November 14. 5:30 PM. Seoul Western District Prosecutor’s Office.
Sleet that had started an hour ago drifted against the interrogation room window. News about the president’s son still crackled from the smartphone on the desk, and the coffee set out for the witness sat cold and lonely.
Just as the waiting prosecutor was beginning to grow impatient, the door burst open and someone entered. The prosecutor on duty hurriedly switched off his phone, rose awkwardly, and offered a greeting.
“Hello. I’m Shin Jeong-min of Criminal Division 2, handling this case.”
“All right. Let’s finish this quickly.”
The man who stepped inside accepted the greeting without enthusiasm and sat down across the desk, still wearing his coat. He tapped his wristwatch with his finger and said, “I’ll give you ten minutes. No answer is invoking your right to remain silent, so don’t make me ask twice.”
“Oh—Senior Prosecutor, just so you know, I didn’t serve a summons, but you’re here today as an official witness. You’re entitled to at least an hour to testify properly…”
But the man tapped his watch again, silently indicating time was running out. He crossed his long legs, kicked the chair back, and leaned well away from the desk, radiating a mood of absolute uncooperativeness.
“Still…”
The prosecutor forced down the rest of his explanation. He’d already heard from colleagues how remarkable it was just to get this man to show up.
“All right, then. Let’s get straight to the point. Where were you and what were you doing around 11 PM on October 27?”
“I was working in my office.”
The man answered curtly. Was that it? The prosecutor waited for more, but the man’s lips stayed sealed.
“…By ‘office,’ you mean your affiliated prosecutor’s office?”
The man merely nodded.
“But there’s no entry record for you at the central prosecutor’s office that day.”
“I lost my ID badge, so I borrowed Deputy Chief Prosecutor Lee Seon-jin’s badge to get in. He was off duty that day.”
“May I verify that?”
“Do as you please.”
The prosecutor carefully made a note on his laptop. The man’s gaze flicked to the laptop, then to the case file lying on the desk. The binder that ought to have been bursting with statements, phone logs, and receipt copies held only the autopsy report. The man let a faint smile flicker across his face, as if to say, “Of course.”
“What was your relationship with the suspect?”
The man looked up at the prosecutor again.
“We had sex a few times.”
His intense, dark brown eyes blinked calmly.
“So I take it it wasn’t a serious relationship? Just… friends with benefits?”
He lifted one corner of his mouth, as if daring the prosecutor to draw conclusions. The prosecutor cleared his throat and tapped at the keyboard.
“When did you first meet?”
“A year ago, when I was at the Oseong Branch Prosecutor’s Office.”
“What brought you together?”
“Brought together?”
The man raised an eyebrow.
“Are you saying a junior prosecutor needs a ‘reason’ to sleep with an omega?”
Taken aback, the prosecutor hesitated.
“Well, I thought maybe someone introduced you or you met on the job… I’m a beta, so I don’t really know. Never mind—that question’s not so important. When was the last time you saw the suspect?”
The man fell into thought, his elegant eyes narrowing. Tick-tock went the watch. Only the anxious prosecutor felt the weight of time. Soon the ten minutes would be up.
“If you plan to invoke your right to remain silent, we can move on to other questions…”
“Probably about three or four months ago. Now that I think of it, I haven’t seen them at all since I returned to Seoul.”
His expression was so vague it was impossible to tell if he was lying.
“You weren’t in frequent contact, then?”
“I don’t have their contact information.”
“Did you know what they did for a living?”
The man’s gaze, which had been fixed somewhere beyond the room, slowly returned to the prosecutor. He smiled as if to say, “And do you really know what they did?”
“A manager at a provincial tourist hotel under the Allocation System. Not entertainment service—just operations manager.”
“That’s not what I have on record. According to my investigation…”
The prosecutor turned the laptop toward him. Abruptly, the man leaned forward.
“What trainee class?”
“Excuse me?”
“Which number class at the training institute?”
“Fifty-eighth.”
The prosecutor answered as if in a trance.
“Does your family have money?”
The man blinked. He wasn’t destitute—but by this man’s standards, he probably wasn’t wealthy enough.
“No. Not really.”
“Well, you’d better work hard then. Get promoted, make the right connections.”
He eased back, arms folded, wearing the expression of someone who had just offered sound advice.
“Yes, well… Senior Prosecutor, about this case…”
“You’d better let this one go. Do something else. Since it’s already assigned, just package it as insufficient evidence and close it. You’re good at that.”
The prosecutor bristled at the suggestion.
“But the crime is so clear. The suspect picked the victim’s vital spot and stabbed without leaving a single fingerprint, then fled. They dismantled the surrounding CCTV and dashcams. It wasn’t amateur work—it was planned.”
He laid out the case facts. The man listened silently, as though he already knew.
“Before the victim went to the meeting place—around 10:40 PM—they called an acquaintance and said they were going to meet the suspect. With the estimated time of death at around 11 PM, they finished the job and disappeared within five to ten minutes. Impressive, isn’t it? Who in Korea kills someone that cleanly?”
Isn’t it?
The prosecutor looked to him for agreement. But there was none. The man merely watched with an expression that said, “What does any of this have to do with me?”
“I understand you lived with the suspect for a while.”
Sensing a breakthrough, the prosecutor sat up straighter. That was the reason he’d been called here—only the living arrangement didn’t tell him much. If they’d broken up on bad terms, it might yield something. If not, he’d have to dig deeper. His only lead tied him to a current deputy chief prosecutor in Seoul. Lucky or unlucky—he couldn’t tell.
The man rocked back and forth like a roly-poly toy, arms folded. The question seemed to have stirred many thoughts. At last, his body straightened and his head nodded affirmatively.
“That’s right. We lived together for a while. At my place.”
He repeated it quietly, as if it mattered to him, then fell silent. The prosecutor held his breath, waiting for more. But the man stood, brushing dust from his coat as if to leave. Not even five minutes had passed.
“Sir! You haven’t even used up ten minutes.”
The startled prosecutor sprang up. He wondered if asking about cohabitation had been a mistake.
“I’m invoking my right to remain silent from now on. It won’t matter anyway. I’m busy—let’s call it a day.”
He offered no mercy. The prosecutor’s urgent warning trailed behind him as he strode toward the door.
“Sir, harboring the suspect is clearly against the law!”
A frown creased the man’s brow as he turned back. “I’m not harboring them. If you find them, let me know. I have plenty more to say.”
“What…?”
“They even—imprinted me before running away.”
His eyes flared for a moment, then he composed himself, one corner of his mouth twitching in a knowing smile as he disappeared out the door. The prosecutor stood frozen, unable to follow.
“What the hell…”
He’d gained nothing. The man’s testimony was inconsistent. First they’d had sex a few times, then he admitted cohabitation—but claimed no contact details and hadn’t seen the suspect in months. And imprinting? Harder to break than pregnancy. Who did he think he was fooling?
Back at his desk, the prosecutor closed his laptop and organized his notes. He had the unnerving feeling the man had a hand in the suspect’s disappearance. Vanishing without a trace in a country this wired wasn’t easy.
Either he was a master at hiding, had a compelling reason to vanish, or both.
Muttering to himself about the complete failure, he grabbed his things, took a sip of the now-cold coffee, and stepped out. The door clicked shut, and the interrogation room lights went out.