It is still quite early in the morning. Everything is still in a deep slumber. The place is still the same: a dingy cafeteria frequented by almost all the residents, attracting even passers-by who are not interested in coffee. A waitress with fluttering eyelashes wipes the counter with tremendous concentration. It's not long before she raises her head and scans her surroundings before spotting a regular who always arrives earlier than everyone else. The fact that the regular has drowned in his newspaper doesn't seem to bother the waitress, as she gives him a quick wink and heads back to the counter as if nothing has happened.

Because of her under-squatting, the waitress missed the moment when the newspaper slid under her, revealing the crumpled face of a woman in distress. That's the fifth time this week, and the regular customer isn't ashamed to admit she's been counting.

Byulyi is in a dilemma, even if the message is clear. The constant blinking will strain her eye muscles and damage her brain, figuratively speaking. It can't be any clearer than that. Should Byulyi take a leap of faith and see how it goes? Oh, she's sure her game will be so rusty and the wave of embarrassment that will come after - but you don't know that yet.

The waitress juts her head from the counter, displaying a ponytail tied hastily, a sight that choked Byulyi a little. Her weakness. It's just great. 

Her chest swells with indecision, and before she's about to burst, she pulls out a handkerchief, scratches through her number with a pen without tearing it, snatches it up, and is about to move on when a shiver creeps up her spine.

She grasps the back of her neck, feels the rising hairs, and wonders why her hand is trembling. She knows it's instinctive, but whatever's happening can't possibly be causing this. It's not like she's in any danger.

Must be an old habit resurfacing again. 

Byulyi took a quick look at her watch and gasped. With the tissue long forgotten, she rushes out for her daily part time job before the morning sun strikes. 

-- 

The intersection was still empty by the time Byulyi arrived. After locking her bicycle at the public park, she sets out a table, dusting its edges, putting on her worn-out jacket and equally worn-out hat, sitting on a foldable chair and pulling up a sign. 

Friday morning always starts when the sign “Trades for Hire” in handwritten, scrawl letters is on display. The streets are still empty, so today will be slow. That’s alright. She has all the time to wait. Until the afternoon, that is. 

Just as Byulyi is busy unburdening her own expectations for the day, she lifts her head up and almost keels over upon witnessing a man standing in front of her. It’s a mini heart attack, yet she’s taking her time to study the man carefully. “Morning.” A greeting is always a good conversation starter. “What can I do for you?” 

“I heard you provide services.” 

She nods to confirm and tilt, encouraging the man to elaborate further. 

“I will give you the equivalent amount if you can teach me how to play a game.” 

It’s an interesting request coming from a big, brawly man. Byulyi can make an educated guess, but as long as the dough comes in, anything goes. She shrugs at the man to continue further, pulling another chair for him to sit on. 

The game is “Two truths and a lie.” He said as his shirt fluttered at the seams, the size of one number too big against his bulky body. “Out of three sentences, point to one lie and provide the explanation for it.” 

Byulyi knows her sign always gets her to do intriguing tasks, but this one sets itself apart from the rest out of its simplicity. “Shoot.” She needs to pay her rent this month, anyway. 

-- 

I am not the only child. 

I don’t know what it’s like to have a military background. 

My boss prefers using force as the last resort. 

Byulyi put her snapback backwards, the gears in her head set in motion as she commented, “That’s strange.” She drummed her fingers while the man still adopted a stoic stance. “You broke the rule of the game.” 

His voice came out deeper.  

“What do you mean?” 

She gestured to the side of her neck, referring to the tattoo adorning the man’s neck. It’s a wild guess, but everything about this game is wild. “The design is what I usually saw on siblings.” The man clasp his neck out of reflex. “I have a brother. Twin.” Her eyes sparkled like everyone did when someone found a twin connection. “Really?” As much as she wanted to ask more about it, she had a job to do.  

She tried to remember the way this person came to her before. That’s right. 

“You’re stealthy, as if you’ve trained. And your eyes, it keeps absorbing any details and raising your own awareness, yet you still focused on this conversation.” She explained. “Even if you didn’t have any military background, I prefer to think you have been trained under the same style.” 

The man kept his nod constant, trying to sweep everything else under the rug and not give anything out any easier than before, perhaps to keep the game going. Even as the main rule has been broken, for some reason Byulyi cannot comprehend.  

“As for the last one, you’re big.” 

References to his body size caught him off guard. 

“You’re a bodyguard.” He cannot hide those pecs beneath the oversized shirt as his gestures aren’t overlooked by her. “There must be more that your boss hired with the similar body type as you.” Byulyi is about to fix back her snapback, ready to pronounce the last sentence as the truth. 

Until she saw something bulging in the man’s cargo, in the pocket near his rear. It is almost unnoticeable, but the lines are shaped into something Byulyi tries to remember. The man proceeded to voice his astonishment on the woman’s deducting skill, but she paid no mind. Her focus went somewhere else, along with her mind that realized two things: one, the praises were meant to distract. Two, it’s a stun gun. 

And the safety pin was found nowhere. 

She flipped the desk to the man’s face, slouching to a ready position before launching herself full speed, escaping the scene. The man threw the desk away with no difficulty, with the flesh-colored ear bud blaring in his left ear. 

“Don’t let her get away!” 

7 Years Ago 

Private Club 

Somewhere in Gangnam 

It was supposed to be a private club. 

Amidst the blinding neon lights and the existence of a dance floor beneath, screams everything but private. Throngs of people grinding their bodies with music, finding any excuses to let go just for a night leave many become bold, releasing their inhibitions and adopting another persona: they are not their parent’s children or inheritors of business giants in South Korea. Everyone is hiding themselves by bathing in lights; a world that ensures sanctuary from the public eye, if only for a night. The host of the night is responsible for the ongoing theme for every meeting, and tonight’s meeting went with less talking, more grinding; a theme that no one has a problem with, except for one lady. It’s the party to celebrate their coming-of-age, yet the spectacle unfolding in front of her is nothing but suffocating.  

Her sculpted features twist a scowl as she creased her dress and walks to take in fresh air near the balcony, leaving traces of boys and girls staring behind her longingly, something she has gotten used to all her life. That doesn’t mean she has to care. The scowl went deeper as she found out that the outside was even more packed. Swimsuits scattered and she struggled not to notice the smell of in the air, praying to God she didn’t have to witness the atrocity. Everyone went knee deep in the experience, tending to their business. With champagne between her dainty fingers, she contemplated for the balcony but found a swimming pool in the middle of the premises.  

Her heels clacking as she’s getting closer, glimpse upon her own reaction.  

She cannot find anything in her own reflection but jet-black hair and flat expression as in she cannot wait for this to be over. Nothing interesting here, nothing interesting there. You'd think the most beautiful heiress in South Korea would have something more to offer. 

Her thumb grips the champagne glass, this close to splashing her own reflection on the pool until she catches a glimpse of a side smirk from the corner of her eye. Right behind her. 

And she fell into the pool with a splash. 

-- 

It’s the deepest part of the pool. Her hands flailing for a little while until she sinks deeper, drained of energy to fight back. Through her blurred vision she caught a silhouette of someone dipping into the water, her face frantic and closer, swimming towards her with surprising speed.  

Her wrist being grasped is the last thing she can transfer before everything goes black. 

-- 

Her eyes opened in a flash.  

She peeled the back of the bed and found her dress had been replaced with a bathrobe, the scent of chlorine permeating in the air. She rubbed her hand through her fizzled hair, all wet and crunchy from the pool. The chlorine seemed to get into and nose as well. 

“Here.” 

A hand offered a tissue right in her nose. She takes it gratefully and blows a trumpet, inciting a chuckle that makes her look forward. It’s the moment when their eyes meet.  

It’s a she. A woman with blonde hair at shoulder length, wrapped in the same bathrobe as her. Water was still dripping from the tips of her hair as she kept a small smile on her face, observing the lady carefully. The lady knows what just happened, and she knows what to do next. 

“Thank you for pulling me out.” 

“Why did you do it?” 

The timbre is deeper than she expected from the woman in front of her, but she didn’t feel like explaining herself. If not, she takes offense to it: is she implying that the fall was intentional?  

“I saw you, you know.” 

Her eyes widened. In the deepest part of her, the lady already can feel someone creeping up behind her. “I don’t know what are you talking about—” stuffed with cream, and the array of sweets bombarding her tongue. The stranger scooped a shortcake straight to . “Just something sweet to retain your energy.” 

The remaining three minutes spent munching on the cake. The woman explained what happened after she pulled her out. The young man who pushed her had an aghast look, not expecting the fall to happen, but the woman offered to bring her into the infirmary, and here they are. 

It was an apt explanation that was not important as the lady observed her savior from head to toe. Then questions, and more questions, all circling inside her head. “Who are you?” 

The woman stopped and looked at her with renewed interest. 

“People prefer to call me Byul.” 

The lady guess if It’s the same spelling as a star. “I never see you around here.” 

“I’m nobody’s children.” She shrugged. “What’s your name?” 

The question struck the lady. It’s not an exaggeration that she was known around here, but that didn’t stop her from answering.  

“Irene.” 

-- 

The raven woke up once again after a bleary dream. 

Still in the same room as the same loud, obnoxious club, and the same woman sitting near the window. Is she waiting for her to wake up? Their eyes meet again, and a blush crept to Irene’s neck. “You’re up.” 

“I am.” She answers dumbly. 

Byul makes her cue to leave before the raven asks again. 

“Why did you pull me out?” 

“Why did you jump?” 

Both questions muttered at the same time, but Irene knew the answer. “That boy didn’t push you; you jumped in your own accord. Why would a heiress make such a scene?” 

The hard blush dominating Irene now.  

“You don’t want to be here?” 

Or anywhere else. 

“I understand.” 

Irene turned her head so quick she got a whiplash. Byul is taking a seat beside the bed and clasped her hand together. “But You’re still a ripe 23. Enough time to waver and change your mind.” She speaks in terms of Irene trying to put her head around. What is she talking about? “You weren’t supposed to be in this party.” 

“Were you?” 

The frustrated look must be visible because Byul raised her hands lightheartedly. “I am here on an assignment. It was finished, and what’s left for me is to take a nice, warm bath… Oh no, don’t. I—” She holds out a thumb, wiping a tear at the corner of Irene’s eye that came out without her realizing it herself. “I hate it when a woman cry.” 

The thing is, Irene is not sure It’s Byul’s fault, anyone else’s in this club, or anyone that knows her. A hole inside her has been there for the longest time, and she cannot blame anyone for it. 

“Tell you what, lookie here.” 

The tone is what one would use to coddle a child and it slightly set Irene off, but nevertheless she checks it out. Byul raised her fist and shook it in her face like a bartender. “Let’s play a game. Guess one lie in my words. First, you are the most gorgeous woman in this room.” Irene choked. “Second, you will outdo them all. Third—”  

Byul shakes her fist up and down, grasping behind Irene’s locks and opening her palm like revealing a magic trick, revealing the golden, shiniest thing Irene has ever seen. She admits it robbed her of attention for a second. It’s the golden button with an insignia etched. 
 

“I am a wishgranter who can give you a chance to look into oblivion.” 

It was spoken in a totally different tone, the one that got her blood rushing and her heart thumping faster. It’s an exhilarating moment that will last a lifetime. Byul reach for Irene’s palm and plants the button in it, picking her fingers to cover the object. 

“Now, which one is a lie?” 

Irene could feel hoarse as her voice went a little above a whisper. 

“Nothing of it is a lie.” 

Byul gave her a shining smile from ear to ear, looking satisfied. “Finally, there’s more light in your eyes.” Irene’s chin tilted upwards and the sight into Byul’s eyes take her breath away. “It’s all prayers. Don’t be too sad, princess.” 

Irene let out a whimper and instinctively closed her eyes when she could feel something touching her temple lightly. She opens her eyes after a while only to find nothing is in the room but noises from the outside. 

The woman is gone. 

-- 

Present Time 

Byulyi can feel her wrist sore from being tied. She cannot identify her surroundings; it is all black, and she cursed her own foolishness for getting caught so easily. She gets easily distracted these days. In a short time men in black appeared from every corner, and she should have gone easily if not for that stump on the roof, tripping her successfully four feet high. It doesn’t take long for her to be blinded and knocked unconscious. 

“Take it off.” 

The fabric covering her head was stripped, showing a cropped, unruly brown hair, giving Byulyi a chance to take a deep breath of fresh air. She panted, waiting patiently as her blindfold was being untied, ready for any chance to pounce. Wreaking havoc. But the plan was soon terminated as her hands tied to the chair she sat onto. 

The back of her head rustled as the blindfold was untied, giving her a full view of her surroundings. 

It’s an office room. The furniture looked regal and fitting as she caught the plague placed on the mahogany table: 

Chief Executive Officer 

“I am right here, Byul-sshi.” 

Byulyi whipped her head so quickly to the left that the abrupt movement immobilized her as she muffled a groan. The voice is velvet and playful as she walked forward to show herself in front of the brunette.  

“Remember me?” 

Byulyi can just say she forgot and it will be a lie. That jet black hair, regal gestures, dainty fingers and black outerwear fit her nicely, but in Byulyi’s memory she is more reserved and restrained. Today, the grin is almost manic, exerting a certain curiosity like a cat playing with her victim. “I don’t.” blurted by Byulyi. The woman sighed.  

“We met before. I thought you should never tell a lie.” 

The brunette simply grunted, signaling she could go on with whatever she wanted to say. “Everyone knows you’re Irene, the sole inheritor of SM Corporation. Everyone who has a TV knows who you are.” 

Irene shook her head, encouraging Byulyi to spill more. Seeing that she was staying mum, the heiress sighed and pulled out a red box. “Maybe this will jot your memory!” 

The contents of the box successfully turned Byulyi white in the face. “You—” 

“Moon Byulyi, 29.” Irene slaps the papers on her file nonchalantly. “Known as The Operator, the wish-granter, Jack of all trades. You will never leave a wish undone under any circumstances, but you went off grid six years ago.” She turned to Byulyi. “What happened?” 

Byulyi growled. “I don’t take that kind of job anymore.” 

“But you must.” Irene pulled the box out and Byulyi shrieked as the heiress moved impossibly closer until their nose almost touched. “You have promised. Your code of conduct demands you to get this back once you have finished a job.” 

“You have to find someone else to do it. Do whatever you want to do with me, and make sure to perish that button.” The brunette sneered, her expression cold. “I am done.” 

Irene frowned. The red box clicked shut with a snap.  

“I won’t.” Byulyi’s expression went rigid, a hint of fury dominating her features, the expression she maintained as the heiress tilted her chin upwards, her smirk lopsided.  
 

“Help me to disappear from my world.” 

Let's hope I didn't rip my head apart this time.