"I’m starting to see the pattern," Seo-yeon said, breaking the silence. Yun-jae looked up. "What kind of pattern?"
"Case 3870-05: The medical device case. The CEO is an MD-PhD from Seoul National University. Case 3870-07: The lead researcher is a PhD from Korea University. Case 3870-12: The safety inspector is an Engineering PhD from Yonsei." Yun-jae scanned the list. All of them held doctoral degrees from top-tier universities.
"At first, I thought it was a coincidence. People in those positions usually have PhDs," she said, spreading more files. "But then I found something strange. I looked up their actual dissertations."
The titles on the screen were all published between 2016 and 2019. They shared an eerie structural similarity—roughly 100 pages, identical formatting, and a suspiciously similar citation style.
"It’s unnatural," Seo-yeon pointed out. "Different schools, different majors, yet the prose feels like it was written by the same person. And look at the references."
She opened a new tab. Yun-jae’s eyes narrowed. "The reference sections for these PhD theses... they all cite the 3870 cases."
Yun-jae’s hands went cold. "You mean Case 3870-09—the one I reviewed—is listed as Reference 17 in this SNU thesis?" "Exactly," Seo-yeon nodded. "And Case 3870-07 is Reference 23 in that one. The 'research' we’ve been tracking was recycled as foundational data to validate these fake degrees."
The gears finally clicked in Yun-jae’s mind. "So the reports I 'laundered'..." "...Became the backbone of their academic legitimacy," Seo-yeon finished. "That single sentence you wrote—'Utilizable as external judgment material'—was used during their defense to prove their research was 'vetted' and 'reliable.'"
She navigated to a cached news article from 2018.
[Academic Solutions Under Investigation for Thesis Ghostwriting] A small report from an obscure outlet that was buried almost immediately.
"What is this company?" Yun-jae asked. "A ghostwriting factory. They promised a 100-page dissertation in 72 hours. All the client had to provide was a topic; they handled the data, the writing, and the 'vetting'."
Yun-jae read the archived landing page. Absolute Confidentiality. Customized Research Data. Guaranteed Academic Validation. And at the bottom, a counter: [Total Clients: 3,870]
"3,870..." Yun-jae whispered. "It wasn't a case number," Seo-yeon said softly. "It was a headcount. Case 3870-09 wasn't the ninth case—it was the ninth client out of 3,870."
She began linking the numbers to real names.
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3870-09: Professor at a major Medical School.
3870-07: R&D Director at a pharmaceutical giant.
3870-12: Technical Executive at a top construction firm.
"You weren't just reviewing reports, Yun-jae. You were providing the 'expert verification' that made their ghostwritten lies look like legitimate science."
Yun-jae stared at his hands. "I... I helped build an army of fake doctors." "More precisely, you made fake research look real. And on that lie, they built their careers."
She scrolled through the master list. It was a directory of the nation's elite: politicians, CEOs, professors, judges, lawyers. All of them had received their PhDs between 2016 and 2019.
"They are everywhere," Seo-yeon said, her voice dropping an octave. She stopped at one name highlighted in red. [Jung Min-su — Director of Drug Safety, Ministry of Food and Drug Safety]
"This man?" Yun-jae asked. Seo-yeon opened her brother’s email folder.
To: Jung Min-su Subject: Request for Re-evaluation of Case 3870-09 Date: Nov 5, 2019
"Director Jung, please review the safety data for Case 3870-09. Approval is premature. Long-term safety data is missing."
Reply: [None]
Seo-yeon pointed to the master list again.
Jung Min-su Degree: PhD in Pharmacy (Aug 2017) AS Client Number: 3870-1847
"My brother reached out to him for help. He trusted him," Seo-yeon’s voice trembled. "But Jung Min-su was already a client. If he had listened to my brother, his own fake degree would have been exposed. He ignored the warning to save himself."
The silence in the room was deafening. 3,870 wasn't just a number anymore. It was 3,870 acts of betrayal. 3,870 people who had looked the other way while Lee Seo-jun fought alone.
"Who actually wrote all these?" Yun-jae asked. "That’s the problem. To write 3,870 theses in 72 hours each... you’d need an army of writers. Hundreds of people like you, but for every stage of the process."
Yun-jae remembered A-12’s words: "You have a talent for organizing sentences. That is why we need you."
Seo-yeon opened one final file. It was a note from Seo-jun’s last days.
[Case 3870-09 research → Where is it being used?] [Found in SNU PhD reference list.] [Academic Solutions — Verify immediately.] [Requested help from Director Jung → No response.] [I cannot stop this alone.]
"He knew," Seo-yeon whispered. "He followed the trail to Academic Solutions. He tried to stop the system... and he died right after his last warning. The timing is too perfect to be an accident."
She scrolled down to the very bottom of the archived AS page. A small, pulsing text read: [New Registrations: In Progress] Last Update: Jan 2025.
"It’s still active?" Yun-jae asked. "The company name is gone, but the system is alive. New PhDs in 2024 and 2025 are still using these same linguistic patterns. Someone is still writing the lies. Someone is still buying the titles."
Yun-jae stood up, his chair scraping against the floor. "We have to stop it." "How?" "I need to face A-12," Yun-jae said firmly. "I need to ask him directly. Who is writing these? Who is running the machine?"
"It’s dangerous," Seo-yeon warned. "I know. But I can't let 3,870 become 4,000. Not after what they did to your brother."
Seo-yeon began packing her bag. "I’m going with you. You’re not facing him alone."
As the sun dipped below the horizon, they left the study. The 3,870 names remained on the screens behind them—a silent, digital ghost of a nation's corrupted conscience.
Yun-jae pulled out his phone. The last message from A-12 sat there, mocking him:[Contact me whenever you are ready.]
Yun-jae typed his reply:[I want to meet. Now.]
[Next Chapter Preview] There was a bigger system behind the 3,870 names. Yun-jae and Seo-yeon head into the heart of the machine. The meeting with A-12. And there, they see the true face of the Paper Mill. "What you have seen so far... is only the beginning."
It is a question directed outward:
when a sentence is technically correct,
ethically empty,
and endlessly reused?
Lee Seoyeon did not lose her brother to a single decision.
where silence is no longer neutral.
the story no longer asks what happened.