There was a second file hidden inside the USB. An encrypted file named '3870.' And a warning: Automatic deletion upon error.

  [March 21, 2019. 3:26 AM] [The Gosiwon]

  After the official mid-check ended, the laptop screen flickered back to its normal state.

  But one sentence wouldn't stop screaming in Yun-jae’s mind. ‘24.6% of the 3,870 subjects...’

  Yun-jae was certain. I didn't write that.

  He felt the tips of his fingers turn ice-cold, his heart thumping against his ribs with a sickening rhythm.

  Someone had breached this file. Someone had left a message. Anonymously.

  It was a disgusting reality to swallow, but he had to keep pushing forward with the thesis.

  [03:46 AM]

  Yun-jae began scanning the entire manuscript again. Then, a nagging doubt clawed at him.

  Is this file... really the only thing on this USB?

  He accessed the memory settings to inspect the USB’s partition structure. One folder. One file. On the surface, at least.

  But how many times during his years as a prosecutor had Yun-jae hunted for hidden files buried deep within mail servers?

  He opened the drive and toggled the 'Show Hidden Files' option. In an instant, a folder appeared, flickering faintly like a dying ghost.

  [AS_hidden_temp]

  A hidden folder? Holding his breath, he clicked it. Inside was a single file.

  [log_asset_3870.enc]

  Encrypted. A file he couldn't open.

  Only the name was clear. "3870."

  [03:48 AM] What is this? Yun-jae began guessing the password.

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  His birthdate? The client’s name? Codename A-73? Every attempt failed. The file remained locked tight.

  After his fifth incorrect attempt, bright red text bled across the screen.

  [WARNING] A second error will result in automatic file deletion. A-73, take caution.

  The letters on the screen felt like they were mocking him. Cold sweat dripped down his neck as a wave of dread washed over him.

  How does the system know my code?

  But the true horror lay in the phrasing. 'A-73' wasn't just a nickname; it was a unique user ID recognized by the USB’s internal system.

  In other words, this USB was a device built 'solely for Yun-jae' from the very beginning. It had been sent to monitor his every move. It wasn't just a storage device; it was a digital prison made of electrical signals. How long have they been watching me?

  His heart felt like it had dropped through the floor.

  [03:55 AM] Yun-jae couldn't bring himself to close the laptop.

  ‘log_asset_3870’

  The meaning of the filename was becoming clear. 3,870 wasn't just a random number. It was a code with significant weight.

  And that number happened to match the '3,870 subjects' mentioned in the phantom sentence.

  Asset 3870. Does this organization view people or files as mere 'assets'?

  Instinct told him this was far more than a simple ghostwriting scheme.

  [04:05 AM] Suddenly— Ping. The screen flickered again.

  [Anonymous Sender: File Access Detected]

  A moment later, the familiar silhouette reappeared on the screen.

  4:00 AM. This wasn't a scheduled check. "Writer A-73."

  Yun-jae bit his lip. "Why are you back?"

  The man’s voice was calm, yet sharp as a blade. "Did you have a look at the contents of the USB?"

  "..." Yun-jae was speechless.

  "The AS_hidden_temp folder. You aren't at the level to view that file yet." "What the hell is this? What is 3870?"

  The man fell silent for a beat.

  "I am warning you again. Carry out your assigned task quietly," the silhouette replied. "You are only responsible for the 'First Draft.' Matters regarding 3,870 are handled by higher-tier writers."

  Higher-tier?

  The man spoke softly. "A-01 through A-12. They are the ones who manage all these 'assets'."

  Assets. There was that word again.

  "Then what am I?" The man’s response was icy. "You are now the bottom of the ladder. Nothing more."

  The words struck him like a dagger. Then, the man vanished.

  [04:15 AM] Yun-jae slowly closed the laptop.

  Now he was certain. This wasn't just academic editing.

  Information manipulation. Data fabrication. Forgery of medical records.

  And it seemed the writers tasked with these jobs were somehow connected to that number—3,870.

  He looked up at the ceiling of his tiny gosiwon room and whispered into the dark.

  "What... what have I started?"

  There was no one to answer. The room was deathly silent. But that silence wouldn't last for long.

  [Next Chapter Preview]

  Before the sun even rises, a slip of paper slides under the door.

  'Do not open 3870 again. Next time, it won't be the file that's deleted. It will be you.' The surveillance of the USB has crossed over into reality.

  The 'First Warning' for A-73 has only just begun.

  From this chapter on, the tension escalates sharply.

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