Ghosts of Eternity

The Seoul Annex of the Government Complex stood in the heart of Gwanghwamun.

Working-level officials from the Ministry of Food and Drug Safety (MFDS), the Ministry of Health and Welfare, the Ministry of Science and ICT, and the Ministry of Economy and Finance sat across a long mahogany table, facing a panel of private-sector advisors.

Beyond the double-glazed windows, heat radiated off the Gwanghwamun Plaza asphalt as if it were being baked whole, but the conference room was filled with the dry, relentless chill of the air conditioning.

The officials all looked exhausted, worn down by the usual uninspired research proposals and budget-grabbing pitches.

The silence broke when Seoyoon Baek, a principal at GSI, stepped up to the podium.

With a dark navy blouse, hair tied low, and a delicate wristwatch, her appearance was perfectly composed. A subtle scent of lily of the valley lingered near the podium.

As she pulled up the first slide, the rustling of papers ceased instantly.

A dense, imposing title filled the screen:

[Proposal for an Integrated Advanced Biotech Clinical Development Platform and Accelerated Review Special Zone]

The title alone was enough to shift the atmosphere in the room.

Seoyoon immediately brought up the next slide.

The screen displayed the attrition pathways of domestic drug development programs across clinical stages. Drug candidates developed through the preclinical stage in Korea were moving to the United States, Australia, and Singapore once they entered clinical development.

"The moment molecules developed in Korea enter the clinical phase, they head overseas."

Seoyoon’s laser pointer traced the drawn-out administrative pipeline.

"It’s not just a lack of science. It’s because pre-submission consultations with the MFDS, hospital contracts, IRBs, specimen exports, and data linkages all operate separately. Companies spend more time waiting for administrative procedures to clear than they do on actual clinical trials."

A senior advisor adjusted his glasses frame.

"Still, we can't just lift regulations across the board for unverified substances, can we?"

"I am not proposing we lift regulations."

Seoyoon erased the red-highlighted waiting periods one by one on the screen.

"Keep the evaluation criteria intact, but eliminate the time spent not evaluating. The real waste lies in the dead time created when regulatory review and administrative procedures wait on each other."

Seoyoon’s voice was low and crystal clear.

"We must introduce real-time rolling reviews through dedicated MFDS review teams. If Phase 1 and 2 results meet the criteria, Phase 3 and long-term tracking should proceed seamlessly within the special clinical zone. Furthermore, we must build a platform that links national real-world data (RWD) and the health checkup network."

Her gaze slowly swept across the audience.

"Advancing a single drug’s market entry by just eighteen months can be worth hundreds of billions of won to a global pharmaceutical company. South Korea wouldn't be lifting regulations; we would be turning time into a product and selling it to the world."

The Director of Clinical Review at the MFDS closed his binder.

"'Selling time'—a nice phrase. But if an accident happens, who takes responsibility?"

Seoyoon turned her gaze toward him.

"The risks of substances categorized under advanced biotech are all entirely different. Immune agonists risk cytokine storms, gene therapies require long-term tracking, and cell therapies can vary from batch to batch and from patient to patient. Can you really bundle them under a single fast track?"

"I am not suggesting we bundle them under a single safety standard."

Seoyoon displayed the next slide.

[Dedicated Review Tracks by Modality]

[Antibodies & Proteins / Cell Therapy / Gene Therapy / Nucleic Acid Therapy / Endocrine & Metabolic Regulators]

"What we unify is review speed and inter-agency coordination. Safety standards will be further segmented by modality."

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The screen changed again.

[Sentinel Cohort → Independent Safety Board → Predefined Stopping Criteria → Stepwise Expansion]

"Risk never disappears in new drugs."

Seoyoon’s voice remained unshakeable.

"The state’s role is not to pretend risk does not exist, but to build a system that halts a trial at the earliest warning signal and allows the next decision to be made without delay."

As the bureaucrats fell silent, a Director General from the Ministry of Economy and Finance raised his hand.

"Building dedicated review personnel, a data center, and a hospital network requires a substantial budget. In the end, isn't the state covering the development costs for a handful of biotech firms?"

"We are not paying development costs for these companies."

The screen shifted.

[Global Open Advanced Biotech Clinical Platform]

"We open it to both domestic and international companies that meet the criteria and charge user fees. Companies pay for using the dedicated review teams, hospital networks, and data infrastructure to conduct their trials in Korea."

"Is the first target for application already decided?"

"No. We will select multiple programs through a public review process."

"And if it fails?"

"Individual drugs may fail. But the review protocols, stopping criteria, and data linkage systems remain for the next program."

"And if it succeeds?"

Seoyoon turned to the next slide.

"From the second program onward, South Korea will be selling time."

Breaking the silence, the chairman tapped lightly on the table.

"A dedicated MFDS review team, special clinical zones, linking health checkup networks... This isn't something a single ministry can decide. We must first examine the legal framework and predefined stopping criteria."

The chairman looked at the representatives from the MFDS and the Ministry of Health and Welfare in turn.

"The next meeting will be two weeks from now, same time."

For the first time, the deputy director serving as secretary added a follow-up meeting to the official schedule.

The documents, which had been stalled separately on each ministry's desk, were bound together into a single official agenda for the very first time.

In a shadowed corner of the back row, Taehoon Kang, a policy advisor at the Ministry of Health and Welfare, loosened his collar.

On his phone was a message his aunt, Minjoo Kang, had posted in the family group chat that morning: [Dose taken.]

The effects of Ghost 2.0—which he had administered in his car on the way to work—remained unmistakably clear.

The chronic fatigue and lethargy that had plagued him since turning fifty were completely gone. Thanks to the reduced eye strain, Seoyoon Baek’s movements on the distant podium and even the small numbers on the slides came into sharp focus.

A steady vitality rose from deep within his chest, and his concentration remained razor-sharp.

'Now I understand why the old guard on Namsan is obsessed with this drug.'

Seoyoon Baek had not mentioned any specific substance throughout the entire meeting. She had merely framed it as a matter of national infrastructure.

Yet Taehoon knew exactly which drug would be the first to emerge into the light through the endocrine and metabolic track.

Seohan Lee and Seoyoon Baek had undoubtedly finished preparing Ghost to fit those public criteria perfectly.

Taehoon opened his messaging app beneath the table and typed out a rapid text.

[Seoyoon Baek of GSI proposed an integrated advanced biotech clinical special zone. Formally presented as a public platform, but structurally aligned with the accelerated clinical pathway Ghost will need after Phase 1. Includes dedicated review channels at both the MFDS and the Ministry of Health and Welfare.]

As he hit send, his expression settled into calm certainty.

Taehoon’s report reached a stone mansion halfway up Namsan almost instantly. Its reception room was completely sealed off from the noise of the city.

The reception room smelled faintly of old mahogany and leather. Dosik Choi, the former intelligence chief, sat back on a deep sofa, scanning a tablet screen.

Thanks to Ghost 2.0, the haze in his vision had cleared, allowing him to read Taehoon's report clearly without reading glasses.

Dosik Choi put down the tablet.

"Bringing it into the light is fine, but aren't they opening the door a bit too wide?"

On top of the internal review draft passed over from the Ministry of Health and Welfare lay a one-page memorandum outlining Namsan’s position.

Beside him, General Sangdo Park, holding a fountain pen, paused his hand.

"What do you mean?"

"Right now, we're the only ones who know. Once official clinical trials start, the MFDS will know, the hospitals will know, and the National Assembly will know. The moment a single reporter catches the scent, they'll dig into who got their hands on this drug first."

All eyes in the room turned toward Minjoo Kang. Minjoo set her teacup down calmly.

"That is precisely why we need the special zone."

"To keep people quiet?"

"To create an entity that takes responsibility."

Minjoo pulled the Welfare Ministry's review draft toward herself.

"If anything happens to Seohan Lee, the entire supply chain collapses. There are no certified manufacturing facilities, no authorized hospitals administering the drug, and no government-managed records."

Dosik Choi's eyes narrowed.

"Bringing it into the formal system may weaken our privileged access."

"That’s better than having the supply cut off entirely while trying to guard a monopoly."

Sangdo Park slowly flexed his right hand.

The knuckles that used to stiffen first whenever the drug wore off were now moving without pain.

"Then open the door. We’ll pave the road before someone else forces it open."

Sangdo Park’s voice carried resolute weight.

He added his signature to the last remaining line of the memorandum.

It was a piece of paper with no legal force. Yet, the moment every name in that room appeared on the same page, the page carried more political weight than most official directives.

"He's not a man you can move with money alone," Minjoo Kang said softly.

She was recalling the report that Seohan Lee had flatly rejected Seogwang Bio’s proposal for an exclusive right of first refusal.

"He’ll accept money when it serves his purpose. But money alone will never make him move to someone else’s rhythm. He’s a stubborn man determined to carve his name into history. From a business standpoint, he’s fascinating."

Minjoo brushed her fingers lightly along the rim of her teacup with a subtle smile.

"Before long, I plan to place a few promising young researchers in his orbit—people talented and driven enough to catch Seohan Lee’s attention. I'm already curious to see how he responds."

In a corner of the reception room, the pendulum of a massive grandfather clock swung in a slow, heavy rhythm.

Tick, tock.

Seohan Lee and Seoyoon Baek had drawn the roadmap toward legitimacy. Now Namsan had placed its signatures beneath it.

Ghost would no longer remain merely an unofficial sample passed quietly between Hannam-dong and Namsan.

Now, the state itself had begun paving the road toward Ghost’s next clinical trial.