All Are Dogs

On the other end, the doppelganger.

Lin Mo sat by the window of a coffee shop, a latte resting beside his hand—no ice, extra milk.

He didn't actually like coffee, but a latte with extra milk tasted pretty good.

A total milk-drinker, confirmed.

He stared at his phone screen, thumb slowly scrolling downward.

Cheonrak Group.

The name had a rotten reputation in China—mediocre products, inflated prices, and a habit of pulling shady stunts that rubbed people the wrong way.

But in South Korea, this thing was a behemoth, spanning retail, chemicals, construction, food, and more, its tentacles reaching everywhere.

Lin Mo pulled up the founder's profile.

Shim Gyeok-ho, born during the Japanese colonial period of Korea.

That timing was interesting.

Born during the occupation, later went to Japan to study and do business. After Japan's defeat, he didn't return home—instead, he founded Cheonrak Company on Japanese soil.

It took a full twenty years before he moved the entire operation back to South Korea.

Twenty years.

Lin Mo took a sip of his coffee, his fingers tapping twice on the table without thinking.

A company that had taken root and flourished on colonial soil for two decades, then came back and expanded at breakneck speed? Behind it all, there had to be Japanese capital and connections propping it up.

Only a fool would believe otherwise.

He kept scrolling.

The next part was far more entertaining.

Shim Gyeok-ho's scandals with multiple South Korean female celebrities were dug up completely—photos, schedules, hotel records. Amateur sleuths had compiled more detail than any paparazzo ever did.

And one piece of information made Lin Mo stop.

A female celebrity's suicide note.

The note directly accused Shim Gyeok-ho and Shim Jae-hyeok—father and son had the same hobbies, huh?

Lin Mo tapped on that celebrity's profile. Her agency was listed as YJJ Entertainment.

He set the phone down and leaned back in his chair.

YJJ, Shim Jae-hyeok, Cheonrak Group.

Shim Gyeok-ho had already stepped down; Shim Jae-hyeok was the one running the group now.

A complete chain was starting to surface.

These people weren't just in the business—to them, the entertainment industry was more like a hunting ground. Those young trainees signed their contracts like signing away their lives, and whoever was on top could bend and break them however they pleased.

But Lin Mo was certain that Cai Junhuang being targeted had nothing to do with how attractive she was.

Just then, the coffee shop door swung open.

Lin Mo didn't look up, but his spiritual sense had already caught the outline of the newcomer.

It was Song Junhe again.

This time, he wasn't wearing that semi-formal jacket. He'd changed into a dark gray hoodie, looking like an average college student.

Given his age, he was probably around that range anyway.

Song Junhe walked straight over and sat down across from Lin Mo, no greeting needed.

He spoke first.

"Park Guk-chang."

Lin Mo looked up at him.

"Abandoned in 1991 in the Ssangmun-dong residential area of Dobong District. Later sent to Gwangsil Orphanage. Once the orphanage shut down, he disappeared from all records."

Song Junhe delivered this flatly, like he was reading off a file. "You know where the members of the Superpower Youth Corps come from?"

Lin Mo didn't answer.

"A bunch of orphans, basically."

Song Junhe answered himself, a hint of something unidentifiable in his tone. "No family. No social connections. The kind of people who can go missing and no one will even file a report."

That was blunt enough.

Lin Mo finally put down his phone and looked at Song Junhe directly.

"Why are you telling me this? To sympathize with me? Or to tell me you guys aren't any better off, hoping I'll sympathize with you?"

"Neither."

"Then what do you actually want?"

"My superiors sent me to keep an eye on you. The task is simple: make sure you don't go after civilians."

Lin Mo let out a laugh—one with no warmth in it.

"Civilians? Do I look like the type who'd mess with ordinary people?"

"I didn't say you do. But orders are orders."

"Fine."

Lin Mo picked up his coffee cup again. "Unlike you guys, I don't have many virtues, but I do have a little sense of justice. I'm not interested in your dirty business, but Shim Jae-hyeok? I want his life. That's it."

Song Junhe stared at him for a few seconds.

This man calling himself Piao Guochang—whenever Shim Jae-hyeok came up, his whole demeanor shifted.

That wasn't an act. At least, that was Song Junhe's judgment.

Of course, what he didn't know was that this authenticity was precisely the disguise Lin Mo had carefully crafted.

A good cover didn't need to be flawless—it just needed to make the other person believe completely at the key emotional moments.

After a moment of silence, Song Junhe made a decision.

"About Shim Jae-hyeok... we can help."

Lin Mo raised an eyebrow.

"Oh? Now that's what I wanted to hear."

Song Junhe pulled a manila envelope from his jacket and slapped it on the table, sliding it over. "Shim Jae-hyeok's daily schedule, security arrangements, and the places he frequents—it's all in there."

He paused, then added, "Cheonrak Group has hired quite a few superpowered individuals as private security. Their details are in there too—levels and ability types are all marked. Handle it however you see fit."

Lin Mo picked up the envelope, weighed it in his hand, but didn't open it right away.

"Superpowered people working as guard dogs for a conglomerate? That desperate?"

Song Junhe snorted. "Superpowered doesn't mean superhuman. Having abilities doesn't mean you know how to make money. A salary of several million won a month—you'd be surprised how many people would take that deal."

That was honest.

Unlike the management system for superpowered individuals back in China, Korea was more like a law of the jungle. No unified registry, no guaranteed benefits. Those with real skill carved their own path; those without sold themselves to the wealthy.

And when serious incidents happened—robberies, brawls, superpower-related crime—the Superpower Youth Corps was the one that got dispatched to clean it up.

In other words, wild growth. Let the chaos happen first, clean up the mess later.

No wonder the superpowered circles in Korea were such a mess.

Lin Mo tucked the envelope away and stood up.

"I'll take this. Don't need your people on this—I'll do it myself. I don't trust you."

"You sure? Shim Jae-hyeok has at least three B-rank or above superpowered individuals around him."

"Sure."

"Then I'll wait to hear good news. Join the Superpower Youth Corps—you won't have to sell yourself to the highest bidder."

Lin Mo left his unfinished coffee on the table, took two steps, then stopped without turning around, tossing a line over his shoulder.

"Isn't that just selling yourself to the government?"

"You should know by now—I've already got nothing left to lose."

The coffee shop door closed, and the glass reflected Song Junhe sitting there alone.

He waited about ten seconds, confirmed Piao Guochang was far enough away, then pressed a finger to his earpiece.

"Subject's danger level: rated S-rank."

Song Junhe showed no reaction. The S-rank assessment was expected.

But then, another voice cut in—one he was all too familiar with.

"S-rank is S-rank. Danger level was never the problem."

The voice was calm. Calm enough to be unnatural.

"Keep an eye on him. Record data from every use of his ability. With his sample, we can mass-produce this power."

Song Junhe's fingers curled slightly beneath the table.

"...Understood."

He stood up, pushed his chair back into place, and walked out of the café.

Song Junhe moved through the crowd, but his mind kept chewing on one thing.

Piao Guochang said he had a sense of justice, that he wouldn't lay a hand on ordinary people.

And his superior said they wanted to replicate Piao Guochang's ability.

Put those two facts together, and no matter how you looked at it, there was no good ending in sight.

But so what?

Orders were orders.

Song Junhe pulled his cap lower and disappeared into the flow of the crowd.