Missions (Part 7)

The Life of Aurelius Valemont: Missions (Part 7)

I returned to the classroom after ending the phone call. The moment I stepped in—before class had even started—confusion filled the room. Whispers, glances, murmurs. Minjun had already left to return to his own class. I sat back at my desk, silent, watching as one by one, my classmates received notifications on their phones.

The video of the Aether studio incident was gone.

Deleted.

The confusion in the air thickened.

Before anyone could speak further, the classroom door slid open.

"Everyone, take your seats," the teacher announced, walking in with a stack of papers. His voice was calm but stern, instantly cutting through the noise. The students obeyed, scattering back to their seats as the atmosphere attempted to return to normal.

But not for me.

As I placed my hands on the desk, I felt it—Seojin's eyes. Burning. Piercing.

I turned my head slightly. There he was, arms crossed, still pretending to nap, but his glare told me everything. Suspicion. Intensity. Hatred?

Why?

Did he see through me yesterday? Or… was it something else?

The class officially began, but for the first time, I found it hard to focus. Not because of the lesson—but because of the question that lingered in Seojin's stare.

Aurelius (Lee Jaewon): Age 18

I'm in my second year of high school now. Seojin is still my classmate—but no longer my seatmate. Minjun is in the same class as well, but ever since that incident, he's stopped talking to me. Both of them have.

I can guess why.

Either they've figured out who I really am… or they're close. Suspicious. Watching. I can feel it.

Still, I maintain my roles.

The perfect student.

The idol trainee.

The star of the basketball club.

The charming boy with fanclubs that greet him every morning.

All of it—for the sake of the mission.

Last year, I achieved perfect scores on every exam—records no student has ever reached. It wasn't for pride. It was to build the perfect mask. A mask I can't afford to slip now that Chan-Woo Gong is starting to move.

Later that night...

I slipped past the school gates under the cover of darkness. No one saw me. The hallway lights flickered faintly—just enough for me to navigate without drawing attention. I wore gloves. No prints. No mistakes.

The principal's office was on the top floor. I picked the lock in under fifteen seconds.

Click.

I stepped inside.

Silent.

The air was still. Not even the hum of a heater. It felt... hollow.

I know the real documents—anything tying the Valemont family or VARAK—are likely hidden within the Aether studio, buried deep. But I've learned from experience: loose threads always end up somewhere. And sometimes, those threads are carelessly left behind.

I approached the desk.

Locked.

Of course.

I knelt down and pulled a small device from my inner pocket—a digital bypass tool Philip custom-made. With a small buzz, the drawer clicked open.

I began scanning.

Old files. Attendance records. Faculty memos.

Then something caught my eye.

A file stamped with the old Valemont estate crest—barely visible beneath layers of dust and misfiled papers.

My breath hitched.

I immediately downloaded the file and left the office without a trace. Back at the hotel, I locked the door, pulled out my laptop—the one I bought just a month ago—and opened the file.

There it was.

A detailed map.

A blueprint of the Aether studio with red markings—highlighting a secure archive room located beneath the main training complex. Hidden behind a biometric vault. Buried secrets. All of them.

And at the top of the document, bold and clear:

Target: Chan-Woo Gong

Objective: Infiltrate. Retrieve the documents. Eliminate the asset.

I leaned back in my chair.

That was it.

The mission all along. Take the files. Eliminate Chan-Woo Gong. Eliminate his men.

That… could include Seojin.

That could mean Minjun.

I clenched my fists.

Damn it.

Since when did I get attached to them?

The next day, I arrived at the Aether studio—back in character as Jaewon Lee, the idol trainee. Just another morning of vocal training, dance drills, and pretending this identity was real. I had to act normal. Keep my rhythm. Keep my cover.

Minjun passed by me in the hallway.

He didn't even glance in my direction.

No words. No nod. Nothing.

It was as if we were strangers.

I wanted to believe it was just him being distant… but my instincts knew better. He was suspicious. Maybe he knew. Maybe he saw something that night I barely escaped.

My teammates were already in Studio B. Taemin, Jiho, Sunwoo, and Riku. Good kids, good performers. I used them—well, Jaewon Lee used them—as the face of a rising idol group. They trusted me. Respected me. Even looked up to me sometimes.

And yet… they were just another layer of this false life I had built.

For the mission.

Always for the mission.

We stretched, rehearsed choreographies, laughed between water breaks. And still, Minjun kept his distance in the far corner of the studio—practicing alone.

I watched him for a second too long, and Riku nudged me, "Hyung, are you good?"

"Yeah," I said, smiling faintly. "Just tired."

But I wasn't tired.

I was unraveling.

And soon, I'd have to make a choice—one that could end everything.

After practice, I excused myself, clutching my stomach dramatically. "I think I ate something bad," I muttered, trying to sound as miserable as possible.

Pathetic excuse. But it worked.

Taemin winced sympathetically, "Get some rest, hyung."

I nodded and hurried out, ducking into a maintenance hallway once I was out of sight. My hand reached for the familiar weight of the pink purse—my disguise kit. In seconds, I became someone else entirely.

The Chairwoman.

Flawless mimicry, this time with no room for error.

I couldn't afford another Eunsoo Song incident.

Back then, I'd been reckless. Too fast, too confident.

Not tonight.

"Philip," I whispered through the hidden comms, pressing the small earpiece into my ear.

His voice crackled through. "All security cameras are on loop. I've overridden their systems. Everyone's phones are being fed with fake timestamps. You're clear."

"Thanks. Keep eyes on everything."

"Always," he replied, typing in the background. "You've got fifteen minutes before the system resets."

I moved fast, heels clicking against the marble floor—steady and deliberate. I walked past guards and staff without a second glance. No hesitation. The Chairwoman didn't need to explain herself.

I reached the restricted floor. A biometric scanner glowed beside the elevator.

"Philip."

"Already on it."

The scanner flashed green. The doors opened.

As I stepped in, my pulse quickened. This was it.

Time to find the file.

And maybe… find out just how deep this place runs.

I moved swiftly through the executive floor, careful to keep my head high and expression firm—just like the Chairwoman would. Every step was calculated, confident, and calm. But inside, my nerves were coiled tight.

I couldn't afford to run into anyone who truly knew her.

Especially not her son—Minjun.

Or Eunsoo Song.

I turned a corner and spotted one of the vice directors in the distance, chatting with someone I didn't recognize. I quickly ducked into a side corridor, pretending to check my phone like a busy executive.

"Philip," I murmured, tapping the earpiece hidden beneath my dark wig. "Status. Is the coast clear at her office?"

Static for a moment, then Philip's voice came through, hushed and fast.

"Two guards stationed outside. No one inside. You've got a ten-minute window before Eunsoo finishes her meeting and heads back."

"Understood."

I slipped through a security-locked side door, bypassing the main hallway. Philip had already disabled the alarms. I passed a camera—its red light steady and blind. All thanks to him.

My hand hovered briefly over the door handle to the Chairwoman's private office.

This was it.

One wrong move and everything would collapse.

I inhaled deeply, steadied my heartbeat, and pushed the door open.

Silence.

Just the faint hum of the central air.

I stepped inside.

The hunt for the file had begun.

Her office was pristine—almost unnaturally so.

The marble floors gleamed under the soft white lights. A long glass desk sat near the wide windows, organized to perfection. Not a pen out of place. Her nameplate shined like it was polished every hour. Awards, certificates, and signed frames of her with major celebrities lined the back wall in perfect symmetry. A rich, expensive scent lingered—vanilla musk and sharp citrus, like authority wrapped in elegance.

I checked everything.

The drawers? Locked, and when hacked—empty.

Her laptop and PC? Wiped clean. Not a trace of anything related to VARAK, the Valemont estate, or even a hint of a hidden file structure. I searched behind framed photos, under the rug, even the bottom of the trash bin.

Nothing.

If not here—then where?

It's not in the school either. I was sure of it. And if the map pointed here…

"Where's the damn vault?" I muttered through clenched teeth.

Frustrated, I let myself fall back onto the leather sofa in the corner of the room. I sat there in her skin—still disguised as the Chairwoman—my head tilted toward the ceiling, breathing heavily, trying to think.

But something felt… off.

The ceiling.

Minimalist and clean—just like the rest of the room. But there, in one corner, a faint shape moved.

A lizard.

A common brown lizard.

In this office?

I narrowed my eyes.

No one who obsessively polished their nameplate would tolerate something like that. Not here. And definitely not that.

Its eyes glowed faintly, almost like… sensors?

I slowly stood up.

"…Philip," I whispered. "Are there any active heat or surveillance nodes in this room that you missed?"

"None. I disabled everything. Why?" he replied instantly.

"There's a lizard on the ceiling."

"…What?"

I didn't answer. I walked toward it, quiet, cautious—like a cat stalking prey.

I reached up, jumping a little—trying to grab it like a freaking kid catching bugs. It skittered. I followed.

The thing darted along the wall trim and toward a seemingly ordinary bookshelf.

Then—vanished.

Straight through the paneling.

My brows furrowed.

There.

I ran my fingers across the shelf. Knocked lightly.

Hollow.

I pressed the third shelf inward.

A soft click.

Then the wall hissed open.

My heart pounded.

A hidden passage.

So that's where she kept it.

I stepped inside, unaware that someone had just exited the elevator down the hall.

The hidden door creaked open just enough to let me slip through. Cold air greeted me—far cooler than the rest of the building. A short hallway stretched before me, lined with matte black steel. Motion lights flickered on with every step.

My footsteps echoed.

At the end of the hall stood a reinforced biometric vault. No keypad. No lock.

Just a retinal scanner and a thumbprint pad glowing in pale blue.

"Tch. Philip," I muttered into the earpiece. "It's retinal and fingerprint locked."

"I see it. Give me a minute… I'm launching a bypass simulation. Hold tight."

I leaned against the wall, breathing steady.

The disguise was still intact. I still looked like the Chairwoman. That should buy me time—even if I get caught. But—

Beep.

The vault clicked.

A metallic hiss followed by a quiet rumble as the doors parted.

Inside, I stepped into a compact room that looked more like a museum vault than a document storage. Glass cases lined the walls, each one labeled in Korean and English. Inside were hard drives, old books, blueprints… and several folders marked in red: "V".

I moved fast.

I pulled out the folders—flipping through pages. My heart dropped.

There it was.

VARAK.

Blueprints of entire criminal networks. Payment records. Training facility locations. Agent codenames. Project: "Replica." Operation: "Inheritance." All of it.

And then—on the last page of the last folder—was a photo.

A boy. Small. Pale. About six or seven years old.

Hair like mine. Eyes like mine.

The name: Aurelius Valemont.

My hand shook.

"Philip…" I breathed.

"I see it," he said. "You were a project. You're not just his son—you were the prototype. That's why they named the Replica program after you."

I didn't have time to process that.

Ding.

The soft chime of an elevator echoed faintly down the hall. My head snapped up.

"Philip."

"I'm seeing movement. Someone's coming."

I stuffed the folders inside the pink purse and shut the case. I ran back to the hidden entrance, preparing to close it—

But then I froze.

Minjun.

He stood just outside the Chairwoman's office, looking around warily. He had earbuds in—was probably talking to someone.

His hand reached for the doorknob.

Shit.

I whispered quickly, "Philip, lights off. Now."

The hallway behind me fell dark.

I shut the hidden door with a soft click, pressing myself against the cold steel inside the wall.

Minjun entered.

I could hear him.

His voice was quiet, unsure. "Mom? …Eunsoo?"

His footsteps moved closer.

"…Why is it so cold in here?"

He walked toward the shelf.

I held my breath.

The wall was thin. Too thin.

Minjun placed a hand against the same shelf I used.

The same one that opened the hidden entrance.

He stayed there a second. Two seconds. Then he muttered, "Weird."

I closed my eyes.

He stepped away.

The office door closed.

I exhaled slowly.

Close. Too close.

But I had the file. I had the truth.

And now, I was being hunted not just by VARAK—but by the people I once called classmates.

After securing every last document from the hidden vault, I made sure the office was spotless—no fingerprints, no signs of tampering, no security traces left behind. I shut the secret compartment, realigned the shelf, and fixed the position of the lizard-like surveillance drone I'd disturbed earlier. Even the chair I sat in was pushed back exactly as it had been.

No trace. No mistake.

I moved to the private restroom in the hallway, locked the door, and ripped off the silicon mask of the Chairwoman. Beneath the synthetic skin, Lee Jaewon reemerged. My reflection stared back—calm, sweat-beaded, with slightly bloodshot eyes.

A minute later, I returned to my team's practice room like nothing had happened.

"You good now?" one of the members asked.

"Yeah," I said, forcing a small smile. "Must've been something I ate."

They laughed, brushing it off. I picked up the routine mid-set, syncing back into rhythm. Sweat poured as I danced, spun, and smiled on cue. Just Jaewon Lee again. No vaults. No missions. No shadows.

When practice finally ended, I waved them goodbye, grabbed my bag, and slipped out through the back door of the studio. My loyal scooter—Shadow Jr.—waited patiently in the parking lot.

The engine purred as I pulled my hood up and zoomed down the neon-lit streets of Seoul. Familiar city lights passed in a blur, but my mind was somewhere else.

Twenty minutes later, I reached the hotel.

I scanned the hallway. Clear.

Swiped the keycard.

The room welcomed me in silence.

I dropped the bag, locked the door, kicked off my shoes, and threw myself face-first onto the bed.

Exhaustion hit like a train.

But…

I'd done it.

The documents were here. Safe. Inside the secured compartment beneath my suitcase lining.

Everything about VARAK. Everything about Project Replica. Everything about me.

I turned onto my back, staring at the ceiling.

"Next… Chan-Woo Gong," I muttered. "And every last one of his men."

But I knew better.

It wouldn't be tonight.

It would take time.

Planning. Precision.

And maybe… saying goodbye to the last remnants of this fake life.

The next day rolled in like any other. Same uniform. Same sky. Same mission still looming at the back of my mind.

I arrived at school on my Shadow Jr., the small engine humming beneath me as I turned into the campus parking lot. I parked neatly, pulled off my helmet, and ruffled my hair with one hand. As usual, a small crowd of fans spotted me before I even stepped off the bike.

"Good morning, Jaewon!"

"You look so cool today!"

I offered a smile, not too warm, not too cold. Just enough to keep the image alive.

Once inside, I made my way to my desk. Seojin sat in his usual seat, just a row ahead. Minjun was on the opposite side of the room, his head buried in a textbook.

Neither of them looked at me.

Ignored. Again.

I took my seat and leaned back, resting my elbow on the desk and glancing toward the window. Same silence. Same distance.

Lunch came. I slipped away before anyone could grab me. I didn't want the cafeteria noise, nor the clingy attention of fans. I ate quietly in one of the empty art rooms, the ticking clock the only sound keeping me company.

Thirty minutes before class resumed.

The sun was high. Warm.

I wandered to the basketball court—my second home in this persona. The court echoed with bouncing rubber and sneakers skimming over polished wood.

Seojin was there, alone, practicing free throws. His form—sharp and calculated—hadn't changed. His expression was unreadable.

I picked up a loose ball from the sideline.

Without a word, I stepped onto the court.

He looked at me, the faintest flicker of recognition crossing his face.

"You here to play or just watch?" he asked, wiping sweat from his brow.

I spun the ball once on my finger, then smiled. "Depends. You up for a match?"

He passed the ball without warning—fast, like a test.

I caught it easily. Shot from the three-point line.

Swish.

His eyebrows lifted slightly. "Not bad."

We played.

One-on-one. Silent at first. But the rhythm built between us. Dribbling. Blocking. Shooting. I moved faster than I used to—sharper, more controlled. The hours of private training under my "idol trainee" schedule paid off.

"Your form's gotten better," Seojin said as we paused for breath. "Like… way better."

"Guess I've been practicing."

"Practicing like someone who doesn't want to be noticed," he replied, eyes narrowing slightly. "Or maybe… someone who's trying not to stand out too much in the wrong way."

I smiled and tossed the ball back to him. "You think too much."

He caught it, didn't smile back.

"You're not who you say you are, are you?"

I paused, just for a heartbeat, then gave a soft chuckle. "I get that a lot. Maybe I'm just good at keeping secrets."

"Or hiding something."

He shot the ball. It bounced off the rim, rolled back toward me.

I bent down to grab it, spinning it slowly in my hand.

"Do you always interrogate people on the court, Seojin? You sure this isn't just an elaborate attempt to get me to pass you the ball more during games?"

That earned a faint twitch of a smile from him.

But his eyes?

Still watching. Still suspicious.

I passed the ball back and stepped off the court.

"See you in class."

Class had already begun. The teacher's voice echoed through the room as he droned on about a significant turning point in Korean history—something about the Joseon dynasty reforms. I kept my eyes on my notebook, pen in hand, pretending to take notes like the model student I was expected to be.

Out of the corner of my eye, I felt it.

A glance.

Seojin.

His eyes were on me again. Calculating. Quiet. Persistent.

I didn't turn my head, but I knew the way he looked at me. He was studying me, as if waiting for a crack to form in the mask I wore.

I kept writing, pen gliding effortlessly across the paper. Notes that made perfect sense. Notes that a real student would write. Notes written for the sake of the mission.

Then, I casually turned to the left.

Minjun.

He was staring too.

I exhaled silently and returned to my notes. Of course. Why wouldn't he be watching? "The White Lion" himself—grandson of the very man I was meant to eliminate. A strategist by blood, a quiet observer by nature. Cold, brilliant, and dangerous. Just like his partner in shadows, "The Black Dog," Seojin.

I was surrounded by them.

The teacher suddenly stopped mid-sentence and looked up from his notes.

"Lee Jaewon-ssi," he called out.

I lifted my head politely. "Yes, seonsaengnim?"

"What was the primary purpose of the Gabo Reforms during the late Joseon period?"

I didn't miss a beat. "To modernize Korea's political, economic, and social structures under the influence of Japan, including abolishing the class system, introducing new military structures, and promoting educational reform."

He gave a satisfied nod. "Very good. Excellent articulation."

Then his gaze shifted.

"Han Seojin?"

Seojin straightened. "The reforms also centralized royal authority, reduced the power of the yangban class, and aimed to strengthen state control while paving the way for a modernized state—although it led to social unrest."

The teacher smiled. "Correct. Nice addition."

He moved through a few more students, each giving half-hearted or unsure answers. Some mumbled. Some guessed. Some barely tried.

Then he turned to Minjun.

"Gong Minjun-ssi?"

Minjun didn't flinch. He simply answered with calm confidence, "It was Korea's attempt to modernize under foreign pressure. Though effective in concept, the reforms were rushed, and resistance from traditionalists caused instability—resulting in a backlash that eventually contributed to the collapse of the dynasty."

The room fell silent for a beat.

Even the teacher looked impressed.

He nodded slowly. "Very well stated."

Minjun returned to staring at his book, as if the question hadn't mattered.

But I knew better.

It was a message. From both of them.

They weren't just brilliant students. They were letting me know they were watching—closely.

I smiled faintly to myself and went back to my notes.

Let the game begin.

End of Chapter 56.