Dojin had a habit he’d repeat constantly at the safe house.
“How’re you feeling?”
Morning or evening, whenever they met, he’d ask. Marvin thought little of it; Dojin was given to odd remarks, and he’d judged there was no need to babysit him despite orders to keep an eye on him.
The negotiations had gone exactly as Dojin wanted. He had no reason to run—and, crucially, the money transfer hadn’t come through yet—so Marvin assumed he wouldn’t do anything rash. Someone capable of pulling off such a stunt against his own government wouldn’t shy away out of self-preservation.
“When I get back to Korea, I’m just going to live a normal life. Seventy billion won is enough to start over, right? You should come live with me in Jeju. Neither you nor I can go on like this forever.”
As the handover of the new drug technology neared completion, Dojin grew more excited. He seemed pleased by the broker’s cut he’d receive. He declared his intention to retire from operations and live in Jeju—and he kept insisting Marvin join him.
“Only seniors retire. I’m just carrying out the operation.”
“But you volunteered, didn’t you? I worried about you—so I pushed the First Director to let me come.”
It hadn’t been Marvin who’d pushed—Choi Hyeong-il had. Since Dojin was Marvin’s mentor, Choi had insisted Marvin go, telling headquarters that of all people, Dojin would never do anything reckless—so they even halted the Berlin mission to bring Marvin to Switzerland.
Marvin knew it was pure pride on Choi’s part; there was no way he’d let a subordinate’s screw-up be cleaned up by the Agency.
Marvin had entered Switzerland with three researchers sent from Korea. The tech transfer began on the safe house’s first floor; Dojin held the crucial sample to the end, promising to hand it over once he got paid. Marvin hadn’t foreseen anything going wrong.
“How much have you stashed, Marvin? After this, maybe I’ll give you ten billion.”
At first it was ten, then it dropped to five, then half. Marvin asked why each time, and Dojin’s answer never changed:
“Because you’ll need it. You’ll have a lot of expenses soon. But trust me, I’ll handle everything. I’m really glad you came. You’re so kind, Marvin—despite me being in this mess, you’ve stuck by me.”
Fuck, what a turn-on.
Looking back, Marvin realized he should’ve doubted Dojin’s loose ends. But he’d been too complacent. He’d known Dojin since training, and his assumption that Dojin’s feelings wouldn’t affect him—two Alphas, after all—had been arrogance.
Honk—honk—
The blaring horn yanked Marvin back to reality. Someone was blaring his car horn. He frowned, opened his eyes—and recognized the noise came from inside his own car.
Weird. He must have fallen asleep—or blacked out. He must’ve had his face pressed to the wheel for a long time. Struggling upright, he saw the traffic light ahead.
Right—he’d been waiting at an intersection.
After that, his memory went blank. His fever had spiked. His body felt heavy and light-headed; he rested his head against the seat and breathed deeply. Memories of Dojin’s last words—slowed and unpleasant—faded.
Why bring it up now? There was no one left to sue for damages.
The mission had failed. There’d been an accident, and the Korean government never received the sample, the key bargaining chip. When he’d barely made it back to Incheon Airport, Choi Hyeong-il had met him, taken back his Agency badge, and sent him straight to Oseong. All that remained was his fragile body, unable even to drive without suppressants.
Tap-tap.
A hand rapped the driver’s window.
“Open up.”
A young man’s voice sounded dull against the glass. Marvin turned wearily to the window—and saw an unexpected face frown at him.
Why him again…?
He stared in disbelief as the man rapped again, harder this time.
Should he be relieved it was someone he knew? No—this was the man who’d ignored Marvin’s plight at the station, who’d strolled off without concern. What was he up to now?
Still, a part of Marvin felt foolish—he’d secretly hoped the man would help him. Even in his feverish haze, he’d cared.
Bang. Bang. Bang.
The rapping grew urgent, as if to shatter the glass. Marvin reached up to press the unlock button—but his vision swam, and he couldn’t keep his eyes open.
With the click of the door unlocking, the man muttered,
“You really are something else.”
He made no further comment, then something hard struck Marvin’s face, hurling him backward into darkness.
When Marvin came to, he was in a hospital emergency room. On his left, an IV drip slowly dripped saline. His fever had broken slightly; he felt he might live. His limbs tingled from the high fever and lay numb.
A nurse, busy elsewhere, noticed he’d awakened and hurried over to check his vitals.
“What’s your name?”
Marvin stared blankly. She spoke too quickly, and he missed the prompt. Sighing, she asked again.
“Your name, please. Name of the patient.”
“Ah—Kim Ma-bin.”
She checked his name against the tag on the bed.
“You arrived unconscious. We gave you antipyretics and an IV. Any other discomfort?”
“No, not really.”
“When your doctor comes, he’ll explain whether you can be discharged. If so, you can go. If you have someone to accompany you, send them to admissions to pay the bill.”
“Someone to accompany me?”
Marvin, puzzled, looked around. The nurse flicked her gaze about and departed without another word. It was 7:30 AM—he’d slept over two hours.
He realized who his ‘accompanying person’ must be: someone who’d waited at the hospital entrance. He’d thought they might leave him there, but clearly they’d stayed.
Surprising.
How had they registered him? He must have had his ID on him. In any case, the nurse didn’t question it, so he was indeed Kim Ma-bin.
He felt odd. It had been so long since he’d used his real name at a hospital. The alias he’d used in Switzerland had been declared dead; even the army hospital in Korea had been under a different name.
He’d resumed this name when he arrived in Oseong. It wasn’t a particularly useful name—he still couldn’t get suppressants easily under it.
And it drew questions wherever he went: “Why that name?” or “Did you live abroad?”
In truth, a stranger nun had given it to him to help him get adopted overseas. The name was out of vogue, so no one abroad had cared for it.
He had no idea who his birth parents were. All rut babies took the surname Kim. Perhaps because of that, his own name always felt awkward, as if it belonged to someone else.