Most people detest the idea of having rumors about them floating about, but for what specific reason is elusive. After all, it is entertainment. Amusement. Perhaps an escape. And oh, so revealing. That is the great thing about gossip. You can tell a lot about a person by what makes them run their mouths. Vicious, outright lies indicate boredom. Damaging, shocking pieces of disputable fact or fiction indicate the desire for retribution. Baseless, subjective conjectures indicate curiosity. Regardless, it is easy to tell why people do not like gossip. Gossip is a match that human nature loves to strike.

In some instances, gossip sets ablaze some people. Beautiful, bountiful forests turn black. Reputation? She is the one that got away. Insecurity? You will remember her name. Self-consciousness? He is your lover. But a burnt forest with a scarred landscape is only one way to look at the effects of gossip. You can choose to see it as an empty field of fertilizer ready for a taking. A way to grow.

Listen. When you stare out the window, it is all due to some apparent past trauma that labels you “sad” for the day. If associating yourself with others on voluntary and unnecessary terms is unfavorable, you’re the most likely to commit first-degree murder. Studying serial killers makes you one. Wearing black all the time means you like death. So, what is so good about people making assumptions? What are the benefits people making preconceived judgements? The answer is simple.

You can be whoever you want.

Most of the time.

Because of my choice to observe rather than to participate, it makes me the Eye that Sees All. Never flinching at the sight of blood makes me the next Hannibal Lecter. Reading books instead of going out for lunch makes me a bookworm. By paying attention to your actions, you also pay attention to how people see you. You see, people make rumors on the basis of what they see. And creating illusions—whether it is what you wear or what you read—is one of the easiest things to do.

When people do not know my name because I did not tell them, I become the Nameless Grace. Smiling even after my superiors tell me they are disappointed in my actions makes me the posterchild.

However, it is worth noting that not all rumors are in your control. Because aside from making judgment based on what they see, people also tend to adapt the opinions of others without questioning it. It is tremendously disappointing when you see someone think that all they are entitled to is their uninformed opinion. Sadly, there is not much to do about that.

Because of uncontrollable rumors, my co-workers make a series of nicknames regarding me. Even my superiors—though they will never admit it—talk about me in the hallways. The topic of gossip always involves something about the Nameless Grace, the Closer, the Maybe Killer, or more amusingly, the Girl with Black Clothes.

Today, it is the Girl Who Is Going to Die.

Their whispers are not foreign. Sideways glances. Long stares across the floor. They are commonplace. But flowers on my desk? People asking how I prefer my tea? The Jerk opening the door for me? It is undecipherable as to why.

“Good morning,” greets Mr. Yang when I enter his office. “How are you today?”

I shrug, watching him as he takes out a folder from a drawer before slapping it down with a SMACK on his desk. It is fresh and crisp. Straight off the presses, it seems. The edges are not frayed by the slightest.

“I’m sure you’ve heard of the rumors,” Mr. Yang, although in the safety of his office, whispers, “about you dying. Amongst other things, of course.” His eyes flew over my face. “I apologize for the behavior of some of the agents. You’ve become something of a mystery—an enigma—to them, and their little practical jokes are just—”

“I honestly could not care less about what people think,” I yawn, earning a widened gaze from him. “So, aside from wasting my time, why did you call me up here?”

“You’ve been studying Violet Corporation, correct? More specifically its subsidiary, Brumicere Biotech and Pharmaceuticals?” Mr. Yang composes himself within a few seconds, and he even straightens his back. After allowing me to nod in response, he continues. “That means you’ve also familiarized yourself with Sehun, correct?”

“Oh Sehun?” At the mention of his name, I have to press my lips together to keep myself from smiling.

Although the agency’s information regarding Sehun is not particularly extensive or detailed—due to his alleged “habit” of “disposing” the secretaries doubling as spies that worked for him, there is enough information for me to deem him as interesting. Enthralling, really. Past agents who give descriptions and psychological profiles regarding the model-like grace of Sehun convince themselves that he is either a psychopath capable of cold-blooded murder, or he is simply a young man cracking under the pressure of his job as chief marketing officer.

Of course, it is rude to allow people to judge others for you. You have to find things out for yourself.

“Yes, him.” Mr. Yang shifts in his seat, and he opens the folder in front of him to reveal a rather flattering photo of Sehun. “It’s his 25th birthday in a few weeks, and he’s hosting a little soirée of sorts. Invites were sent to respectable figures working within the corporation. It just so happens that one of our agents—his alias is Choi Yongguk—was invited. He’s worked as an assistant financial advisor to Brumicere for the past year.” Mr. Yang’s mouth twists and puckers. “And he’s allowed to bring an extra guest with him.”

“Me, I am assuming?”

“His beautiful daughter, Choi Chaeyoung,” Mr. Yang corrects. “We’ve already created a profile for you and sent in your ‘background information’ to the security team a few weeks ago. But this afternoon, we found out that you’ve been accepted, and after a highly scrutinizing search on their side—I’m sure—you’ve become a candidate for a new secretary.”

“That is why people are saying I am the Girl Who is Going to Die?”

“I do apologize for that.” Mr. Yang purses his thin lips, and he lowers his head. “This is the fifth time we’ve tried to gain exclusive entry into the center of their network, and none of them have ended well. The last attempt—last January—wasn’t so great. She was high on multiple substances when we found her wandering on the streets. I heard that she’s in a mental institution now, unable to even speak.” He pursed his lips at the thought. “We’ve lost a lot of hope.”

“Well, you will find it in me.” I grab folder on his desk as he stares. “I will study this right away. When am I leaving?”

“Next week.”

“Then I will be ready by tomorrow.”

“Listen.” Mr. Yang waves his hand, motioning for me to remain seated. “You’ve read about the effects of Run-8, correct? You’ve read about what it does to people?”

“No. For these past few weeks, I have not been doing anything productive.” I roll my eyes and cross my arms. “What are you trying to say, Mr. Yang?”

“You can back out if you want. It is a tough job. And you’re not being coerced into doing all of this. I can per