Sleep would not come. I closed my laptop, but the manipulated figures, composed of endless zeros and ones, remained etched into my retinas like ghostly afterimages.
3:40 AM. The sharp chime of the Signal messenger ripped through the silence of the room.
[A-12: Mr. Han, are you available to log in? The client has requested a 'real-time review.']
I bit my lip and forced the laptop open. A shared editing document window flared to life.
A moment later, an unfamiliar cursor appeared on the white screen. No ID. Just a cold label: 'Guest_112.'
The cursor began to crawl through the sentences I had spent all night refining. I felt a repulsive sensation, as if someone’s cold gaze was licking the back of my neck.
Finally, the cursor stopped. It was right over the passage where I had planted my 'poison.'
“Sufficient to exclude the possibility of changes to the endothelial lining.”
The cursor dragged across the sentence aggressively. Immediately, the chat window at the bottom of the screen activated.
[Guest_112: This phrasing is too definitive. It would be grounds for a journal rejection. Why did you write it this way?]
I couldn't hear a voice, but the cold suspicion of the client bled through the short text. Beside him, A-12 would be monitoring my typing speed in real-time.
Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road.
I placed my hands on the keyboard. Without a moment's hesitation, I hammered out my response.
“A medical paper belongs to the realm of science, but after it passes approval, it belongs to the realm of law.”
The opponent’s cursor stopped moving. I didn't stop. I fired off the next sentence.
“Consider the potential medical malpractice lawsuits in the future. Vague expressions like ‘suggests’ or ‘high probability’ are effectively confessions that the manufacturer was aware of potential defects. But this sentence is different.”
I hyperlinked the manipulated data points as I typed.
“This expression is based solely on the data we have processed. In the future, in a court of law, this will serve as a perfect defense: ‘Based on the data at the time, side effects could be definitively excluded.’ This is a paper, yes—but it is also your final fortress.”
Silence filled the screen. Guest_112’s cursor hovered around my sentence, lingering.
Seconds felt like aeons. Then, a new message popped up.
[Guest_112: …A defense logic. That makes sense.]
The cursor no longer doubted me. Instead, it began to meticulously examine the other twelve 'supplementary indicators' I had planted. They seemed to believe these indicators were a sturdy shield that would protect them.
They had no idea that these were the very poisons that would eventually choke them.
[A-12: Excellent crisis management, Mr. Han. The client is very satisfied. I have instructed the hospital to provide special care for your father.]
The chat room closed, and the screen went black. I hid my trembling hands beneath the desk.
A fight against ghosts with no faces. But I was certain of one thing: they no longer doubted my 'sentences.' They had begun to worship them.
I looked at the calendar.
The 106-Day War. D-105.
I had made the first crack in the enemy’s heart.
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"It’s me. You haven't forgotten, have you?" A mysterious signal from within AS, and a new trail found by Seo-yeon. Yun-jae must now choose to form a dangerous alliance.
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