The train station was quieter than I expected.
I stood under the flickering departure board, clutching Claire's postcard in my sweaty palm. The paper smelled like old books and something faintly sweet—maybe lavender, or the ghost of perfume. Around me, businessmen rushed for the last trains home, their briefcases knocking against my knees. No one noticed the twelve-year-old girl with flour still dusting her braid.
Jeong's mist curled around my wrist, tugging me toward Platform 3.
"He's late," the ghost murmured.
As if summoned, Taehyun appeared at the ticket gate, his school uniform rumpled and his hair sticking up in the back like he'd forgotten to brush it. In the golden evening light, he looked younger than usual—just a boy, not a Sunyang heir.
"You brought it," he said, eyeing the postcard.
I held it tighter. "Explain first."
The Secret of the Blue Powder
Taehyun led me to a bench by the abandoned luggage carts. From his backpack, he pulled a dented lunchbox—the kind elementary kids use. Inside lay three items:
A vial of blue powder (identical to the one from Moon & Son)
A faded photo of a little boy covered in hives
A medical report labeled Kang Taehyun, Age 6
"I was their first test subject," he said quietly.
The pieces clicked together: The hives. The way he'd recognized the additive instantly. The reason he'd helped us from the start.
Jeong's mist brushed the photo, his usual snark gone soft.
"They gave it to me in a hotteok," Taehyun continued. "Called it a special treat. I was sick for a month. My grandfather pulled me from their trials after that."
I thought of the mice, wobbling on their tiny feet. "You could've told me."
His ears turned pink. "You had enough enemies."
A train whistled in the distance.
The Postcard's Clue
Taehyun turned Claire's postcard over, revealing faint pencil marks under the stamp.
"Coordinates," he said. "For a bakery in Montmartre."
The math didn't add up. "But Claire died in—"
"1975. Yeah." His finger traced the postmark. "This was sent two weeks after the fire."
Jeong's mist flickered wildly, forming shapes too fast to follow—flames, a running figure, a loaf of bread split open.
I swallowed hard. "You think she survived?"
Taehyun's phone buzzed. A news alert flashed:
MOON & SON CEO RESIGNS AMID CONTAMINATION SCANDAL
"We'll find out," he said, tucking the postcard into his science textbook. "After midterms."
The Sleepover Strategy
Dae-ho "accidentally" spilled tteokbokki sauce on his uniform at school the next day, giving him an excuse to come home with me. By midnight, we'd turned the bakery's office into a war room:
Evidence Board: String connected photos of Moon & Son execs to their hidden labs
Snack Stockpile: Yakgwa for energy, sikhye to stay awake
Decoy Homework: Math worksheets spread in case Mother checked
Jeong's mist kept rearranging the string into better patterns.
"Focus," I hissed, slapping down a newspaper clipping. "The new CEO is Kim Ji-hoon—the guy who literally wrote the book on food chemistry."
Dae-ho zoomed in on the man's profile photo. "He looks like someone replaced his blood with aspartame."
Taehyun, video-calling from his dorm, frowned. "He's worse. Sunyang fired him for over-engineering baby formula."
A floorboard creaked upstairs. We froze.
Grandfather's voice drifted down: "If you're planning corporate espionage, at least unplug the mixer first. The noise is obvious."
Jeong's mist formed a laughing fox.
The Birthday Gift
Three days later, the bakery door chimed at closing time.
Chairman Kang stood there holding a rectangular package wrapped in hanji paper. Up close, he looked older than on TV—the wrinkles around his eyes deeper, his shoulders slightly stooped.
"For your dedication," he said, handing me the gift.
Inside lay a wooden recipe box, its lid carved with two foxes circling a sheaf of wheat. The inside smelled like cedar and...
"Vanilla?" I blinked.
"Seong-ho's signature scent." The Chairman's smile was bittersweet. "He always said it calmed the yeast."
Taehyun stiffened beside him.
Jeong's mist recoiled from the box, hissing like steam.
The Midnight Train
That night, I dreamt of Paris.
Not the Paris of postcards, but the one from Seong-ho's stories—narrow alleys smelling of burnt sugar, bakers shouting over clattering pans, and a girl with Claire's curls laughing as she kneaded dough.
Jeong stood at the dream's edge, his form flickering between man and fox.
"They never found her body," he whispered.
I woke to moonlight pooling on my quilt, the recipe box humming faintly under my bed.
The Plan
Over patbingsu at the school cafeteria, Taehyun outlined phase one:
Infiltration: Dae-ho would pose as a hotteok fanboy to tour Moon & Son's "reformed" kitchen
Distraction: I'd challenge Kim Ji-hoon to a live bake-off (judged by health inspectors)
Extraction: Taehyun would hack their server during the chaos
Dae-ho slurped up the last of his red bean. "What if they poison us?"
Taehyun slid a vial of white powder across the table. "Activated charcoal. Takes two hours to work."
I stared at him. "You carry antidotes?"
"Sunyang family motto: 'Distrust all buffets.'"
Jeong's mist formed an eye-roll.
The Warning
On the walk home, an unfamiliar woman fell into step beside me. She wore a nurse's uniform and smelled like antiseptic.
"Your grandfather's medication," she murmured, pressing a pharmacy bag into my hands. "Check the lot number."
Inside, the pills looked normal—but the label matched the counterfeit batch from Moon & Son's sabotage.
Jeong's mist went ice-cold.
The nurse vanished into the crowd before I could ask questions.
The Choice
Back in the bakery office, I lined up our weapons:
Evidence: Seong-ho's recipe box, the tainted medicine, Claire's postcard
Allies: Dae-ho's livestream followers, Taehyun's tech skills, Jeong's silent warnings
Secret Ingredient: The vanilla-miso brioche that made people remember
Taehyun watched me from the doorway. "We don't have to do this now."
Outside, the first summer storm rumbled over Seoul. Twelve years old or not, the truth wouldn't wait.
I slid the recipe box into my backpack. "Yes, we do."