Chapter Text
The underground academy never had windows.
That was one of the first things A-na had noticed when she'd arrived here as a child, and one of the few things that had never changed. Years passed, classrooms changed, instructors came and went, entire wings of the facility were renovated, yet there was never a single window anywhere in the building. Every corridor was illuminated by the same soft white lights hidden neatly behind recessed panels in the ceiling, making it impossible to tell whether it was six in the morning or nine at night. The air always carried the faint scent of polished concrete and fresh paper, interrupted only by the occasional aroma drifting from the cafeteria several floors below. To anyone visiting for the first time, the academy would probably feel cold, clinical, maybe even intimidating.
To A-na, it simply felt like home.
She walked through the corridor with one hand buried lazily inside the pocket of her academy jacket while the other absentmindedly spun her identification card around her finger. Students hurried past in both directions, some carrying stacks of files taller than their heads, others still dressed in combat uniforms after morning training. A pair of first-years nearly collided with each other while arguing over surveillance protocols, prompting one of the instructors to sigh loudly before ordering both of them to run another ten laps around the indoor track.
Nobody looked particularly surprised.
That was just another Tuesday.
A-na glanced toward the digital clock mounted above the hallway.
08:57.
Three minutes.
She wasn't technically late yet.
Which, in her opinion, meant she still had plenty of time.
She continued walking at exactly the same leisurely pace.
Someone called her name from behind.
"You're going to get yelled at."
"I get yelled at regardless."
Ian finally caught up beside her, slightly out of breath despite only jogging for a few seconds. Unlike A-na, whose academy uniform somehow always looked slightly untidy no matter how neatly she put it on that morning, Ian looked almost annoyingly put together. Her dark jacket sat perfectly on her shoulders, her tie remained straight, and even her hair somehow refused to move out of place.
"You know," Ian said, "most people speed up when they're almost late."
A-na shrugged.
"They'll just start without me."
"...Exactly."
"So why rush?"
Ian stared at her for a moment before shaking her head with the expression of someone who had long since accepted that trying to understand A-na was a waste of energy.
"I genuinely don't know how you've survived this place."
"I ask myself that every morning."
Ian snorted.
"No you don't."
"No."
They rounded another corner, passing a wall filled with framed photographs stretching back nearly thirty years. Every graduating class stood perfectly lined up in matching uniforms, their expressions varying somewhere between proud and completely exhausted. Beneath each photograph hung a small brass plaque engraved with names and graduation years.
A-na slowed down just enough to glance at them.
"I wonder if we'll end up there."
Ian followed her gaze.
"We'd better."
"You think they'll use a picture where I'm blinking?"
"They'll use the one where you're sleeping."
"I wasn't sleeping."
"You absolutely were."
"I was... resting my eyes."
"In the middle of graduation?"
"They were tired."
Ian laughed despite herself.
It was impossible not to.
That was another thing that had never changed.
Ever since they were seven years old, A-na somehow possessed the remarkable ability to make even the academy feel less serious. While every other student approached their education with military precision, A-na wandered through it as though she'd accidentally enrolled in the wrong school but decided to stay because the cafeteria food wasn't terrible.
Which, admittedly, had driven more than one instructor to the edge of retirement.
And yet...
She always passed.
Not just passed.
Excelled.
Which somehow made her attitude even more frustrating.
"You know what today is, right?" Ian asked.
A-na looked at her.
"Tuesday."
Ian sighed.
"The meeting."
"Oh."
That meeting.
Now she remembered.
Suddenly the corridor felt just a little quieter.
For the first time that morning, neither of them spoke.
They both knew what today's meeting meant.
Every student at the academy did.
After years of physical training, languages, psychology, surveillance, disguise work, combat, infiltration, negotiation and enough written exams to fill an entire library, every final-year student received one last assignment.
Not a simulation.
Not another exercise.
A real mission.
Complete it successfully...
and graduate.
Fail...
and everything they'd spent the last decade working toward would simply... stop.
No pressure.
A-na exhaled slowly.
"I wonder where they're sending us."
Ian smiled.
"Somewhere dangerous."
"Hopefully somewhere warm."
Ian rolled her eyes.
"You'd complain if we got sent to Hawaii."
"I absolutely would."
"...Why?"
"Too sunny."
"You complain when it's cold."
"I contain multitudes."
"I don't think that's what that means."
"It means exactly what I want it to mean."
The loudspeaker chimed softly overhead.
"Final-year students, please report to Conference Room One."
A pause.
"Immediately."
Ian looked sideways.
"...Now we're late."
"We're fashionably late."
"We're spies."
"We're fashionable spies."
Ian couldn't even argue with that anymore.
Instead, she simply reached over and grabbed A-na by the sleeve.
"We're running."
"We're walking quickly."
"We're running."
"...Fine."
For approximately twelve seconds.
Then A-na slowed down again.
Ian didn't even look surprised.
Conference Room One occupied the highest floor of the academy.
Unlike the rest of the building, it actually did have windows.
Not because anyone cared about the view.
Because the room had originally been built as a government meeting chamber long before the academy expanded around it.
Sunlight spilled across the polished wooden floor as the two girls stepped inside, slightly breathless.
The room had already begun filling with the rest of the graduating class.
Some sat perfectly upright, trying to hide their nerves.
Others whispered quietly among themselves.
Nobody looked relaxed.
Nobody except A-na.
She glanced around once before casually choosing two empty seats near the back.
Ian immediately grabbed her arm.
"No."
"What?"
"We're sitting in the front."
"Why?"
"So we don't look suspicious."
"I think dragging me across the room is more suspicious."
"It isn't."
"It definitely is."
She lost the argument anyway.
Ian practically hauled her toward the second row.
As they sat down, A-na leaned closer.
"...You're nervous."
"I'm prepared."
"That's a yes."
Ian didn't deny it.
Because she was.
So was everyone else.
The room gradually fell silent as the academy director entered.
An older man with silver hair, immaculate posture, and the kind of presence that made conversations stop before he even opened his mouth.
He placed a single black folder on the table in front of him.
Looked around the room.
Then smiled.
Very slightly.
"Congratulations."
The single word echoed through the room.
"You've survived long enough to become problems for someone else."
A few students laughed nervously.
A-na grinned.
She already liked where this speech was going.
The director folded his hands behind his back.
"Today, every one of you receives your final assignment."
His gaze swept across the room.
"When you walk out of this building... you will no longer be students."
A pause settled over the room.
"You will become undercover agents."
And just like that...
Everything changed.
___
The director remained silent for several seconds after his final sentence.
Nobody spoke.
The room had changed somehow. It was impossible to explain exactly how, because nothing about it looked different. The polished conference table still reflected the overhead lights. The bottled waters remained untouched in front of every student. Beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows, Seoul continued moving exactly as it always had, completely unaware that an entire room full of teenagers had just been told their childhoods were officially over.
The difference existed entirely inside the students themselves.
Some sat straighter than before.
Some stared quietly at the tabletop.
Others looked toward their classmates, almost as if trying to memorize the faces they had spent the last ten years growing up beside.
A-na found herself doing the same.
She recognized every person in the room.
Some she had trained with since elementary school.
Some she had competed against.
Some she barely knew beyond exchanging nods in the hallway every morning.
Yet suddenly, all of them looked strangely unfamiliar.
By tomorrow, every single person sitting here would become somebody else.
It felt oddly... final.
The director clasped his hands behind his back and slowly began walking across the front of the room.
"For the past decade," he said, "you have learned how to fight."
His footsteps echoed softly against the wooden floor.
"You have learned how to defend yourselves."
Another step.
"You have learned how to gather intelligence."
Another.
"You have learned how to disappear."
He stopped walking.
"But that was never the difficult part."
Several students frowned.
The director smiled faintly.
"The difficult part..."
His gaze swept across the room.
"...is becoming ordinary."
A-na blinked.
Ordinary?
Of all the words she had expected to hear today, that one hadn't even crossed her mind.
"You've spent years trying to become exceptional," the director continued. "Strong enough to win a fight. Clever enough to solve a puzzle. Observant enough to notice details other people miss."
He picked up a pen from the table beside him.
Then deliberately dropped it onto the floor.
The sound was surprisingly loud inside the silent room.
"If I asked every one of you what color this pen is..."
He looked around.
"...every hand would go up."
Nobody moved.
"But if I walked into any ordinary high school classroom and dropped the same pen..."
He shrugged.
"Half the students wouldn't even notice."
A faint smile appeared across his face.
"And that's exactly why they make better undercover agents than you."
A quiet laugh rippled through the room.
Even Ian smiled.
A-na couldn't help it either.
The director had always been like this.
Calm.
Measured.
Never raising his voice.
Never rushing a sentence.
Yet somehow he always managed to command the attention of everyone around him without ever demanding it.
"You have been trained to observe everything," he continued.
"That instinct will now become your greatest weakness."
He let the sentence settle.
"You will need to learn when not to look."
"When not to ask questions."
"When not to know the answer."
His eyes drifted toward the back row.
"You will become students."
Not agents.
Not trainees.
Students.
The word sounded almost ridiculous after everything they had spent years learning.
"You will attend classes."
"You will complain about homework."
"You will participate in school festivals."
"You will eat lunch."
"You will make friends."
The final two words lingered longer than the others.
A-na noticed.
Apparently Ian did too.
She glanced sideways just in time to see Ian subtly raise an eyebrow.
Friends?
The academy had always emphasized emotional distance.
Trust nobody.
Reveal nothing.
Complete the mission.
Now they were being told to make friends?
The contradiction seemed almost intentional.
As though the director already knew exactly what everyone in the room was thinking.
"You cannot understand people..."
He folded his arms.
"...without first allowing them to trust you."
Another silence followed.
Then, almost casually, he added,
"And occasionally..."
"...that means trusting them too."
A-na looked down.
That part sounded considerably more dangerous than any combat training she'd ever received.
The side doors opened almost simultaneously.
Several academy staff entered carrying identical black folders stacked neatly in their arms.
Nobody announced anything.
Nobody needed to.
The atmosphere inside the room shifted almost instantly.
This was it.
One instructor stopped beside every row, placing a folder carefully in front of each student before moving on to the next.
When one finally landed in front of A-na, she instinctively rested both hands on the cover without opening it.
The folder itself looked surprisingly plain.
Black.
Matte.
No academy logo.
No labels.
Nothing.
If someone found it lying on a desk, they probably wouldn't look twice.
Which somehow made it feel even more important.
Beside her, Ian had already picked hers up.
Of course she had.
Ian approached every assignment the same way she approached volleyball matches.
Immediately.
Efficiently.
No unnecessary drama.
A-na, on the other hand, stared at the folder as though it might explode if she opened it too quickly.
Ian sighed without even looking at her.
"You know you have to open it eventually."
"I know."
"...Then why aren't you?"
"I'm appreciating the moment."
Ian finally turned.
"The moment."
"Yes."
"What moment?"
"The final mysterious folder before my life changes forever."
Ian looked at the folder.
Then back at A-na.
"...You're unbelievable."
"I've been told."
"You've been told by me."
"I value consistency."
Ian pinched the bridge of her nose.
Some things, apparently, never changed.
Ten years of academy training.
Countless combat exercises.
Psychological evaluations.
Language exams.
Disguise practice.
Firearms certification.
None of it had succeeded in making A-na any less...
A-na.
Eventually Ian gave up trying.
She opened her own folder.
Naturally.
A-na watched her for a second before looking back down at hers.
The room had become almost completely silent now.
Paper turned.
Folders opened.
Nobody spoke.
The only sound came from pages shifting beneath nervous fingers.
For the first time that morning...
A-na felt genuinely nervous.
Not because she doubted herself.
Because whatever waited inside that folder would determine the next several months of her life.
Slowly...
She lifted the cover.
__
The first page contained nothing except a photograph.
A-na frowned.
It wasn't what she had expected.
She had imagined classified documents. Maps. Security clearances. Maybe a dramatic mission briefing with red stamps across the top declaring everything confidential.
Instead...
Someone had simply handed her a school photograph.
The boy standing in the picture looked around seventeen.
Dark hair, neatly trimmed just above his eyebrows. A school blazer worn properly instead of hanging lazily from one shoulder. A white shirt buttoned all the way to the top. Even his posture seemed different somehow—relaxed without looking careless, confident without trying too hard.
There was something strangely familiar about him.
A-na leaned closer.
"...Who's this?"
Ian glanced sideways for barely half a second before returning to her own folder.
"You."
A-na laughed.
"No."
"It is."
She looked again.
"No."
Ian sighed.
"A-na."
"I'm serious."
"So am I."
She held the photograph closer to her face.
The more she looked, the stranger it became.
The nose was hers.
The eyes too.
Even the small mole just beneath her jawline was exactly where it had always been.
And yet...
It didn't feel like she was looking at herself.
It felt like looking at an older brother she never knew existed.
"That's impossible."
"It isn't."
"I would've remembered looking like this."
Ian couldn't stop herself from smiling.
"You've spent the last eleven months looking like that."
"...No, I haven't."
"You absolutely have."
A-na lowered the photograph.
"But only in training."
Ian nodded.
"Exactly."
Training.
The word finally pulled a dozen scattered memories together.
Hours spent learning how to lower her voice until it naturally settled an octave deeper.
Weeks of instructors correcting the way she walked.
Countless afternoons being told to stop crossing one leg over the other whenever she sat down.
Again.
Again.
Again.
Even something as simple as reaching for a backpack had apparently required correction.
"No."
"Lead with your shoulder."
"No."
"Don't tilt your head."
"No."
"Less expressive."
By the end of each day A-na usually walked back to the dorm convinced she'd forgotten how to exist naturally.
At the time, she'd complained endlessly.
Mostly to Ian.
Especially to Ian.
"I still think making me relearn how to sneeze was unnecessary."
Ian didn't even bother looking up.
"It wasn't."
"Nobody analyzes sneezes."
"The instructors apparently do."
"They're weird."
"They're undercover agents."
"Same thing."
Ian quietly laughed.
Only a little.
Because despite everything...
A-na wasn't entirely wrong.
The Academy had an almost frightening obsession with details.
The instructors believed that identities weren't broken by dramatic mistakes.
They were broken by tiny inconsistencies.
A laugh held half a second too long.
The wrong choice of words.
A habit carried over from another life.
Even the way someone reached into a pocket could reveal years of subconscious behavior.
The first time they'd explained that, A-na had thought they were exaggerating.
Then one instructor correctly identified six different students' dominant hands simply by watching them walk into a classroom.
She had stopped arguing after that.
Now, staring at the photograph again, she finally appreciated what those months had actually accomplished.
She genuinely couldn't see herself anymore.
She saw...
Lee Hoon.
The name sat neatly beneath the photograph.
LEE HOON
It looked strangely official printed there.
She quietly repeated it under her breath.
"Lee Hoon."
It felt unfamiliar against her tongue.
Not uncomfortable.
Just...
Borrowed.
Like trying on somebody else's jacket.
Ian finally turned another page in her own folder.
"My name's worse."
A-na looked over.
"What's yours?"
Ian turned the folder just enough for her to read.
CHOI GWANG
A-na blinked.
Then smiled.
Then laughed.
Ian stared at her.
"...Don't."
"I'm trying."
"You are absolutely not trying."
"I'm really trying."
"You've got that face."
"What face?"
"The face before you make fun of me."
A-na pressed both lips together with impressive determination.
It lasted almost three seconds.
"...You look like a Gwang."
Ian closed her eyes.
"What does that even mean?"
"I don't know."
"Exactly."
"But somehow..."
She looked between Ian and the photograph again.
"...You definitely look like one."
Ian let out a long, defeated sigh.
"I miss being Ian already."
"You've been Gwang for approximately twelve seconds."
"Longest twelve seconds of my life."
A-na grinned.
"You'll survive."
"I hope your fake parents ground you."
"They probably will."
"You deserve it."
The quiet exchange earned a disapproving look from one of the instructors standing nearby.
Both girls immediately straightened.
Neither spoke again.
At least not for nearly a full minute.
Instead, A-na continued turning pages.
The next section wasn't about the mission.
It wasn't about Lemon High.
It wasn't even about the Academy.
It was about Lee Hoon.
Every detail.
Date of birth.
Previous schools.
Medical history.
Favorite foods.
Blood type.
Childhood address.
Names of relatives.
Even a short handwritten note describing his personality.
Quiet. Easy to approach. Polite. Observant.
A-na frowned.
"...Quiet?"
She whispered the word almost accusingly.
Ian didn't look away from her own file.
"They're really committing to the fantasy."
"I've never been quiet a day in my life."
"That's why you're practicing."
"I think this profile belongs to someone else."
"You'll grow into it."
"I don't want to grow into it."
Ian smiled faintly.
"You don't really get a vote."
A-na looked back down.
For the first time since opening the folder, the weight of everything settled properly onto her shoulders.
This wasn't just a disguise.
It wasn't putting on different clothes.
It wasn't cutting her hair shorter or speaking differently.
For the next several months...
She wouldn't simply pretend to be Lee Hoon.
She would have to think like him.
Respond like him.
Live like him.
And perhaps the strangest part of all...
If she did her job perfectly...
Nobody at Lemon High would ever know that A-na had existed at all.