The black obsidian paint of the Genesis G90 LWB (Long Wheelbase) shimmered under the dim streetlights of Busan's industrial district.
This wasn't just a car; it was a fortress on wheels, a vehicle reserved for heads of state and shadow billionaires.
At the wheel sat **Kim Seok-dae**, a man in his late fifties with silvering hair and hands that looked like they were carved from granite. Seok-dae wasn't a regular driver.
He was an "Ex-Special Forces Logistics Officer" provided by the System's front-end company, Halo Risk Analytics. He had seen everything, but even he couldn't stop stealing glances at the rearview mirror.
In the back seat sat a young man who looked like a student but carried the aura of an ancient monarch.
"Mr. Lee, the coordinates for Seoul are locked. Estimated arrival is four hours," Seok-dae spoke, his voice a gravelly baritone.
"Make a stop first," Joon-Ha replied. His voice didn't just carry sound; it carried a strange 'pressure' that made the air in the cabin feel dense.
"Sasang-gu. The alleys behind the old shipyard."
Seok-dae didn't ask why. A man like him knew that even a dragon has a nest.
***
The car crawled through the narrow, trash-strewn alleys of Sasang-gu. This was the 'underside' of Busan—a place where the salt from the sea ate away at the bricks of the houses and the hopes of the people living in them.
Joon-Ha stepped out of the car. The contrast was jarring. The ultra-luxury sedan looked like a diamond dropped in a coal mine.
He walked toward a semi-basement apartment where the smell of damp concrete and cheap detergent was thick. He pushed the door open.
Inside, the light was dim. The walls were yellowed from years of steam and the hum of a twenty-year-old refrigerator was the only music the house knew.
"I'm back," Joon-Ha said.
His mother, **Park Eun-sook**, froze. She was currently kneeling on the floor, sorting through a pile of cheap herbs she intended to sell at the morning market.
Her hands were red, the skin cracked from constant contact with cold water and harsh soap.
"Joon-Ha? You... you were just on the roof, weren't you?" She squinted at the clock. "It's only been ten minutes. Why are you breathing like you've been running for years?"
Joon-Ha looked at her. To her, it was ten minutes. To him, he had spent 365 nights on a violet rock, clutching a photo of her to keep from losing his mind.
He walked over and suddenly hugged her.
"Joon-Ha? What's wrong? Did the company call? Did you lose the part-time job?" She panicked, her motherly instincts sensing the 'weight' in his embrace.
"No, Mom," he whispered, buried in the scent of her cheap laundry soap—the most beautiful smell in the multiverse. "I got the promotion. A big one. I have to go to Seoul tonight."
"Seoul? Tonight?"
A heavy cough erupted from the small hallway. **Lee Sang-man**, Joon-Ha's father, walked in.
He was a man who had once been broad-supported, but thirty years of manual labor at the Busan docks had bent him. His face was a map of deep wrinkles and his eyes were perpetually bloodshot from the dust and the sleepless shifts.
"Seoul is a den of snakes, son," Sang-man rasped, leaning against the doorframe. "Don't go chasing ghosts. We're fine here. I can still work another ten years."
Joon-Ha looked at his father's trembling hands—the hands that had paid for his school supplies, his gym fees, and his meals by carrying heavy iron crates.
"No, Dad," Joon-Ha said, his voice turning cold and absolute—the voice of an Administrator. "You're done. You're never going back to those docks."
He reached out and took his father's hand, pressing a small, matte-black bank card into his palm.
"There is 500 million won in this account. It's a signing bonus. If I see you at the shipyard tomorrow, I'm coming back and dragging you out myself."
The room went silent. The only sound was the sputtering of the old TV.
Park Eun-sook dropped her herbs. Lee Sang-man stared at the card like it was a live grenade.
"Five... five hundred million?" Sang-man's voice cracked.
He looked at his son, searching for signs of drugs, crime, or madness. But he found only a terrifyingly calm clarity.
"Joon-Ha... what have you done? Who are you working for?"
"I'm working for a company that manages 'Risks,' Dad. The world is changing, and they need people who can see it coming. It's all legal. I'll send the contracts to your phone."
Before they could argue, a door in the back slammed open.
**Lee Min-Ah**, Joon-Ha's seventeen-year-old sister, stood there. Her school uniform was frayed at the cuffs, and she was holding a tablet with a shattered screen—her only window to the world.
She was the smartest in her class, but she never asked for a new one, knowing the family's debt. She looked at her brother and stopped.
She didn't look at the card or the talk of money. She looked at his eyes.
"You're not Oppa," she whispered, her voice trembling.
Joon-Ha flinched. The intuition of a sibling was sharper than any system scan.
"I am, Min-Ah. Just... a version that had to grow up a bit faster," he said, walking over to her.
He pulled out a box from his bag—the latest high-end laptop, a model that wasn't even fully released in the Korean market yet.
"Use this. Don't let your eyes get worse with that broken tablet."
Min-Ah took the box, but her gaze remained fixed on his face. "You feel... cold. Like the air in a mountain. Are you... coming back?"
Joon-Ha's heart twisted. He couldn't tell her that he was now a Tier 0 Operator. He couldn't tell her that he had seen civilizations turn to ash.
"I'll be back before you know it. Take care of Mom and Dad."
He turned around, afraid that if he stayed another minute, his 'Synchronization' would break and he would refuse to leave.
He walked out of the door, his mother's voice calling his name, her tone a mix of pride and a terrifying sense that she had just lost her son to the world.
***
Seok-dae was waiting by the Genesis. He opened the door as Joon-Ha approached.
"The family, Sir?" Seok-dae asked as they pulled away, the luxury car gliding through the potholes of the alleyway like a ghost.
"They are safe. That's all that matters," Joon-Ha replied, leaning back and closing his eyes.
The four-hour drive to Seoul was a blur of neon lights and rain. Joon-Ha spent the time looking at the 'System interface' that only he could see.
He was already planning. He needed a front. He needed **'Halo Risk Analytics'** to become a household name so his wealth would never be questioned.
As the sun began to hint at the horizon, the Lotte World Tower appeared—a 555-meter tall spear of glass and steel piercing the clouds.
This was the 'Primary Node' of South Korea.
The car entered the private underground tunnel of **The Signiel**. The security here was tighter than a prison. Three checkpoints, facial recognition, and armed guards.
Joon-Ha stepped out into the VVIP lobby. The floor was white Calacatta marble, polished to a mirror finish. He didn't look at his reflection. He didn't have to.
"Mr. Lee, your Penthouse is ready. Unit 101. The highest point in the city," the concierge said, bowing so low his suit jacket strained.
Joon-Ha entered the VVIP elevator. The doors were closing when a slender hand, adorned with a five-carat diamond ring, blocked them.
A woman stepped in.
She was a vision of hidden elegance. A long trench coat, a silk scarf wrapped around her neck, and oversized black glasses. Even through the disguise, her presence was electric.
**Han Chae-Rin.** The National Actress. The woman every man in the country dreamed of.
The elevator began its silent, high-speed ascent. 100 floors in seconds.
Chae-Rin stood in the corner, her heart still racing from a paparazzi chase at the airport. She glanced at the young man standing next to her.
He wore a cheap, tattered Busan hoodie, but he stood with a stillness that was unnatural.
She expected him to recognize her. She expected the sudden gasp, the shaky "Can I have a photo?".
Instead, the young man stared at the elevator's digital display. His gaze was hollow, as if he was looking at a world she couldn't see.
He smelled of Busan sea salt and... something else. Something like the cold void of space.
For the first time in her career, Han Chae-Rin felt invisible. And for the first time, she found herself wanting to be seen.
*Ding.*
The doors opened to the 101st floor. The quietest, most expensive corridor in the country.
Joon-Ha stepped out without a word. Chae-Rin followed, her eyes burning with a sudden, unexplainable curiosity.
"Wait," she said, her voice—the most famous voice in Korea—echoing in the hallway.
Joon-Ha stopped. He didn't turn around.
"You're the one who bought Unit 101 this morning?" she asked, removing her glasses to reveal eyes that had launched a thousand brands.
Joon-Ha finally turned. He looked at her—not as a goddess, not as an actress, but as a 'Variable' in his new life.
"I am," he said, his voice deep and resonant. "And you must be the neighbor who makes too much noise with her heels."
Chae-Rin's jaw dropped. The National Goddess had just been called a 'noisy neighbor.'
The door to Unit 101 hissed open, and Lee Joon-Ha vanished inside, leaving the world's most beautiful woman standing in a stunned, expensive silence.