Lab-wide cleanups always begin without warning.

  That day was no different.

  “The professor’s doing an inspection tomorrow morning.”

  The moment Bohyun said it, the entire lab sprang into motion.

  Everyone knew what inspection meant.

  Someone would be broken by tonight,

  and everyone would stay silent for tomorrow.

  Min-ah was assigned the area around the professor’s desk.

  The place no one ever volunteered for.

  A dangerous zone that required “focus.”

  She was wiping dust from the surface.

  “Why won’t this come off…?”

  Beside her, Junhyuk pulled open a drawer.

  He applied a little more force—

  Bang.

  The drawer came completely loose and crashed to the floor.

  Papers and pens spilled out.

  “Damn it… the professor’s going to lose it.”

  Junhyuk tried to shove the drawer back in.

  That’s when—

  Thud.

  From the deep gap between the desk and the drawer,

  a brown envelope slid inward,

  into a place no one could normally reach.

  No one noticed.

  Except Min-ah.

  She instinctively bent down

  and picked it up.

  A brown paper envelope.

  Faded handwriting on the front.

  “Materials — ○○ Oriental Medicine Clinic”

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  The moment she touched it,

  she felt an unnatural weight.

  Not the weight of paper.

  Bohyun stepped closer.

  “What’s that?”

  “It… fell from under the drawer.”

  “Must be the professor’s. Just put it back—”

  She stopped mid-sentence.

  She saw Min-ah’s eyes shaking.

  Min-ah slowly opened the envelope.

  Inside were several handwritten notes. And—

  [Ghostwriting Requests]

  [Doctor’s Name]

  [Paper Title]

  [Payment Amount]

  [Transfer Account Number]

  And the final line:

  “Monthly transfer by the ○○th.”

  Min-ah swallowed.

  She recognized the account.

  It belonged to a senior in the lab.

  This wasn’t just proof of ghostwriting—

  it was proof that someone had been sending money every month.

  And the fact that a graduate student’s account appeared here meant only one thing:

  This wasn’t new.

  It was a system that had existed for a long time.

  That’s when—

  Tap… tap… tap…

  The sound of familiar heels echoed from the end of the hallway.

  Professor Han Doyoon.

  Bohyun and Junhyuk froze.

  Min-ah reacted without thinking,

  sliding the envelope into her laptop bag.

  The door opened.

  “Everything going smoothly?”

  The same gentle smile.

  The same expression of knowing everything.

  He walked to the desk

  and narrowed his eyes at the fallen drawer.

  “This drawer.”

  He tapped the frame lightly with his finger.

  “I told you not to touch it.”

  No one spoke.

  His gaze drifted downward,

  slowly scanning beneath the desk.

  Then, casually, as if nothing mattered, he asked—

  “…I don’t see the brown envelope that was here.”

  Time stopped.

  Bohyun spoke first.

  “En– envelope? We… we didn’t see one—”

  The professor stared at her for a moment,

  then smiled—thinly.

  “Really? That’s possible.”

  But his eyes said otherwise.

  “Still, that’s strange.

  That envelope… is important.”

  He tapped the desk.

  “Please find it.”

  His fingers tapped the edge again.

  Each sound felt like a period at the end of a sentence.

  His words were polite.

  The tone was an order.

  The expression was a threat.

  As he turned away, he said,

  “Keep cleaning. I trust you.”

  The door closed.

  Bohyun rushed to Min-ah.

  “Min-ah… are you okay?”

  Min-ah couldn’t lift her head.

  From inside her bag,

  the corner of the envelope pressed into the back of her hand.

  It was telling her something.

  There was no going back now.

  This wasn’t just paper.

  It was evidence—

  the kind that could shatter lives.

  Min-ah slowly zipped her bag shut.

  That night,

  for the first time,

  her notebook took on a new name.

  Evidence.

  [Preview of Episode 7]

  The next morning,

  the professor spoke with an even gentler expression than usual.

  “Yesterday… you worked hard cleaning up, didn’t you?”

  He was smiling.

  But his eyes were not.

  “Min-ah.”

  He gestured.

  “Come to my office for a moment.

  I have… something to discuss with you.”

  but because of what it confirms—

  that exploitation here is not improvised, but organized.

  Trust turns into surveillance.

  Politeness becomes pressure.

  Keeping records becomes an act of defiance.

  Your support helps this story reach readers who understand the cost of remembering.

  when evidence is sensed, but not yet seen.