A Dark Fantasy Spy

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Waking up repeatedly in the early dawn inevitably alters one’s biological rhythm. The reason I woke before the set alarm had gone off was just that.

Outside the frosted window, the scene was pitch black, and the digital clock read 12:00 AM. It was an early dawn, about an hour and 21 minutes ahead of the scheduled time.

Without the need for contemplation, closing my eyelids and falling back asleep wouldn’t cause anyone to complain. Such was the early morning.

As my hazy mind touched the night air, my senses began to sharpen. The stiffness in my neck throbbed painfully, and my joints, overworked without respite, cried out in agony.

Just as I was about to swallow a few Tylenol from the nightstand and use my arms as a sleep mask to delve back into slumber, an unexpected sound broke through.

The sound of rubber friction.

Someone was dragging their slippers down the hallway.

I pulled the blanket over me, using it as a pillow, and pondered.

A villa not too far from the remote mountains.

According to Mr. Park, the real estate agent, it was a place devoid of residents, sitting there gathering dust. Since the reorganization of the front-line units in response to defense reform, the area had been deserted.

The only people living here besides me were double shift factory workers and university students, or so he casually added.

The soft blanket fell to the floor.

As I lifted the pillow, its indent was clear, revealing a taser hidden within. A sharp needle capable of piercing through flesh and several thin wires lay ready at any moment to incapacitate a target.

‘…….’

I picked up the taser and dialed a shortcut number on my smartphone. Once connected to the office, I finished all my preparations, pressed the taser against my chest, and cautiously approached the front door.

As I opened the door, a familiar face peeked in.

“Son, were you not sleeping?”

“…Mom?”

—

Side Episode – Sonata for a Beautiful Soul

—

The clock’s second hand passed the 6 o’clock mark.

My smartphone calendar was more accurate, indicating it was Sunday, and the rich smell of fermented soybean paste heralded a sluggish morning.

Having spent the night wide awake, my insides felt like a mess. Forcing my eyelids, which were naturally closing, open, I shoved some kimchi into my empty stomach.

“What happened? There isn’t even a single proper side dish in the fridge?”

“…I ordered from Coupang yesterday. I guess delivery is delayed.”

Boiling the potatoes and zucchini to mush for the soybean paste stew. I scooped up enoki mushrooms, broth, and tofu with a spoon to mix them into my rice.

The moist rice grains crumbled as soon as they met my tongue. Holding the rice bowl, I picked at the side dishes with chopsticks, just as a fried egg was added to the table.

And as always, the familiar banter followed, at a slightly slower pace.

“Eat slowly.”

Nodding with a blank expression, I tore the fried egg apart.

The salted egg had a familiar taste. As I mixed the savory white with rice wrapped in seaweed and took a bite, I finally felt that I’d returned to my homeland.

“Do you eat properly?”

“I do. They provide meals at the unit.”

“Don’t say it like it’s free. It’s obvious they deduct it from your paycheck…. I might be able to fool the King of Hell, but I can’t fool my mother.”

The kimchi from my maternal grandmother, seaweed bought from the store, the boiled soybean paste stew, and the salty egg — a meal that could be described as simple yet neat was a welcome feast.

Mom entered the kitchen with sausages and a stainless-steel bowl in her hands. As she carefully cleared away the side dishes to make space, a few sausages took their place.

Across the seated table, my mom, perched slightly with one knee up, began peeling a chestnut with a knife. Then, aligning the dishes before her, she eventually smiled softly.

“Our son takes after your father’s taste. Your dad loved soybean paste stew too.”

“……”

“How’s the unit these days? Is it manageable?”

What’s there to say about the military? It’s all the same.

“It’s average.”

Despite my curt reply, the smile never faded from her face.

A strange sense of fullness settled in me. My previously active spoon turned languid, a natural reaction. Even with a delicious meal in front of me, my appetite would wane due to the questions that would likely follow.

Who said it? Foreboding feelings always turn out to be true.

As Mom tore the kimchi, she threw a seemingly casual question.

“Is foreign life bearable?”

My stirring spoon froze mid-air over the rice. It was an unconscious habit.

After staring blankly at the table for a moment, I consciously scooped some more rice. In a habit, I blurted out a habitual answer.

“I’m not going abroad.”

“I saw in the fridge that there are ingredients with crooked handwriting on them.”

Ding. As the knife hit the steel bowl, a refreshing sound rang out. While peeling the chestnuts, Mom responded in surprisingly good German.

“Nürnberger Rostbratwurst. You didn’t bring that from Germany, did you?”

Mom, who was said to have made a name for herself at a foreign university, quickly recognized the writing on the packaging.

Of course, it was only normal that someone from the German department wouldn’t fail to recognize the German language.

Picking up the sausages bought from the business trip with chopsticks. Mom’s voice followed amidst the popping sound of the sausages.

“When I went to study in West Berlin, I ate this often. The sausage shop is where I met your father, who was studying at the German military academy.”

“……”

“I’ve told you, right? While I might be able to fool the King of Hell, I can’t fool Mom.”

Having just fled the chaotic office, I’d just received vacation time. The department had been cloaked in a funeral-like atmosphere even before my return, following an incident in Kyiv where inspection teams and my colleague from the investigation division were summoned.

How is it that after returning home, I couldn’t even rest comfortably?

“I’ve got to go now. I have urgent matters to attend to.”

Having calmed my stomach with the cold barley tea from the kettle, I stood up abruptly from the discomfort of the dining table.

—

Avoiding the uncomfortable setting, I stepped into the street, but my heart was still unsettled. It was just a feeling of disarray.

To shake off my gloom, I dialed every contact I could find, but unfortunately, no one was free.

“Oh, I’m in Busan for a business trip.”

“Sorry, Senior! I’m too busy.”

“On vacation? I’m on my way to support the Moscow team…. I feel so guilty about this.”

“I just got dispatched to the Ministry of Foreign Affairs. Did you hear? Russia and Ukraine are at each other’s throats? The atmosphere in my department is insane. I’m swamped helping the staff in Kyiv, I really am.”

“Hey! Do you have time now? Perfect timing! I’m playing golf with Team Leader Hwang, so hurry over. What? At the hospital? Damn it. Okay, I won’t call the others then.”

Once again, I repeat, there was no free ‘person’ to talk to.

A superior calling staff members out to the golf course does not count as a person. That shouldn’t exist at all — that’s a non-existent creature.

Ultimately, after reaching out everywhere, I turned my gaze abroad. Information officers from the US Forces in Osan, a slick British gentleman stationed at the embassy, acquaintances from Iraq who are enjoying a break after hitting a distant spot, and so on.

Just as I was cradling the phone for a while, I finally got a response from an employee of a nearby foreign company.

“Hey! Long time no see!”

“…You again, Michael?”

I met Michael, a foreigner with blue eyes, at a quiet sashimi restaurant overlooking the beach. Appearing completely adapted to the local scene, he was downing flatfish with soju.

Greeted by his enthusiastic wave, I reciprocated and sat down to break the wooden chopsticks. Dipping the white flesh into the sauce, I savored the texture with a sigh of pleasure.

“Mm—”

“Dude, you don’t know how to eat. Who dips it in sauce and eats it?”

“Come on, what do you know? A Yankee who doesn’t understand our culture. Anyway, why are you here?”

“They called me from the info brigade at the front, and I thought about grabbing some sashimi on the way back. But what about you? I heard you’re on vacation.”

“I snuck away after getting a whole load of nagging.”

“From the office?”

“At home.”

“Oh….”

As Michael crunched on his carrot dipped in sauce, he understood what was going on. He chewed like a blowfish while nodding repeatedly.

“Family strife is a long-standing tradition in our line of work. Your mother must be quite angry?”

“Don’t start with the bad jokes….”

I shot him a cold glance, but he only chuckled.

The deep-rooted traditions of the CIA. Thus began Michael’s rants regarding divorce.

By now, it’s become more tedious than a hundred complaints I’ve heard before.

“Deploying overseas. Hmm, I know that well. My wife left too. How can you maintain a family with someone running around Kabul, Damascus, and Tehran all the time? Other things aside, how can you not show up at your kids’ entrance and graduation ceremonies once?”

“Not quite like that, pal.”

“Similar situation, right? You and I, unable to balance our careers and family.”

“……”

I had no words. So silently, I tipped the glass full of soju back.

Michael borrowed a torch from the owner to sear the flatfish fins. A savory aroma wafted as oil began to bubble up, and the American finished roasting the fins and popped one into his mouth, topped with wasabi.

As he savored the crispy fins, the CIA officer continued with a bitter tone.

“When I was in the army, I often went on deployments and used to attend many meetings for spouses of deployed personnel. Until I got promoted to DIA, I never faced issues. But after that, it became unbearable. When I was offered a job at my current workplace, she tried to make me refuse.”

“Is that so?”

“Yeah. I hesitated for a while, but ultimately, I was persuaded to take it. My DIA colleagues pushed me, saying they’d never have a chance like this again.”

Michael inhaled deeply, looking annoyed. A long and heavy sigh escaped his lips.

“And after I nearly died in Mosul and came back… she insisted we get divorced. She said she couldn’t raise our three kids, who just graduated elementary school, alone.”

“……”

“Well, it was a completely understandable decision. The youngest was about to enter middle school, and the eldest was in high school. While my wife had resolved to cut ties, wouldn’t the kids want to see their dad? We’ve kept in touch, so it’s not that lonely.”

For some reason, he’d been secretly contacting them from the office.

That’s why despite having a family photo prominently in his office, Michael didn’t often reach out to his family.

“Did their mom give you the green light?”

“Nope. Of course, I contact them secretly! Last time, I got caught while discreetly calling, and Kate confiscated the kids’ phones. Of course, I managed to get a different phone for them, though.”

Sigh.

“You’ve had it rough too.”

As I muttered something indistinctly, Michael unexpectedly laughed.

“Don’t worry, buddy. I’m your future.”

“Shut up.”

“I’m serious, you’ll understand when you get married. Sometimes your wife can be scarier than North Korean girls.”

Having no intention of marrying or even dating, I wanted to cast the thought aside. In the past, I would have countered with retorts for teasing me — “A single guy with those thoughts is ridiculous!” or “Just get rid of that nonsense!” — but now, I could only manage silence.

Better to die than live with such painful feelings. What can you do?

As I sought to numb the bitter pain with consecutive shots of soju, it was all of a sudden.

“Be good to your family.”

Michael, who was opening a soju bottle, suddenly offered that advice.

“There’s a saying that you can only trust family. Whether it’s your wife or mother, make sure to treat them well.”

“What kind of nonsense are you trying to say….”

“You keep pushing your mother away.”

He filled the soju glasses as he spoke, and I silently stared at him.

“No matter how many single folks there are at work, your situation is different, isn’t it? You work all day long, and while complaining about going on business trips, you’re still out there doing it. Honestly, it feels like you’re not working because you enjoy it. You know, don’t you? Your coworkers consider you a weirdo.”

“….”

“It was the same when the office employee got caught. The General Association of Korean Residents in Japan official Park Chung-sik, the informant you managed, was killed by the yakuza, right?”

“……”

“Same here. Not long after a Mossad officer was murdered, an Iranian informant’s bodies were discovered, wasn’t it?”

Was that your doing?

There was no response. Silence replaced my words. The complicated silence revealed nothing yet implied much.

“Luckily, no one raised any issues, so it quietly passed. But moving forward, focus on more than just work. Calm your temper. Why do you keep causing problems? It’s not like you have anger management issues.”

Creeping sounds followed as a bottle tipped over on the table. Two full glasses sat before me, one in front of Michael at that moment.

The CIA officer, who offered me a glass of soju, spoke in an indifferent tone, and that single question pierced through me.

“Is it because of your father?”

My lips quivered. The burning thirst made my tongue flail.

I tried to wet my dry lips, but answers eluded me. Only crushed words slipped through my tightly shut throat.

The table flipped, and the ocean water surged into the restaurant. The dark, viscous seawater began to ensnare my limbs.

In the depths of consciousness, I barely opened my mouth, but nothing came out.

Once again, I swallowed my firm denial.

As always, I awakened from this dream.

—

“Did you return, Manager? The classification task you mentioned is nearly finished.”

“I’ve compiled reports of the damage cases reported from across the Mauritania Continent. From terrorist acts by armed groups to robberies and arson. There’s also information on sporadic protests and riots. A special mention is the report from the Nabuku region about the ‘man-eating tree,’ which was first reported by the local media…. Since I received briefing materials from the Ministry of Internal Affairs, I attached them as annex data for your review.”

“…….”

“Uh, uh, Manager?”

Pippin called in a puzzled voice. Frederick took the analytical report from Pippin’s hand without a word.

His expression was dark. He looked like a department head who had just heard bad news.

The gazes of the two information officers met momentarily in the air before Jake carefully began to ask a question without riling the atmosphere.

“Did something happen?”

“No. Nothing at all.”

“Oh, yes…. It’s just that you seem a bit tired.”

Papers fluttered, and Frederick opened the report as he skimmed through it, intending to issue new directives.

“All materials coming from the Nabuku region should be sent straight to my desk. Prioritize and ensure not a single one is overlooked.”

“Understood.”

“And that’ll be sufficient. Everyone, you can go home now.”

When the superior gave the signal to leave, the subordinates brightened up. Pippin, draping his outerwear over his shoulders, packed his luggage, and Jake took off his indoor shoes and gathered his documents.

Once all preparations were complete, Jake’s gaze wandered to the inner desk where Frederick was situated.

“Are you not leaving, Manager?”

Concerned about whether he could leave yet, Jake noticed the wave of Frederick’s hand, motioning him to go ahead.

“Thank you for your hard work.” Pippin exchanged light farewells with Jake and exited the office.

The lights, activated by the movement, now flickered off, closing their eyelids again. The sounds of clacking shoes faded away, as the voices of the chattering subordinates grew distant, echoing through the empty office.

Frederick reached into his front pocket to pull out a cigarette. The oil-soaked wick ignited, setting fire to the cigarette in his mouth.

The crimson sun settled at the office window.

The sky, transitioning with the seasons, was filled with shyness as summer’s end rolled in.

One information officer, holding the cigarette, gazed at the waning red light, leaving a pistol on the desk.

Bringing the mobile phone to his ear.

“…Yes, Mom. Nothing much going on, right?”