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Chapter Text

1933.

It is year 1933. Despair is in the air and people are losing hope, much like a delicate flower wilting away day by day. A full decade had passed since the neighboring nation had penetrated our borders, leaving our once-thriving land in a state of turmoil and chaos.

10th January, 1933.

Sung Hanbin toiled away within the confines of the Communications Department against his will, working for the occupying forces. His daily task revolved around tapping citizens' phone conversations. As the day's work drew to a close, he finished the report, but he made subtle alterations here and there, a clandestine act of defiance designed to shield himself and the other citizens from arousing suspicion in these perilous times.

Upon his return home, Hanbin found a mysterious parcel waiting for him, with the absence of the sender’s name. His brows furrowed. He looked around, he wanted to make sure no one was watching him. He unwrapped the package to unveil a neatly rolled-up poster. Carefully unfurling it, he discovered it to be none other than a poster for "Shanghai Express”.

While most people might have dismissed it as a movie poster, however Hanbin's knew it was far from unusual. As he gazed down at the actor's credits, he noticed a peculiar arrangement of dots, seemingly haphazardly placed above the cast's names. To the untrained eye, it might appear as a printing error, but to Hanbin, it was unmistakably Morse code.

12 January. Last chance to free Joseon. New inauguration of Governer-General. Shadow Corps to assasinate.

We interrupt your regular programming to bring you some urgent breaking news. Just a few hours ago, Shanghai was rocked by a coordinated attack carried out by an organisation, The Shadow Corps. While the specifics of this incident remain shrouded in uncertainty, what we can confirm is that, in the aftermath, all members of the Shadow Corps involved in the attack have met their demise. It has come to light that the motive behind this audacious attack was to secure the liberation of Joseon. In the wake of this unsettling event, we want to reassure our viewers and the entire region that under the umbrella of a unified empire, Asia has the potential to experience unprecedented prosperity.

11th January 1933

As the afternoon sun began to wane, Hanbin made his way to the city square. Winter was fast approaching, and the trees had shed their leaves, leaving a carpet of vibrant hues underfoot. Feeling the chill in the air, Hanbin wrapped himself in a cashmere coat, the soft fabric offering warmth and comfort against the encroaching cold. He needed to think of a plan.

"Light," a voice echoed. Hanbin turned to find himself eye-to-eye with a stranger. This figure possessed an almost ethereal milky-white complexion, a singular mole adorning his eye. What struck Hanbin even more was their similar height, an unsettling coincidence that left him perplexed, as he had never crossed paths with this individual before.
The mysterious man, cigarette dangling from his lips, seemed to be in dire need of a flame. Frustration simmered in his voice as he implored Hanbin once more, this time with a sense of urgency. "Are you deaf? Light. I need a light," he demanded, his words bordering on a shout as his impatience grew palpable.

Hanbin snorted. Without a word, he plucked the cigarette from the stranger's mouth and placed it between his own lips. He extracted a matchbox from his pocket and struck a match against its crimson surface, igniting a tiny flame. Bringing it to the end of the cigarette, he took a thoughtful drag, smoke curling around him. After savoring the moment, he returned the now-lit cigarette to the man's waiting mouth, their unusual encounter deepening with each passing moment.

The man accepted the cigarette, taking a drag from it. However, as he examined the end where their mouths had made contact, he couldn't help but notice something amiss. "You've got your lip gloss all over my cigarette," he remarked, a hint of annoyance in his voice.

“Whatever, a cigarette is a cigarette.” Hanbin remarked in a snarky manner. Hanbin couldn't help but bristle at the way this stranger spoke down to him. The stranger laughed. And then, in a sudden burst of raw emotion, the stranger pushed him. “Go suck a dick, you stupid fuck.”

As the stranger made a move to walk away, Hanbin swiftly slammed his hand onto the stranger's shoulder, halting the man's retreat with an iron grip. "Touch me one more time, and I'm pretty sure I can make sure you regret it with broken hands."

The stranger responded with a sassy tilt of his head and a provocative roll of his tongue. "Do you even know who I am?" he challenged, his voice dripping with self-assuredness. "I am Zhang Hao, Head Secretary to the Deputy-General! The first thing I'll do tomorrow is recommend your dismissal."

Hanbin retorted with a sardonic smirk, undeterred by Zhang Hao's claims of authority. "Head Secretary, huh? I suppose taking your clothes off for the Deputy-General is second nature to you, then," The Head Secretary's eyes widened, shimmering with rage as he moved to deliver a swift slap, but Hanbin was quicker, intercepting Zhang Hao's hand in a vice-like grip. "You see, Mr. Zhang, I think we should choose our battles wisely, shall we?"

Chapter Text

Phantom. This operation does not end until succeeded. Succeed at all costs.

“Fine, I'll be on my way then," Zhang Hao declared with a parting sneer. "Off to recommend your dismissal. Bye!." He mockingly blew a kiss, leather-clad fingers gracefully dancing in the air, before casually dropping his cigarette to the ground and crushing it beneath the heel of his polished loafers. With that, he sauntered away, leaving Hanbin seething with lingering irritation. The urge to have broken Zhang Hao's hands still lingered in his mind, but he brushed aside such thoughts. He had a country to reclaim for. With a head full of determination, he made his way toward the theater, a whirlwind of thoughts swirling within him.

Outside the theater, the familiar "Shanghai Express" poster greeted Hanbin without any Morse code alterations. As he approached the ticket counter, a glass pane with a small hole at the bottom separated him from the attendant, Han Yujin. Both of them were Phantoms, and their conversation was veiled in Japanese to avoid arousing suspicion among the occupying Japanese forces.

"1 ticket, please," Hanbin requested in Japanese, slipping 5 Korean yen through the small opening. Yujin, maintaining the charade, replied in the same language, "Sure thing," as he slid a ticket toward Hanbin. He carefully pocketed the 5 Korean yen note, ensuring it was separate from the rest, before locking it in a secure box. Yujin then discreetly passed the currency to Park Gunwook, the theater owner, who was a part of the Shadow Corps.

Gunwook examined the Korean yen note under a yellow light, deftly applying a glaze over the words. As the glaze dried, red Japanese letters hidden within the words revealed.

12 January. Ricky in charge of assasination of new Governer-General at the Kyungsung Palace. Be prepared.

"Yujin-ah," Gunwook called out, beckoning Yujin to approach the microscope. As they exchanged a significant look, a sense of urgency hung in the air. "We can only hope for the best, hyung," Yujin remarked with a tinge of sadness. Gunwook nodded in solemn agreement, their shared concern for their beleaguered homeland weighing heavily on their hearts.

Hanbin sat quietly in the theater, ostensibly watching "Shanghai Express" but his thoughts were elsewhere. This was the designated meeting place for him and Ricky, the moment before the impending assassination. Halfway through the film, a figure clad in a matching leather coat and hat entered the theater. The man took a seat at the end of Hanbin's row, and after a brief pause, he departed.

Without hesitation, Hanbin rose from his seat and followed the man outside. Rain had begun to fall, casting a shimmering glow under the street lamps on the wet pavement. Hanbin grabbed an umbrella from the theater's communal rack and approached the man. "Ricky," he called out, and Ricky turned to face him. "It's alright. I'm ready, hyung," Ricky assured him.

Hanbin's gaze fell, a hint of sorrow in his eyes. "Be safe," he said softly. It was all he could manage before gently brushing away a loose eyelash from Ricky's face. Without further words, Hanbin turned and made his way home, leaving Ricky to fulfill his dangerous mission.

12 January, 1933

"Are preparations going well?" The Governor-General inquired, the roar of the car's engine serving as a constant backdrop to their conversation. "Yes, sir," the Deputy-General responded promptly. "As you may be aware, Shanghai experienced an attack by the Shadow Corps, but Kyungsung remains a secure area. There's no need for concern."

"It's only been a few hours since your arrival in Kyungsung, Governor. Let's focus on enjoying the meeting," Zhang Hao chimed in from within the car.

"Governor, have you had the pleasure of trying Joseon's naengmyeon?" one of the men seated around the dining table inquired. The dining room was bathed in natural light streaming through the elegant wooden-framed glass and adorned with Korean wall dividers.

"Joseon naengmyeon?" the Governor-General responded, his curiosity piqued.

The conversation carried on, becoming somewhat lengthy, causing Zhang Hao to lose focus as he sat just behind the Deputy-General. The door slid open, and a group of assistants entered, bearing dishes for the meal. Among them, a blond man took a seat right beside the Governor and presented a two-level container, showcasing a pink mochi adorned with a leaf on the first level, and the main course hidden on the second level. Placing a toothpick next to the mochi, the blond man swiftly revealed a hidden gun when he slid open the plate's second level, immediately aiming it at the Governor.

-

Hanbin found himself once again in the city square, this time under the watchful eye of the Imperial Army guards, who had rallied all the citizens for their inspections. The air was tense, and those deemed suspicious never returned from these checks. The crowd of citizens had been neatly organized into rows, making it easy for the troops to move among them. Then, two piercing gunshots shattered the uneasy silence.

Hanbin fought to suppress any reaction, his training drilled into him not to display any emotion. But when the gunshots rang out, panic swept through the civilians, and chaos erupted. Hanbin seized the opportunity, blending into the frantic crowd and making his escape to the prearranged meeting spot.

-

Ricky burst out of the room with all the strength he could muster, seeking refuge behind a nearby wall. He caught a glimpse of the two guards who had been stationed outside the room and swiftly eliminated them with well-aimed shots before dashing down the stairs. His path led him to the right, into the cover of the forest, though not without sustaining a gunshot wound to his arm.

-

Zhang Hao's screams pierced the air as tears streamed down his face. He desperately applied pressure to the Deputy General's wounds, who had been struck by three bullets. "Guards, help! Please!" he pleaded, his voice trembling with fear and urgency. The guards rushed to Zhang Hao's side, attempting to assist in stopping the bleeding. Zhang Hao quickly grabbed the telephone, urgently dialing for a nearby doctor to come to their aid.

-

Ricky raced toward the large boulder and spotted Hanbin waiting there, heaving a large sigh upon the sight of his fellow Phantom.

"Ricky, you're bleeding," Hanbin exclaimed, his emotions breaking free from the rigid training that normally kept them in check. He rushed to Ricky, wrapping his arms around him and weeping openly. "It's alright, hyung. I'm going to be fine," Ricky reassured him, wincing as he felt the warmth of Hanbin's embrace against his white robes, now stained with a blossoming red from his wound. Ricky used his hands to gently wipe away Hanbin's tears.

Hanbin tore a sleeve from Ricky’s white robe and used it to staunch the bleeding from Ricky's arm. Ricky, trying to lighten the moment, remarked on Hanbin's attire. "You're dressed nicely today." Hanbin's voice, deep and trembling from his recent tears, responded, "Go. Run. The guards will be here soon." Ricky nodded, and they began to part ways. "Hanbin hyung, when can we meet again?" Ricky asked. "Soon." Hanbin replied.

-

Hanbin rushed back to the city square, seizing the perfect timing amidst the ongoing panic among the citizens. However, a hand swiftly grabbed his shoulder. It was Han Yujin, the youngest member of the Phantom, undercover as the assistant of the Golden Theatre. Yujin rolled up Hanbin's collar, hiding a small streak of blood Hanbin had missed covering up, presumably from Ricky. Hanbin affectionately patted Yujin's head. "Since when has our maknae become so caring, huh~?" he mused. Yujin responded with a subtle smile, showcasing his aegyo. "Alright, hyung, get in position quickly. The guards might notice us." Hanbin nodded and took his designated position, ready for the unfolding events.

-

"Hello, this is Murayama Junji from the Golden Theatre. How may I help you?" a voice in Japanese greeted Hanbin from the telephone receiver as he stood in the telephone box. He ensured that no one was eavesdropping on their conversation.

"Gunwook-ah, it's me," Hanbin said in Korean.

"Oh, Hanbin-ah. Please, how is Ricky?" Gunwook replied, also in Korean.

"Ricky got shot in the arm, but he's recovering. The Deputy General was fatally wounded, while the Governer had a small injury but he's still alive," Hanbin conveyed.

"Ricky did his best; that's what matters," Gunwook responded.

"I know, Gunwook-ah. But there's been enough bloodshed. It's time to put an end to this. I think I need to take action," Hanbin declared, his voice tinged with resolve. "I've been researching the military armories. I believe we can obtain our weapons from there. Let's discuss this further next time."

There was a pause, followed by a soft sigh from Gunwook. "Hanbin-hyung, it's alright. There's nothing we can do for now. We'll have to come up with another plan. Let's meet next time to discuss it."

"Alright. Goodbye," Hanbin said, placing the phone back onto the receiver, ending the call.