BITM Ch19

Jin grabbed Han Naeyung’s arm roughly, dragging him toward the sofa and forcing him down onto it. The shock of the sudden action was clear in Han Naeyung’s eyes.

Jin unbuttoned his shirt, running his hands over Han Naeyung’s bare chest with abandon. When Han Naeyung curled his legs to resist having his pants removed, Jin forcefully turned him over. Pressing his neck down, Jin tugged his briefs down to his thighs.

Han Naeyung’s attempts to struggle were futile against the overwhelming strength holding him down. The sound of a zipper being undone reached his ears. Jin pressed his body close, his voice low and threatening.

“Do you even realize how much I’ve been holding back for your sake?”

Jin bit down on Han Naeyung’s nape before positioning his aroused self between his exposed skin.

“Ugh…! Don’t do this,” Han Naeyung pleaded.

“If it’s just the body you like, then this shouldn’t matter, should it?”

“Ah…!”

Han Naeyung clenched his teeth as Jin forced himself in. His body was invaded without care, his lower half opened wide under the assault. Pain, sharp and overwhelming, made him cry out. Jin ignored his trembling voice and pressed in deeper.

His vision turned white. Han Naeyung’s body convulsed, trembling as his insides clenched tightly around Jin. No. Stop. Please. It hurts, he murmured.

Jin, who had been moving with a grimace, froze when he noticed the flush spreading across Han Naeyung’s neck. The red marks made him stop abruptly. Gritting his teeth, he pulled out from the tightness that gripped him and turned Han Naeyung to face him.

Han Naeyung was breathing heavily, his face flushed crimson—not from pleasure or excitement, but from fear. Jin realized with a chill that Han Naeyung wasn’t afraid of him but of his own actions.

It was like a cold splash of water. Jin didn’t dare touch Han Naeyung’s trembling body anymore. He reached out to button up the shirt he had torn open, but Han Naeyung clung to the fabric himself, leaning heavily against the sofa.

Biting his lip, Han Naeyung looked at Jin. He couldn’t blame him; he was the one who had driven Jin to the edge. This was a mess of his own making.

Yet, he despised his trembling hands, his weakness, his inability to escape the past, and his powerless body. Determined to end this, Han Naeyung composed himself as he fixed his disheveled clothing. Jin, too, returned to his composed appearance.

“Did I… do something to deserve this treatment from you, Prosecutor?” Han Naeyung’s voice was faint, almost trembling. Jin wished he would get angry instead.

“You didn’t do anything.” Jin’s words felt hollow. He stared at Han Naeyung, still trembling.

“You didn’t do anything. It was just me… falling for you.”

Han Naeyung’s hands stilled as he buttoned his shirt.

“I thought Doctor Han was drawn to me as well. It turns out I was just deluding myself to suit my desires. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for it to come to this.”

Jin struggled to make sense of his emotions, while Han Naeyung pressed his lips together. He feared that the slightest crack in his composure would betray the truth he was trying to hide.

I don’t want to hurt you. I don’t want to be hurt. Would you accept my confession, my past?

If you truly knew me and turned away, would I even survive that? I don’t have the courage to watch your breath change toward me. So, I had to remain silent, as always.

Eventually, Jin turned to leave. His back seemed to urge Han Naeyung to reach out, to hold on before it was too late. His vision blurred.

Prosecutor.

Han Naeyung called out to Jin in his heart.

Prosecutor…

He prayed Jin wouldn’t turn back.

“Why are you crying?”

Jin was facing him again before he even realized it.

“I can’t… I can’t do this,” Han Naeyung whispered, covering his mouth with his hand. I like you. I really like you. He held back the words that threatened to spill out.

Jin stepped closer, placing his hand over Han Naeyung’s trembling one, which was now wet with tears. Slowly, he pried it away, letting Han Naeyung breathe again. Then he wrapped his arms tightly around him.

“What’s making you suffer so much?” Jin’s voice was low and pained.

Han Naeyung clung to his back desperately.

“Please… don’t come looking for me anymore.”

“…”

“Not until I call for you.”

“…Will you call for me?”

There was no confidence in Jin’s voice, though his breath remained sweet.

When everything is over… when I can confess everything and face your disgust, then it will be fine. You can take my sins then.

Han Naeyung stared at the blurred ceiling light, the blinds reflecting the flickering neon sign outside. Soon, the sign was swallowed by the darkness of night.

The neon sign reading AZALEOS finally flickered off completely.

* * *

Jin placed the small object in his hand onto the desk.

Why on earth…?

Frowning as if from a headache, Jin stared at the vial that had rolled out of Han Naeyung’s pocket onto the sofa.

Pentobarbital sodium. A euthanasia drug for animals—he knew it well from the Ogeori case. After all, Han Naeyung was a veterinarian. It should have been nothing out of the ordinary, but it wasn’t something he could dismiss easily. Han Naeyung’s tear-streaked face lingered in his mind.

Lost in thought, Jin stared at the vial. His thoughts were a tangled mess of Han Naeyung’s inexplicable behavior and the web of victims and perpetrators in the case. Han Naeyung had used the drug in his clinic only once. Yet, after Jin mentioned the clinic’s CCTV, Han Naeyung had cut off contact.

Does this make sense?

As Jin tried to connect Han Naeyung to the Ogeori murders, he let out a hollow laugh. The oddities in Han Naeyung’s actions might be tied to his past abuse. Maybe Jin was overthinking due to his exhaustion. Yet, his chest tightened with a suffocating weight.

“Uh… Prosecutor,”

Lee Inyeong, who had been acting as if she had something to say for a while, cautiously broke the silence. Just then, Jin’s phone buzzed. It was an urgent line from Seon Wookjae. Jin gestured to her that they’d talk later and plugged in his earphones.

“What’s the matter?”

On the other end, Seon Wookjae was breathing heavily.

— Haa, haa… Prosecutor…

Hearing his labored breathing, Jin momentarily pulled the earphone away from his ear before putting it back.

“Speak.”

— The gold tooth. We’ve identified it. There were dental records. It’s Lee Kyungchul. Lee Kyungchul!

His tone carried an assumption that Jin would recognize the name. Jin frowned, uncertain, and was about to ask when his gaze fell to the desk.

Song Iljae, Lee Kyungchul. Jin repeated the names in his head, pondering their connection.

He vaguely remembered something. Pushing the pile of documents aside, he searched for the trial records, while Seon Wookjae’s words kept coming through the earphones.

— It’s about the child and women prostitution case we investigated earlier. Both of them were defendants in that case. Lee Kyungchul’s face was so decayed that I wasn’t sure at first, but after checking, it’s definitely the guy I remember.

Having gone through thousands of documents daily, Jin’s muddled thoughts started to clear as Seon Wookjae summarized the information. Yet, no matter how many files he pushed aside, the record he sought didn’t appear.

“Chief, where did you put the trial documents for the child prostitution case?”

– Huh? The documents?

“I have them, Prosecutor,”

Both Seon Wookjae and Lee Inyeong answered simultaneously. Jin extended his hand toward Lee Inyeong.

“Found it. Chief, come in immediately.”

– Got it. Returning now.

Jin removed his earphones and turned to Lee Inyeong. She held the file but looked uneasy.

“What’s wrong?”

“Well… it’s just…”

Jin looked at her curiously as she hesitated.

“Just say it. I’ll take it into consideration.”

Jin gestured for her to go on, holding the file in his hand.

“Actually… I noticed something while looking through the files because of a name match. The victim of the child prostitution case, the one who fell… his name was Jaemin.”

“And?”

Jin glanced briefly at a vial on his desk, as if to ask why that mattered.

“You’ve asked me before, Prosecutor, to look into the whereabouts of Jung Woomin and Jung Jaemin.”

“That’s right.”

Jin replied nonchalantly but then froze.

“The victim’s name… it was Jaemin. Jung Jaemin.”

Jung Jaemin…? A chill ran down his spine as the realization hit him. He rushed around the desk and snatched the file from her hands.

“At first, I didn’t think much of it, but as you’ll see, the birth date and familial relationship of the witness weren’t redacted. The witness in the trial was the older brother of the victim, the late Jung Jaemin. At first, I was puzzled since their birthdates were identical.”

She paused before continuing.

“They seem to be twins.”

Lee Inyeong’s words hit like a tidal wave, leaving Jin reeling. His grip on the file tightened, crumpling the pages.

“Reschedule all my appointments for tomorrow.”

“Prosecutor?”

Ignoring her, Jin rushed toward the annex. Passing colleagues greeted him, but he had no time to respond.

“They seem to be twins.”

That phrase echoed endlessly in his mind.

Jin reached the third floor of the annex and caught his breath. He headed straight for the restricted case records room. Tossing his prosecutor’s ID at the staff checking identities, he hurried in.

He scanned the shelves, organized by date and name, yanking out numerous files in his frantic search. Documents tumbled to the floor as he moved quickly. Finally, his hand froze on the file labeled with case number “19xxrk64.”

Opening it, crime scene photos spilled out. Jin’s breath hitched as his gaze landed on one labeled “fall victim Jung Jaemin.”

The small body lay twisted in a pool of blood. Jin clenched his eyes shut before forcing them open again.

This must be a mistake.

It had to be a misunderstanding, yet his hands hesitated to turn the page marked “autopsy report.”

“Wait here. Don’t go anywhere, okay? Hyung will go buy medicine and be right back.”

“Okay, I’ll stay right here. I won’t go anywhere.”

The memory of his last conversation with Jaemin resurfaced vividly. The sight of Woomin’s flushed face and labored breaths as he lay feverish was still clear in his mind.

Jaemin…

Regret spilled from Jin’s lips as he leaned against the wall, his strength drained. The child’s face stared back at him from the photograph, and the realization hit him like a tidal wave. For years, he’d tried to keep the two children safe within the fragile walls of a sandcastle. But the inevitable tide had come, mercilessly crashing down and reducing everything to ruins.

Jin had tried to fortify that castle, yet the truth laughed at his efforts as it crumbled.

Jung Jaemin’s face, eyes closed as if peacefully sleeping, was captured in the crime scene photo. Jin exhaled sharply.

Jaemin… you’ve been here all along. I’ve been searching for 20 years while you were here.

His bloodshot eyes scanned Jaemin’s face, taking in every detail. It was incomprehensible. The boys he had searched for were entangled in the heinous child prostitution case he had brushed aside as someone else’s concern. He couldn’t believe it. He refused to believe it.

Reading the case summary, he let out a hollow laugh. It was monstrous. The investigating officers, the despicable criminals who had exploited Jaemin and Woomin, even the judge who sentenced the perpetrators to a mere 12 years in prison—all of them were unforgivable.

Perpetrators: Lee Kyungchul, Jang Seongjun.
Middlemen: Song Iljae, Lee Chulwoo.

Jin jotted down the defendants’ information into his phone, his hand trembling in a way that was unlike him. Pressing his forehead against the cold wall, he tried to calm his racing mind.

Lee Kyungchul, Song Iljae—those bastards had… Jin’s thoughts spiraled into rage as he imagined the filthy streets they must have dragged the boys through. If the police had only cared enough to search for the children, if the orphanage director hadn’t been so desperate to cover her mistakes, if Jin had been the prosecutor he was now…

The crushing weight of regret burned through him. The photo of Jaemin at the crime scene blurred before his eyes. He didn’t need anyone to tell him—the boy who testified was Woomin.

Woomin, with his soft voice, who would laugh faintly on rare occasions. The boy who had never complained, even while giving up everything for his younger brother. Jin buried his face in his hands.

I was wrong. I was a fool. I should’ve taken you both away that day. Even if it meant being beaten by the director until my legs gave out, I should have told someone you were going to run away.

He had thought they’d be living well somewhere. He had been so relieved to confirm that there were no unidentified child death cases reported that year. He had believed they would hold onto each other and never let go. Maybe he had wanted to believe that, just to ease his conscience.

Now, self-loathing weighed him down so heavily that he couldn’t even stand.

* * *

“Chief!”

Jin burst into the office, calling for Seon Wookjae without even checking if he was there. Seon Wookjae, who was working on a report related to Lee Kyungchul, turned to Jin, eyes wide in alarm.

“Prosecutor, what’s wrong?”

Jin’s breathing was ragged as he spoke.

“You said your first case was the child prostitution case.”

“Yes, that’s right.”

“What happened to the boy who testified?”

Seon Wookjae had never seen Prosecutor Jin this shaken.

“The boy? As far as I know, he was sent to a child protection center after the trial. That’s usually what happens in cases like that.”

“You don’t know exactly where he was sent?”

Seon Wookjae broke into a cold sweat, unsure why Jin was raising his voice.

“The officer in charge of the case at the time would know.”

“Find out. I need to know where Detective Jung and all related parties are now.”

“What? Why all of a sudden?”

“I need to find him. I need to find Jung Woomin.”

“Wait… is it true?” Lee Inyeong murmured, her voice tinged with tears.

Jin stormed out, and Seon Wookjae grabbed his coat to follow. Catching up to Jin’s long strides, he asked breathlessly, “Prosecutor, can you at least tell me what’s going on? Does this have something to do with the murder case?”

“It doesn’t. It mustn’t.”

Jin took the coat Seon Wookjae handed him and headed straight for the parking lot. Ignoring Seon Wookjae’s offer to drive, he climbed into the driver’s seat. Reluctantly, Seon Wookjae got into the passenger seat, watching Jin’s tense profile as he gripped the steering wheel.

Jin handed all the case documents to Seon Wookjae.

“Find out where the detective in charge of that case is working now.”

Seon Wookjae made several calls before finally learning that the detective was now the head of a major crimes unit in Chuncheon. Dialing the number, he connected Jin’s phone to the detective’s office.

“Can I speak to Chief Cho from Major Crimes Unit 3?”

When the call connected, Jin immediately introduced himself.

“This is Prosecutor Jin from the Southern District Prosecutor’s Office.”

The officer on the other end quickly switched to a more respectful tone. After a brief hold, Chief Cho came on the line.

“This is Chief Cho speaking.”

“We need to meet today.”

“Pardon? Why would a prosecutor from the Southern District need to meet me?”

“I understand you handled the child prostitution case 20 years ago.”

A heavy silence followed.

“I have questions about that case. I’m heading to your precinct now.”

“W-Wait, Prosecutor—”

Jin didn’t wait for a reply. He removed his earphones and threw them aside, accelerating toward Chuncheon. It was a two-hour drive if he pushed it.

Seon Wookjae fastened his seatbelt tightly, stealing glances at Jin’s tense expression. Whatever despair and urgency gripped Jin, it silenced even Seon Wookjae, who buried himself in the documents Jin had handed him, fighting nausea as the car sped forward.

About 20 years ago, while reading through the court transcripts of the time, Seon Wookjae recalled a case he had almost forgotten.

It was a case handled unilaterally by the lead investigator. Everyone in the courtroom had known—the primary motivation was personal achievement rather than justice. If the investigator had sought support from the start, the boy, Jung Jaemin, who had fallen to his death, might have been saved.

Silence filled the car on the way to the Chuncheon Police Station. Even the rustling sound of the case files had ceased. Though they arrived past office hours, the lights at the station were still bright. Jin ignored the windbreaker coat Seon Wookjae offered and headed straight into the building.

The moment Jin pushed open the door to Major Crimes Unit 3, all eyes turned to him and Seon Wookjae. The officers seemed puzzled by the appearance of a prosecutor from an unrelated jurisdiction. Jin immediately recognized the man approaching him with a smile as Chief Cho.

“You’ve come a long way, Prosecutor. Care for a cup of coffee?”

“No need. Let’s talk outside.”

Seon Wookjae nodded at Chief Cho, signaling him to follow. Jin glanced at the stairs and spotted a staff lounge in the direction indicated by the signs. Before heading there, he stopped by a hallway with vending machines. Chief Cho prepared coffee for them from the machine, but Jin refused the cup.

“So, uh… may I ask why you’re here?”

Chief Cho fidgeted awkwardly.

“I need to know the whereabouts of Jung Woomin.”

Jin wasted no time, cutting straight to the point.

“Jung Woomin?”

“He was the key witness in the child prostitution case you handled.”

Approaching fifty, Chief Cho looked much younger than his age. The sight of his glossy, well-fed cheeks made Jin feel something churn angrily within.

“Well… you see… I’ve been trying to recall, but it’s been so long—”

“There’s no way you’d forget. That case earned you a promotion.”

Chief Cho gave a forced, hollow laugh.

“Prosecutor, is this about an audit or something? It’s been 20 years. How could anyone remember?”

Jin extended his hand toward Seon Wookjae, who handed over the court documents. Jin shoved the file right in front of Chief Cho’s face.

“Would reading this jog your memory? According to this, you visited the brothel where the prostitution occurred four times. Jung Jaemin fell to his death from a room there. Don’t you think that’s the kind of detail you’d remember even after 30 years?”

Chief Cho paled and started waving his hands in protest.

“Please, Prosecutor, don’t misunderstand! Do you know how tormented I’ve been since? I’ve been haunted by nightmares for years!”

Jin coldly cut off his self-pity.

“Chief Cho. Do you want to resign right now?”

“What? Prosecutor, isn’t that too much—”

“Do you think I came all this way to hear your sob story? You know where Jung Woomin went after the trial, don’t you?”

Jin’s voice was thick with rage. Even Seon Wookjae was taken aback by this unfamiliar side of him.

“Well, uh, after the trial, he was sent to a child protection center. I remember that now. Back then, we didn’t have specialized staff for child cases, so the police handled everything. That’s why I remember.”

“Don’t spout nonsense.”

“…Excuse me?”

“I’m telling you to find the location of that center and every person involved at the time. Right now.”

“Prosecutor, how could I possibly—”

Jin grabbed Chief Cho by the collar.

“Do you think I don’t know your game? If you’d intended to cooperate, you’d have involved a proper investigative team from the start. Your reckless actions killed a child, and you got a shiny promotion for it. Do I need to say more?”

Jin released his grip, almost pushing Cho away in disgust. He ran a hand over his face as though trying to keep his fury in check and stormed down the stairs. Watching him leave, Seon Wookjae sighed heavily, patting Chief Cho on the back.

“Chief Cho, you remember me, right? Our prosecutor isn’t usually like this. This must be deeply personal. Please, just do as he asked.”

“That’s no excuse. Just because he’s a prosecutor, he thinks he can talk to me like that?”

Seon Wookjae stared at Cho with a look of disdain.

“You know, Chief, I don’t hold you in high regard either. I agree with our prosecutor’s opinion of you.”

Chief Cho had no comeback. After all, Seon Wookjae outranked him. Watching him flounder, Seon Wookjae hurried after Jin, who was standing by the car. Despite having quit smoking, he felt winded from the rush.

“Prosecutor.”

Jin turned silently. The shadows obscuring his face couldn’t hide the turmoil etched into his expression. This time, Seon Wookjae refrained from asking any questions.

“I’ll drive us back.”

It was the only comfort he could offer.

* * *

“Prosecutor, what was that about?”

It was only after exiting the highway and entering the city that Seon Wookjae broke the silence. Jin rolled down the window and let the smoke from his cigarette drift into the night air.

The witness protection program had obscured Jung Woomin’s records, leaving no leads to pursue. Out of desperation, Jin had sought out the former investigator.

“Chief.”

“Yes.”