“That damn bastard.”
News of a prominent lawyer from Seonyang being arrested on murder charges had heated up the news since the morning of the substantive review.
At the same time, Hyun-cheol, who heard Park Chang-gyu’s statements through the news, was greatly enraged.
It was already a big deal that it was a Seonyang lawyer, not just anyone, but Park Chang-gyu’s remarks further amplified the case’s newsworthiness across all media.
Hyun-cheol was already furious, given the situation.
The air in the office crackled with his barely contained anger, a palpable tension that mirrored the outrage spreading across the nation.
Every time a new alert flashed on their screens or another news anchor’s voice droned on about the lawyer’s purported crimes, Hyun-cheol’s jaw would clench, and a low growl would escape his lips.
He paced the small office space, a whirlwind of frustrated energy, occasionally kicking at an imaginary obstacle.
The stack of legal documents on his desk, already precarious, seemed to sway with each of his agitated movements, threatening to topple over at any moment.
“…decided to hand him over to the prosecution. Even today, the day before the case is transferred, the police are focused on investigating additional offenses related to Mr. Park’s crimes and have stated that they will uncover every single crime.]”
As the news concluded, the familiar jingle of the broadcast fading into the background, Jung-yoon sat back down at his desk.
The ergonomic chair sighed in protest as he settled into it, his gaze fixed on the screen, though his mind was miles away.
The rapid-fire updates and the breathless reports had given way to the usual static of a television left on, but the echoes of the lawyer’s scandalous downfall still resonated in the quiet office.
He picked up a stray pen, twirling it idly between his fingers, a slight frown creasing his brow.
The weight of the world, or at least the weight of this particularly heavy case, seemed to press down on his shoulders.
The silence that followed the news felt unnerving, a calm before the next storm of phone calls and urgent demands.
He adjusted his glasses, the familiar weight a small comfort, and then finally spoke, breaking the quiet.
“Has there been any contact from the prosecution?”
Hyun-cheol, who also remained in the office, his pacing having subsided into a tense stillness by the window, huffed and poked at the stacked documents on his desk with a disgruntled finger.
The papers rustled under his touch, a testament to the sheer volume of information they were sifting through.
He seemed to deflate slightly, the initial burst of anger replaced by a weary resignation.
His gaze drifted aimlessly around the room, settling on the overflowing wastebasket, then the wilting plant in the corner, before finally returning to Jung-yoon.
He sighed, a long, drawn-out sound that spoke volumes of his exhaustion.
He ran a hand through his already disheveled hair, as if attempting to smooth away the day’s frustrations, but it only made it wilder.
“They said there shouldn’t be any issues until the sentencing. They’re even considering a death sentence since it’s attracting so much attention.”
His voice was gruff, laced with a mix of relief and a lingering sense of disbelief at the swiftness of justice.
The implications of a death sentence hung in the air, a stark reminder of the gravity of their work.
Jung-yoon recalled the confident voice of the prosecutor who had not only foreseen the arrest that morning but also the sentencing far into the future.
It had been an unsettling conversation, almost eerily predictive.
Even before the evidence was handed over, he seemed to have reached a conclusion just by receiving the report registered in the computer system, as his voice was consistently bright, almost chirpy, as if discussing the weather rather than a man’s fate.
His unwavering certainty had been both impressive and a little disturbing.
It suggested a level of conviction that bordered on prejudgment, yet it also spoke to the strength of the case they had built.
He remembered the subtle inflections, the almost smug satisfaction in his tone, and a shiver ran down his spine.
“Keep a close watch.”
Jung-yoon’s voice was low, almost a murmur, but firm.
“I’ve already asked them to contact us if they need any additional evidence.”
Hyun-cheol, still muttering under his breath about the insufferable Park Chang-gyu, pulled out his phone as it began to ring again, a jarring buzz in the otherwise quiet office.
He groaned, a sound of pure exasperation, as if the device itself were an antagonist.
He gave Jung-yoon a brief, apologetic shrug and went outside, the ringing growing fainter as he disappeared around the corner.
Just then, Jung-yoon’s phone vibrated briefly, a silent tremor against his thigh.
When he pulled out his phone, Jeong-rok’s name appeared on the screen, a familiar sight that brought a small, involuntary smile to his lips.
“Arrested.”
The message that followed Jeong-rok’s name was just that short word.
It was concise, to the point, and carried a weight of finality.
A small victory.
Jung-yoon replied with “Good work” and then lay face down on his desk, letting out a long, weary sigh.
The cool laminate of the desk felt surprisingly comforting against his cheek.
He had finished the case report, a monumental task that had consumed countless hours, and could finally rest, even if just for a few moments.
But somehow, despite the physical exhaustion and the sense of accomplishment, his heart wouldn’t cooperate, still racing with a strange mix of lingering adrenaline and a quiet unease.
It felt as if a heavy burden had been lifted, only to reveal another, less tangible one beneath.
The quiet of the office seemed to amplify the restless thrumming in his chest.
Another vibration in his pocket roused Jung-yoon from his dazed state, a gentle insistence that pulled him back from the edge of sleep.
He pulled out his phone, his cheek still resting on the cold desk, leaving a faint, reddened imprint.
“Let’s go out.”
The sender was Moon Jeong-rok.
Jung-yoon unconsciously furrowed his brows, a small, involuntary movement, and gave a strained smile.
The irony was not lost on him.
Right, there was one more thing that wasn’t going his way.
The thought of stepping out, of facing the world beyond the confines of their grim work, felt incredibly unappealing at that moment.
The sheer exhaustion was a heavy cloak, and the idea of social interaction, even with Jeong-rok, seemed like an insurmountable obstacle.
His eyelids felt heavy, and the faint light filtering through the blinds seemed too bright.
“No.”
It might have seemed childish, a petty refusal born of pure weariness, but at that moment, he truly disliked Jeong-rok’s consideration.
He disliked it so much… he wanted to see him.
The contradictory nature of his feelings was a tangled knot in his chest.
The longing to see him was strong, a pull he couldn’t ignore, yet the energy to act on that longing was completely absent.
It was a frustrating impasse, a battle between what his heart desired and what his body refused to do.
The thought of his easy smile, his unwavering calm, was both a comfort and a challenge.
***
It was a hard-earned day off.
The unsolved cases team, which had resolved the Deokdong-gun case, finally received all their accumulated rest days.
The news had spread like wildfire through the department, a rare concession for their tireless efforts.
Jung-yoon returned to his routine, or at least tried to.
Though, there wasn’t much of a routine to return to, as his life had been almost entirely consumed by the relentless pursuit of justice.
His apartment felt strangely quiet, almost foreign, without the constant buzz of calls or the urgent click of keyboards.
The shelves were still overflowing with books he hadn’t touched in months, and the plants in the corner looked a little more wilted than he remembered.
The vacation was a mere three days, woefully insufficient for the number of days they hadn’t rested.
It felt like a cruel joke, a brief pause before the inevitable plunge back into the relentless current of their work.
Nevertheless, Jung-yoon valued the fact that it was a complete holiday, a precious sliver of time where he wouldn’t be on call, where the ghost of unsolved cases wouldn’t haunt his every waking moment.
So, with a sense of quiet determination, he left home early in the morning, the first rays of dawn just beginning to paint the sky.
The city was still largely asleep, a rare moment of tranquility before the urban sprawl awakened.
After navigating the heavily congested roads just before rush hour, a testament to the city’s unyielding pace, he arrived at OO-dong.
The drive had been a slow crawl, the brake lights of countless cars creating a mesmerizing, pulsating red ribbon stretching into the distance.
It was a quieter neighborhood, a stark contrast to the bustling downtown area he was used to, mostly residential with fewer towering buildings than the dense city center.
The trees lining the streets were older, more established, their branches forming a leafy canopy overhead.
The houses were mostly low-slung, with well-tended gardens, giving the area a serene, almost idyllic feel.
Jung-yoon parked his car at a now familiar alley entrance, the gravel crunching softly beneath his tires.
Checking the time on his wrist, he realized it would soon be opening hours for the local shops, though that wasn’t his primary concern.
Jung-yoon got out of the car, stretching his limbs, and moved to a spot where he was as inconspicuous as possible but had a clear view.
It was the spot where Mr. Choi, who lived across the street, parked his RV, a bulky, unassuming vehicle that provided the perfect amount of cover.
The morning air was crisp and cool, carrying the faint scent of freshly cut grass and blooming flowers.
He adjusted his jacket, pulling it tighter around him as a light breeze rustled the leaves in the nearby trees.
Jung-yoon stood for a moment, just looking at his watch, the seconds ticking by with an almost agonizing slowness.
Then, he lifted his head, his ears catching the familiar sound of a door opening and voices drifting out into the quiet morning.
“I’ll be back.”
The voice was deep and resonant.
“Drive safely.”
A softer, warmer voice replied.
“Okay. Go on in.”
The first voice, firm but gentle.
Two people were before Jung-yoon’s eyes.
A man in a light navy suit, meticulously pressed, and a woman in light attire with a thin shawl draped gracefully over her shoulders.
They were Jung-yoon’s parents.
OO-dong, where Jung-yoon had arrived early in the morning, was the neighborhood where his parents officially resided, a quiet suburban haven they had chosen for their retirement.
The sight of them, so ordinary and alive, sent a strange jolt through him.
In fact, the very first thing Jung-yoon had confirmed since being in this place, since this new, bewildering reality had begun, was his father’s survival.
It had been a desperate, almost obsessive need to know.
Despite confirming what he wished for, the seemingly impossible, and even exchanging messages, brief and impersonal, Jung-yoon had never met them face-to-face.
Perhaps it would be more accurate to say he couldn’t.
He had avoided even hearing their voices on the phone, let alone meeting them in person.
The thought alone was enough to trigger a cold sweat.
Then and now, Jung-yoon’s reason for avoiding contact with his parents, especially his father, was a deeply ingrained, almost paralyzing fear.
The fear that even if he thought he should stay by his father’s side, even if his heart ached to embrace him, he might inadvertently return to how things were before, to the timeline that had brought him so much pain, and face the same devastating end.
It was a terrifying premonition, a loop of suffering he desperately wanted to break.
And the superimposed fear of missing the chance to catch the person who killed his father and his beloved lover, Jeong-rok, a chilling echo from his previous life, made him keep his distance, a self-imposed exile.
The memories, though fragmented, were potent enough to keep him rooted in place, a silent observer from the shadows.
Jung-yoon watched his parents exchange intimate greetings from afar, a small, domestic scene unfolding before his eyes.
His mother adjusted his father’s tie with a tender touch, and he leaned down to kiss her forehead before getting into his car.
It still didn’t feel real, this vision of them together, alive and well.
Was it because of an affection he had never truly felt in his previous life, a gaping void that this current reality was attempting to fill?
His father had left his side around the age of eight, a sudden, brutal departure that had shattered his world.
So, the time he had to witness and remember their harmonious moments, those fleeting glimpses of a happy family, was also agonizingly short.
They had a good relationship, a loving one.
Yes, there was a time like that, a distant memory that now felt almost mythical.
The past, forgotten due to his changed relationship with his mother after his father passed away like that, felt new again, a painful revelation.
Even if the scene before his eyes was just a page in a novel, a fictional construct, he wanted to protect it.
He wanted to somehow preserve this tranquility, this fragile peace, so it wouldn’t shatter and break apart anymore, like a delicate piece of glass.
The thought of anything disrupting their newfound happiness, even by his own presence, was unbearable.
He yearned to reach out, to touch, but held himself back, a silent guardian.
Jung-yoon turned away without approaching further, a wrenching decision.
A short message, mixed with the convenient excuse of being busy today, would be all that reached his parents.
A digital barrier, carefully constructed.
But looking back at the past, his current loneliness, the ache in his chest, was merely like sweet cotton candy, ephemeral and fleeting compared to the crushing grief he had experienced before.
A bittersweet realization.
Jung-yoon reaffirmed his resolve.
He decided not to dwell on the original story having changed anymore, the intricate web of altered destinies and shifted timelines.
After all, he didn’t remember most of it anyway, the details blurring into a hazy, indistinct past.
He decided to focus solely on catching the person who killed him, and who killed his beloved lover and father, a singular, burning purpose that eclipsed all other considerations.
It didn’t matter if the culprit had changed, if fate had taken a different turn.
Whoever it was, anyone who caused harm would definitely be caught and put behind bars, a solemn vow he made to himself.
Even though depression had ravaged his mind in the past, leaving him adrift and hollow, his resolve now became clear, cutting through the fog like a sharp blade.
Jung-yoon forced himself to be content with that, with this renewed sense of purpose, and got into his car, avoiding his parents’ gaze, a silent farewell to a moment of fragile peace.
***
There was a mountain of things to do during the holidays given by the office, a seemingly endless list of tasks that had accumulated during the relentless grind of their work.
Jung-yoon felt a sense of urgency, a pressing need to utilize every single moment, as time was woefully insufficient for collecting and investigating information about the culprit these days.
Every minute counted, every lead needed to be pursued with unwavering dedication.
First, he needed to grab some simple food to fill his hungry stomach, a basic necessity he often neglected in his single-minded pursuit.
Jung-yoon started the engine, the familiar rumble a comforting sound, waiting for his father’s car to depart, a silent signal for his own departure.
Soon, his father’s car exited the alley, its taillights a fading red glow in the distance.
The moment his mother, who had been staring at the car’s rear for a while, a wistful expression on her face, also went inside, the front door closing with a soft click, Jung-yoon too pulled his car out of the alley and left, a shadow in the morning light.
The narrow street, lined with familiar houses, soon gave way to wider roads and the increasing hum of traffic as the city slowly awakened.
Not long after the three people had all left and the morning alley became quiet again, a sense of stillness descending upon the residential street, another presence was felt.
The driver’s side door of a black SUV, parked one car length away from where Jung-yoon had parked, opened with a soft click, breaking the peaceful silence.
A polished police shoe landed on the ground, firm and deliberate.
A man, not fully out of the car, his posture radiating an enigmatic stillness, stared intently at the house Jung-yoon’s mother had entered, keeping the car door ajar, as if poised for a hasty retreat or a sudden advance.
His gaze was unreadable, a blank mask that betrayed no emotion.
Then, the man looked back in the direction the two cars had left, his eyes following the unseen paths they had taken.
He touched the corner of his mouth, a gesture that could have been a thoughtful habit or a suppressed smile.
He stood there for a while, his eyes sharp and lost in thought, the quiet hum of the SUV’s engine the only sound.
The air around him seemed to thicken with unspoken observations and silent calculations.
Rrrrr-.
Just then, a ringing sound broke the silence of the alley from inside the car, a jarring intrusion that cut through the calm.
The man took his phone, which was attached above the navigation system, and looked down at the screen.
“Chief Moon.”
He read the name aloud, a hint of something uncharitable in his tone.
“He’s being annoying this early in the morning.”
It was an unwelcome name so early in the day, an interruption he clearly did not appreciate.
With a short sigh, a weary exhalation, the man pressed the call button and got back into the car, his movements fluid and efficient.
“Yes, Chief.”
His voice was flat, devoid of warmth.
[Where are you? I need to see you.]
Chief Moon’s voice crackled through the phone, insistent and impatient.
“I was out for a moment for work. I’ll be right there.”
Jeong-rok, who had concisely ended the call with an unenthusiastic voice, gripped the steering wheel, his knuckles turning white.
As he left the alley, his gaze, which briefly glimpsed the black gate of Jung-yoon’s parents’ house, grew even colder, a chilling intensity that hinted at hidden depths and unresolved tensions.
***
It had already been a month since the Deokdong-gun case was solved.
The resolution had brought a temporary cessation to the relentless grind, a brief moment of quietude before the next storm.
Despite resolving a major case, one that had captivated the nation and sent shivers down spines, the investigation team was given only three days of vacation.
It felt like a meager reward for the countless sleepless nights and the emotional toll the case had taken.
Jung-yoon spent that time frantically gathering cases related to taxi drivers and sifting through suspects, his vacation becoming an extension of his work, a self-imposed mission to utilize every precious moment.
He worked from dawn till dusk, fueled by instant coffee and a burning sense of purpose, his apartment transformed into a war room filled with scattered notes, newspaper clippings, and flickering computer screens.
He had returned from his short vacation, but even after his return, the cold case team had no quiet days.
The aftermath of the Deokdong-gun case’s resolution lasted longer than expected, casting a long shadow over their daily routines.
The media, ever hungry for sensational stories, seized upon the case with a fervor that bordered on obsessive.
Media outlets not only planned special programs related to the case but also reported that they would broadcast programs dealing with actual cases, promising a deep dive into the dark underbelly of crime.
Furthermore, internet broadcasts covering violent crimes, led by the resolved Deokdong-gun case, brought up and discussed unsolved cases that had once caused a stir in the country, reigniting public interest and fueling endless speculation.
The issue showed no signs of easily dying down, becoming a national talking point, a constant hum in the background of their lives.
The police, eager to capitalize on the public’s heightened awareness and to project an image of proactive law enforcement, announced that they have reinforced the manpower of the dedicated cold case team, taking the arrest of the Deokdong serial killer as a prime opportunity.
Police Commissioner Moon OOO, a man known for his polished public appearances and strategic pronouncements, stated at a press conference, his voice booming with feigned sincerity, “Interest in remaining cold cases such as the missing minor buried alive case and the kidnapping of a first-grade elementary school boy is increasing,” and added, with a theatrical flourish, “Additional personnel have been deployed under the Seoul Metropolitan Police Agency’s Regional Investigation Unit.”
He further emphasized that the cold cases would be investigated without a time limit until the truth of the case and the identity of the culprit are confirmed, a grand promise designed to appease the public and bolster the police force’s image.
Despite the news being something that should have been welcome, a sign that their efforts were being recognized and supported, Jung-yoon couldn’t hide his uneasy expression.
It was burdensome, a heavy weight that settled in his stomach.
While he was grateful for the attention, he foresaw the deluge of complaints as an investigator, the inevitable tide of impatient phone calls and unrealistic expectations from the public.
The future seemed bleak, a never-ending cycle of frantic investigations and mounting pressure.
The thought of even more administrative work, more reports, more meetings, made him sigh inwardly.
As expected, the cold case team’s phone rang all day with requests to handle cases, the incessant ringing a tormenting symphony that grated on their nerves.
Each call was a fresh demand, a new burden, a plea that they simply did not have the resources to answer.
And reporters from the main police agency, like persistent shadows, followed Chief Choi Hyun-cheol, Ki Jun-hyeok, and Seo Han-gyeol like gecko tails, thrusting microphones and pens at them, their flashes blinding, their questions relentless.
The trio found themselves constantly hounded, unable to escape the glare of the media spotlight, their every move scrutinized, every word dissected.
Jeong-rok, known as a ‘lunatic’ both inside and outside the department for his unconventional methods and often blunt demeanor, was, of course, an exception.
His intimidating reputation and general air of aloofness kept most reporters at bay, a convenient shield against the relentless scrutiny.
Though not widely known, Jung-yoon, who was known as Jeong-rok’s partner, also managed to escape the barrage of attention, largely due to his association with him.
For that, Jung-yoon was infinitely grateful to Jeong-rok, a silent acknowledgement of his unwitting protection.
His very presence acted as a deterrent, allowing him a measure of peace in the chaotic aftermath.
In the leisure thus preserved, a small pocket of calm amidst the storm, Jung-yoon, feigning calmness and pushing aside the gnawing anxieties, first began to pull out the next case.
He needed a new focus, a new puzzle to solve, to drown out the lingering echoes of the Deokdong-gun case and the growing demands of the public.
The thrill of the chase, the intellectual challenge of unraveling a complex mystery, was a familiar comfort, a way to channel his restless energy.
He reached for the thickest file on the pile, its weight promising a complex and engaging challenge, a welcome distraction from the incessant noise outside.