Marvin entered the first-floor entrance and brushed his disheveled bangs aside. He unbuttoned the jumper he’d buttoned up against the wind and straightened his clothes.
Today he wore different jeans and a T-shirt than usual, topped with a slightly thicker field jacket. The outfit was too casual for work, so he’d hurriedly borrowed it from a hotel employee when he felt the chill.
「Meet at the front gate by 1:00. But wear something different from your usual clothes. That’s the condition.」
After worrying all last night, he’d sent a message saying he wanted to accompany him to the station. With his identity already exposed, what difference did it make? Above all, he was curious. The Stage-Two Expression Agent shouldn’t be traceable anywhere—he wanted to hear on what basis they claimed the drug Park Juseong received was Stage Two, and to hear what that so-called boyfriend had to say.
Since he’d tossed out the bait, Marvin expected a reply right away. But no answer came to his early-morning message until nearly noon.
Thinking he’d been teased, he half-gave up—then, after 12:00, a reply arrived. Without explanation, he was told the time and reminded to change his clothes. With no time to argue, Marvin borrowed the jacket, hailed a taxi, and—perhaps too hastily—arrived early, waiting a bit.
In front of the first-floor public counter, the clerk handed him a number and asked why he’d come. Marvin waved him off and glanced at the station map behind him. The Criminal Investigation Division was on the third floor; the interview room was in the annex.
Beside the map, the chief’s greeting caught his eye: a string of empty platitudes under the slogan “Safe Workplace, Comfortable Hometown.” Even in this county-level station of under 30,000 people, the chief’s ambitions rivaled the national police commissioner’s.
Half of Oseong County had been fishermen. No need to recite Korea’s modern history to explain why that’s now past tense. The workforce had moved to places like Daejeon, and today tourism for outsiders provided most jobs. Fisheries experiences and fish markets endured, but the money flowed to entertainment establishments.
Two other hotels—Crown and Ha-eorum—ran Allocation System programs, and a few small DJ bars opened only on weekends. Until recently, only those over forty visited, but with word that there was cash to be made, Omegas from other regions came on expeditions, expanding the scene.
Short-term Expression Agents circulated naturally. Rumor held this was easier fun than in Seoul.
As the young crowd grew, Oseong’s city hall and residents cooperated. On weekends, drunk, drugged people filled every precinct post, yet no one complained—an unspoken county-wide agreement that this was how they made a living.
Thus, the station chief’s role—to gently manage officers to keep things within bounds—was crucial. He knew this well, hence his grandstanding.
“You’re not exactly chief-of-staff material, are you?”
As if reading his thoughts, someone spoke. Jang Jin-woo had come to stand beside him.
“Do you know him?”
Marvin shook his head. “No. I just looked up his background. He’s had multiple internal investigations, too—he must have other talents. Let’s go.”
He urged forward, then noticed Marvin’s outfit and paused. He silently surveyed him. Marvin knew his rumpled borrowed clothes looked wretched—yet it was Jang who’d told him to change.
“The weather suddenly turned cold. I borrowed it.”
“Mm.”
Smiling enigmatically, Jang Jin-woo climbed the stairs first. Whether approving or not, he gave no other sign—then, as if remembering, he spoke loud enough for Marvin to hear as he followed.
“You look better with your hair down.”
So everything else about him was lacking?
“You always seem to work to look stiff on purpose. Why bother? You look your age now, and it suits you.”
Startled, Marvin’s eyes widened—did Jang think he’d tried to seem older? He’d never heard that before. In an instant he caught up to Jang on the stairs.
“That’s absolutely not it. And I’m not that young.”
“How old are you?”
“Twenty-nine.”
“I see.”
That was it. Marvin’s face contorted in frustration.
Isn’t it you acting like an old codger? We’re only a few years apart.
He tried to speak but Jang gave no reaction, simply continuing up the stairs with that faint smile.
A little later, they entered the interview room guided by an investigator called by Jang Jin-woo’s call. Because it was an official meeting, Marvin had his ID ready, but again it wasn’t checked. He filled out a brief visitation form, and when he began to write his personal details, Jang stared intently.
「Name: Kim Ma-bin
Age: 29
Occupation: ….」
Marvin hesitated, then wrote “unemployed.” He glanced up, met Jang’s eyes—he wondered if “unemployed” was wrong, but Jang made no comment. It seemed he simply wanted to see what Marvin would write.
“What’s your relationship to the detainee?”
The investigator, holding the form, asked.
“I’m an acquaintance of the deceased Park Juseong.”
The investigator murmured and looked to Jang.
“You can write ‘reference witness for pre-indictment questioning.’”
Nodding as if satisfied, the investigator added that to the form and said he would fetch the detainee—please wait. Marvin sat on an old metal chair by the desk and looked around.
Though labeled an interview room, it felt cluttered. A large room divided by a slate wall into two halves, within earshot of the investigator outside—but no one seemed to mind.
Jang Jin-woo flipped through the case files with a comfortable expression. He could have made conversation, but he ignored Marvin as if he’d been alone from the start. That continued when the detainee entered.
“Please sit. I’ll remove your handcuffs.”
A hollow-eyed man entered. Rubbing his wrists, he approached the desk.
His name was Seong I-jun—the deceased Park Juseong’s boyfriend, an Alpha Trait Carrier, who had gone missing after the incident and was captured when he used his phone in Busan.
“Prosecutor, I… I didn’t run away.”
Before sitting, he spoke. Jang, reviewing papers, looked up. Seong swallowed and hesitated. Encouraged by the offer to remove the cuffs, he’d taken a chance, glancing to see if he could say more.
Jang removed his hands from the papers and regarded Seong as if inviting him to speak, but the pressure of meeting his gaze left Seong unable to start.
“So….”
Seong stammered, then caught sight of Marvin beside him. He faltered again—he seemed confused at Marvin’s presence.
“When you’re done, call me.”
A nearby detective teased, lightening the mood.
Jang sat patiently, hands clasped, waiting.
“So, what is it?”
As if urging him to continue from halfway, he prompted.
“So… I went to get the drug. There’s something to take if there are side effects, and I’d run out at home.”
From the start, a candid account came out. Marvin thought it was fortunate he’d come today. Seong’s testimony mattered in two ways: that an antidote existed for side effects, and that its effect had been verified multiple times.
Marvin glanced at Jang, who listened with that trademark half-smile. Now thinking back to their first meeting in the hotel VIP room, he realized the same expression then had meant the same thing: he was thoroughly intrigued.