The government building looked ordinary enough from the outside—tinted windows, a modest sign: Seoul Metropolitan Police — Cyber Crimes Division. But inside, the air buzzed with the low hum of monitors and the rapid tapping of keyboards. Fluorescent lights flickered faintly above rows of young officers, all busy typing, clicking, scanning.
Eun-ji and Eun-chae walked in, trying desperately to look casual, though Eun-ji knew they were anything but. From across the floor, Lee Mi-ran appeared, arms folded, eyes sharp enough to pierce through steel.
"You two know what you've just done?"
Eun-ji exchanged a glance with Eun-chae, innocent faces at the ready. "What did we do?" they said in unison, the faintest trace of mischief in their eyes.
Before anyone could answer, the glass conference door swung open. CLAP. CLAP. CLAP. The room fell silent. Officers stood as Director Park Do-Young entered—stern, dignified, eyes sharp, expression unreadable. He didn't even glance at anyone else; his gaze locked on Eun-ji and Eun-chae.
"Play it."
A nearby officer tapped the keyboard. The wall screen lit up.
Noryangjin Market. The chaos from earlier flashed across the screen. A suspect lunged. Eun-ji ducked, landed a clean punch to the jaw. Gasps, phones out, crowd scattering.
The office stayed silent, the weight of what had just happened settling over them.
"That," Director Park said slowly, each word deliberate, "is what you've done."
He walked closer, measured, controlled. "We train you for intelligence. Surveillance. Cyber forensics. Not street brawling. Every technique you've learned—meant to outsmart criminals. Not outpunch them."
He turned sharply. "Officer Jung!"
From the back, Jung Min-ho stepped forward—alert, sharp.
"Officer Jung was undercover today. He saw you. Filmed it. Brought it to me. That's presence of mind. You're being promoted, Officer Jung."
Applause filled the room. Jung bowed humbly.
Eun-ji and Eun-chae forced stiff smiles, puppy-eyed, holding back frustration.
"Learn from him," Director Park continued, voice slicing through the tension. "The next time I see one of you on a screen—it better be in an interrogation room, not a viral clip. Shame on you. Three of you— not one working brain among you."
"Why me, sir?" Mi-ran piped up, confused.
"Don't think I don't know," Park shot back. "Last time I gave you a case, instead of catching the target, you arrested our own undercover officer. Every case I assign your team ends the same: suspects bruised. Chaos in your wake. And me—writing letters of apology to Central."
Eun-chae folded her arms, unfazed. "Sir, you're the one who always says, 'Finish the case no matter how.'" She glanced at Eun-ji and Mi-ran. A short laugh escaped her.
Director Park glared. She froze.
"Look around," he said, gesturing to the buzzing bullpen. "These kids—24, 26, some even 22—they work like professionals. You three? Pushing 30. Still pulling stunts like it's high school."
He turned and walked away. Silence fell.
"Did he just call us thirty?" Eun-chae muttered.
"Did he mean... old?" Eun-ji said, frowning.
"Look at this face." Eun-chae cupped her cheeks in an exaggerated pout.
"Gorgeous," Eun-ji said. "Glowing."
Mi-ran passed behind them, rolling her eyes. "Delusional."
They all burst into laughter, just as a loud CRASH echoed across the office.
"Back to work!" Director Park's voice boomed.
Everyone jolted, diving back into their desks. Fingers flew over keyboards. Files opened. Professional mode: re-engaged.
And somewhere between the chaos and the laughter, they knew this was just another day in the Cyber Crimes Division.