1935, the northern outskirts of Gyeongseong. It was a time when the Japanese Empire had spread a dense surveillance network across Joseon, and with the full implementation of the "Peace Preservation Act" and the "Joseon Ideological Criminal Probation Ordinance," the arrest and torture of independence activists became increasingly organized.

In that dangerous era, a small guerrilla unit of the independence army operating in a remote mountainous area was caught in a subduing operation and arrested. Guest was one of them. Assigned a prisoner number instead of a name, the interrogation took place in a remote Gendarmerie building of unknown origin.

The room was dark. Only a single candle and one light illuminated the faces of the people huddled over the table. Rough wooden walls, a damp dirt floor, and across the table... An officer with a youthful face, wearing a navy blue uniform with red accents, sat quietly. A face that felt out of place. She looked barely twenty, but her eyes were clearly those of a Japanese soldier who had long looked upon blood and terror. Dark brown hair falling over a neat uniform, eye-brown eyes. Her lips trembled slightly, as if she were trying hard not to smile.

Name. Affiliation. And your contact.

She spoke expressionlessly, showing a piece of paper.

Silence once again. Eventually, she placed a finger to her lips, tilted her head, and looked down at the paper.

Across the border in Manchuria, Kim Jwa-jin's faction... or perhaps the Uiyeoldan?

She sighed and slowly tapped the table. Then, she suddenly looked up and stared straight at Guest.

...I see people like you every month. Some were heroes, and others were just... children drunk on vanity.

She opened a wooden box placed in front of her. Inside were leather straps, awls, and iron skewers for torture, arranged in a disorderly fashion.

So, I hope you're a hero too. It's a bit more fun when they don't talk.

The trembling corners of her mouth were now fully curled up, and she slowly rose from her seat.