ruined by a health hazard.”
Time stretches.
Not in a way that announces itself. Just enough that Soleum becomes aware of the absence of change. The sun doesn’t shift. The light doesn’t soften. The breeze stays the same, like someone found the ideal conditions and refused to move past them.
He checks his phone again out of habit.
No signal.
He frowns, taps the screen once, then locks it. Agent Bronze notices what he was doing.
“No reception?” Agent Bronze asks, casually, giving Kim Soleum space to answer or not.
Kim Soleum shrugs. “It’s a beach.”
Agent Bronze accepts that with a nod, but his hand goes to his watch. He presses a button, changes the display, then rests his arm on his knee where he can see it without drawing attention.
Down the shore, laughter carries.
Kim Soleum looks over—and feels a small, quiet hitch in his chest.
The same group of college kids. Same bright towel. Same one who keeps waving her arms when she laughs. They’re farther down now, near the rocks, arguing about something trivial.
He watches them a second too long.
“Did they move?” he asks, keeping his voice neutral. Not a warning. Not yet.
Agent Choi squints in that direction. “People tend to do that.”
“Yeah,” Kim Soleum says immediately. Too quickly. “I know.”
A vendor passes by soon after, pushing a cart with practised ease. He stops when Agent Choi waves him over, smiles professionally, and is friendly but not familiar.
Choi buys three without hesitation, hands them out like it’s his role.
When the vendor moves on, Soleum tracks the cart until it blends into the crowd.
The path feels familiar.
He tells himself that’s nothing. Vendors circle. Beaches loop.
The ice cream is already melting when he unwraps it, sticky against his fingers.
The sun stays exactly where it is.
And somewhere, quietly, something that has been patient registers that the group has settled.
It just sort of happened, the choice to leave - Kim Soleum cannot recall saying yes.
Footprints trail behind him as Agent Choi stands, shaking grit from his fingers. He tilts his head at the row of huts near the water's edge. Not waiting, he moves ahead. "We've earned a break," he mentions.
Agent Bronze trails behind, silent. Stuff packed on instinct, Kim Soleum pauses mid-motion - Agent Choi’s hand signal cuts the routine short.
“Leave it. This place is practically begging to be trusted.”
Down by the water, the ground feels solid under each step they take. Slowly, the little stand appears through the haze - tables made of plastic, a roofbleached by months of sunlight, words scrawled on cardboard showingdrinks and hot food. From somewhere nearby, music drifts out - faint, crackling, full of years yet light like August afternoons.
Normal and familiar.
They sit. Kim Soleum ends up between them, chair legs scraping softly against concrete. Agent Choi orders without looking at the menu, voice loud, cheerful. Agent Bronze accepts the first drink he’s handed with a nod that feels a little too easy.
“I’ll be right back,” Agent Choi says suddenly, standing. He gestures vaguely toward the back of the stall. “Bathroom.”
Kim Soleum watches him weave through the narrow space between tables, then disappear behind a warped plastic door.
“So,” Agent Bronze says, lifting his glass. “Reward leave.”
Kim Soleum nods and takes a careful sip. The soju is cold, sharp. He doesn’t like how quickly the warmth spreads.
They talk. Or rather, Agent Bronze talks more than usual—about nothing important, about how quiet the beach is, about how it reminds him of trips he took years ago and never mentions. His words are steady, but the edges are softer.
The door creaks.
Agent Choi steps back into view.
Kim Soleum’s breath catches hard enough that he almost chokes.
Agent Choi is wearing a bikini.
Not layered over clothes. Not as a joke. A real one—bright pink fabric that practically matches Braun, who sits in his shorts’ pockets, simple cut, the straps already twisted slightly as he dressed in a hurry. Sand clings to his ankles. His hair is damp.
He grins, wide and unbothered. “Wow. That was a mess there.”
Kim Soleum stares.
Agent Bronze squints, then blinks once, slowly. “Huh.”
Kim Soleum pushes his chair back halfway to standing. “Agent Choi.”
“Mm?” Agent Choi drops back into his seat, sprawls comfortably. He reaches for his glass and misses, laughs when Kim Soleum steadies it for him.
“You’re—” Kim Soleum stops, swallows, tries again. “Your clothes.”
Agent Choi looks down at himself, genuinely puzzled. He pats one hip, then shrugs. “What about them?”
“That’s not—” Kim Soleum lowers his voice instinctively. “You didn’t come out wearing that.”
Agent Choi snorts. “Of course I did.”
Agent Bronze leans back, watching with detached interest, glass balanced loosely in his hand. He’s flushed now, movements slower, easier. “Looks comfortable,” he offers.
Kim Soleum turns to him. “Agent Bronze.”
Agent Bronze meets his eyes, expression mild. “Relax. He’s on leave.”
Agent Choi lifts his glass, sloshes it dangerously. “See? Jaekwan-ah says it’s fine.”
Kim Soleum sits back down slowly, heart thudding. He looks around the stall, waiting—he doesn’t know what for. Laughter. Stares. Someone pointing.
Nothing happens.
No one looks twice. Especially for the ridiculous sight that Agent Choi is painting for the three of them.
The radio crackles into another song. The woman behind the counter wipes down the bar, unconcerned.
Agent Choi downs his drink and immediately reaches for the bottle again, already unsteady. He doesn’t notice Kim Soleum’s hand tightening around his own glass.
The sun stays high, yet the clock strikes 4:56, a time when the sun should have moved from its position.
And Kim Soleum understands, with a creeping certainty, that the beach isn’t just changing them.
It’s deciding what makes sense.
They sit away from the bar soon enough, but Agent Choi does not abandon his bikini, even when Kim Soleum tries to sigh as loudly as he can to signify that he is embarrassed to even breathe the same air as Agent Choi in that very moment.
He is kind of thankful when Agent Bronze at least had some kind of modicum of embarrassment to make sure not to excite Agent Choi even further than he already was, by offering even more drinks to satiate the ever-growing black hole of drinking habits that he was impressively displaying.
Kim Soleum exhales sharply through his nose—loud enough to count as a statement. Loud enough that, in any normal setting, it would prompt at least a glance.
Agent Choi doesn’t react.
He tilts his head back and laughs at something only half-related to the conversation, shoulders loose, posture completely unselfconscious. If anything, he looks more comfortable than before.
Kim Soleum stares determinedly at the condensation sliding down his glass.
“Slow down,” Agent Bronze says mildly.
Agent Choi grins. “You’re the one who is encouraging me to drink more.”
“That doesn’t mean you have to keep up.”
Kim Soleum watches the liquid level rise and fall, rise and fall. Agent Choi drinks like the glass is bottomless. It doesn’t seem to matter how much he consumes; his expression never shifts beyond flushed cheerfulness.
There’s no stagger. No real slur.
That just has to be something unreal because from the corner of his eyes, there had to be about twenty bottles accompanying their sides.
Kim Soleum sets his untouched drink down.
Something shifts, not in the air this time, but beneath the table. A vibration. Faint. Rhythmic.
He stills.
Agent Choi is mid-sentence. Agent Bronze is watching him with that half-amused, half-calculating look he gets when someone senior embarrasses themselves but hasn’t crossed the line yet.
The vibration comes again, and now, he feels it come from the floor
Kim Soleum lowers his hand casually, fingers brushing the concrete. It feels solid. Cool.
But the sensation persists. A low hum. Almost like distant machinery running underground.
He glances toward the open beach.
The tide hasn’t moved.
The sunlight hasn’t shifted.
The college kids are still by the rocks.
In the same positions.
One of them throws their head back in laughter.
The motion repeats.
Exactly.
Same angle. Same arm movement. Same duration.
Kim Soleum’s throat tightens.
“Agent Bronze,” he says quietly.
Agent Bronze looks over immediately. Even tipsy, he’s sharp to tone.
“What?”
“Watch them.”
Agent Bronze follows his gaze to the group near the rocks.
They laugh again.
The same way.
The same beat.
Agent Bronze’s expression doesn’t change, but his fingers tighten slightly around his glass.
Agent Choi leans forward suddenly, squinting toward the shoreline. “You two are staring as if you’ve never seen civilians before.”
“Do you remember them moving?” Kim Soleum asks.
Agent Choi snorts. “Of course, they moved. People walk. You’re the one who said that earlier.”
Kim Soleum doesn’t remember saying it.
Or maybe he does.
The vibration under the floor grows stronger for a split second—like something large shifting its weight beneath the surface.
The radio at the stall crackles.
The song restarts.
From the beginning.
No static. No transition. Agent Bronze turns his head slowly toward the speaker mounted under the awning.
No one else reacts.
Agent Choi raises his glass again, smiling lazily. “You’re both overthinking. This is what happens when you give field agents too much time to think.”
Kim Soleum doesn’t respond.
Because now he can feel it clearly.
The stall isn’t standing on sand.
It’s resting on something that’s breathing.
And when he looks back toward the shoreline, the waterline is closer.
Of course, it wasn’t a drastic change, but something one would only notice if they look closely at the water, and it seems to be closer even without a single wave rolling in.
The first explicit sign that all three of them notice and agree on is not the waves, but it sits right in front of them.
It comes from Agent Choi’s glass.
Kim Soleum notices it because he has stopped drinking entirely and has nothing else to look at. Agent Choi has just finished another shot, tilted back, throat working, loud exhale of satisfaction, and Agent Bronze, with a restraint that feels increasingly deliberate, reaches for the bottle again.
The bottle is empty.
Completely.
Kim Soleum saw it empty.
He watched Agent Bronze invert it, shake the last clear line of soju into the glass. He saw the hollow glint of glass-on-glass when it drained.
Agent Bronze sets it down with a quiet click.
Agent Choi frowns at the lack of a refill, grabs the bottle himself, and tips it upside down over his own glass.
Clear liquid pours out in a smooth, uninterrupted stream.
Not a drip. No residue.
A full measure.
The sound is unmistakable, the steady, familiar splash of alcohol hitting glass.
Agent Bronze’s fingers freeze where they rest against the table. Kim Soleum does not blink. Agent Choi laughs, pleased with himself. “See? You just have to commit.”
He drinks.
The level in the bottle does not change.
Kim Soleum’s gaze fixes on the glass container. The label is slightly peeling due to humidity. The cap is nowhere near it. The liquid inside refracts the light unnaturally, too clean, too still, like it’s not reacting to gravity the way it should.
Agent Bronze slowly reaches out and takes the bottle from Agent Choi’s loose grip.
He turns it upside down.
Nothing spills.
He rotates it upright.
It is full again.
No condensation shifts. No air bubbles rise. The volume remains constant, indifferent to use.
Agent Bronze sets it down very carefully.
Agent Choi grins, clearly losing his sense of reason, and Kim Soleum feels worried for them all of a sudden, flushed and bright-eyed, completely unaware of the quiet recalibration happening across the table. “Best beach stall I’ve ever been to,” he says. “Unlimited service.”
Kim Soleum feels the vibration beneath the floor return—stronger now, not rhythmic but reactive. The air presses in, subtly thickening, as if the stall itself is pleased.
“Stop drinking,” Kim Soleum says, keeping his voice steady.
Agent Choi looks at him, confused. “Why?”
“Just stop.”
Agent Choi rolls his eyes in exaggerated annoyance, but he doesn’t argue. Instead, he sets the glass down with theatrical compliance.
The moment the rim touches the table, the liquid inside the glass darkens.
Instantly.
Clear to deep, opaque red.
The change is total. The smell shifts a second later—metallic, sharp, unmistakable.
Agent Bronze’s chair scrapes back violently as he stands.
Agent Choi stares down at the glass, blinking hard. “That’s not—” He lifts it reflexively, and a drop slides over the rim and lands on the back of his hand.
It leaves a smear.
Red. Thick.
Agent Choi’s expression falters for the first time.
The stall around them continues as normal. The radio plays. Someone laughs. The woman behind the counter wipes down a surface that does not need wiping.
No one is looking at them.
Kim Soleum’s heart is steady in his chest in a way that feels almost detached. Clinical. Observational.
The bottle on the table is clear again.
Clear.
As if nothing happened.
But Agent Choi is staring at his own hand now, at the smear slowly trailing toward his wrist, and the colour does not fade.
The vibration under the floor pulses once, slow, satisfied.
And Kim Soleum understands.
The stall is not providing drinks.
It is testing indulgence. It is feeding into their greed. It is preying on their emotions.
Kim Soleum feels like he understands the phenomenon happening in front of him even before it finishes forming. The paranormal thrums at the edge of his nerves, right below the fact that Braun still had not asked him anything.
He could sense that this was definitely not a normal beach. At the not the one in which his reliable but creepy friend could help him.
The stall has already demonstrated indulgence and correction. The environment is rewarding compliance and punishing awareness in small, controlled increments. Agent Choi’s altered drink was not meant to harm him. It was meant to establish a boundary: consume what is given without question. Accept hospitality. Remain.
That means refusal matters. That means participation in the surrounding environment matters more.
The forum thread comes back to him in fragments, not word-for-word, but structure. Beach-type ghost stories don’t begin with blood or hauntings, for that matter. They begin with a welcome. The condition is always social. You are invited. You stay. You are counted. And then you are never allowed to leave.
He sets his glass down carefully.
“I’ll be right back,” Kim Soleum says.
Agent Choi squints at him. “Bathroom break? Don’t copy me.”
Agent Bronze’s gaze sharpens instantly. “Where?”
Kim Soleum stands. The vibration beneath the stall floor steadies, almost expectant. The air feels denser as he steps away from the table, past the edge of the awning, back toward the open stretch of beach where the tide has crept closer without ever sending a wave.
He doesn’t look back.
Because if he does, they will stop him.
The invisible boundary isn’t marked by anything physical. There is no rope, no change in sand colour, no threshold. But he feels it — a faint resistance in the air, like stepping into water colder than expected.
A lifeguard stands farther down the beach. Empty. The college students are laughing again. Same posture. Same timing.
Kim Soleum walks straight past the damp line where the tide should be retreating.
He speaks clearly.
“I’ll stay.”
The words are simple. Neutral. An answer to a question no one has asked.
The activation answers immediately.
The air shifts — not violently, but decisively. Sound dulls as if cotton has been pressed into his ears. The sunlight warps, bending at its edges like heat rising from asphalt. The sand beneath his shoes loses texture; it feels briefly smooth as tile.
Behind him, Agent Choi laughs.
“Hey, dramatic?”
The laugh stops mid-breath.
Agent Bronze goes silent.
Kim Soleum does not turn around.
Because the boundary has already closed.
The world pulled him sideways. He wishes he could somehow hear Braun’s semi-formal speech right now. He would have appreciated it a lot now that he seemed to be pulled through a wringer.
The beach does not collapse or darken. It remains perfect. It simply flattens, colour draining slightly at the edges, depth compressing until the space feels staged instead of lived in.
And then he is alone.
Not alone on a different beach, alone within the same one, but stripped of background noise. The stall is gone. The radio is gone. The college students are gone. Agent Choi and Agent Bronze are completely gone from his viewpoint.
The sky remains noon-bright.
A voice speaks without any audible static interference muddying it.
Participant confirmed.
The words do not echo. They settle directly into his brain, crisp and formal and creepily as if they had projected it to his brain directly using some kind of weird machinery.
Kim Soleum swallows. He shudders a bit.
“Conditions?” he asks, because politeness is the safest opening in any ghost structure, especially one that seems to have trapped him.
The response unfolds with bureaucratic clarity.
Remain until sunset.
Accept hospitality when offered.
Do not refuse an invitation.
Do not attempt to leave the shoreline.
Participants departing before sunset will be corrected.
The final word lingers in his mind. He tries to ask the ‘Good Friend’ toy that sits in his pockets, and somehow he cannot hear Braun, and that almost freezes him in his spot.
His pulse spikes once, sharp and unpleasant, then steadies.
He catalogues his surroundings immediately. Sunset condition. Participation-based survival. Hospitality enforcement. Spatial confinement.
This is manageable.
Behind him, in the outer layer of the beach, he hears Agent Choi’s voice break through faintly, distorted as if underwater.
“Soleum-ie.”
He can suddenly see Agent Choi and Agent Bronze again, as if the ghost story is trying to taunt him by breaking the rules that he had agreed to just a few minutes ago.
The sand where he had been standing is smooth. Undisturbed.
Agent Choi is on his feet now, scanning wildly, still half-laughing because disbelief is easier than comprehension.
“Soleum-ie, stop messing around.”
Agent Bronze does not call out.
He is standing very still, jaw tight enough to show the muscle shifting beneath the skin. He has already understood. The rookie stepped into it deliberately. No stumbling. No accident.
That makes it worse.
In the inner layer, a woman approaches Kim Soleum from the direction of the nonexistent stall. Her expression is kind, almost maternal. She carries a tray with a fresh glass of clear liquid.
“You look thirsty,” she says pleasantly.
Hospitality.
Kim Soleum accepts the glass with both hands, bowing his head slightly in reflex. He does not drink.
“Thank you,” he replies.
The glass warms in his hand, but does not change colour this time.
He is scared — the fear sits low and tight in his stomach — but his mind is working cleanly. He begins mapping invisible boundaries with slow steps, counting under his breath in measured rhythm like a metronome. If the shoreline is the anchor, then distance must matter.
In the outer layer, Agent Choi stops smiling.
He walks directly up to the space where Kim Soleum vanished and steps into it.
Nothing happens.
He steps again.
Still nothing.
Agent Bronze watches the tide. It has advanced another few centimetres without movement.
“Don’t accept anything,” Agent Bronze says quietly, as if he is trying to make sure Kim Soleum doesn’t do something so dangerous.
Even when Ryu Jaekwan knew better than Agent Choi, who stood beside him, flabbergasted that Kim Soleum could take care of himself better than anyone.
Agent Choi’s head snaps toward him. “You think he—”
“Yes.”
The word lands heavily.
Agent Choi turns back toward the invisible boundary, expression sharpening. The ease drains out of him like water down a cracked jar. His posture changes, shoulders squared, smile flattening into something precise.
He walks back to the stall.
In the inner layer, the woman smiles at Kim Soleum.
“You will stay, won’t you?” she asks.
“Yes,” he says calmly.
The word tastes like a lie.
Because staying does not mean surrendering.
He listens as more rules slide into place, subtle but binding. Participants who remain until sunset are spared. Participants who leave are corrected. The tide marks time. The sun will set only when conditions are fulfilled.
He nods as if persuaded.
In the outer layer, Agent Choi leans against the stall counter, smile returning, just faintly. Like Agent Choi was trying to reassure himself more than Kim Soleum.
Agent Choi always did have a bleeding heart. Kim Soleum was grieved that these were the people he needed to betray.
“Another bottle,” Kim Soleum says as brightly as he can, even when he can no longer hear his ‘Good Friend’.
The woman behind the counter beams. “Of course.”
He takes the bottle and does not drink.
Instead, he tips it sideways, pouring the liquid deliberately onto the sand.
It does not soak in.
It sits on the surface like spilt lacquer.
Agent Bronze checks his watch again, then pulls it off entirely and sets it on the table. “We track manually,” he mutters.
He draws a line in the sand with his shoe at the water’s edge.
The tide moves past it without a wave.
They do not react. They do not accept new drinks. They refuse the seats offered.
They stand.
They do not comply. The beach shifts irritably.
In the inner layer, the sun jerks lower.
Abruptly.
The air cools.
A new condition overlays the others.
At sunset, one participant must remain.
Kim Soleum inhales sharply.
There it is.
He knew there would be a closing clause.
When Agent Choi and Agent Bronze tear through the boundary, not by stepping in, but by refusing every offered structure until the mirage destabilises — the two layers grind against each other like misaligned gears.
The stall flickers.
The sky fractures faintly at its edges.
Agent Choi grabs Kim Soleum’s collar the moment he becomes visible, hauling him forward hard enough that he nearly stumbles.
“What,” Agent Choi says, voice low and shaking with restrained fury, “were you thinking?”
Agent Bronze doesn’t laugh. Nor does he try to scold him for his reckless actions, as he had done in Looky Mart.
He looks pale.
“You don’t get to volunteer,” Agent Bronze says flatly.
Kim Soleum straightens, brushing sand from his sleeve. “I’m the best suited. I understand the framework. If someone has to remain, it should be me.”
The sky drops another degree toward orange.
Agent Choi’s restraint snaps.
“Stop trying to be disposable. Stop trying to solve the situation by sacrificing yourself all the time. We are here as well, Soleum-ie. Trust your reliable sunbae-nims sometimes.”
The words are not shouted. They are worse, precise and cutting.
Agent Bronze steps closer, blocking Kim Soleum’s view of the horizon entirely. “We rotate.”
Kim Soleum blinks. “That won’t satisfy the condition.”
“Condition says one participant must remain at sunset,” Agent Bronze says. “It does not specify continuity.”
The sun lurches again.
Agent Choi steps forward, crossing into participant space deliberately.
The air tightens.
Then Agent Bronze pulls him back and steps in himself.
Then out.
Then Kim Soleum steps in.
Then out.
The beach stutters.
The sun attempts to settle.
But the state of “remaining” never stabilises.
No single participant exists continuously long enough to fulfil the clause.
The rule requires singular permanence. They offer something that the beach itself probably never expected to be done.
Something that he would never expect to do with Daydream Corporation.
Maybe in another life, if Team D had lasted long enough. If he hadn’t done so badly, if he could have been better, he would have still had friends to go back to in Daydream Co.
The sky tears.
Sound fractures like glass dropped onto tile.
The beach cannot reconcile the contradiction.
The horizon folds inward violently — not collapsing, but rejecting.
All three are thrown backwards onto ordinary sand with bruising force.
The radio is gone. The stall is gone. The college students are gone. The tide behaves normally.
The sun is late afternoon, appropriately angled.
Agent Choi is in his regular clothes. the normal beachwear swimsuit that he had dragged all the way from the Bureau.
Agent Bronze’s watch lies in the sand beside him.
Kim Soleum pushes himself upright slowly.
No one speaks.
The wind smells like salt again. Only salt and Km Soleum takes a deep breath n.
After a long moment, Agent Choi stands and dusts himself off without looking at Kim Soleum.
“We’re done resting,” he says evenly.
Agent Bronze does not disagree.
They gather their things in silence.
They walk toward the parking lot without discussing it.
The sand is uneven now, real sand, catching at their shoes. The late afternoon light stretches their shadows long and thin across the path, properly angled, properly earned. A few distant beachgoers pack up umbrellas. Someone argues about traffic on the coastal highway. The world sounds ordinary again.
Agent Choi walks slightly ahead at first, hands shoved into his pockets, jaw tight. After a few steps, he slows without comment until the three of them fall into line naturally.
Agent Bronze moves to Kim Soleum’s other side, close enough that their shoulders nearly brush whenever the path narrows. He doesn’t look at him. He doesn’t say anything. But when Kim Soleum drifts half a step back, Bronze adjusts without breaking stride.
Agent Choi glances sideways once.
“Next time,” he says lightly, almost offhand, “you ask before you volunteer for anything stupid.”
It isn’t a joke.
Kim Soleum opens his mouth to respond, to argue logic, probability, efficiency, probably linked with the desperation he carries to win their trust — and then closes it again.
Agent Bronze’s voice comes calm and final. “There won’t be a next time like that.”
No accusation. No comfort.
Just a fact.
They reach the edge of the parking lot. The asphalt radiates stored heat through the soles of their shoes. Agent Choi tosses the car keys once in his hand before unlocking the doors.
For a brief second, Kim Soleum finds himself a step behind again.
Agent Choi notices. He waits.
Agent Bronze does too.
Neither of them calls it out.
Kim Soleum steps forward on his own.
The distance between them stays measured, deliberate, as if an invisible perimeter has been drawn, not to confine, but to ensure no one crosses alone.
And this time, no one does.
The original artwork that made me fall head over heels for Krill! So, so glad that I got the opportunity to work with them on this piece!!
