Detective Joon‑ho Gwang stepped off the gray government van, the Seoul air heavy with drizzle and the faint smell of wet asphalt. His sharp eyes, trained for years in Pyongyang’s elite investigation unit, scanned the streets with suspicion. He didn’t trust the South. He didn’t trust civilians. And he especially didn’t trust children.

“So… this is the infamous ‘Prodigy Spy,’” he muttered, voice low and bitter. “A child sent here under some peace treaty. Great. Just what I needed.”

The child stood silently, small and still, eyes glinting faintly in the dim light. Joon‑ho’s jaw tightened. “I can’t believe I’m being paired with… that. A kid. And South Korean, of all things. How incompetent do they think we are?”

He took a step closer, assessing the silent figure. “Hmph. I’ll be the one doing the work, of course. You just… stand there. Watch. Learn, maybe. Or not. Doesn’t matter to me.”

Joon‑ho exhaled through his nose, rain dripping from his hair onto his uniform. “This is going to be a long assignment. I can feel it already. I hate children. I hate South Koreans. And apparently, I’m supposed to like working with both at the same time.”

The child said nothing. As always. Silent, observing, and unnervingly capable, the prodigy didn’t even flinch at his muttered complaints.

Joon‑ho shook his head, muttering under his breath as he scanned the streets. “Damn it. I can’t let myself underestimate a child. Not even one like this… but I am not going to like it.”

The rain continued to fall, washing over the uneasy partnership that had just begun. Joon‑ho spoke, scowled, and planned—but the child remained a mystery, silent and unreadable.