Ghosts of Eternity

Seo-han gripped the edges of the cold marble sink with both hands, staring flatly at his reflection, his face still bearing the sluggish remnants of a hangover.

The residual vibration of the potent vodka he had shared with Do-hee under Avalon’s intimate lighting last night still coursed subtly through his veins. It felt less like a simple headache and more like unnecessary noise disrupting the internal architecture of his system.

Hurrying to leave for work, his hand slipped for a fraction of a second as he held his razor. As the cold blade scraped the edge of his chin, a stark, crimson dot began to bloom over the white shaving foam.

"Tsk."

With a low sigh, he rinsed his face with cold water and applied a soothing lotion, but the dull, bluish shadow of his stubble remained deeply embedded beneath his skin.

Even though he stood in a position where he manipulated massive capital and orchestrated the world through the flow of data, he could not bring the stubborn presence of those hair follicles fully under his control every morning. It irritated his nerves constantly, like a persistent, unerasable bug in the source code.

Is there truly no alternative to permanently erasing these cumbersome keratin fibers without inflicting critical damage on the precise hardware that is the human body? Seo-han thought, touching the crimson dot on his chin.

Commercial depilatories were far too chemically aggressive, with far too little safety data for facial application. Laser treatments, on the other hand, required periodic clinic visits and time allocations—the exact kind of 'absolute inefficiency' he loathed most in his life cycle.

To Seo-han, this matter was not about grooming or vanity. He perceived it as an outright defiance from a biological system that was supposed to be under his strict control, a critical technical flaw that demanded a solution.

The executive office, which doubled as Aether Bio’s laboratory, was a chilly, silent space. Seo-han shed his heavy coat and took his place in front of his lab bench like a commander preparing for battle. He rolled the sleeves of his linen shirt precisely past his elbows, the prominent blue veins standing out on his forearms.

Underneath his fingertips, which tapped the keys in a dry, rhythmic cadence, the ingredient data and clinical results of depilatory products sold worldwide flooded the screen like a massive waterfall.

"Thioglycolic acid," Seo-han muttered coldly to himself.

It dissolved proteins, but in the process, it completely mangled the skin's lipid barrier. It was a crude, primitive method. Chemical burns, pruritus, and the unbearable pain that followed—the data listed on the screen pointed directly to a foundational flaw in this massive beauty market.

His eyes flashed as they swept into the depths of the latest literature databases. Among the mouse experiment data, an experimental hair-binding antibody—still far from commercialization—caught his attention.

This was no longer a problem to be solved with a razor. It was a high-end depilatory platform that could lower the binding strength of hair fibers without disrupting the skin barrier.

Seo-han methodically charted the entire course: protein specificity validation, antibody library construction, a high-resolution screening strategy, and the design direction for the enzyme conjugate. Within ten minutes, the blueprint for this 'shaving alternative platform' was complete and immediately dispatched to the chief researcher via messenger.

A moment later, a knock came at the door, and the chief researcher entered, unable to conceal his bewilderment.

"Dr. Lee, this project proposal you just sent..."

Without taking his eyes off the monitor, Seo-han delivered his instructions in a cold, clear voice.

"Starting today, collect hair strands from all employees for the next week. Place a dedicated collection bin next to the lab and post a company-wide announcement immediately. However, make sure it is on a voluntary and anonymous basis. It would be highly inefficient to deal with unnecessary noise from HR later."

"What? Hair strands? Why all of a sudden... This isn't even for a new drug pipeline. What exactly are you trying to make?"

The researcher asked, doubting his ears. In a facility that engineered novel therapeutics and gene-editing technologies, an abrupt order to collect employee hair felt downright bizarre. But Seo-han’s gaze was already locked onto the next phase of the simulation.

"We plan to validate an enzyme conjugate that selectively binds to the surface structure of hair. The collected strands will serve as samples for protein extraction. First, we need to secure keratin data across various age groups and hair textures. The protocol and the full execution plan have just been sent via messenger, so review and verify every single word."

Faced with Seo-han’s unyielding demeanor, the researcher backed out of the room without further argument.

Shortly after, a strange announcement appeared on Aether Bio’s internal bulletin board: Employee Hair Donation Campaign. Although it carried a disclaimer stating it was a voluntary campaign using anonymized samples, the employees' faces collectively stiffened with a subtle unease. Confused but acting on Dr. Lee's directive, they began to collect hair strands from their brushes and place them into the bin with awkward expressions.

Seo-han walked down the corridor, feeling the stunned stares pinned to the collection bin, but he did not break his stride. While this was entirely divorced from development of the immunotherapies that formed Aether Bio’s core foundation, to him, the value of technology was fundamentally defined by the volume of surplus capital it generated relative to the time he expended.

"Philosophy doesn’t put food on the table."

Sinking deep into his office sofa, Seo-han scanned the global depilatory market share charts on his tablet screen. Resolving the primitive inefficiencies of the human body through precision science was always lucrative.

Particularly now, with a year-and-a-half runway burning down by the second, this side project had ample potential to generate a sudden cash flow, like a downpour in a drought. There was no need for extensive clinical trials. Once he extracted the efficacy data with ruthless precision, he could simply out-license the technology entirely to global beauty giants like L'Oréal or Estée Lauder. A low-risk maneuver utilizing a few days of research allocation and their existing antibody platform—Seo-han viewed it as a form of technical alchemy.

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Tucked away in a back alley of Teheran-ro, amidst a dense jungle of skyscrapers, the office of 'Eterno'—a company existing solely on paper—was bleakly vacant.

Through the window, the high-rises of Gangnam, where trillions in capital changed hands daily, loomed large. Yet inside, the space was devoid of any human warmth. Two office desks, a high-performance server connected to an external cloud cluster, and a water dispenser showing scarce signs of use were all that occupied the room. It felt like a temporary outpost designed to vanish without a trace at a moment's notice.

Kang Si-hyun stared with an expression of open disgust at the thick stack of documents on the desk, the Cartier Tank watch on her wrist flashing coldly under the fluorescent lights.

"Is this supposed to be articles of incorporation, or a business plan for a high school entrepreneurship club?"

Seo-han, dressed in a linen shirt with the sleeves carelessly rolled up, was checking the server’s status. The thick veins tracing his forearms implied that he was not merely a capitalist issuing orders from above, but a worker on the ground who directly extracted and controlled data.

He did not even glance at Si-hyun’s razor-sharp criticism, keeping his eyes on the flowing lines of code on his monitor as he gave a casual reply.

"I downloaded the most standard template on the internet and adjusted only the capital amount and the purpose clauses. Consider it installing the bare minimum driver required to boot the system. It is engineered to suffer no legal deficiencies, so I prefer not to waste time on peripheral decorations."

"Do not throw the word 'engineered' around so carelessly. This isn't engineering; it is abandonment, sheer negligence," Si-hyun said, tossing the papers down with a dull impact that echoed through the vacant office.

"There are no restrictions on board voting rights, and the section regarding the auditor's authority is entirely blank. Even for a single-shareholder corporation, this is nothing short of legal suicide. If someone comes after you with intent, you could be stripped of everything and thrown out of this company without a single thing to your name."

Si-hyun was already tapping her iPad, transmitting revisions to her legal team. Her slender fingers holding the pencil tapped the screen with a cold, mechanical precision. To her, the law was not a simple social contract; it was a flawless blueprint designed to constrain the desires of titans and mitigate risk.

"I have already instructed my external law firm to initiate a comprehensive overhaul. From stock options and non-disclosure agreements to anti-takeover defense mechanisms, I am going to rebuild Eterno’s entire corporate governance to the standard of a senior partner at a top-tier firm. Lee Seo-han, you might be a god in a world measured in molecules, but in this filthy business arena, you are a child who hasn't even learned to crawl."

Only then did Seo-han pull his eyes from the server to look Si-hyun in the face.

Her beige silk blouse, worn over an Oxford shirt, gleamed coldly as if absorbing the tension in the room. Seo-han’s eyes were filled with his signature clarity, a gaze stripped of emotion, seeking only to read data.

"I suggest you focus on your own operational efficiency rather than worrying about my ability to crawl. Kang Si-hyun, I hired you to protect my valuable time, not to lecture me on my management style."

"This isn't a lecture; I am drafting a survival strategy for you. But tell me, this data makes absolutely no sense based on my common sense."

Si-hyun sharply pointed her fingernail at a specific page of the document. There, Eterno’s projected monthly revenue was recorded in stark numbers.

"Eight hundred million won every month. How do you intend to explain to the South Korean prosecution and the National Tax Service that this phantom company—with no assets, no proper research facility, and not a single regular employee on the payroll—generates 800 million won in recurring monthly revenue? The description line simply reads 'Technical Consulting,' written with utter indifference. Eight hundred million won a month without a single line of a report or a single email as evidence? Lee Seo-han, you are treating the world, and this nation's legal system, far too lightly."

Si-hyun clicked her tongue, pointing at the numbers on the Excel sheet displayed on her iPad screen. Her manicured nail tapped the smooth glass surface with an irritable rhythm. To her, these numbers were not mere profits; they were a legal time bomb capable of choking Aether Bio at any moment.

Seo-han shrugged his shoulders lightly and leaned back against the edge of the desk. His posture was less about arrogance and more about the detachment of an entity operating on an entirely different plane of logic. He calmly observed her chilling warning as if it were an interesting piece of data analysis.

"It is exactly as it reads. I deliver my intellectual property verbally and receive the corresponding compensation. Don't you think it's actually quite cheap for a real-time lease on the most expensive brain in South Korea? To certain individuals, that 800 million won is essentially a 'youth subscription fee' that extends their lifespan by another month and reignites their dying desires. As for employees, we can hire them as we go."

"Don't joke with me. Eight hundred million won is an amount that matches the entire monthly revenue of a mid-sized law firm in Gangnam. What kind of monumental advisory is this that massive sums are deposited without a shred of physical records? One tax audit could turn this into allegations of embezzlement or money laundering and destroy your life."

Si-hyun stepped closer, entering his space without hesitation.

"This is exactly why the advisory agreements need to be properly structured. We will split the incoming 800 million won into a monthly retainer and urgent consultation fees, and we will substantiate it by generating an anonymous monthly market and bio-health strategy report as a confidential technical briefing. I will personally graft a defense mechanism into Eterno’s system that automatically generates tax invoices, deliverable outputs, and dated meeting logs. So hand over the detailed specifications of the advisory agreements and the scope of your verbal services right now. I need to build a defensive line. I didn't come here to observe your mystique; I came to turn this company into a legally impenetrable fortress."

The cold pressure in Si-hyun’s voice settled heavily over the office. She narrowed her eyes, determined to excavate the true nature of the 'intangible services' Seo-han was hiding.

"Deliverable outputs..."

A fleeting, cynical smile touched the corners of Seo-han’s mouth. He locked eyes with Si-hyun, speaking in a low, chilling whisper, as if reciting a classified formula.

"Those outputs are being updated in real time inside their bodies at this very moment. It is not the kind of low-grade information that can be reduced to the scraps of paper or data files you are so fond of."

Seo-han’s gaze sharpened with absolute clarity.

"Because they are more than willing to pay that sum on the sole condition that no record is ever kept of their deepest vulnerabilities and most clandestine pleasures. If administrative paperwork is an absolute necessity, I will give you the contact information for their representatives. Tell them to share a report."

There was not a tremor of hesitation in Seo-han’s eyes. The distinct chill unique to a man who worshipped only biological mechanisms and scientific logic pierced through her rational defense wall.

"Even if you are curious about the internal architecture, do not think of opening the lid. If curiosity drives you to open that Pandora's box, the one who gets hurt won't be me—it will be Vice Chairman Jeong Hyun-jin, who deposited the funds, and the power brokers lining up behind him."

"Are you threatening me right now? Or are you telling me to become an accomplice to your dangerous game?"

Si-hyun rose from her chair and stepped directly into his space. Every time she moved, the sharp, acidic scent of frozen bergamot surged forward, overpowering the stagnant air of the small office. Her Cartier Tank watch gleamed coldly, reflecting the fluorescent light, as their gazes met beneath it, cold and unyielding.

"Neither. It is pure efficiency. The 'content' you are so curious about, Attorney Kang, belongs to the realm of biological instinct—something that can never be decoded by the legal codes and precedents you have studied your entire life. Do not waste your energy trying to comprehend it."

Seo-han slowly adjusted the rim of his rimless glasses on the bridge of his nose.

"Your role is simply to erect a solid glass wall to protect those outputs. So that no matter what kind of monster is breathing on the inside, to the outside world, it looks like nothing more than an ordinary advisory firm."

Kang Si-hyun realized it then.

What he was telling her to build was not a corporation.

It was a phantom fortress built to contain the world’s most dangerous biological secret behind the facade of an ordinary advisory firm.