Page 5 of Scarbound

For a moment, he simply stared at the message he had sent the previous night. He hadn’t expected anything. The phone should have been turned off by now. Haneul had been dead for two years.

But beneath the message was the same word that had unsettled him when he first saw it.

Delivered.

His eyes narrowed. He stared at the word, then at Haneul’s name above it.

Maybe the number had been reassigned. Maybe there was some other explanation. He waited a few seconds, before slipping the phone back into his pocket, and walked away.

CHAPTER 2

October 23 — The Previous Day

The first rays of sunlight filtered through the floor-to-ceiling windows of Chung-Hee’s modern, minimalist apartment. At five in the morning, the sky burned orange and red. He woke abruptly to the sharp sound of his alarm. There was a brief moment that lasted no more than a breath, when his chest tightened for no clear reason. He sat up at once, pushing the sensation away before it could form into a thought.

As always, he followed the same routine: bathroom, teeth brushed, training clothes and sneakers on, then straight into a series of rigorous strength exercises in the apartment’s private gym. His movements were rigid, punishing, and deliberate.

An hour later, with the sun fully risen, the voice of the AI assistant echoed through the apartment’s advanced smart system. “Good morning, Mr. Lee. Today’s schedule includes a board meeting at 8:30 a.m., a presentation to potential investors at 10:00 a.m., and a prototype test at 2:00 p.m.”

Chung-Hee did not respond. He finished his last set, wiped the sweat from his face, and stood still for a moment, his hands resting on his knees. His heartbeat slowed. He showered, dressed in an elegant designer suit, and ate oatmeal with berries and chia seeds while reviewing financial reports on his iPad.

San was waiting downstairs beside the striking red sports car.

“Good morning, Mr. Lee. How are you today?” he asked briskly, opening the door.

“Good morning,” Chung-Hee replied coolly, already scanning his tablet. “We’re running behind.”

San hesitated, then nodded, slipping into the driver’s seat.

“Traffic alert. A ten-minute delay is expected on your route,” the AI announced.

“Take the usual route,” Chung-Hee said flatly. He adjusted his schedule with precise movements, shaving minutes from meals, transitions, rest. The delay irritated him more than it should have.

They arrived at NovaTech’s headquarters at 7:40. Late, but with enough time.

Chung-Hee walked into the conference room already reviewing the final report. By the time the other executives had taken their seats, he had found two figures he wanted checked again and sent a message to the finance team.

When the presentation began, he spoke without notes. The new chip had consumed years of his life. He knew every weakness, every improvement, every failed prototype that had come before it.

One board member raised concerns about production costs. “I’ve reviewed the latest financial data, and frankly, the manufacturing costs are alarming.”

“They are high,” Chung-Hee said. “That doesn’t make the project unviable.”

“But hasn’t the prototype shown signs of instability?”

Chung-Hee looked at him. “Earlier versions did. This one hasn’t.”

No one spoke for a moment.

“My team will continue testing until I’m satisfied.”

By two in the afternoon, the prototype test was underway. Min-Seo briefed the room while data streamed across the screens.

“Performance under stress has been excellent,” she said. “Multiple tests confirm reliability.”

“Any weaknesses?”

“User interface and energy efficiency. We’re working on both.”