Agnes drifted through the vast center of the universe,gliding calmly above the planet Titan,lost in her thoughts.

  Her mind returned to the dayshe was first assigned to the Earth auditand stepped into the Earth Branch.

  The branch director, Okhwang Sangje—wearing a smile edged with quiet servility.The operations chief—watching her with eyes that were cautious, unreadable.

  The memory lingered,pressing softly yet relentlesslyagainst a corner of her heart.

  There wasn’t enough verified datato begin an immediate on-site audit on Earth.

  But time wasn’t a luxury she could afford.

  With a fixed deadline hanging over her,a heavy pressure settled in—like an unseen handslowly tightening around her throat.

  “Thank you for your cooperation.I’m Captain Agnes,Audit Division lead,dispatched from Headquarters.”

  Without waiting for guidance,she walked straight intothe Reincarnation Department’s Training Hall,alone.

  “Who’s in charge here?”

  The words Audit Division echoed through the hall.

  The director shot up from his chair.

  He’d heard rumors—that Headquarters might send auditors someday.He just never thoughtthey’d arrive this fast,or this directly.

  “Ah… welcome.I’m the director of this training hall.May I ask the purpose of your visit?”

  He approached with an awkward smile,careful. Measured.

  Agnes didn’t answer.

  Her cold gaze swept over him,top to bottom,like a system scan.

  “I’m here to reviewthe Soul Reincarnation Department’straining manual.All related materials. Now.”

  The director’s face hardened.

  The manual hadn’t been revised oncesince its update a thousand years ago.

  Submit it as-is,and a report would go straight up—Outdated. Noncompliant. Negligent.

  Hide it,and he’d be flagged immediately—Obstruction. Non-cooperation.

  He knew perfectly wellwhich charge would kill him faster.

  Swallowing a deep sigh,the director turned without a wordand headed for the archive.

  As he disappeared,Agnes slowly scanned the hall.

  Desks and chairs stood scattered,no order, no intent.The large screen at the fronthung down, untouched.

  It felt like a placeno one remembered how to use anymore.

  Dust gathered thick in the corners.One chair leaned crookedly.At the end of the corridor,a fluorescent light flickered—uneven, restless.

  Each detail scraped quietlyagainst Agnes’s sharpened senses.

  “Here…the manual files.We’ve been extremely busy lately.I hope you’ll understand.”

  The director bowed deeply,his expression completely changed—fully switched into submission.

  Agnes took the documents.

  “When was it last revised?”

  The director froze.

  A faint twitch crossed his face,cold sweat threatening to surface.

  Then—he snapped.

  “What are you idiots doing?!I told you to attach that immediately!You still haven’t done it?Pathetic!”

  He jabbed angrily at empty air,as if invisible staff were standing there,ready to take the blame.

  This story has been unlawfully obtained without the author's consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.

  Meanwhile,the sharp clicks of Agnes’s leather bootsechoed down the corridor.

  In one hand,the copied manual.

  She moved forward—quiet, unhurried,carrying an authorityno one could stop.

  -------

  Earth.The Korean Peninsula.Seoul.

  A well-known knife-cut noodle restaurant.

  From early morning, Da-hye hummed softlywhile carefully curling her hair with a flat iron.Today, she looked brighter than usual—clearly dressed up.

  Under the restaurant lights,she stood out immediately.Bright. Lively.

  Neat and composed,like a young woman heading out on a first date.A gentle glow warmed her cheeks,and a natural rose tint rested on her lips—a face that lifted the moodjust by being seen.

  Overall—cute, pretty, alive.

  That day, Da-hye drew attentionwithout even trying,simply by sitting there.

  Then—

  “Wow, what is that smell?Da-hye, ease up on the perfume.You’re gonna kill your dad’s nose…”

  Gyeong-su mutteredas he stepped into the restaurantafter the 11 a.m. Mass.

  “Lower your voice! Everyone can hear you!You’re embarrassing me, Dad!”

  Da-hye’s heart had been racingsince early that morning.Today was her first lunch with Hyeon-pil.

  She’d barely slept the night before.Her nerves were tight,her heart pounding out of control.

  She wanted to see him again—even just once—but her father kept putting up walls,telling her, “Don’t come by the philosophy office.”No one really understood how she felt.

  But then—because her mother, Yun-jeong,and Madam Hyo-jeong had planned to attend Mass together,today, at last,she was sitting across from him.

  The trouble started that morning.

  When her father teased her,saying she “smelled like an old man,”Da-hye got annoyedand sprayed her perfumea little more than usual.

  And still, completely oblivious,he kept going—now complaining about “cheap perfume,”without a shred of self-awareness.

  “Hyeon-pil, you know barley rice—a bit of young radish,a drizzle of sesame oil,a swipe of gochujang—mix it up and it’s perfect.Try the kimchi too. Go on.”

  When Yun-jeong called out warmly,using Hyeon-pil’s namea little too affectionately,a knot of irritation tightened in Da-hye’s chest.

  Why that tone?Of all the ways she could say it.

  Even thinking about itmade her irritation spike.

  Curious about him,Da-hye had casually asked Hyo-jeong about Hyeon-pil before.Not long ago,she learned he was two years older than her.

  That small age gap—she liked it.

  The thought made her smile inside,and throughout the Mass,she whispered a quiet prayer.

  God… thank you. Really.How did you know I like older guys?

  Catching a glimpse of her expression,Gyeong-su was remindedof the last family dinner—when he’d enduredDa-hye’s one-sided menu choice.

  And suddenly,he felt like gettinga little revenge.

  “Da-hye, have you forgotten already?That tragic day a month ago—when you yelled,‘Why would anyone eat flour,’and we ended up in Jangchung-dongeating jokbal instead?

  So why is itthat today you’re cravingthat same ‘lump of flour’ again?

  Honestly,I can’t keep up withmy precious only daughter’s taste buds.”

  Da-hye’s face went stiff.

  A month ago—that day had beenthe family’s once-a-month dinner outing.

  But because she’d shouted,“I’m never eating flour!”the menu had changed—to jokbal.

  That memory lingered quietly in Gyeong-su’s mind.Today, he finally used it.

  “Excuse me… maybe just eat the barley rice?Dad, what exactly are you expecting from me,keeping this up?”

  Her lips pressed tight.Her voice was low, but firm.

  A clear warning.

  “What is this, a Siberian wasteland over here?Why aren’t you eating—just arguing?Hyeon-pil, don’t mind them. Eat comfortably.This father and daughter are always like this.Ignore them.”

  With five people,they split into two tables.

  Gyeong-su and Da-hye sat side by side.Across from them sat Hyeon-pil,Hyo-jeong’s son.

  Watching their playful bickering,Hyeon-pil found himself smiling—without even realizing it.

  So this is what it feels like.The taste of living.

  For the first time in his life,something warm settled in his chest.

  And—to be honest—he liked Da-hye too.

  People used to approach himbased on appearances,only to turn away silentlyonce they learned about his physical disability.

  Those moments, repeated over time,left deep scars—wounds that never fully healed.

  But after his First Awakening Day,his body began to change.

  It felt lighter.When he spoke,the stiffness that once clung to his tonguewas gone.

  Somewhere inside him,something like confidencewas quietly taking shape.

  And now—the woman he’d only imaginedwas sitting right in front of him.

  Because of that,even speaking felt difficult.Afraid of disappointing her,he grew more careful.

  Then—the warmth of Gyeong-su’s familyoverlapped with the memoryof his mother’s bright smile.

  One side of his chestgrew warm—quietly, unmistakably.

  And just like that,in the middle of what once feltlike a frozen table,Hyeon-pil realized for the first timethat barley rice and knife-cut noodlescould taste like happiness.

  A moment later—

  “Um…after we finish eating,would you like to go takeone of those four-cut photo strips together?”

  He spoke carefully.

  Then—

  His voice.

  Clear. Smooth.

  No trace of the old Hyeon-pilwho struggled to force words out.

  Hyo-jeong and Gyeong-su’s eyeswidened at the same time.

  Just days ago,he’d needed to pause for breathjust to keep talking—

  Now,he spoke as ifhe had always been this way.

  The air above the tablefell still.