Back at the safe house, the mood was different.
Dim lights glowed over walls lined with newspaper clippings and red strings connecting dots across corkboards. Screens hummed with encrypted files. The familiar chaos of their mission den.
Audrey sat on the edge of the couch, eyes on the screen as Kenzo inserted the USBs.
Lines of code scrolled. Hidden folders appeared.
"Victim profiles," Kenzo murmured. "Bank transfers. Password logs. This is big."
Then he clicked the second drive.
Password protected.
Kenzo typed in a few guesses. No luck.
"Try 'Kang Song Jae'," Audrey said quietly.
"Stupid bastard" Damian muttered
Click.
The folder opened.
Silence.
Inside were hundreds of files—images and videos cataloged with timestamps, names, and club nights.
As the screen loaded, the contents hit them like a gut punch.
Photos of women—some fully unconscious, some half-aware—clearly drugged, their expressions dazed or absent. Many were in various state of undress, slumped across leather couches or beds in dimly lit private rooms that matched the style of Club Zero's VIP dens.
Videos followed. Hidden surveillance footage. The sounds were muted, but the horror was palpable.
Audrey's knuckles turned white on the edge of the couch.
"They filmed everything," Kenzo said, voice tight. "This isn't just blackmail. This is a system."
Hana leaned in, her jaw clenched. "These are the missing girls. Or the ones who never even knew they were victims."
Kenzo scrolled, his mouth a grim line. "These file logs go back... years."
No one spoke for a moment. The glow from the screen cast harsh shadows across their faces.
"We need to shut this down," Audrey said quietly. Her voice held no tremor, only purpose.
Kenzo leaned back, stunned. "This goes deeper than we thought."
"Much deeper," Audrey whispered."
Damian broke the silence, tossing a protein bar toward Hana. "So. Who's the badass that erased a mob boss's memory in heels?"
Hana caught it one-handed, unimpressed. "You know I prefer boots."
Kenzo glanced at Audrey, then awkwardly shifted. "Are you okay?"
Audrey looked at him, a smile tugging at her lips despite the gravity of what they'd found. "I'm alright."
Hana groaned dramatically. "Wow. I was the one who mind-wrestled a mafia boss, but yeah, ask the princess."
Kenzo blinked, genuinely confused. "I assumed you were fine."
"Gee, thanks," Hana muttered, biting into the bar.
Damian laughed, feet up on the coffee table. "You're too cool to die. Obviously."
Audrey's eyes drifted back to the screen. "K.SJ... Kang Seong Jae?"
Kenzo nodded slowly. "It's possible. The initials match. The connection runs deeper than we thought."
A chill settled over the room.
They weren't just chasing shadows anymore.
They were staring directly into the heart of the storm.
The sleek modernity of Yonsei University rose against the soft morning haze, its polished glass buildings reflecting sunlight like sharpened blades. Students flowed across the campus in packs—laughing, checking their phones, hauling backpacks that looked far too heavy for the early hour. It was a picture of normalcy, of safety.
It was also a lie.
Audrey adjusted the strap on her leather satchel as she stepped onto the plaza with quiet grace, her eyes scanning the environment like a chessboard. Each movement seemed casual, yet beneath her calm demeanor was calculation—routes, exits, blind spots. Her gaze brushed across students and faculty, analyzing micro-expressions, body language, and the subtle air of hierarchy.
Next to her, Kenzo walked with his usual slouch, dressed in a too-formal tweed jacket and carrying an overstuffed canvas briefcase. His brows were furrowed in quiet analysis, eyes flickering behind square-framed glasses.
"Academic espionage," he muttered, glancing at the course schedule Audrey had printed. "Great. Can we please not fail this class?"
"We can't," Audrey replied, her tone dry. "I made a syllabus."
"Of course you did."
Further down the hall, Hana leaned against a stone column, dressed in a university hoodie and black jeans, earbuds in but not playing music. She watched the flow of students with the same attention she'd use to scope out a target's perimeter.
Damian stood by the security kiosk wearing a navy polo shirt tucked into khakis, complete with an ID badge clipped onto his belt. His arms were crossed. His face—deeply unimpressed.
"I look like a gym teacher," he grumbled into his comm. "I am not okay with this."
Hana's voice crackled through. "Could've fooled me with that protein shake."
"I have to maintain muscle density. We're literally dead."
"Still sounds like gym teacher logic."
Kenzo sighed, adjusting his glasses as he passed the administration building. "Focus, children. We're here for Kang, not your fashion crisis."
"Who hurt you, Kenzo?"
Audrey smirked as she entered the faculty center.
Their target was Professor Kang Jiwoon—Head of Behavioral Sciences and a respected figure in the university's psychology department. On the surface, he was clean. Published. Funded. Admired. But the footage and files they had uncovered told a different story.
Kang's private research projects aligned too closely with the digital trails of Club Zero. Encrypted bank accounts had received 'donations' from entities linked to Seong Jae's holdings. More than that, victims' names matched old student records—many of them psychology majors.
Audrey's instincts screamed there was more.
"I have his lecture schedule," Audrey said as they regrouped in the faculty lounge. "He's in room 3A every Monday and Thursday at 11 a.m. Today's topic is 'Obedience and Psychological Control.'"
Kenzo blinked. "Subtle."
Hana blended into the back of Kang's seminar hall like a shadow, her face blank behind wide-framed glasses and a hoodie pulled low over her brow. She sat beside a group of female students—first years, maybe second—taking notes, laughing.
Kang entered with his usual composure, eyes scanning the room just a little too long as he greeted each student by name. When he paused near one of the younger girls—bright-eyed, curious, too trusting—Hana caught the smallest shift in his tone.
"You should consider joining our research assistants," Kang said, placing a gentle hand on the girl's shoulder. "We could use someone with your energy."
The girl flushed. Her friends giggled.
Hana's hands curled into fists beneath the desk.
Across campus, Damian leaned against the railing outside the student café, eyes scanning for any familiar faces. A moment later, he spotted him—the club server, the guy who'd helped them escape weeks ago. He was out of uniform, wearing a plain hoodie and jeans, a cap pulled low over his brow.
He approached casually. "Fancy seeing you here."
The young man stiffened, turning slowly. Recognition flashed across his face, followed by caution.
"Relax," Damian said, hands up. "I'm not here to make trouble. Just… wanted to say thanks. You helped us that night."
He looked around nervously before sitting down at a nearby bench. "You shouldn't be here. If they find out I talked to you…"
"They won't," Damian said, lowering his voice. "We're good at hiding. You saw that."
The guy hesitated, then nodded. "I didn't know how far it went. I just thought it was a job… good pay, no questions. Until I saw the girls. The way they left after the VIP room. Some of them never came back."
Damian's jaw clenched. "Do you know who chooses them?"
He swallowed. "Sometimes… it's the club owners. But most of the time, it's names that come from the university."
Damian leaned forward. "Professor Kang?"
His eyes flicked away. "I've heard the name. Once. Maybe twice. The other workers… they say he sends 'recommendations.'"
Her eyes flicked away. "I've heard the name. Once. Maybe twice. The other girls… they say he sends 'recommendations.'"
Damian nodded, already tapping the comm. "We've got confirmation. Kang's directly feeding victims to the club."
Audrey's voice came through, cold and steady. "Then we need to know who's next."
Back in the seminar, Kang wrapped up his lecture with a story—one about loyalty and reward, framed as a psychological parable. His gaze drifted to the same girl from before. "You should stay after class. I have a few opportunities you might be interested in."
Hana's pulse quickened.
The trap was resetting.
She stood as the lecture ended, pretending to gather her things. But her eyes stayed locked on the girl, and the predator who was already walking her into the lion's den.