The library was a sanctuary of silence, far more peaceful than the corrupted world outside. It was a treasure trove of literature and information, where wooden shelves groaned under the weight of both ancient and modern wisdom. A distinct section for Korean literature stood alongside shelves brimming with poetry, novels, and history. As soon as one stepped into the section of old books, the sweet scent of aging paper—the scent of knowledge from thousands of years—seemed to pull them in, grounding the soul.

Miss Ji-an was seated at her desk, checking records. A cup of coffee rested on the table; she occasionally took a sip, stretching her back between tasks.

"If you don't understand something, feel free to ask," she said. Although she wasn't very old, the signs of aging were clearly etched into her face—the marks of a life lived.

"Of course, Miss Ji-an," Nova replied.

He took a slow tour of the library, absorbing the stillness before beginning his work.

"Could you please arrange the poetry section?" she added. "People have been coming to that section a lot lately. I haven't had the chance to place the books back in their proper order."

It felt good, Nova thought. For the first time in his life, he was being given a chance to simply work. He wasn't entirely sure how he would manage it, but...

"Here's the blueprint for the shelf arrangement." Miss Ji-an handed him a paper before returning to her records.

Nova glanced down at the blueprint. This is where I need to start. Nova was naturally perceptive; it was his special trait to learn tasks with speed. There was a rare sparkle in his eyes—a look he might have never imagined for himself. Dressed in a white collared shirt and casual jeans, his long hair tied in a messy bun, he looked elegant enough to belong on a high-fashion shelf rather than in a library.

A memory flickered, unbidden.

"Mother, what is that word? It doesn't look like the one that Aunty taught me."

Seven-year-old Nova looked at his mother. The name 'Nova' was written in a different language, one that wasn't Korean.

"It's Hindi," she replied, her voice as soft as silk.

"Oh, Ind-i..." he tried to pronounce it. It wasn't quite right, but he giggled anyway. The sound lit up his face like a sunbeam.

"Nova, are you done?"

The voice snapped him back to the present. It was Miss Ji-an.

"Just finished, Miss," Nova said, lifting his head.

There was a distinct honor in his voice. He was trying perhaps a bit too hard not to come off as rude; he knew people often misinterpreted his deadpan expression as coldness. Miss Ji-an noticed the hidden story behind his demeanor. She placed a hand on her hip and gently patted his shoulder. She didn't want to discourage him; instead, she teased him.

"Lose yourself. No need to be so tense around me. Do I look that scary?" She playfully squinted her eyes at him.

Nova smiled, but a sudden pang of pain shot through his heart—a rush of déjà vu. He felt as if he had spent his life meeting people just like her who treated him with kindness, while the rest of the world offered only negativity. It was a frightening mix of happiness and fear.

This feels lovely, he thought. I always dreamt of this life. Working by myself, making friends by myself... finding the love of my life and staying until I die. Hope is a heavy thing, but it is essential to live.

Nova looked at Miss Ji-an and, with newfound confidence, gave her a respectful nod. "I will put in my best effort in my work."

She chuckled. "Yeah, yeah. Come here, that's enough for today. You've arranged the whole shelf by yourself. Take a rest."

Together, they headed toward the staff room, leaving the quiet shelves behind.

The sun began its slow descent, painting the sky in bruised purples and deep oranges. As the library's hours drew to a close, Nova stayed behind for a moment, helping Miss Ji-an secure the sanctuary of books before stepping out into the cooling air. Across the street, Agent Do-hyeon was already waiting. He stood like a silent sentinel, two iced americanos in hand.

"Goodnight, Miss Ji-an," Nova called out, a final nod of respect to his 'second home.'

As they began to walk, their footsteps fell into a rhythmic cadence against the pavement.

"How was your day, then?" Do-hyeon asked, glancing at the younger man.

"Beyond good," the answer came with the speed of a bullet train. Nova looked as if he had been waiting all day to burst open his 'bag of stories.' He walked a step ahead, his voice animated as he shared the tiny victories of the library, while Do-hyeon followed behind, hands tucked into his pockets, listening to the melody of Nova's excitement.

But as the sky turned a bruised black, the "Natural Adrenaline" of the day began to sour. Just a few steps from the house, the atmosphere shifted.

A sudden chill raced down Do-hyeon's spine. He looked back sharply. The street was empty. Silent. Yet, the instinct of a seasoned agent screamed that they were being hunted. Seeing Nova's radiant smile, Do-hyeon didn't want to break the spell of his happiness. He reached out, gripping Nova's wrist and quickening their pace—just enough to be fast, but not enough to look like a retreat.

"Idiot, hurry up," Do-hyeon blabbered, his voice tight. "It's late. What if some pervert is following us?"

Nova frowned, his pace stumbling. What is wrong with him? he thought. "Hey, slow down! Did you see a ghost or something? You're hurting my wrist!"

They ducked through the final alleyway and practically fell through the front door. Do-hyeon slammed the door and threw the deadbolt with a finality that made the air vibrate.

"Now, will you bother telling me which 'pervert' was following us?" Nova snapped, his face flushed. He was pissed; he could feel the weight of the secrets Do-hyeon was hiding.

"Calm down," Do-hyeon breathed, his eyes darting to the window. "Someone was following us back there."

"Uhm?" Nova's expression turned sharp. "Did you see his face?"

The question stopped Do-hyeon in his tracks. Confusion flickered across his face. "What do you mean? Has this happened before?"

Concern flooded the agent's heart. He began to loosen his collar, his professional armor cracking. "Let's talk, Nova."

But before they could take their seats, a violent BAM-BAM-BAM erupted at the door. The sound was so aggressive it felt like an assault. In a blink, the friendly 'Hyung' vanished, replaced by a cold, professional killer.

"Go back to your room," Do-hyeon commanded. His voice was no longer a suggestion; it was the "Lethal"authority of the Bureau.

"And what about you?" Nova asked, the sparkle in his eyes replaced by a terrifying worry.

"Did you forget why I'm here?" Do-hyeon countered.

The knocking grew even more violent. Nova flinched, his heart hammering against his ribs.

"I said go back to your room!" This time, the tone was harsh, leaving no room for argument.

Nova had no choice. He cast one final, worried look at Do-hyeon—"Please be careful"—and fled upstairs. He locked his door, switched off the light, and sat with his back against the wood, trying to become part of the shadows. With trembling hands, he pulled out his phone and dialed a familiar number. Once. Twice. No response.

Fear began to blur his vision. He pressed the phone against his forehead, whispering into the dark. "Where are you, Rivert? Come back quickly."

On the other side of the front door, Do-hyeon forced a yawn, a master of the "White Lie."

"Who the hell is banging on my door repeatedly?" he called out, his voice feigning annoyance. "Don't you know it's night? You're going to wake the whole neighborhood."

He opened the door to find a man who looked like a 'Flashy Thug'—tall, menacing, with a black patch over one eye. Do-hyeon's eyes drifted past him. Two more guys were standing in the shadows—professional muscle. He ran the numbers in his head. I can take them one by one, but it's going to get messy.

"So, what do you want?"

The man didn't respond at first, his gaze searching the interior of the house. "He doesn't look like the man in the photo," the intruder noted, his voice flat and cold. "This place is registered to a man named Rivert."

"Uhm?" Do-hyeon acted confused. "Who is Rivert, bud? I bought this estate six months ago in a sale. Got a problem?"

The man in the patch hesitated. The lie was so smooth it was hard to pierce. "Then do you know about someone who lived with him? Dark, golden skin... kind of tall?"

Do-hyeon leaned in, his eyes hardening into a "Sovereign" glare. "I don't know. I only know about the previous owner. I didn't even know if his name was Rivert."

His eyes sent a silent message: Get the fuck away from my door.

The men discussed briefly. "Then we are off," the man muttered. "If the owner comes back, tell us."

"As if I would," Do-hyeon hissed under his breath as they vanished into the darkness.

Only when the silence returned did he close the door and lean against it. His legs gave out, and he slid to the floor, crouching in the dark.

"Jesus," he whispered, his hands finally shaking. "That was scary. I didn't know keeping someone safe was more terrifying than fighting them directly. But seriously... who the hell were those men?"