Chapter 107.2

Chapter 107.2

Kang emptied his glass in one go and placed it down with a decisive clink.

Wooshin closed his eyes, his expression cooling, and then looked at Kang Taegon again.

He had been using a Poison Tap hacking device to extract contact information from employees’ phones, making steady progress on his mission.

If no significant issues arose, this could be his final operation before leaving the NIS. It was all a matter of time.

Calm down. Don’t provoke Kang unnecessarily. Don’t create complications.

“Sir, are you by any chance a believer in the Sakhalin branch?” Wooshin asked.

“…!” Kang’s amused expression vanished instantly as his sharp gaze locked onto Wooshin. But Wooshin didn’t avert his eyes, waiting calmly for an answer.

In the past, Kang Taegon had been nothing more than a thug smuggling vodka and cutting deals with the Russian mafia.

With the money he made, he established a small security firm, which he eventually grew into East Asia’s largest military contractor. He had poured everything into it, becoming a single-minded entrepreneur.

There had never been any mention of him following a religion, but Wooshin no longer trusted what was on paper.

“I don’t believe in God,” Kang said, stroking his cane with a faint smile.

“But people can’t live without believing in something.”

“…”

“I may follow their path, but more precisely, I follow their money. Isn’t money what drags people through the mud or saves them from it? What other god performs miracles like that?”

Money.

Was Russian—or perhaps Russian Orthodox Church—money flowing into the operation? Political funding, religious donations, or business investments? If so, Kang might have been expanding his influence, bolstering his control piece by piece.

A cold gleam flickered through Wooshin’s eyes.

Chief Joo Seolheon wasn’t just wary of information leaks between Blast Agency and the NIS. She was concerned about something far more insidious: a lobbying network between the NIS and Russia.

“――.”

Deputy Chief Joo had been suspecting the NIS Director, and if this situation unfolded in her favor, it wouldn’t be long before she seized power.

It was all within reach. All Wooshin had to do was wait, and someone’s head would roll. The longed-for records of Winter Fortress and the suffocating sense of duty would finally meet their end.

But even if he left this field behind, could he truly live like a normal human being? He didn’t know.

“And what does Team Leader Lee Wooshin believe in?”

“I don’t believe in anything,” he replied.

Kang Taegon fixed his steady gaze on him, a flicker of intrigue glimmering in his eyes, They say faith is the evidence of things unseen.”

“…”

“Judging by your life, you’ve left no evidence behind at all.”

Wooshin’s face remained expressionless, his eyes unblinking. He looked like a finely crafted yet hollow sculpture.

Having lived his life behind a silicone mask, always impersonating someone else, Wooshin was a person who existed yet didn’t truly exist.

His face, posture, voice—and even his emotions and promises—had all been subject to change. With such a mutable existence, there was nothing in the world he could trust. He had even mastered controlling his complexion and pulse to evade lie detectors.

And so, all he knew was to tread carefully, remain vigilant, and scheme. He survived by systematically eliminating risks one by one.

A man who had abandoned faith, he even approached cherished relationships in the same guarded manner.

If the truth became an obstacle, he would bury the truth. If it was Kim Hyun, he would bury Kim Hyun.

All for the selfish dream of finally living a life where he could stay by Seoryeong’s side.

Just then, faint laughter echoed from somewhere.

“――!”

Kang Taegon shot up from his seat, strode to his desk, and swiveled the monitor.

Had he been on a video call before Wooshin arrived? The screen displayed a man dressed in black clerical robes. His penetrating, glossy eyes fixed unrelentingly on this side.

The thought that he might have overheard the entire conversation made Wooshin’s brow furrow instinctively.

“Oh dear, I forgot the introductions!”

Kang’s weathered face brightened as if he were introducing an old friend.

“This is the one who commissioned the Sakhalin assignment.”

“…!”

At those words, the priest, whose sharp yet sinister features gave off an unsettling impression, slowly curled his lips into a smile.

“Привет, лжец.”

Through the monitor, the two men’s gazes clashed.

Hello, liar.

That was what the priest had said.