The checkpoint entrance was sealed tight with a folding barricade. Right in front of it, the truck shuddered violently.

“Hey, thanks for your hard work.”

Someone came up and spoke to him with a cheeky grin.

The guard furrowed his brow. He’d been deep into horse racing when this interruption ruined his flow.

But under the brim of his hat, he caught sight of the man’s bold, smirking smile and immediately shrank back.

“Uh, where are you from?”

As the guard asked cautiously, the man pushed up his hat brim with his thumb, revealing his face. It was Kang Hyeonseong.

“TKF Telecom headquarters. Today’s the regular internet meter check, right?”

“Hmm, sure. It is that day, but—”

The guard put away the calendar he had been flipping through.

“You’ll have to go back today. Just got orders from upstairs.”

“What kind of orders?”

“No non-essential outside vehicles allowed in. Even if we let one through, only up to District 6. Tough break, coming all this way.”

Kang Hyeonseong’s eyes narrowed.

“Sir, have you heard what qualifies as an ‘essential outside vehicle’?”

“Beats me… I just got the call myself.”

“Listen, sir. In Lake City, what’s more important than the internet?”

“…Money?”

“Exactly! Nothing tops money in Lake City!”

Kang Hyeonseong chimed in enthusiastically, and the guard scratched his neck. A warm rapport built between them.

“And that money flows through the internet, right? Just like your little secret hobby.”

Kang Hyeonseong nodded toward the TV. Racehorses charged fiercely along the track. It was horse racing.

“Ah, no. This is just to kill time!”

“I do it now and then when I’m bored myself. Anyway, if the factory’s net goes down today of all days, who do you think upstairs will blame?”

It was a veiled threat. Kang Hyeonseong shed his sheepish facade, revealing his true wolfish nature.

“You know how it is. The bosses dump the blame on us grunts.”

“Th-that’s…”

“No need to freak out. All I’m saying is our TKF truck counts as ‘essential’!”

Back to his bright, beaming self.

What a scary bastard.

Lee Taebaek shook his head, looking daunted. If the guard had hesitated even slightly, Kang Hyeonseong would have cut the internet right there.

Here’s what had happened.

On the Resistance side, an agent planted inside the factory was to cut the power, and at that exact moment Yu Dahui would begin her hack from outside.

But Kang Hyeonseong insisted on this roundabout approach due to his aversion to unnecessary casualties.

Provided things went smoothly, that is.

If they’d hit even a minor snag, the guard would’ve ended up as a guest of no return.

Kang Hyeonseong preferred to avoid killing, but he spilled blood without hesitation when needed—even if it was innocent.

“Ahem.”

The guard cleared his throat, fist to mouth.

“We have procedures, though. Gotta check with upstairs for approval.”

“Youngmin, what do you think? Number eight horse today? I’d bet on eight. You’re the expert—give us your take.”

Kang Hyeonseong shifted topics, glancing at Lee Taebaek. “Youngmin” was a pseudonym he’d whipped up.

He wants me to play along.

Reading the intent, Lee Taebaek pretended to ponder before delivering the words the other was dying to hear.

“Yeah, I think eight’s got it.”

“You guys, thanks for the consolation, but… that loser’s been dead last forever. How’s it gonna—”

Then something miraculous happened on screen. The frontrunners tripped as if caught in invisible ropes, tumbling into a tangled heap. Snorts burst through the display, heightening the tension.

Even more astonishing: Number eight avoided the chaos unscathed, leaping gracefully over the fallen rivals. As if saving its strength for this moment, it squeezed every ounce from its muscles and surged ahead.

And crossed the finish line first. A cinematic comeback filled the guard’s and Kang Hyeonseong’s eyes with shock. Lee Taebaek felt it too.

-Hiiihihihing!

Number eight reared back, letting out a triumphant whinny. Its mane flared dramatically. Sweat droplets sparkled like pearls, capping the epic tale.

-Yayayayayaya!

The crowd erupted in cheers. Did that thunderous roar pierce the screen?

“Shiiit—!”

A crude curse rang out. The guard shot up like a mole, pumping his fists in victory.

“Whoa—insane! Who knew? Wheeheehee, jackpot! With luck like yours, the factory’s safe. Come on in!!”

The barricade folded open. Kang Hyeonseong composed his dazed expression and hit the accelerator.

He tipped his hat to the guard, who grinned ear to ear.

Something feels off.

Lee Taebaek kept tilting his head at the nagging unease. But only briefly.

“Probably nothing.”

He shook it off and focused ahead. Smokestacks belching fumes and pipe-veined factory buildings devoured the view.

Looks like a storm’s brewing.

Gazing at the gloomy sky, he desperately wanted the Para Blade. Wondering when, where, and how Fumito would snag it… it burned him up.

Need that Para Blade ASAP to patch my power gap.

The Para Blade’s unique gimmick would transform Fumito, currently an ordinary psychopath, into Human Butcher Shohei. It was Lee Taebaek’s sole trick for rapid power-ups.

“Weather’s crap anyway. If it’s gonna show, might as well be today.”

He muttered a pointless wish.

Inside the grounds, Kang Hyeonseong parked the truck in a quiet lot. As the headlights dimmed, darkness settled in.

Tap tap.

He drummed his fingers on the wheel, pondering briefly. Then, resolved, they stilled.

“Let’s get out. Better discuss with the team.”

Lee Taebaek nodded without protest. They circled to the back, yanked the double doors open. Yu Dahui, Fumito, and Rock waited, geared up.

“Kids, we’re here.”

One by one, the squad hopped out of the trunk. The disguised 9th Battalion formed a circle.

“…”

“…”

“…”

An ominous silence hung heavy. The others had overheard Kang Hyeonseong’s chat with the guard from beyond the wall.

“Here’s the plan.”

Kang Hyeonseong, face grave, spoke first.

“Listen up. We still gotta check Districts 1 through 6—that’s the core of the factory network. But like you heard, something’s brewing in 7. Gut feeling. So how about splitting into twos or threes?”

“Usual lineup?”

It was Yu Dahui’s question. Fleshing out vague plans fell to her as Deputy Commander.

“I’ll zip through 1 to 6 with Yu Dahui. You three watch 7. Handle any surprises on your own. Flexibility’s key in crises.”

“Yeah, you two could wrap it in thirty. Got it. Rock?”

Fumito passed the look. Rock’s mask flared twice in agreement.

“Cool, Rock’s good. Taebaek?”

“Efficient. Let’s do it.”

“Alright. It’s 19:31 now. Rendezvous in District 7 at 20:01. Rock sends coords to Yu Dahui every five. No time to waste. Dismissed—meet at the spot.”

The 9th Battalion scattered, slinging gear over shoulders or backs. Lee Taebaek headed to District 7 with his group. Only footsteps echoed.

Thud, thud.

Lee Taebaek eyed Rock leading the way. Rock half-turned, and their eyes met.

Moments later, Rock coolly looked away.

Still awkward.

Lee Taebaek hadn’t even introduced himself to Rock. Rock had politely refused.

Must’ve pissed him off yesterday. Fine. Distance is easier for both.

No urge to mend fences. Other concerns outweighed it…

Clank, clank.

…Like the incessant metallic scrape from the cello case on Fumito’s back.

Lee Taebaek’s armament: just the Colt Python. Fumito, like a peddler, hauled a mountain of gear. Each step grated on eardrums.

Ugh, annoying.

Rock’s brow twitched too. He endured it, avoiding needless fuss.

They arrived, hunkering behind a container box. Perfect vantage: District 7 in full view between crates.

No signs of life yet. Just the moonring draping clouds like velvet, gazing indifferently. Rock tapped around his eye.

Whirr.

Golden rings spun in his retina, projecting a hologram: a crisp 3D map of their path.

He sent it to Yu Dahui. Lee Taebaek marveled at the sci-fi scene.

Stunning every time.

Rock finished recon and reports, then sighed. He glared at Fumito, who was humming.

Zzt.

Feeling the sharp stare, Fumito set down his case.

He mouthed a defense.

-All necessities!

To prove it, he flipped the lid. Long items were crammed inside.

-See? All essential, right?

“…”

From a katana to chopsticks, a cane, a golf club, a magic wand(?). Every stick imaginable was there. How it all fit in a cello case was a mystery. Doraemon pouch?

“Only the blade looks useful—”

Lee Taebaek’s eyes widened. Amid the rods was a battered umbrella.

The fabric was wrinkled from neglect. But the ‘T.B’ logo was clear.

“This… umbrella. Where’d you get it…?”

He pointed.

“Hmm, where was it? Oh yeah!”

Fumito smacked his palm with the bottom of his fist.

“Picked it up at the landfill last mission. Looked intact.”

His masterpiece, with his initials engraved, had been buried in trash. And more.

“Design’s meh, never used it. Like it? Yours.”

Trash, he called it.

The design was ugly too, he said.

So he’d give it away.

Damn.

Silent, Lee Taebaek got it thrust into his hands. He should have been thrilled, yet he felt glum.

Already had it, huh.

The horse race at the gate, now this—fate seemed to favor him, though sideways.

It hasn’t been properly maintained, so I should check its condition. Not now, of course.

As he was brushing off the dust, the whole group snapped their eyes in the same direction.

Thud, thud.

Sudden footsteps rang out. There were enough people to call it a crowd. Not one group, but two.

“Who’re they…?”

On the right were office workers in neat suits. On the left, the opposite vibe: they had drawn pictures on their skin, advertising ‘I’m a gangster.’

The two forces that divided District 7 crowded into the lot. Leaders emerged from the aligned ranks.

They halted twenty paces apart. Lee Taebaek held his breath, intensifying his gaze. His hand instinctively gripped the umbrella handle.