Jang Jin-woo. Seon-jin—who’d been in the same Seoul National University prep class at the time—recognized the name instantly. He’d always thought there was something striking about his looks. In his immature days, Seon-jin had envied the genes of Jin-woo’s late model father more than the fortune of Jin-woo’s maternal grandfather.
He’d also learned then that Jin-woo was born a Type-A trait carrier. That was why teachers never questioned his absences from school. At first he was only well-built, but around his third year of high school, his face suddenly matured—very attractively, too.
Once he became that “complete package,” Jang Jin-woo turned into the school’s Pied Piper, gathering followers everywhere he went. Everyone wanted to follow him; everyone wanted to be his friend.
Of course, he found it terribly bothersome. Unsurprisingly, by the latter half of the semester, rumors began to swirl. Jealousy, envy, and spite combined into a toxic mix, and many unsavory tales attached to his name.
“That he had multiple sex partners,” “That he’d impregnated a staff member”—such gossip was standard fare. At one point, a female teacher abruptly quit, lending credibility to the rumors, yet Jin-woo never bothered to deny them. Thus, among alumni, the stories became accepted fact.
Seon-jin only became close to him long after graduation. After Seon-jin had belatedly passed the bar exam and been assigned to the Criminal Division of the Seoul District Prosecutor’s Office where Jin-woo worked, they struck up a conversation and gradually grew closer.
It hadn’t been intentional. As Jin-woo kept clashing with others, the only classmate left to turn to was Seon-jin.
“Poor guy. What choice did he have but to latch onto me?”
Seon-jin claimed to care for him with the compassion of a Buddha, but in truth he was watching him closely. In terms of seniority, Jin-woo was technically his senior, but at higher ranks there were few positions. In the end, only one or two would ever rise to chief prosecutor. It was wise to remove potential competitors early.
In that sense, Jang Jin-woo was someone to monitor. Though his personality made him unlikely to be favored by superiors, his eye for big cases and solid performance made his track record impressive.
At one time Seon-jin thought Jin-woo might renounce his prosecutor’s robe early. Even though their family’s fortunes had declined, the Se-kyung department stores still did good business, and the Se-kyung apartments brand had a strong reputation. Se-kyung Tower still stood as a landmark in Yongsan. If he’d suddenly resigned to join his grandfather’s company, it wouldn’t have been shocking.
But lately Seon-jin had given up that expectation. Jin-woo worked far too diligently. Even when meeting with friends, he brought indictments and ruined the mood—he clearly had ambitions to become Prosecutor General.
“Go do your work already.”
Seon-jin popped a bright pickled pepper into his mouth and murmured.
“You go down to the provinces for rest, but you’re ransacking the whole local community. Are you working with a shipping company these days?”
Only when hearing Seon-jin’s casual remark did Jin-woo’s eyes lift from beneath the table—an approving look.
“Who told you that?”
“I heard it from the illustrious Deputy Director Gu Sang-min. What’s that about? Anything to dig up? Looks like Seoul connections even called the deputy director, asking him to rein you in.”
“You’re sweet to worry.”
Jang Jin-woo brushed it off as trivial. So damn arrogant. The fourteenth-generation senior was taking calls because of him, and he reacted as though hearing about someone else’s affair. No wonder he was exiled here.
“They didn’t call you, did they? Probably figured you’d just ignore it if they did. And it’s embarrassing even to suggest a violation of the Allocation System, right? In this day and age, such a request is shameful.”
Seon-jin lifted the lid off his porridge and spooned some into Jin-woo’s bowl. Then he filled his own with the remainder and resumed eating.
“But don’t you think the optics look bad? They won’t issue an arrest warrant. If it goes to trial and ends in a suspended sentence, what do you gain?”
“That’s not the main point. I have other operations.”
“What is it?”
Seon-jin’s eyes gleamed. So he really was up to something.
“They’re smuggling the drug in. Hidden beneath shipments.”
At last, the stack of documents in Jin-woo’s hand was gently slid into his briefcase. He seemed ready to eat.
“Really? Big catch, huh? Our Jin-woo will be back in no time!”
As Seon-jin heaped on the praise, a knock sounded. Exactly three seconds later the door opened. A server brought cold sashimi platters, grilled fish, and warm sake to the table.
“Fishing villages like this are really tight-knit—no outsiders like in Seoul. They stick together and make the scene a muddy mess to put you off. So, what drug is it? Meth? Manifestant?”
“Manifestant. I have strong suspicions but no proof.”
“Ah, manifestant’s hard to catch.”
Seon-jin laughed as he poured warm sake. He felt reassured—this time, it seemed Jin-woo had simply misread the smell.
Smuggling short-acting manifestant, no matter how skillfully done, won’t earn big accolades. To make headlines, you’d need a lawmaker or high-ranking official who raped someone after taking it. That’s newsworthy.
They drank easily. As Seon-jin raised his cup again, Jin-woo emptied half of his own. A sweet warmth spread through them.
“Don’t dive too deep. The manifestant trade is a swamp. You stir it up and you sink too. Even if the president tried eradication, it wouldn’t end. What can you do? Just pull out what’s obvious, indict, and be done. Leave the rest alone. You’ll only drag ugliness back up otherwise.”
“Nice metaphor.”
“I’ve got a bit of literary flair.”
Seon-jin chuckled as he tore pieces of fish. Giving advice widened his smile.
Manifestant… really, trying dirty work like that? It’s beneath the prosecution. The police should handle it. Still, if Jin-woo prosecutes a case worthy of the 9 o’clock news, all the better.
He’d watch and wait. If a politician gets tangled, even better—nobody takes just one dose of manifestant. If the paintings look good, just deliver them to the Seoul District Prosecutor’s Office.
Seon-jin downed another cup. Jin-woo’s phone rang on the table. He glanced at it, saw an unknown number, and ignored it.
Just then assorted sashimi arrived, along with a small hinoki-wood box. Lifting the lid revealed densely packed golden sea urchin roe. Ah, top quality. Seon-jin remembered why he couldn’t give this place up.
“By the way, whatever happened with that thing you asked about? Someone locked the guy you were going to indict. Is it lifted yet?”
“No. Seems they won’t lift it.”
Not long ago Jin-woo had called, asking about his personal-information access. Seon-jin, who’d served in Army Intelligence, had told him it was either the NIS or the Security Intelligence Bureau, and warned him not to touch the latter—it was dangerous territory.
“I told you. That’s untouchable. If it’s nothing serious, just drop it with a non-prosecution. Don’t get involved. You’re not a civilian, right?”
Jang Jin-woo’s phone rang again from the same number. He frowned at it.
“Yeah? I know it looks that way, but he won’t admit it himself. Excuse me for a moment.”
“Sure.”
He answered. Seon-jin quietly tasted the sea urchin to avoid noise. Then, at Jin-woo’s firm voice, he involuntarily paused mid-chew.
“Hello, Seonbae-nim. How are you?”
Who could that be? Without a word, Jin-woo left the room on the call. His stiff expression worried Seon-jin, but he couldn’t follow.
This was his daily life: upend whatever he was doing to take someone’s call, then make calls of their own and wreck someone’s day in return. Truly a profession of karmic retribution.
Seon-jin exhaled in rueful resignation and took another drink. Beyond the glass wall behind him, a small maple tree shook under the rain. Through the leaves, he glimpsed Jin-woo walking out, phone still to his ear.
The call was brief. After a few terse replies, he ended the call.
He stood there a moment, under the eaves as rain dripped, seemingly unfazed. Gazing down at his phone as if replaying the call, he lingered. Finally, his lips twisted in evident regret, and he departed.