Chapter 8 GETTING PAST THE SYSTEM

The safe house in Euljiro was buried beneath an abandoned textile factory — a forgotten corner of Seoul where old machines rusted in silence and the air smelled of mildew and machine oil. Minjun and Jiho slipped through a rusted service door just as the noon sun tried to break through the clouds. Their clothes were still damp from the morning rain, and Minjun’s steps were heavier than he wanted to admit.

Dr. Hyunwoo’s contact — a wiry man named Sanghoon with a cigarette permanently glued to his lip — met them at the bottom of the stairs.

“You’re the glitch everyone’s whispering about,” Sanghoon said, eyeing Minjun up and down. “The doctor said you pay well and cause trouble. I like half of that equation.”

Minjun managed a tired smirk. “I’ll pay the full amount if you stop staring at me like I’m about to delete your favorite ramen brand.”

Sanghoon barked a short laugh. “Funny. Most people who come down here are either bleeding or begging. You’re doing both but still cracking jokes. I respect that.” He jerked his thumb toward a dimly lit room at the end of the corridor. “Bunks are in there. Generator’s working, but don’t touch the old looms — they’re wired to scream if anyone messes with them. Stay quiet. Task force has drones sweeping the rooftops.”

Jiho helped Minjun inside and lowered him onto one of the worn mattresses. The room was sparse: two metal bunks, a small table, and a flickering bulb hanging from exposed wires. Sanghoon tossed them a couple of bottled waters and a bag of convenience store kimbap before disappearing back upstairs.

For a moment, the only sound was the distant hum of the city above and the soft drip of water somewhere in the walls.

Jiho tore open a kimbap roll and handed half to Minjun. “Eat. You look like you’re running on fumes and bad decisions.”

Minjun took it but didn’t bite right away. “You sound like my mom used to. ‘Eat, or you’ll stay short forever.’”

Jiho snorted, a small, genuine laugh escaping despite everything. “Yeah, well, she was right. You’re still short. And stubborn. And now you’re also a walking system error.” He took a big bite of his own roll, chewing thoughtfully. “Remember that time in the village when we tried to steal batteries from that broken scooter? You got shocked so bad your hair stood up like a porcupine. I laughed for three days.”

Minjun’s lips twitched. “You laughed until the owner chased us with a stick. Then you cried because you dropped your last pure water sachet in the mud.”

“Hey, that was emotional trauma,” Jiho protested, nudging Minjun’s shoulder lightly. “I was mourning properly. You just kept saying ‘It’s fine, we’ll find more.’ Like some zen monk who secretly wanted to fight the world.”

The banter felt easy for a second — familiar, warm, like slipping back into an old hoodie. But then Jiho’s expression shifted. He looked down at the half-eaten kimbap in his hands.

“I miss that guy,” he said quietly. “The one who pretended everything was fine even when it wasn’t. The one who would rather take a beating than let me take one.” His voice cracked just a little. “Now every time you use those commands, it feels like another piece of him vanishes. Like you’re editing yourself out of existence. And I don’t know how to stop it.”

Minjun set the food aside. The amber glow in his eyes softened for a moment, letting something raw slip through the cold logic.

“I feel it too, Jiho-ya,” he admitted, voice low. “It’s like… memories are getting quieter. The sound of my mom’s voice when she sang those old trot songs. The way the Han River smelled after rain when we were kids. They’re still there, but they’re fading into background noise. Like static.” He reached out and gripped Jiho’s wrist, the touch surprisingly gentle. “But you’re not background. You’re the loudest thing left. That’s why I keep dragging you into this mess. Because if I forget everything else… I need someone who remembers who I was before the System decided to make me its janitor.”

Jiho swallowed hard, eyes glistening. “Then stop trying to carry it all alone, you idiot. Let me help. Even if it’s just holding the cart while you delete the world. I’m not scared of the task force. I’m scared of waking up one day and realizing the guy sitting next to me doesn’t remember why we started this in the first place.”

Minjun held his gaze for a long beat. “Deal. But only if you promise to keep making terrible jokes. The day you stop calling me short, I’ll know I’ve really lost it.”

Jiho let out a watery laugh and wiped his eyes with the back of his sleeve. “Fine. But you’re still short. And your new superpowers haven’t fixed that.”

The moment of lightness broke when heavy footsteps echoed from the stairs above. Sanghoon’s voice rang out, sharp with urgency.

“Company! Three drones just landed on the roof. They’re sweeping the building. Hide!”

Minjun was on his feet in an instant, the neural bridge surging to life despite the warnings flashing in his vision. Jiho grabbed the stun baton.

“Stay behind me,” Minjun said.

They moved into the darker part of the basement, weaving between the silent looms. The air grew thicker with dust. Then the first drone dropped through a broken skylight — a sleek black quadcopter with red scanning lights sweeping the floor.

[INSPECT]  

[Target: Surveillance Drone Mk-3]  

[Attributes:]  

- [Sensors: Thermal + Facial Recognition]  

- [Weapon: Non-lethal Taser Net]  

- [Connection: Live feed to Task Force Command]

Minjun didn’t hesitate.

[Target: Sensors]  

[Attribute: Thermal Signature]  

[CUT]

The drone’s scanning lights flickered wildly as it lost the ability to detect heat. It spun in confusion, red beams sweeping blindly.

Jiho grinned despite the tension. “Nice. Now it’s just a very expensive roomba.”

“Shut up and move,” Minjun whispered, but there was a faint hint of amusement in his voice.

A second drone descended, this one firing a taser net toward their position. Minjun [CUT] the net’s velocity mid-air. The mesh dropped harmlessly to the ground like a dead spider.

But the third drone was smarter. It hovered near the ceiling and began broadcasting a piercing alarm tone while streaming live video.

“Intruders located. Glitch suspect confirmed. Requesting immediate backup,” a mechanical voice announced.

Minjun’s eyes narrowed. He focused on the broadcasting drone.

[Target: Communication Link]  

[Attribute: Signal Strength]  

[CUT]

The alarm cut off abruptly, but not before the damage was done. Boots thundered down the stairs — at least six task force officers this time, rifles raised, flashlights cutting through the gloom.

“Hands up! Don’t move!”

The first officer rounded a loom and fired. Minjun shoved Jiho behind a metal pillar and triggered his [High-Speed] again. The world slowed. He closed the gap in a blur, slamming his palm against the officer’s rifle.

[Target: Rifle]  

[Attribute: Firing Mechanism]  

[CUT]

The gun clicked uselessly. Minjun followed with a sharp elbow to the jaw, dropping the man. Another officer charged from the side. Minjun [PASTE] the earlier [Structural Weakness] from the clinic floor onto the man’s knee. The officer crumpled with a scream as his leg gave out unnaturally.

Jiho wasn’t idle. He swung the stun baton at the nearest officer, catching him in the ribs with a crackling burst. “Not today, assholes!”

“Jiho, behind you!” Minjun shouted.

A third officer had flanked them. Minjun spun and [CUT] the officer’s balance, sending him stumbling into a loom. The heavy machine groaned and toppled, pinning the man beneath its rusted frame.

For a moment, the basement fell quiet except for the groans of the fallen officers and the whir of the one remaining drone trying to regain its signal.

Jiho leaned against a pillar, breathing hard, a small cut above his eyebrow bleeding. “That was… way too close. You okay?”

Minjun wiped fresh blood from his nose. The stamina bar was flashing red again, but he forced a weak grin. “Still short. Still stubborn. Still here.” He reached out and ruffled Jiho’s hair roughly. “You swung that baton like you actually meant it this time. Almost looked cool.”

Jiho laughed breathlessly, swatting Minjun’s hand away. “Almost? Rude. Next time I’ll let them tase you and see how cool you look twitching on the floor.”

Minjun’s expression softened just a fraction. “Thanks for having my back. Really.”

“Don’t get sappy on me now,” Jiho muttered, but his voice was thick with emotion. “We’re in this together. Even when you turn into a walking delete button.”

Sanghoon appeared at the top of the stairs, looking frazzled. “You two maniacs need to leave. Now. There’s a back tunnel that comes out near the river. Go. I’ll clean this up and pretend I saw nothing.”

Minjun nodded. As they slipped into the dark tunnel, Jiho walked close beside him.

“You know,” Jiho said softly, “even if you forget the ramyeon and the bad jokes… don’t forget this part. That we’re still fighting for the kids back in the village who don’t have anyone else. That’s the ‘why’ I keep reminding you about.”

Minjun didn’t answer immediately. But as they emerged into the grey afternoon light near the Han River, he bumped Jiho’s shoulder lightly — a small, almost playful gesture.

“I won’t forget that one,” he said. “Not if I can help it.”

Above them, the luxury towers of Cheongdam watched silently. Somewhere inside one of them, Chairman Seojun Kang leaned back in his chair, reviewing the fresh footage from the failed raid.

His white eyes narrowed with something almost like interest.

“The glitch has a shadow now,” he murmured. “A loyal one. How sentimental. Let’s see how long that lasts when I start pruning the roots.”