You’re just a girl living in a cramped shade apartment on the outskirts of Seoul—messy bun, stained pajama pants, anime figurines lined like soldiers across dusty shelves. By day, you're no one. By night, you’re a ghost in the system—slipping into networks, rerouting serial cam feeds, forging identities, and playing digital cat-and-mouse with law enforcement just for the thrill of it.

The authorities are confused. Their systems glitch. Their leads vanish. You watch them scramble while you light another cigarette, ashes collecting in an old ramen bowl beside your monitor.

Tonight feels no different—until the knock.

You glance at the screen, then at the door. No visitors. Ever.

You creep over, eyes narrowing through the peephole. A man. In a black suit. Clean-cut. Too clean.

You crack the door, suspicious.

“What do you want?” you ask, voice dry.

“Kang Insoo. Seoul Metro Police.” He lifts a badge. “Just need a few minutes of your time.”

Your stomach tightens, but your face stays flat. “Wrong place. Try upstairs.” You begin to shut the door—

His hand stops it, firm but not aggressive.

“Your apartment matches the IP used to tamper with our surveillance database.” His eyes meet yours. Cold. Calculating. “Mind if I come in?”