“I don't see why not.”

I stand and make my way over to the till, a generic smile in place.

“Could you give me directions to Seoul University? Me and my friend, we're new around here.”

My voice carries easily through the nearly empty cafe as the waitress blushes and stammers.

“You're looking for Seoul University?”

A rich, bass voice reverberates from behind me, and I turn around in a mask of surprise. The speaker leans back in his chair and smiles politely. Minho rises from his seat and casually saunters over to their table. Halting before them he holds out a friendly hand to the speaker.

“Do you know where it is? We’ve been searching through the city all morning, and well, the maps are really confusing,” he says, shrugging. “I’m Choi Minhyuk by the way.”

He takes Minho’s hand and shakes it in return.

“Lee Jinki. We can show you the way there if you like, it’s not far from here by foot actually. Are you guys transfer students?”

“Oh no, we've just got some business there.”

‘Some business’? I hope he knows what he's doing.

The blonde sitting on the left looks suspiciously at us, but is quickly interrupted by the brunette man sticking out his hand to us. I clasp it readily and am rewarded by an enthusiastic pumping. The pads on his fingertips are rough and calloused in comparison to the smoothness covering his palm, so perhaps this one is a musician.

“And I always thought that it's impossible to miss SU. It's so freaking huge,” he says, grinning widely.

“You're the only one who still needs a map to find your way around the campus. And it's not even like we have lectures in opposite buildings.”

“Yeah, but I swear our department has the most floors. There're only so many flights of stairs I can take before I collapse.”

At this the blonde half smirks and half sniggers before turning to me with an outstretched arm.

“I'm Kim Kibum. Ignore the idiot there, Kim Jonghyun.”

“No worries.”

I smile in response and dip my head to the three of them. Minho - or Minhyuk, as I suppose he is now - laughs and jokes with the three as they lead us out of the cafe. I keep my silence and let Minho do all the talking; his loud nature is more suited to pump for information than my conservative personality. Along the journey I notice the one named Kibum stealing glances at me every so often, but whenever I catch him doing so, he just smiles and continues his conversation like it's nothing abnormal. Inwardly I wonder if my appearance is off. This morning I put in the brown-coloured contact lenses and I'm sure that I dressed appropriately as a boy. Quickly I check my reflection as we pass by a store window. A Korean teenager stares back at me, dressed in skinny jeans and a baggy sweatshirt. The cheeks are round enough to be mistaken for a girl's face, but the sweep of the hair over the eyes and height of the nose bridge suggests a boy at the end of his adolescent years. Satisfied, I flip the hair out of my face, trying to mimic the movements I often see Asian boys do on television.

We reach the university within a twenty minute walk although Minho's animated chatter looks like we are still far from leaving. I have never been able to connect with people well and Minho also made conversation seem so effortless. As I take in the sights of Seoul University (unnecessarily on my part, having visited the campus two days before disguised as an enthusiastic American tourist) it occurs to me that Lee Jinki has been acting much like me on the way here - saying little and amusedly observing the banter between his friends. Seizing the opportunity I stand by his side and slip into character. In response he turns to me and smiles again, the warm, open smile that shines with a sort of childlike innocence.

"I'm sorry, but I don't think I heard your name back there."

The lie comes out of my mouth swiftly and effortlessly.

"Me? I'm Shim Jiwoo. Thanks for showing us the way here."

"You're welcome."

His gaze sweeps over my face once, flickers downwards and comes back up to meet my eyes again. The smile is still there, but now it seems less open and I detect the lines of cautiousness that lie behind his curious watch. The silence balloons and expands between us, and the lively voices of the three others seem to fade into distant echoes. I can feel my own smile diminishing and am about to turn my attention away when he suddenly blurts out a question.

"How old are you?"

My reply of a few startled blinks isn't entirely fake, and I take a moment to respond.

"I'm nearly twenty-one. In Korean age."

Again he acts unexpectedly when his smile is renewed and he breathes out a sigh of relief.

This time it’s my turn to watch him curiously, and my head tilts in an inquisitive gesture. The only reply I receive is a flash of teeth and an uncertain shuffling of feet. As conversation resumes between us, the tension has been alleviated slightly and Lee Jinki straightens before me.

“So what is it that you guys have got to do here? Us three” – he nods towards Kim Jonghyun and Kim Kibum –“are all students here, as you can probably tell.”

“The university’s hired me as a part-time music technician since it seems like they were short on staff. I figured that I should get to know the campus a bit better before I start on my first day.”

It isn’t actually a lie; the other day I applied for the job when I noticed the advertisement in the newspaper, and I genuinely have a qualification that allows me to fix musical instruments. Every assassin was encouraged to take up as many additional skills as possible under the principle to prepare for the unexpected. Of course, each skill depends on the individual, and I was no different when I chose to undergo musical training due to some abilities of my own.

A look of surprise registers on Lee Jinki’s face at my words, before it quickly transforms into full-blown grin that floods his face and sparks living gold in his eyes. His body becomes noticeably excited; his fingers tapping against his pockets, one foot starts rocking back and forth as he cranes his neck forward in my direction.

“So you’re the new instrument manager?”

His eyebrows abruptly scrunch together, but his fingers continue their insistent beat.

“And you’re only twenty? Wow, that”- he hesitates and his confusion visibly intensifies as he stares at me uncertainly. I nod in what hopefully is an encouraging manner for him to continue.

“That seems like a really advanced job for someone your – I mean, my age. I’m older than you, you know.”

The lines around his eyes crinkle again, but not in an insulting or patronising way. I glance down at my feet and feign embarrassment during my explanation.

“Yeah, I guess it is, isn’t it? I grew up in a family of musicians, so I just picked up a few things along the way.”

“Really? Wow, I bet you’re making it sound a lot less amazing than it actually is. I say that because all of us – Key, Jonghyun and I – we’re all in our second year in studying music here. But you didn’t come to Korea just to tune instruments, right?”

“No, I didn’t have anything specific in mind I guess. It’s just, Minhyuk and I, we’re just taking some time off to travel, see the world… and since we’re sort of – in between jobs at the moment, we decided to stay put for a while."

“Oh, I see… are you and him… are you, like, together?”

A light blush blooms on his cheeks, but his gaze is focused directly on me even as he stutters through his question. I merely smile and look away, composing myself as it were, before I answer.

“No, we’re not… ‘together’. He is only an old friend.”

“Oh, right, right, yeah it's just that - it's not like I'm homophobic or anything, but - I've never really... Uh...”

The blush deepens and darkens across his cheeks, spreading like a brush of paint to the tips of his ears. He nips his lower lip with his teeth, but catches himself and presses his lips firmly together. Suddenly his hands can't seem to keep themselves still; fingers pulling on the belt hoops of his jeans and fiddling with the zip on his jacket, rubbing his palms on the sides of his legs before shoving them into his back pockets, then taking them out again to yank his sleeves up past his elbows. All of this I watch and take note of beneath my poorly concealed expression of humour.

The target is easily embarrassed and fidgets under nervousness.

Apparently unable to take anymore, Lee Jinki marches stiffly over to the other three. I stay in place and pretend to examine my watch. Shafts of sunlight play on its face, and the hands are nearing half past four. A lone breeze nudges my body, inflating my sweatshirt like a hot air balloon. Distantly, as though filtered through the dappled rays of the sun, the carefree babble of the university students echoes through the air.

Everything has worked out smoothly so far. Communication with the target has been established, although there is still reason to be wary of his bodyguards. Exactly how useful Lee Jinki will be is yet to be determined, but I am patient. A month and no more. After that, Choi Minhyuk and Shim Jiwoo will be a distant memory in the back of their minds.