North Korea.
A land where silence was law—and fear, tradition.
Kurayami entered not as a warrior, not as a symbol of rebellion, but as a normal man.
Simple clothes. Lowered gaze. Measured steps.
He had switched himself off.
No assassin's instinct.
No leader's authority.
Just observation.
A Normal Day in an Abnormal World
The streets were clean. Too clean.
People walked in straight lines, as if invisible threads pulled them forward. Everyone had a mobile phone—but when Kurayami glanced at one, he understood immediately.
No internet.
Only two or three government channels.
All of them showed the same thing.
The same face.
The same voice.
The same praise.
The Supreme Leader's speeches played endlessly.
Sometimes his father's image appeared beside him—framed like a god, not a man.
Kurayami's fingers curled.
"This isn't media," he thought.
"This is worship."
Faith Forced by Fear
December had arrived.
In other parts of the world, lights, laughter, and warmth defined the season.
Here, Christmas meant something else.
Kurayami watched as families gathered—not to celebrate, but to bow.
Portraits of the leader and his bloodline were placed on walls.
People stood silently before them.
No prayers to God.
No songs.
Only loyalty.
One wrong expression…
one wrong pause…
…and a family could disappear.
Whispers of Horror
In a narrow alley, Kurayami overheard two women whispering.
Their voices trembled.
Marriage here was not freedom.
It was another chain.
There were rumors—spoken only in shadows—about what powerful families demanded before allowing a union to be "approved."
Not love.
Not consent.
Submission.
Kurayami turned away.
His jaw tightened so hard it hurt.
"This," he thought,
"is not a country."
"It's a cage."
The Fire
Then it happened.
A house—old, wooden—caught fire.
Flames rose fast, greedy and loud.
Inside, a father and his young son screamed.
Kurayami stepped forward instinctively—
But no one else did.
Neighbors surrounded the house.
Not to help.
To watch.
The man burst out first, coughing, carrying his child. The boy was alive.
For one moment…
hope existed.
Then soldiers arrived.
Their boots were calm.
Their faces empty.
They asked only one question:
"Where are the portraits?"
The man cried, shaking.
"They… they were inside. They burned…"
Silence.
No anger.
No shouting.
Only gunshots.
Kurayami did not move.
He could not.
If he reacted—he would die.
If he revealed himself—the mission would end.
The fire died slowly.
So did something inside him.
Understanding the Enemy
That night, Red Circle regrouped underground.
Maya's voice was quiet.
"This isn't control through strength."
Arin added, "It's control through conditioning."
Riku slammed his fist into the table.
"So killing the leader—"
"—changes nothing," Kurayami finished.
He looked at the map.
Kim Jong Un ruled from the top.
Below him, Premier Pak Thae‑song managed the machinery.
But the real weapon wasn't power.
It was fear taught from birth.
Kurayami's Resolve
"In India, people were angry," Kurayami said.
"In Nepal, I was oppressed."
He paused.
"But here… people don't even know they're prisoners."
He stood.
"We don't assassinate."
"Not yet."
"We observe. We learn. We prepare."
"This country cannot be freed in days… or months."
"It will take years."
He looked at Lily.
"And maybe," he said softly,
"not in my lifetime."
Ending
Somewhere in North Korea, a forbidden radio crackled.
A man listened in silence.
For the first time, he heard a world where leaders could be questioned.
He didn't smile.
He didn't cry.
But a single thought appeared in his mind:
What if this isn't normal?
Far away, Kurayami watched the border lights flicker.
"This world burned me," he whispered.
"But this place…"
"This place was never allowed to feel warmth."