The Different Scent and the Escape
Her eyes snapped open at the scent that wasn’t the faint, childlike warmth she’d grown used to. The body pressed against her was unmistakably Kwon Yeon-woo, yet the profile before her belonged to an adult man—sharp jawline softened by sleep, longish hair tousled across a forehead that led straight to a straight nose and refined bridge. The silhouette was striking, almost too perfect.
Da-in blinked slowly, wondering if she’d fallen asleep during the bedtime story. Kwon Hee-jae couldn’t possibly have slept beside her without waking. A seven-year-old child and a grown man moving around with no hint of sound on her part?
It had to be a dream. Reality could never be this confusing.
She closed her eyes again, intending to pretend it away, but the air against her skin grew more tangible with every passing second. The distant chirping of birds, the steady gust of wind through the villa windows, the rhythmic breathing of man and child, and the subtle difference in body heat—all of it pulled her upright.
Her hands clamped over her mouth. Not a sound escaped as she scanned the room. The double bed was far too small for three people. Her last clear memory was reading the third fairy-tale book to Yeon-woo. Her role had been the cunning herb-gatherer; Han Chae-ah’s had been the clever rabbit.
She’d been immersed, alternating between hoarse and whiny voices until exhaustion had set in.
Someone else had to be here. Not Kwon Hee-jae—Han Chae-ah, perhaps?
What time was it? …Oh.
Da-in slipped silently from the bed, skirting the scattered obstacles on the floor. A sigh followed by the rustle of Kwon Hee-jae sitting up made her freeze.
Her hands still sealed her mouth, she gripped the doorknob and stared at the approaching man. His hair was still sleep-mussed, lashes fluttering as he blinked.
He spotted her and stopped without a flicker of surprise, simply standing there.
*What is he doing?*
She quietly opened the door and stepped into the hallway. The moment her feet touched the polished floor, she broke into a brisk walk toward her own room. Kwon Hee-jae was right behind her, his footsteps steady despite the limp.
*No, what the hell!*
It wasn’t a game of tag.
He could have spoken if he wanted. Instead he simply trailed her like a shadow.
Was he heading back to his own room?
Da-in decided to believe it. She reached her door, flung it open, and prepared to bolt inside.
The moment she tried to close it, a man’s hand and half his body pushed through. She kept her grip firm, heart hammering, and lifted her chin.
“Why are you running, niece?”
His voice, still thick with sleep, filled the quiet space. The drowsy timbre made her glance away.
“Of course I’m embarrassed. Why were you sleeping there?”
“What’s wrong with a father sleeping in his son’s room? It’s strange that you’re in it.”
“True. I must have made a mistake. I’m sorry. You can sleep now.”
She bowed politely, refusing to argue further, then tried to shove him out of the doorway.
He didn’t budge. Instead he pushed the door fully open and pressed a hand to his furrowed brow.
“Don’t apologize. I’ll thank you myself.”
No confession, just an apology—almost a thank-you. Da-in glared at the half-awake man.
“What…?”
“Thank me for saving Yeon-woo.”
“Ah… Well, it was only natural. Everyone else said they were grateful, so I felt bad about it.”
“Everyone else?”
“Yes. Everyone I’ve met here.”
Her eyes demanded he leave. He couldn’t possibly have followed her half-awake just to say thank you.
He must have learned the real reason she’d given that morning excuse.
Unfortunately, she still hadn’t come up with another.
So she could only speak little and avoid any clash. That way, when the night was over, she could simply bow to her grandfather’s house with nothing left unsaid.
“I’ve already received enough gratitude. Please look after Yeon-woo. He must be tired after everything. And with Daddy angry…”
“I already apologized.”
“You were asleep. You didn’t hear it?”
“We have telepathy between us.”
“Fine, assume that’s true.”
Treating her like an annoying child, he raised his hand to stop her, then pressed two fingers to her forehead.
Her head tilted back under the pressure. Their eyes met—his drowsy and hers wary.
“Niece, stop crawling after me like this.”
Why now? She hadn’t seen that expression in years.
Da-in realized, with a jolt, that she had never once lowered her guard around Kwon Hee-jae.
The Kwon Hee-jae she remembered would have worn exactly this face—eyes carrying deep fatigue and faint contempt, flicking his fingers as he looked down on the world.
Just like this.
“I’m drawn to people who look scared and guarded. That’s why you keep acting cheeky, niece. Smile, and don’t give me any fake pity either.”
Don’t dig deeper behind her.
The man’s quiet warning echoed in her ears as he turned away. He walked toward Yeon-woo’s room instead of his own.
The dull words stabbed straight through her like a blunt needle.
Every time his limping body swayed, Da-in remembered the dangerously tilted line of the earlier moment.
…Ha.
Yes. That was Kwon Hee-jae.
Maybe she’d been momentarily entranced. Pulled by his dangerous aura, she might have accepted his version of concern.
She closed the door firmly, promising herself not to provoke him and ruin everything.
If he’d drawn the line first, she wouldn’t need to find any other excuses.
Except…
It was infuriating.
Breath caught in her chest as if a stone had been dropped inside her, the lightness she should have felt nowhere in sight.
***
[Four hours until arrival. I’ll buy us some time at the range, but how’s this? Ready?]
Yoon Tae-jung’s voice sounded from the earpiece, as if he’d been waiting.
“Yes. What’s the plan?”
She hadn’t felt like eating breakfast this morning, so she’d left the villa without even a bowl of rice.
From dawn, Park Geun-sik and the villa staff had been clearing fallen leaves in the garden and hauling laundry from each room.
The villa followed the manual of a high-end hotel to the letter. Park Geun-sik, though still the manager now, had once served as the chief master of Kwon Hee-jae’s private resort when he was younger.
In a way, it suited the role of hotel director—business-level English, people management.
Manager Kang was still a mystery. Da-in had yet to dig deeper.
[We don’t know the target, but we’ll head to the villa. Where are you now?]
“Toward Clara’s place.”
[Pass the message along. Pay attention to other menus besides butter shrimp.]
“Have you tried it?”
[Didn’t know it was on the Michelin list? During peak season they line up just for butter shrimp.]
“It’s good. Still, cover everything today. I don’t want to see a disaster like last time.”
[Got it.]
Tae-jung answered offhandedly, then ended the call.
Next, Sandra from the cyber team connected.
[Five faces coming in. During ops we’ll use only the phones the Demon gives us. Today we wear ballistic vests. Gun list with movement traces sent.]
It sounded grand. Five people? If the main dish was five, how many appetizers and desserts?
Da-in steered her bike to Clara’s restaurant without a smile and knocked on the open door.
A woman wearing a headscarf smiled brightly and spread her arms wide.
“Welcome, Nine.”
“I’m not Nine. It’s Da-in.”
“Da-in sounds like Dying. Can’t we just call you Nine?”
Clara pulled her into a tight hug, then let her go and led her inside. The restaurant staff preparing for opening spotted Da-in and greeted her with cheerful smiles.
Their warm Hawaiian faces and the kiss blown her way filled her with unexpected energy.
Her first impression had been sharp, but it was clear Clara’s true nature fit a cheerful restaurant owner far better than a mercenary.
The moment Da-in sat, Clara set a tropical-fruit smoothie on the table and slid over a tablet.
“Check the list. I’ll have everything ready in an hour.”
“Can you really do it?”
“Who do you think I am?”
Clara thumped her chest confidently, white teeth flashing in a grin.
Da-in scanned the checklist. Mostly firearms and vehicles, with defense gear and emergency shelters filling every page.
She sipped the banana-mango blend while the door creaked open and Dan walked in.
He yawned as he entered, spotted Da-in’s raised hand, and approached casually until their hands met in a high-five.
She frowned, thinking he’d only meant to greet her.
But he yawned again and leaned his head against her shoulder.
“I’m using a five-seven for the first time in ages. Four spare mags, McMillan TCA-50 at the 34th floor of the Prince Hotel. You’re on the PF-9. Keep it light. The flashy stuff doesn’t help.”
He’d clearly received the briefing already; his request was blunt and he ignored any input.
This guy…
“Add an M1911. Two extra mags. And who’s driving?”
She pushed his head off her shoulder and scanned the checklist with a calm expression. Dan’s narrowed eyes caught her unexpected reaction.
“Why so fired up? Scary.”