Ghosts of Eternity

As the night deepened, the concrete jungle of Teheran-ro transformed into a meticulous, artificial fortress.

The cold LED lights running down the glass facades flickered like a massive data stream, plunging the heart of Seoul into a surreal abyss of light.

A tiny pocket park nestled near the corporate headquarters.

Having received Chae Do-hee's message, Seo-han stood like a frozen frame in front of a flowerbed lit by an amber streetlamp, the collar of his black trench coat turned up against the chill. The space, emptied of its daytime roar, was filled with the damp, earthy aroma of newly planted soil.

Staring indifferently at the purple pansy petals trembling in the night breeze, Seo-han precisely harnessed the academic madness churning deep inside him.

Inside his mind, the roadmap for Aether Bio was unfolding with absolute clarity. The Phase 2 clinical success of the immuno-oncology pipelines and the subsequent KOSDAQ listing—that was the official face Aether Bio would present to the world.

To shareholders and institutional evaluators, Aether Bio had to appear as a noble research collective dedicated to conquering cancer.

A technology without a clear commercial identity would be abandoned by the market. Seo-han understood that cold logic of capitalism better than anyone.

Ghost, however, was something else entirely.

This dangerous vitality compound, designed to test human biological thresholds and reverse time, was a secret weapon that had to remain completely obscured until Aether Bio had crossed the IPO threshold. This destructive technology that restored physical rhythms to their peak was a forbidden fruit—one that could only be brought out after the legitimate pipelines had formed an impregnable fortress.

Now that the Chronos data was in his hands, there was no longer any need to rush. His intellect could return entirely to the pristine domain of antibody optimization on the ETR platform.

Click. Click.

The regular, rhythmic snap of heels gracefully shattered the silence of the pavement.

Cutting fluidly through the deep night mist between the cold artificial lights of Teheran-ro, the silhouette of a sleek silk coat glided into Seo-han’s field of vision.

It was Chae Do-hee. With every step she took, the density of the air shifted.

Her explicit mandate from Vice Chairman Jeong Hyun-jin was to log Seo-han’s every movement, yet she hadn't submitted a single file for the past fortnight. To be precise, she couldn't.

Taking advantage of the Vice Chairman's infrequent contact, Do-hee’s mind had become entangled in a bizarre mix of curiosity and defense regarding this man.

Under the amber glow of the streetlamp, Lee Seo-han stood motionless, resembling a meticulously carved marble sculpture. His back alone held a powerful pull, aggressively drawing her consciousness toward him.

Do-hee came to a halt beside him, lowering her gaze to the same flowerbed he was evaluating. When she broke the silence, her voice carried a sharp, seductive edge that cut through the night air.

"Do you carry a phone as a security asset, Doctor, or simply as an ornament?"

With a fluid movement, Do-hee lightly tapped Seo-han’s arm, stepping flush into his personal space. The heavy scent of roses radiating from her immediately subdued the cool, dry air. It was the undeniable invasion of Avalon’s queen bee.

"The battery charge is optimal, and the network signal strength is at its maximum threshold," Seo-han replied in a mechanical monotone, his eyes remaining locked on the soil. "To classify it as an ornament would be an inefficient use of the hardware."

Do-hee arched an eyebrow, letting out a soft scoff.

"Who asked for a hardware diagnostics report? Do you have any idea how many weeks have passed since we last met? Not once during that entire stretch did you reach out first. It’s almost insulting to the person waiting."

Do-hee pouted her red lips minutely, studying his profile. His perfectly aligned features remained stubbornly detached, offering zero access to his thoughts.

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Seo-han finally spoke, his voice entirely evacuated of emotion, though his eyes never left the pansy petals swaying at his feet.

"You didn't contact me either, Ms. Chae. A prolonged absence of communication is logically interpreted as a mutual choice."

"I deliberately left that void so you would wonder about my absence."

"That is a metric my cognitive framework cannot reconcile," Seo-han said calmly.

"When a desire to transmit specific parameters or initiate a dialogue surfaces, the most cost-efficient path is for the initiating party to make contact. If a transmission does not occur, my system operates on the assumption that the other party’s interest has dissolved."

Do-hee let out a short, bewildered laugh.

She stepped directly into his line of sight, forcing the cold gaze that had been fixed on the flowerbed to lock straight into her eyes.

"You calculate numbers and metrics with terrifying precision, Doctor, but you don't understand a single variable of the human heart, do you? Did it never cross your mind that my silence wasn't a lack of interest, but a calculated play designed to make you look for me?"

"A fascinating paradox. Attempting to validate your presence by severing the connection."

Seo-han’s brow furrowed minutely.

"To borrow a biological analogy, it is equivalent to a design flaw where an inhibitor is administered to a receptor in anticipation of activation. The input and output values are completely inverted."

Do-hee felt the friction of this rigid conversation prick at her nerves in a strangely exhilarating way.

He was worlds apart from the men of Cheongdam-dong, who spoke only in polished flattery and transparent seduction. This was a bizarre purity forged by an academic fastidiousness—or perhaps, an insurmountable brick wall.

"You have no idea how insane that design flaw can make a person, do you? I wanted you to read 'me' as an individual."

Do-hee’s voice dropped a tone, laced with a subtle, damp weight.

Seo-han took a step back, shifting his gaze to the deep void of the night sky. A faint starlight was bleeding through the cold urban haze.

Deep within his chest, the suppressed memory of the star's breath began to pulse again. To repel the emotional wave this strange intruder was throwing at him, he steered the dialogue back to the only domain he could perfectly control.

"Let us change the subject," Seo-han said, his voice dropping low. "What is your dream, Ms. Chae?"

"Ultimately, what is the core driver of your life?"

Do-hee’s eyes froze instantly.

The mature jests and seductive lines that had been poised to slip past her deep red lips dissolved into the cold night air. Confronted by his sudden, alien question, she couldn't hide her bewilderment, narrowing her eyes as she scanned him.

"A dream? Doctor, isn't that a remarkably naive question to ask someone from my world at this hour? The men who step into Avalon might ask about my dreams between the sheets, but none of them are curious about my life's trajectory. To them, I am supposed to be the dream itself."

"A dream is no mere illusion," Seo-han continued evenly. "It is the source of biological propulsion—the most potent hormone that allows a human to endure an uncertain future."

"Aging is not simply the degradation of cells; it is the progressive loss of the capacity to desire something with intensity. I am asking because I am curious about the authentic drive that compelled you to construct a fortress like Avalon and bind yourself to the elaborate mask of a madam."

Do-hee shoved her cold hands deep into the pockets of her silk coat. Avoiding Seo-han’s chilling gaze, she tracked her own long shadow stretching across the pavement.

"My dream…… is actually incredibly transparent and vulgar," Do-hee said, a lonely smile touching her lips. "To build a wall of capital so overwhelming that no one can ever look down on me as a counterfeit."

"And inside that fortress, to sing the songs I forced myself to fold away hundreds of times. The very promise I wrote on the first page of my diary while ignoring the exhausted face reflected in the subway window. Even if it’s only in a dream, I want to stand on a stage and hear my name echo through the applause, just once."

The artificial allure receded from Do-hee’s voice like a turning tide, replaced by a raw, damp yearning. She lifted her head, staring intently at Seo-han.

"What about you, Doctor? What are you trying to achieve by reducing the entire world to data with that stubborn fastidiousness of yours, that you ask a woman like me about her dreams? What lies at your destination?"

Seo-han indifferently adjusted the frame of his glasses. Behind the lenses, his gaze flashed with a striking, clinical clarity.

"To arrest time," Seo-han replied cleanly.

"To halt the inevitable regression known as aging, ensuring that humanity can permanently maintain the clarity of its peak and stand firmly on its own orbit."

He took a large step closer, concluding his clinical dissection.

"The compounds I engineer are no mere pharmaceuticals designed to treat disease. They turn the lights back on over lost scenes, making a heart beat again after it had forgotten how…… They are a lucid dream rendered into reality."

Do-hee felt a chill cascade down her spine. As the cold night wind brushed her skin, goosebumps broke out across her arms.

The words Seo-han uttered were neither a simple biological mechanism nor an explanation of a multi-billion-dollar pharmaceutical asset. It felt closer to a brilliant blasphemy, an arrogance challenging the realm of God.

Do-hee could not fully comprehend the horizon he was staring at. Yet, she knew one thing by pure instinct.

The phrase 'lucid dream' slipping past Seo-han’s lips had transformed into a scalpel with a cold, metallic sheen.

That scalpel mercilessly sliced through the elaborate mask and the silk garments she had spent her life layering over herself.

Beneath it lay the ancient promise she had never been able to discard—the nameless stage she had pressed into the first page of her diary like a tear, while turning away from her exhausted reflection in the subway glass.

For the first time in her life, Chae Do-hee realized she wasn't being seduced by a man.

She was being dissected.

And that unmapped crisis felt strangely, terrifyingly sweet.