The reception room of Titan’s Earth Branch Situation Centerwas a vast chamber sealed in glass.

  Circular lights hovered beneath the ceiling like suspended satellites.The polished marble floor mirrored their glow,casting a stillness that felt detached from reality.

  Agnes and Helena approached the window in silenceand stood side by side.

  Their silhouettes stretched across the floor.

  Agnes brushed her black hair back from her waistand rested her hand lightly against the silver longsword at her back.Her gaze pierced the void beyond the glass.

  Helena stood beside her—broad-shouldered, immovable.The heavy scabbard across her back reinforced the impression.

  Outside, Titan’s orange haze rolled endlessly.Methane clouds drifted thick and low,half-swallowing the outer structures of the branch complex.Far beyond, Saturn’s ring cut the darkness—a thin blade of silver.

  The door opened.

  Marco entered and closed it softly.

  The click echoed.

  “My apologies for keeping you waiting, Inspector.”

  Polite words.Tight voice.

  Agnes did not turn.

  “The view is impressive,” she said.“I imagine your internal situation is less so.”

  Marco swallowed.

  She turned slowly.

  Titan’s amber light caught in her eyes,sharpening them to a point.

  “Team Leader Marco.”

  Measured. Exact.

  “I have reviewed every department.Only the Situation Room’s records appear… insufficient.”

  A pause.

  “Explain.”

  Marco stood stiff, unable to answer.

  Agnes inclined her head.

  “Shall we sit?”

  She and Helena moved first.Marco followed.

  They seated themselves at the central sofa.The inspectors placed their swords beside them without a sound.

  Silence deepened.

  “Well… the matter is…” Marco began,glancing once at the blade within reach.

  “I share your frustration, Inspector.Headquarters requires that all materials requested by the Inspection Unitbe reported upward prior to submission.No document may be released independently.

  My authority ends there.”

  The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  Agnes listened, still.

  “So,” she said evenly,“headquarters is effectively denyingan official request from the Special Inspection Unit.”

  Not a question.

  An assertion.

  “That is not the intent,” Marco replied carefully.“I have submitted multiple approval requests.Each time, the response is identical.

  ‘Under review.’

  There has been no further authorization.”

  Agnes did not let him finish.

  “Then allow me to clarify.”

  Her eyes hardened.

  “If the delay persists,we will activate Article 3 of Investigative Authority.”

  A beat.

  “You understand what that entails.”

  Marco’s expression tightened.

  Article 3.

  A coercive provision granted solely to the Special Inspection Unit.

  Once invoked, operational control of the Situation Roomwould transfer in full.

  But it was not without cost.

  If the unit failed to substantiate its suspicions,the accountability would fall entirely upon them.

  A weapon with recoil.

  Agnes knew this.

  And still—

  she did not blink.

  After lunch,Da-hye and Hyun-pil walked toward Gwanghwamun.

  Sunday.The sky was clear.

  Sunlight lay evenly across the square.Bukaksan curved along the horizon,its blue ridge holding the gate in quiet embrace.Light traced the fortress stones,settling into their age-worn lines.

  A breeze passed over the lawn.Pigeons moved between footsteps.Hanbok shimmered in bright clusters.Laughter lifted, scattered, dissolved.

  Under the bold sign—Gwanghwamun—people flowed in steady rhythm,filling the afternoon with gentle noise.

  “Oppa, should we rent hanbok too?”

  Da-hye watched the silk sleeves flutter.

  Hyun-pil glanced at the sun.

  “Maybe next time. Earlier.If we rent now, it’ll be dark before we finish.”

  It was only partly about time.

  Since the second mission,he had not liked staying out past sunset.

  “Then let’s just walk inside.”

  She let the idea go.

  They entered Gyeongbokgung.

  Shadows stretched across the wide stone courtyard.Green and crimson patterns beneath the eaves glowed in the light.Geunjeongjeon stood unmoved—quiet, composed, enduring.

  Tourists drifted like soft currents—parents, lovers, bright hems brushing stone.Bukaksan rested in the distance,a calm blue wall behind it all.

  Leaves whispered.Laughter flickered.Shutters clicked.

  They walked without speaking.

  Stone beneath their feet.Blue above their heads.

  For a moment,the world felt unbreakable.

  Then—

  “Da-hye… you studied psychology, right?Worked at a counseling center.Did you quit because it wasn’t for you?”

  She slowed.

  “It wasn’t that.I just didn’t know it would be so heavy.Listening to people every day…it started to wear me down.”

  A breath.

  “I’ll go back someday.Right now, I’m just… charging.”

  She smiled.

  It didn’t quite settle.

  “And you?Are you staying because you want to do what your dad does?”

  A pebble rolled from her shoeand disappeared into grass.

  “Not really.”

  Hyun-pil’s voice lowered.

  “I’ve never really had friends.Maybe that’s why people scare me.

  I want to learn first—how to live.From Teacher.

  After that… maybe I’ll find what I want.

  Right now,even thinking about working somewherefeels like standing at the edge of something I can’t see.”

  She listened.

  Then she brightened deliberately.

  “Oppa… isn’t this incredible?”

  She gestured to the vast stone yard.

  “Can’t you see it?Officials kneeling across the courtyard,bowing to the king up there?”

  Before he could answer,she ran lightly up the steps.

  “Stand there,” he called.“I’ll take the picture.”

  He stepped back, phone raised,framing her against the roofline.

  “Okay. Say ‘Kimchi.’”

  “Kimchi!”

  Click.

  On the screen—Da-hye, smiling wide, fingers raised in a V.

  The sky, once bright blue,was now edged with red.

  They stood before Geunjeongjeon,laughing—the phone between them,the light slowly deepening,

  the daytilting toward evening.