Convenience Store, Night , The neon sign above the convenience store flickered, its tired light humming against the quiet street. Inside, the air smelled faintly of instant noodles and disinfectant.
Lee Mi-ran stood near the counter, her wallet open in her hand, fingers frozen mid-movement. Across the small space, Hana waited by the glass door, snacks pressed tightly to her chest, her eyes wandering outside in boredom.
Mi-ran's car sat alone in the parking lot.
A soft, almost polite click cut through the night.
Then the world tore itself apart.
The explosion came without warning—violent, deafening. Fire swallowed the car in a roar of heat and shattered glass. The ground trembled beneath their feet as flames leapt into the sky.
Inside the store, screams erupted.
Mi-ran spun instinctively, abandoning everything. She crossed the distance in two strides and pulled Hana into her arms, wrapping her body around her daughter's smaller frame as if she could shield her from sound itself.
Hana clutched her, shaking.
Outside, fire raged.
Moments Later
Smoke twisted into the night sky like something alive. The remains of the car burned uncontrollably, metal warping, glass melting. People poured out of the store, shouting, filming, whispering.
Phones rose like offerings.
Mi-ran stood unmoving, Hana buried against her chest.
Her phone vibrated.
Once.
She looked down.
UNKNOWN NUMBER.
A single message glowed on the screen.
I am watching you.
Mi-ran's fingers tightened until the edges of the phone bit into her skin.
Hana's voice came out as a breath, barely sound.
"Mom…"
Mi-ran didn't answer. She only wrapped her arms tighter around her daughter, her gaze locked on the burning wreckage that had been hers moments ago.
Across the street, people stared. Pointed. Whispered.
The fire crackled.
The message remained.
Museum, Morning
The museum rose in pale grandeur against the morning sky, its stone façade serene and indifferent. Visitors streamed in with casual smiles. Security stood alert—but relaxed. Nothing here suggested danger.
Eun-chae and Eun-ji waited near the entrance, the city's noise fading behind them.
Lee Mi-ran approached from the parking area, walking fast. Her coat was drawn tight, her eyes sharp, constantly scanning. She was late—and she knew it.
Eun-chae tilted her head, half-smiling.
"Even with a vehicle," she said lightly, "you're coming late."
Mi-ran stopped in front of them.
"Yesterday," she said, her voice low and steady, "my car exploded."
The air shifted.
Eun-ji blinked. "What?"
"After that," Mi-ran continued, "I received a message. Unknown number."
Eun-chae's expression sobered. "A threat?"
Mi-ran nodded once. "I am watching you."
Silence fell between them as visitors passed, laughing, unaware.
Eun-ji's voice dropped. "Then they're close."
"Close enough," Mi-ran replied.
She turned toward the museum doors.
"We have to find the truth," she said. "No matter what happens."
Then she looked back at them both.
"I think this is bigger than what we imagined."
Eun-chae and Eun-ji exchanged a glance—no fear, only resolve—and nodded.
Together, they moved inside.
Museum Hall
Sunlight poured through the glass ceiling, bathing the white floors in sterile brilliance. The space was hushed, controlled, watched.
They moved through the galleries—Mi-ran in front, Eun-chae just behind her shoulder. Artifacts lined the walls. Paintings stared back in silence. Security cameras followed their every step, unseen but felt.
Eun-chae murmured, "Too clean."
Eun-ji answered softly, "Which means it's hidden."
They stopped.
Ahead stood a glass door.
PREMIUM LOUNGE – INVITED GUESTS ONLY
Two bodyguards blocked the entrance, faces impassive.
Mi-ran stepped forward.
"Restricted area," one of them said. "Premium guests only. Wealthy patrons."
His gaze swept over them—judging, dismissive.
"I don't think you fit that."
Eun-chae stiffened.
"They do."
The voice came from behind.
Officer Jung approached, four black access passes held between his fingers. He presented them without ceremony.
The bodyguards straightened instantly. "Our apologies, sir."
The door unlocked.
Mi-ran glanced at Eun-chae—a silent warning.
They stepped inside.
Premium Lounge
The door sealed behind them with a soft, final thud.
Muted gold light filled the room. Classical music hummed beneath the air. Everything was expensive—polished, refined—and deeply unsettling.
Eun-chae moved ahead, irritation simmering just beneath her composure.
"Was humiliating us in front of Director Park not enough?" she muttered. "And in the restaurant too, Officer Jung?"
Jung didn't slow. "Can you just shut up for one minute?"
The lights snapped to full brightness.
Eun-chae turned—
A shadow stood too close.
She gasped and instinctively grabbed Jung's arm, fingers digging in.
A figure loomed before them, face hidden behind a black mask.
Slowly, deliberately, the mask came off.
A smile.
"Welcome."
Eun-chae exhaled sharply, embarrassment flushing her face. Her gaze dropped—and she noticed the fresh nail marks on Jung's hand. She released him.
"Sorry," she murmured.
Jung glanced at the scratches, then at her. "You're really capable of this job?"
Eun-chae grinned, unapologetic, straightening her spine.
Before she could reply, Eun-ji and Mi-ran both smacked the back of her head.
"Ow—"
They moved on.
Gallery Room
The hall was vast.
Men and women drifted through it in elegant, old-world attire—velvet coats, vintage gowns, gloved hands. Their movements were slow, almost reverent.
Every painting on the walls was red.
Not splattered.
Not painted.
Just red.
Endless shades of it. No figures. No forms.
Eun-ji scanned the walls, unease crawling up her spine.
"Every painting…" she whispered. "There's nothing except red."
Mi-ran's eyes hardened.
"Not art," she said. "Signals."
Jung subtly guided them away from the crowd.
And somewhere behind the silence, someone was watching.