The man’s name was Jang Jin-woo.
He was a textbook Seoul National University law graduate, scraping through the bar at the cutoff line and serving only at high‐profile posts from his first appointment—thanks to his role in the Dasan Group eavesdropping scandal, he was promoted to Senior Prosecutor faster than his peers.
A congenital A‐type trait heir, now in his mid-thirties and unmarried. Four years ago, footage of him prosecuting in the Special Crimes Division went viral online, earning him the nickname “the drama-lead material prosecutor.”
Until recently he’d been in the Seoul District Prosecutor’s Office’s Anti-Corruption Unit, but with the change of administration he was the first to be demoted to the provinces this year.
All of this was what Marvin had gleaned in advance—through an internet search, not any formal inquiry. He’d simply wondered what the man could have done to fall so out of favor as to be exiled to this backwater.
“He’s kind of a maniac, I hear.”
“Huh? Really?”
From somewhere in the crowded station, the voices of newly arrested men drifted over. Marvin couldn’t help overhearing.
“You know the type—like they’re living only for today? Like that rice‐cake money when Kim Jae-gwan got his Blue House chief post—that was this guy’s doing. The Civil Affairs Party even assigned a junior prosecutor to sweeten the deal, but he went rogue.”
“That wasn’t ignorance—that was a power play. After Kim Jae-gwan lost re-election, the party must’ve been pissed.”
“Yeah, they probably thought, where did this windfall come from? He faced attacks at the parliamentary audit as revenge probing, but just told them to ask the prosecutor in charge. He was squealing denial while back-channel they called him the next Prosecutor General candidate and pushed him.”
“Oh right, I remember. He was hot stuff back then.”
“So what? The regime changed. Kim Jae-gwan—who everyone thought was dead—turned up as Minister of Justice. They put in the personnel order: ‘Promote that son of a bitch Jang Jin-woo to Oseong Branch. Bang bang.’”
They erupted in laughter. Whoever had passed the story on made it sound plausible. Marvin recognized none of their faces—it looked like a man in his late twenties or early thirties.
Beside him sat the head of the Oseong County agricultural cooperative, who’d apparently fallen out of the loop but showed up at the hotel tonight.
“So now we’re screwed because he’s pissed about being sent here? He must’ve been embarrassed, filing this at dawn when he was in Chairman Yoon’s room. Yet I hear the chairman’s well-connected in Seoul—he’d get calls from above if he made a fuss like this.”
Their eyes drifted to Jang Jin-woo, who sat at a battered steel chair answering the detective’s questions without breaking a sweat. Long legs stretched to the desk, he looked perfectly at ease—true to his claim of being “on duty.”
“He wouldn’t care even if calls come in. That’s why I said he’s cuckoo—minister or prosecutor general, he just fires off on impulse. He’s notorious for stunts like this. When he was a rookie, seniors overlooked it as enthusiasm. But when the stakes grew, it became a headache. Even the prosecution didn’t push back much—they shipped him off here.”
“Exactly. Why punish us for his mistake? We’ve been sitting here since god knows when. Gotta get out before sunrise. Wait until his wife finds out—she’ll have a fit.”
With so many detainees, waiting your turn took ages. Some insisted they hadn’t offered bribes; others swore they’d say nothing until their lawyer arrived. Those who confessed quickly paid fines and were sent home. Marvin’s turn still felt far off. He might be held all night.
“We’re coming down. Keep your mouth shut.”
A message from Boss Yang arrived—Marvin had sent a brief report during transport, and word had apparently reached the police. No further scolding implied Yang realized how serious this was.
The problem was, Marvin would be trapped here until Yang arrived. His condition was worsening—his headache was vicious, his breathing shallow. He fiercely regretted not dosing himself before coming in. The clock now read 4:00 AM.
I’m going insane.
Marvin cursed himself, closed his eyes, and leaned back against the cold wall. He could last until morning, but what happened after depended entirely on Yang’s attitude.
If he bowed and accepted a month or two of suspension, he’d be free immediately—it wasn’t a criminal charge, just administrative. Everyone here knew everyone else; it would end with a reprimand at county hall.
But if Yang played hardball, things would spiral. With a prosecutor involved and evidence piled high, they could easily request an arrest warrant for contempt.
Marvin laid a hand on his forehead and sighed softly.
“Are you hurt? You look pale.”
A fellow detainee across from him spoke. Marvin removed his hand and opened his eyes; others turned to glance at him, some familiar, some not.
“I’m fine.”
He forced a neutral expression to avoid further fuss.
“Yang’s absent, so Director Kim got hauled in instead. Your eyes are red—shouldn’t you see a doctor?”
Someone fetched a paper cup of lukewarm water. Marvin wet his lips and leaned back again; his fever burned.
Hold on a little longer.
Fortunately, Marvin’s hit cycle was relatively mild—no pheromone frenzy, no disrobing and shaking his hips in public. Perhaps trauma from his first hit or the altered trait had dampened his sexual symptoms.
Instead, he felt crushing pain: a burning fever as if his body would melt. Without suppressants, he couldn’t endure it.
The glare of the fluorescent light above the interrogation room filtered through his closed eyelids. Grumbles echoed around him.
“It’s past 4 AM. Dawning on us.”
“Let’s hurry—there are sick people here. How can you hold them indefinitely?”
Once a few complained, everyone joined in. Even the detectives, groggy and tired, offered no answer.
Then the steel chair scraped. Jang Jin-woo, done answering, rose. The chatter subsided and all eyes turned.
Marvin sensed it and opened his eyes. He saw Jang calmly adjusting his suit jacket. Tall as he was, his face was cut off at chest height in Marvin’s view.
His chest… nice.
Marvin, acutely aware of his queasy state, closed his eyes again.
“Thank you for your time, Prosecutor.”
“If anything comes up, contact me.”
To the detective who rose to escort him, Jang handed a business card.
“Ah… yes.”
The detective took it politely, rubbing his nose bridge. It was just an order to refer any uncooperative suspect to the prosecution.
With a weary shrug, the detective headed to the exit. Jang paused at the door, glanced back as though seeking someone. The detainees averted their gazes, clearing their throats. Some muttered, but Jang ignored it and walked out.
He was here only as the complainant; having written his statement, he had no reason to stay. His footsteps echoed down the corridor and faded. Whether he noticed Marvin curled up on the bench like a snail was anyone’s guess.
“He’s kind of a jerk, isn’t he?”
The man beside Marvin discreetly resumed gossip. Now that the subject had left, they felt free to talk.
“That guy basically doesn’t care about people. Hates attention. When he hit the news, reporters….”
Marvin closed his eyes again. Their voices dissolved into the air. He pressed his neck against the cold wall to cool his feverish skin. Even with eyes shut, the room spun.
It’s okay, it’s okay—what else can I do if it’s not?
He muttered to himself, clinging to reason, as if embarking on one of those “try surviving your heat without drugs” social media challenges. He’d once scoffed at such stunts—why watch others act foolish? Now he regretted not paying attention. All he remembered was that the thumbnails on those challenge videos got more embarrassing as they went on.