The Algorithm Of Deceit

Chapter Four

Ji-hyun stirred, her body aching as she slowly opened her eyes. The room was dim, the only light filtering through the curtains casting soft shadows across the floor. It took her a moment to realize where she was—still on the ground, the wooden floor cold beneath her.

She had passed out while crying. A dull throbbing settled in her head, her throat raw from sobbing the night before. Her limbs felt like lead as she forced herself to sit up, her eyes landing on the flag and pendant lying next to her.

For a moment, she just stared.

Everything from yesterday came rushing back—the soldiers, the words "presumed dead," the letter, the pendant in her hands. Her chest tightened, but no tears came this time. Maybe she was too exhausted to cry anymore. Slowly, she pushed herself up, her legs unsteady as she staggered toward the kitchen counter where her phone lay.

The screen lit up as she picked it up, revealing a flood of missed calls and notifications. Most were from her workmates. A few from Manager Choi. She exhaled, gripping the phone tightly. They probably thought she had gotten sick or something. If only it were that simple. Tossing the phone back onto the counter, she ran a hand down her face.

She felt disgusting—dried tears and sweat clinging to her skin, the weight of grief pressing down on her like a suffocating blanket.

A shower. She needed a shower.

The scalding water did little to wash away the heaviness in her chest, but it at least made her feel human again. Dressing in black felt like the only appropriate choice. A long-sleeved sweater, slacks, and a dark coat. Her hands moved on their own as she folded the military flag neatly, placing it on her bed beside the pendant. She reached for her bag, packing it as if it were just another day. But as she walked out the door, she felt... empty.

The office was a blur. Ji-hyun barely registered the chatter of her colleagues, the hum of computers, the clicking of keyboards. She walked straight to Manager Choi's office, knocking once before stepping inside. He looked up from his screen, his expression shifting from mild annoyance to concern the moment he saw her.

"Ji-hyun," he said, setting down his pen. "I was just about to call you. Are you okay? You didn't answer your phone."

She nodded, her voice void of any emotion. "I need a week off."

Manager Choi studied her for a moment before sighing. "I figured something was wrong." He leaned back in his chair. "You can take the leave, but you know the company policy. Your monthly pay will be deducted."

"I understand."

No argument. No complaints.

Just compliance.

That alone made Manager Choi's brows furrow, but he didn't push. "Fine. Take the week. Handle whatever you need to." She nodded, turning on her heels and walking out. Her mind was already somewhere else. Back home, Ji-hyun stood in front of her closet, staring at the neatly arranged boxes tucked away at the top. They had been there for years, untouched.

Soo-ah's things.

She hesitated, then grabbed them, one by one, setting them on the floor. Old clothes. Letters. A few childhood trinkets. A pair of running shoes Soo-ah had forgotten to take with her when she left for the military. Ji-hyun ran her fingers over the fabric of an old hoodie, one Soo-ah used to wear all the time. It still smelled faintly of her—a mix of citrus shampoo and the faint metallic scent of gunpowder from the training grounds.

Her hands clenched.

Without another thought, she carried everything to the balcony, tossing the contents into a large metal bowl.