They left Australia the way criminals always did—quietly, indirectly, and with too many layers of lies to count.
A cargo flight out of Avalon. False manifests. Borrowed names. Joon-seo watched Melbourne recede through a smeared window and felt nothing resembling relief. Only a tightening, like the last chance to turn back slipping out of reach.
Seo-yeon sat beside him, eyes closed, hands folded. To anyone watching, she looked like a tired professional heading home.
He knew better.
"You're not sleeping," he said quietly.
"No," she replied, eyes still shut. "I'm remembering exits."
He studied her profile. The calm mask was flawless, but something underneath had changed since the docks—subtle, strained, like a crack you only notice after it spreads.
"You said you were wrong," he said. "About aiming monsters."
Her eyes opened. Dark. Focused. "I was."
"That's not the whole truth."
She didn't answer.
The plane droned on, carrying them toward a country that officially did not know Kang Joon-seo existed—and would kill him to keep it that way.
.....
They landed before dawn.
Incheon was steel and glass and motion—everything efficient, everything watching. Joon-seo felt eyes on him even when no one was looking. Cameras tracked movement. Security smiled too easily.
"This is where you disappear," Seo-yeon murmured as they moved with the crowd. "Do exactly what I do."
He did.
Too well.
They passed customs without incident. No alarms. No delays. The machine accepted him.
That hurt more than rejection would have.
Outside, Seoul rose around them, sharp and endless. Neon signs blinked awake. Traffic hissed like a living thing.
Seo-yeon led them into a nondescript sedan waiting at the curb. The driver didn't look back.
"Welcome home," she said to Joon-seo as the car pulled away.
"I've never been here."
She met his gaze in the mirror. "Your body disagrees."
...
They didn't go to a hotel.
They went underground.
A service elevator beneath an old municipal building took them down past parking levels, past restricted floors, into something colder. The doors opened to a long corridor lit by humming fluorescents.
Joon-seo stopped.
His chest tightened. The pressure in his skull returned, heavier now—more insistent.
"I've been here," he said.
Seo-yeon's jaw set. "Yes."
"You told me this was buried."
"It is," she replied. "By everyone except me."
They walked.
The walls changed as they went—newer concrete giving way to older construction, reinforced doors marked with codes that meant nothing and everything. At the end of the corridor stood a room with no sign, no handle.
Seo-yeon placed her palm against the wall.
A panel slid open.
The door recognized her.
Inside, the air was colder.
Monitors lined one wall, dark but waiting. File cabinets stood like sentries. In the center of the room was a metal table, scarred and familiar.
Joon-seo staggered back.
"This is it," he whispered. "This is where you—"
"Trained you," she finished. "Tested you. Broke you."
His breath came shallow. "You said you tried to save me."
"I did," she said. "Later."
He laughed, the sound cracking. "Later?"
Seo-yeon stepped closer, voice low. "They wanted to terminate you. You were becoming… autonomous."
"Human," he snapped.
"Yes," she agreed. "That scared them."
She turned on the monitors. Images flickered to life—archived footage, live feeds, encrypted data streams.
Joon-seo saw himself everywhere.
Running. Fighting. Sitting still with blood on his hands and no expression on his face.
"Stop," he said.
She didn't.
"You weren't just a weapon," Seo-yeon said. "You were a test."
"For what?"
"For conscience," she replied. "They wanted to know if conditioning could override it permanently."
His knees weakened. "Did it?"
She looked at him, eyes burning.
"No."
The word landed like a fracture.
"Then why—" He broke off, clutching his head as something tore loose inside him
A memory slammed into place.
A younger Seo-yeon standing across from him, eyes softer than he remembered. Her hand shaking as she slid a keycard across the table.
Run.
Joon-seo gasped.
Seo-yeon caught him before he fell.
"You helped me escape," he breathed. "You wiped me."
"I altered the protocol," she said. "I erased the triggers but left the skills dormant. I told myself you'd live a normal life."
"You lied to them."
"I did."
"And now?" he asked.
Her voice was barely audible. "Now they know."
The monitors beeped—urgent, angry.
Seo-yeon turned sharply. "They've found us."
"How?"
She didn't answer.
Joon-seo straightened slowly. "You led them here."
"N"You always had an exit," he said. "You always do. Except this time."
The truth settled between them like ash.
"You never planned for both of us to leave," he said.
Seo-yeon's silence was answer enough.
"They'll kill me," she said finally. "But if they kill you too, everything stays buried."
Joon-seo felt something cold and clean settle in his chest.o," she said quickly. "I—"
"You're still choosing," he said.
"I'm choosing the least damage," she replied.
"Same lie," he said softly. "Different day."
The door behind them slammed open.
Men poured in—black suits, no insignia, weapons raised.
At their head stood Director Kwon.
"I warned you, Seo-yeon," he said calmly. "You always get sentimental."
Joon-seo stepped forward.
Kwon smiled. "Ah. Seventeen. You've grown."
Joon-seo met his gaze without flinching. "You made me."
"Yes," Kwon agreed. "And now you'll disappear properly."
Seo-yeon moved to Joon-seo's side.
Kwon raised an eyebrow. "Interesting."
"You lied to me too," Seo-yeon said. "About termination."
Kwon shrugged. "Oversight evolves."
Joon-seo felt the room narrow again—not into violence yet, but into clarity.
"You're afraid," he said to Kwon.
The director laughed. "Of you?"
"Of what happens if I choose," Joon-seo replied.
Kwon's smile thinned.
Seo-yeon glanced at Joon-seo. "If we do this," she said, "there's no coming back."
He nodded. "I already crossed that line."
She exhaled once.
Then she shot the lights.
Darkness swallowed the room.
Joon-seo moved.
Not as Seventeen.
Not as a weapon.
But as a man who finally remembered why he ran.
When the lights came back on seconds later, the room was chaos—men down, alarms screaming, files burning as Seo-yeon triggered a purge.
Kwon staggered back, blood seeping through his sleeve.
"You'll burn the world," he hissed.
Joon-seo stood over him, breathing steady.
"No," he said. "You already did."
They fled into the depths as the facility collapsed behind them—data screaming into oblivion, secrets dying loud and incomplete.
Outside, Seoul kept breathing.
Inside, the war had finally chosen its sides.
End of chapter 6