Legacy HQ – Sublevel 3.

Kang Jae was already waiting.

He sat on the edge of the interrogation table, hoodie unzipped, sleeves rolled to his elbows like he owned the room. No handcuffs. No guards. Just two surveillance drones hovering quietly in the corners.

When Do Rin walked in, he smirked.

“Took you long enough.”

Rin didn’t return the smile. “I thought you were disappearing off the grid.”

“I did,” he said. “Then I heard Seoul was crawling with rogue tech and half-sane cybernetics. Felt nostalgic.”

She circled him, expression flat. “You breached a secure Do Network node.”

“I left a trace on purpose.”

“Why?”

He looked up, and for once, there was no sarcasm behind his eyes.

“Because Reika’s protocol didn’t die with her. Someone activated a ghost line last week—‘Neural Splice 2.0.’ It’s targeting you, Rin. Specifically you.”

Rin’s fists clenched.

“And you expect me to believe you’re here to help?”

“I don’t expect anything,” Kang Jae said, voice quiet now. “But if you want to stop it, you’ll need me.”

Silence stretched between them.

Finally, Rin stepped back.

“One screw-up, Jae. That’s all you get.”

He nodded once.

“Wouldn’t expect anything less from you.”

Elsewhere — a rooftop training compound in Mapo.

Do Rae launched herself off the edge, landing cleanly on the next rooftop, her boots skidding slightly on the gravel.

Jin Seok clapped from behind, breathless from his attempt to follow.

“Okay, wow. I thought I was in shape. You’re… borderline illegal.”

She tossed him a water bottle. “Thought you were a rookie cop. Turns out you’re just bad at cardio.”

“Excuse me,” he said, still panting, “I ran a half-marathon last year.”

“Was it uphill, blindfolded, and under enemy fire?”

“No, but I wore terrible socks.”

Rae laughed, for real this time.

It threw him a little.

“You’ve changed,” he said suddenly.

She blinked. “What do you mean?”

“I don’t know. You’re still sharp as hell, but there’s… softness now. Like you’re not always waiting to punch the world first.”

She looked down at the skyline, then back at him.

“That’s what peace does to people. Or maybe it’s just you.”

Back at HQ, Rin watched as Kang Jae hacked into a deep node.

He worked fast, fingers dancing, screen lines scrolling like rain.

“You know,” he said without looking up, “you still wear your heart like it’s a liability.”

“I don’t wear it at all.”

He smiled faintly. “Exactly.”

But then the screen flashed red.

A location ping. Northern Seoul. One they didn’t expect.

Mi Na’s signal.

“She’s not done,” Jae whispered. “She was never done.”