The S-rank suite felt wrong after two days in a traditional hanok.
Despite the luxury and comfort.
It felt too clinical.
Too sterile.
I dropped my duffel on the bed and headed straight for the bathroom.
Hot water stripped away the bus ride, the mountain dust, the exhaustion clinging to my skin.
Fresh suppressants.
New scent patch pressed carefully against my shoulder blade.
Beta pheromone mist applied with practiced efficiency.
Dressed.
Locked the door behind me.
Headed toward the cafeteria.
Fluorescent lights buzzed overhead.
Cameras tracked movement from every angle.
Metal trays clattered against industrial counters.
Voices overlapped—complaints about the training, speculation about tomorrow's schedule, exhausted laughter that sounded more like surrender.
All of it familiar.
Strangely comforting in its predictability after Songsan's quiet intensity.
I grabbed a tray.
Scanned the room.
Our usual table—
