Chapter 154.2

Chapter 154.2

Startled, Joo Seolheon let the muzzle of the gun shake unsteadily.

“You were too focused on guarding against your father.”

She didn’t look away from her husband’s face, now as gaunt as a corpse.

“Sixteen years ago, because of the research you published. I was sent under a joint request from the U.S. I was an agent of South Korea’s Agency for National Security Planning. Now they call it the NIS.”

The moment she spoke, Rigay grabbed her arm as if the gun no longer mattered. Her wrist bent weakly, but Seolheon didn’t resist. His grip was shockingly strong, trembling with desperation.

“The U.S. sent you because of my research?”

His eyes reddened. But this wasn’t the anger of betrayal, his widened gaze flickered between awe and despair.

“I… I waited for so long!” His reaction made no sense.

“So it was you, Zoya? Ugh! I deliberately published that exaggerated paper! I thought… if the U.S. investigated me, they might take an interest in our Koryo people too!”

*Koryo – Korean people born and raised in Russia.

Tears streamed down his face as he smiled.

“I thought they’d save us! My brothers…”

Seolheon’s expression hardened.

“But Rigay… The U.S. already knows the Sakhalin monastery is an unofficial KGB branch.”

“…!”

“The only thing they care about is your research.”

“That’s… that’s impossible.”

“You didn’t even feel anger watching those children suffer.”

His pupils shook in misery. It was the sight of a naive child’s hope shattering.

So his research had been bait? He couldn’t fight alone, so he tried to lure the U.S. in? It was an unexpected truth, but so clumsy, so painfully naive.

Rigay was the kind of man who only waited for a savior. But the moment you expect others to fight for you, you’ve already made a deal with the devil.

In the end, her husband was too weak, too indecisive to be Sakhalin’s salvation. And now, his own daughter was there.

“No… no. Please, tell me it’s a lie.”

Rigay dropped to his knees, begging. His whole body shook as if freezing, clutching her legs like a man about to be swept away by a raging current. His voice cracked, choked with sobs.

“I—I… I opened those children’s skulls.”

“……!”

“I did it. I was the one…”

A look of unbearable agony twisted his face. What is he saying? Joo Seolheon froze.

“I… I implanted the chips in the children’s heads, Zoya. I pried open their skulls. I created the markers to help Father. I obeyed God like that, and yet…”

“…”

“Even so, I prayed the children would escape. That’s why I deliberately started with the strongest ones. I thought if anyone could survive, if anyone could break free of this world unlike me, it would be them.”

Rigay buried his face in his wife’s lap.

“I swapped the chips. Not control chips, ones loaded with my research data.”

“…!”

“I chose the strongest children to bury the truth forever. So no one… could ever find what I hid. But then, among them…”

He stared at his own palms as if they were the eyes of a monster.

“What if my own child was there?”

Seolheon couldn’t speak. The man before her was broken.

The weight of his sin was too heavy.

“Zoya… What have I done?”

His voice cracked, drenched in despair.

***

Maxim Solzhenitsyn, Master of Winter Castle

Calling Maxim Solzhenitsyn the most influential man in Russia wouldn’t be an exaggeration.

Arrogant in appearance, raised from childhood on an elitist path, a former KGB director turned Prime Minister, the mastermind behind the Eurasian Scenario. The Siberian genius.

Maxim was the core of the Siloviki, the hardliner who personally designed the agent training program and willingly offered Winter Castle as its grounds.

Rumors swirled that the reason a single president could hold power for so long was solely due to Maxim Solzhenitsyn’s maneuvering. Even the sheer scale of his estate was enough to crush one’s spirit under the weight of his family’s influence.

And Joo Seolheon was heading straight into that very Winter Castle.

She didn’t know his name, his face, or anything else.

But Joo Seolheon trudged forward through the snow, her feet sinking with every step.

‘I have to save them. Every last living child.’

Clutching just one belief that her daughter might be among them.