A sterile, fluorescent white light saturated every inch of the rectangular space. There were no windows, no decorations—nothing but a single, weathered desk in the center and a laptop. The screen was already glowing, the cursor blinking as if it had been waiting for him.
As he approached, the laptop opened a document on its own. Yun-jae felt the air leave his lungs.
Inside that document were the very sentences he had deleted the night before. I thought I’d erased them. I believed they were gone. But on the screen, they weren't mere 'deleted fragments.' They were etched there, clear and undeniable, like a truth someone had painstakingly resurrected.
[2019-03-24 00:07] RE-EDUCATION ATTENDANCE: REFUSED Status: RESTORED
Yun-jae felt a faint tremor in his fingertips and forced his gaze away from the screen.
Then—a voice crackled through the speakers. "Welcome, A-73." Cold. Methodical. Familiar. A-12.
Yun-jae turned toward the direction of the voice. "…Are you A-12?" "Yes."
The voice filled the entire room. "I am personally overseeing Stage 1 of your re-education." The tone was nearly devoid of emotion, yet there was a predatory pressure behind every word.
"The sentences you see are records written by your own hand," A-12 continued. "However, your records are... always subject to modification."
As soon as he finished speaking, a new line of text was typed automatically beneath his original words.
Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on the original website.
[THE OWNER OF THE RECORD IS NOT THE AUTHOR.]
Yun-jae clenched his fists. "Why are you doing this? What have I done to you!"
The screen shifted instantly. Now, it displayed his past. Trial records he’d authored as a prosecutor. Statements. Evidence lists. Every file he had ever touched flickered past at high speed.
A-12’s voice became as sharp and cold as ice. "You have spent a long time crafting records, A-73. Recording the truths of others, passing judgments, and drawing lines through human lives."
Yun-jae’s body stiffened.
"But your records were incomplete. They could be deleted. Distorted. Hidden." The screen froze on a specific file: The Jeong Yun-seok Case. And then, another: Lee Seo-jun.
Yun-jae’s throat went dry. "…Why is that record here?"
"Your past is tethered to the Organization's future," A-12 said calmly. "Therefore, your first task is—"
Two options materialized at the bottom of the screen.
[ACCEPT][REFUSE]
"This is Stage 1 of Re-education, A-73. It is time for you to... rewrite your history."
Yun-jae glared at the monitor. "Rewrite it? What are you asking me to do?"
"Choose your truth. Or, author a new one." Before he could fully process the words, the screen shifted one last time.
It was the Approval Document for his father’s surgery costs. Beneath it was a single, unfamiliar sentence: Funding will only persist upon the cooperation of A-73.
His heart felt as if it were collapsing. "...Is this a threat?"
A-12 didn't answer. Instead, he asked in a low, haunting voice: "Have you ever changed a record to save a life?"
A face flashed through Yun-jae’s mind. The night I was compiling the evidence list... back when I was a prosecutor.
He grit his teeth. The question felt less like a query and more like an interrogation that preceded the choice itself.
Suddenly, footsteps echoed from the hallway. Measured. Slow. One person. Or... two.
"Make your choice, A-73," A-12 commanded, the voice filling every corner of the room. On the laptop, the [ACCEPT] button began to glow with a faint, pulsing light. "Will you rewrite your history, or will you be erased within the records of this Organization?"
The footsteps drew closer, stopping exactly in front of the door.
Yun-jae gasped for air. He felt as if he were suspended on the razor's edge between the door opening and the window of choice closing.
Slowly, his trembling hand reached toward the screen.
The sound of the door unlatching. The sound of the cursor blinking. And somewhere in between— Click.
until you lie to yourself—
and calls it cooperation.