BITM Ch21

As soon as he arrived at work, Jin sent a message to Seon Wookjae:

“Send me all records related to Han Naeyung from the database. I don’t know his social security number, so you’ll have to search by address.”

Seon Wookjae responded quickly, perhaps still awake:

“Prosecutor, you know this could be an issue if it’s not related to a case.”

“I don’t care.”

Jin replied without hesitation and put his phone back into his pocket. Approaching Han Naeyung, who lay sleeping nearby with Nari nestled against his chest, he gently stroked his cheek.

…Don’t let my sense of justice be defined by you.

Jin sighed.

* * *

“I need to kill him now. I just want this to end.”

At the very moment tears welled up in his bloodshot eyes, Han Naeyung suddenly woke. His heart pounded in his chest. The familiar sight of a white ceiling, a fitted wardrobe, and gray bedding greeted him.

Looking down at the blanket, Han Naeyung noticed Jin sitting in a chair nearby. As he shifted, the rustling of the blanket filled the room. Nari barked once, and Jin, who had been dozing lightly with his arms crossed, opened his eyes.

“Why… am I here?”

Jin reached for a mug on the table and handed it to Han Naeyung, filled with water.

“Do you not remember?”

Han Naeyung said nothing.

Exhausted from persistent insomnia, he had fallen asleep and dreamt again—nightmares about that hellish time. He’d been punished for vomiting, and Jaemin had screamed at the sight of the blade scratching Han Naeyung’s back.

“Don’t cry. It’s okay. Hyung doesn’t hurt at all.” He had comforted Jaemin, but in truth, it wasn’t okay. It hurt so much he wanted to die. It was a pain so unbearable he wanted to kill someone.

When he woke from the dream, one thought came to mind:

“I need to kill him now. I just want this to end.”

And then, nothing.

“Did I… come to see you, Prosecutor?”

Jin silently observed the confused Han Naeyung. His eyes were red, as if he hadn’t slept at all.

“Do you have somnambulism?”

Jin tried to speak as casually as possible, his usual expression in place, but his face refused to cooperate.

“…No.”

Nightmares were common, but waking up in a different place was new. Did he now have another affliction? Han Naeyung gripped the blanket tightly.

“In life,” Jin began, carefully choosing his words, “there are moments when emotions outweigh reason. I don’t think there’s a person alive who hasn’t felt murderous intent toward someone at least once. Sometimes, it’s over trivial things.”

Han Naeyung looked uneasily at Jin, his anxiety spurred by the mention of “murderous intent.”

Jin continued, watching Han Naeyung waver:

“You might wish for the kid bullying you to die suddenly so they don’t show up to school tomorrow. Or for the boss harassing you to be hit by a car and killed. Maybe you wish all the people who discriminate with double standards would just vanish. But you know what all those thoughts have in common?”

Han Naeyung remained silent.

“In those scenarios, you’re not the one actually killing them. Your hands stay clean. You vaguely hope they die in some accident. That way, even if there’s a twinge of guilt, there’s no legal trouble. It’s just their fate. But you…”

Jin’s gaze shifted toward the drawer. His lips pressed together as he left the mention of the scalpel unspoken.

“From now on, stay here.”

Jin took Han Naeyung’s hand.

“Don’t go anywhere. Just stay here.”

He spoke with a desperation, as if needing reassurance. Han Naeyung’s mind swirled with unanswered questions—why he was there, how Jin seemed to know his every thought.

“Prosecutor.”

Jin lowered his head, clutching Han Naeyung’s hand tightly. Han Naeyung stared at him, dazed.

Did I really come here and confess everything?

He tried to recall the previous day, but his memory felt like a severed film reel.

“Dr. Han, just be honest with me. Is there nothing you want to tell me?”

Jin’s dark eyes wavered. Han Naeyung hated seeing him in pain, especially if he was the cause.

When they first met, Jin’s carefree jokes and playful demeanor had suited him best. But now, Han Naeyung had brought him to this state.

“Really, there’s nothing?”

Jin’s repeated question weighed heavily. Han Naeyung had so much to say—or rather, so much he hadn’t been able to say. He wanted to explain why, in the end, only Jin mattered.

But for Jin’s sake, he should let go. He should have cut ties.

Han Naeyung looked down at their clasped hands and whispered, his breath escaping weakly:

“I like you.”

Jin’s head lifted.

“I’ve come to like you.”

Jin’s expression was a mix of agony and joy, as though he were on the verge of tears. He pulled Han Naeyung into a tight embrace.

“You’re not going anywhere, right? That means you’ll stay here?”

“Okay…”

Han Naeyung responded softly. His face slowly leaned in, casting a shadow over hers. Han Naeyung closed her eyes, feeling the warmth of his breath. Jin carefully brushed against her lips before pressing them together.

The rough texture of his chapped lips and the coarse touch of his tongue oddly felt tender. Han Naeyung cautiously licked his lips in return. As she gently sucked on his lower lip, rolling it like candy, Jin pulled her even tighter into his embrace.

When Jin’s phone rang, Han Naeyung tried to speak, but his words were swallowed by Jin’s lips. Eventually, he pulled away slightly and gestured toward the sound of the ringing phone.

“…Your phone is ringing.”

“Let it ring.”

Jin placed a light, playful kiss on his lips, like a child’s peck.

“Answer it.”

Only after the first, second, and then the third ring did Jin finally move back.

Han Naeyung tucked his damp lips inward and looked up at him. Jin gave him a faint, rueful smile. The phone’s persistent ringing remained unyielding in the background.

“What time is it?”

“A little past 10.”

“You should get going.”

As Han Naeyung attempted to stand, a sharp pain shot through his sole, forcing him to sit back down. His bandaged foot radiated heat and discomfort.

“You looked so cold I had to bring you to my place. You didn’t even notice you were hurt.”

“…”

Han Naeyung stared blankly at the white bandages. Maybe he’d finally lost his mind… Not losing it earlier was the real surprise, so this hardly shocked him now.

He forced his lips into a neutral line to maintain composure. When he looked up at Jin, who was watching him with concern, his face had thankfully settled into an expression of calm.

“Later… I’ll consider getting counseling.”

“Promise me you will.”

“I will.”

Jin handed him a phone he used for personal calls.

“I’ll call you. Make sure to answer.”

Han Naeyung nodded.

“Get some more rest. I’ll try to return as soon as I can.”

Jin laid him back down and pulled a gray blanket over him. Unsatisfied, he also picked up Nari, who was curled up at the foot of the bed, and placed the dog in Han Naeyung’s arms. Han Naeyung closed his eyes, holding Nari, while the dog stared unblinkingly at his face. “Protect him,” Jin muttered as he petted Nari’s head.

After his shower, Jin returned silently to the bedroom. Han Naeyung’s eyelids remained still, tightly shut. Jin gazed at him for a while before putting on his suit. The rustling fabric sounded unusually loud in the quiet room.

His phone displayed ten missed calls and three text messages. The department head prosecutor had summoned him to his office immediately. Jin smoothed the crumpled blanket around Han Naeyung and adjusted his tie.

As he stepped out of the apartment, Jin finally made a call to Seon Wookjae.

— Prosecutor, where are you? I was so worried when you didn’t answer!

“I’m on my way.”

Jin entered the elevator and pressed the button for the basement floor.

— I honestly thought something happened to you!

“I overslept. And as for what I asked you earlier, switch to 24-hour surveillance. For now, Han Naeyung is at my place. If she steps outside, notify me directly—not the chief.”

— Understood. But you need to get here as soon as possible. We’ve identified someone we suspect is tied to the Ogeori case.

Jin caught a flicker of unease in his own eyes reflected in the elevator mirror.

“I’m on my way.”

* * *

Jin switched his phone to silent mode before approaching the department head prosecutor’s office. The man was known for being particularly critical, so it was better to preemptively avoid giving him a reason to nitpick. Jin knocked on the door and entered.

“Ah, yes, absolutely. Of course. I completely understand.”

The department head, in the middle of a phone call, raised a hand, signaling for Jin to wait.

“Yes, that’s right. I understand that we can’t focus solely on cases when there’s so much else going on. Just leave it to me.”

After repeating his assurances like a parrot for several minutes, the department head finally ended the call. He gestured for Jin to sit on the leather sofa before rising from his desk.

“Take a seat, take a seat.”

“I’m sorry for being late.”

Jin gave a polite bow before sitting down.

“The reason I called you here isn’t anything serious.”

The department head poured tea and placed a cup in front of Jin. Jin couldn’t help but wonder what had prompted this uncharacteristic display of hospitality.

“You know how much I value you, right? I see how hard you work, sacrificing sleep for the job. Even if no one else notices, I do.”

The department head wiped sweat from his brow with a handkerchief.

“Thank you.”

Jin’s response was flat and emotionless.

“So, about the cases you’re investigating. Let’s wrap up the Lee Kyungchul case by pinning it on Song Iljae, and we’ll make sure Song Iljae gets handled discreetly by you. Alright?”

Jin’s eyebrows rose.

“Are you suggesting we expedite the arrest of a suspect we’ve narrowed down?”

Jin already knew that wasn’t the department head’s intent.

“No, that’s not what I meant. Just because they’re a suspect doesn’t mean they’re the perpetrator, right? Let’s be clear—there’s no concrete evidence. I’ve seen the CCTV footage myself, and it’s not strong enough to be used in court. In short, it’s a useless card. Stealing euthanasia drugs from an animal shelter doesn’t prove they’re a murderer. It’s all circumstantial.”

The report about missing drugs from a nearby animal shelter had coincided with Song Iljae’s time of death. The CCTV footage Seon Wookjae brought showed a masked individual stealing drugs inside the shelter. The mask obscured all but their wrinkled eyes, making it possible to estimate only an approximate age.

“They look similar to one of our regular volunteers. But that person would never do such a thing. They’re such a good person.”

Every shelter employee echoed the same sentiment.

“Why aren’t you saying anything?”

Of course, as the department head prosecutor pointed out, it was all circumstantial. It was hard to conclusively link the thief to the murder.

“Besides, who cares who killed Song Iljae? Even his family turned their backs on him. He was nothing but garbage.”

The department head, a man who loved ranking people by their worth, was showing his true colors again. Jin finally spoke.

“Since when did you decide suspects based on their status?”

“Fine, Prosecutor Jin, you’re right. You’re always right. But listen, we’ve got hundreds of cases pouring in every day. We need to focus on efficiency.”

“So, you’re saying we should leave it unsolved?”

“Exactly! That’s the spirit! If you don’t want to drop it, I’ll have to assign it to someone else.”

“Prosecutorial unity,” huh. Jin smirked inwardly. Reassigning cases had happened before, and it was a well-worn tactic. After all, the prosecution often played servant to power. Jin wondered whose influence was at play this time.

“If I object, would that lead to a demotion-worthy transfer?”

“I wouldn’t want to see you fall out of favor.”

The implication was clear. Jin drained the green tea halfway in his cup. If he didn’t comply, the case would likely end up with a more obedient prosecutor.

“I’ll handle it as you’ve requested.”

Jin hid his true intentions behind a smile.

“That’s the spirit! Prosecutor Jin reminds me of my younger self. Life’s gotten so tough these days. Back then, things were much easier. Nowadays, raise your voice just a little, and complaints come flooding in. It’s no way to work.”

There were all kinds of people in the world, and the prosecution was no different—a gathering of diverse characters, including the department head. Jin offered a faint smile, as empty as the department head’s praise.

Leaving the office with a pep talk ringing in his ears, Jin’s gaze turned cold. Who could have the power to bury both Lee Kyungchul and Song Iljae’s cases? It would take someone at the level of a congressman or judge. But those connected to the two didn’t seem to have such significant backing.

Back at his desk, Jin leaned his chair all the way back.

“Did you get an earful?”

Seon Wookjae asked cautiously.

“Only praise.”

“Really?”

Seon Wookjae didn’t say it out loud, but Jin could almost hear his disbelief. Clearly, the department head had finally lost his mind.

“They want us to bury the Song Iljae case.”

“What?!”

“Excuse me?!”

Both Seon Wookjae and Lee Inyeong exclaimed simultaneously.

“That’s how it is. For now, let’s handle it in our off-hours and focus on other cases during work. Chief, any updates on the task I assigned you?”

“Well…”

Seon Wookjae stood and approached Jin. Although Lee Inyeong was clearly uneasy about the decision to drop the case, he turned his attention back to his work. Seon Wookjae leaned in close and lowered his voice.

“That person… we can’t find anything on them.”

Jin frowned, confused.

“What do you mean?”

“The prosecution’s database has password protection on their records. Could they be from the National Intelligence Service? Or maybe the NSC?”

A veterinarian as a covert operative? Seon Wookjae’s imagination was vivid, but given the circumstances, it wasn’t entirely unreasonable. Jin had suspected they were hiding something, but this level of secrecy was unexpected.

Directly confronting them seemed like the only option. But even if he asked, he doubted they’d talk. Remembering how he found Han Naeyung wandering aimlessly that night made his mouth go dry. If he hadn’t been there, who knows what could have happened?

This time, no matter how much Han Naeyung tried to conceal, Jin would press for answers. He didn’t want to interrogate her, but there was no other way.

“What’s today’s schedule?”

“If we set aside the Ogeori case for off-hours, it’s mostly minor cases.”

“Let’s wrap them up quickly and head out early.”

As Jin sifted through the stack of files, his eyes caught a line at the bottom of a brief summary.

“The parents request leniency. Born into a wealthy family, but committed theft due to neglect from the parents. The victims are also open to a settlement.”

It was a routine criminal case. But as he flipped the page, one phrase stuck out.

Born into a wealthy family.

It felt like witnessing a killer whale breaching the ocean’s surface—a powerful, concealed presence finally making itself known. The calm sea, which had been hiding the whale, erupted in violent waves capable of capsizing everything.

A sea that hid a whale…

Turning the pen in his hand, Jin pondered over the hidden powers in play.

The adoptive parents of Jung Woomin, who had apartments in Gangnam they neither sold nor lived in, came to mind. Such wealth couldn’t be overlooked.

“No, that can’t be. This is a leap in logic. The person who killed Lee Kyungchul was definitely not Song Iljae, right?”

Then, what about Song Iljae? If the suspect caught on the CCTV at the shelter didn’t kill Song Iljae…

Jin clenched his fist. Two individuals involved in the prostitution case had died. It felt like his hands were burning. He needed to meet with Woomin. He believed it wasn’t true, but he wanted confirmation that you had no involvement. But even if Woomin was involved, what would he even say? You had every right to punish them.

Ding-dong, Jin stretched his hand to grab his phone. The caller was Detective Jo.

“I haven’t gone out. I’m still at home.”

Jin sighed in relief as he read the message.

* * *

It was a well-kept house with neatly trimmed grass. In the center of the garden, there was a swing bench for two, and orange lights illuminated the nearby bench.

Jin sat in the driver’s seat, fiddling with his phone. Before he left, he received a report from Detective Jo that there were no updates. Han Naeyung was still at home.

…Woomin.

Jin spoke quietly, gazing at the luxurious house outside the car window. Thirty minutes had passed since his arrival, but he still couldn’t bring himself to enter.

Jin dialed his personal phone. He wanted to hear Han Naeyung’s voice. The signal kept ringing for almost a minute, and just when he was about to contact Detective Jo, Han Naeyung picked up.

— Yes?

Han Naeyung’s voice calmed his racing heart.

“What are you doing?”

— Just… sitting here.

Her voice was calm. It would be boring to stay at home all day.

“I’ll come over as soon as I finish.”

— Take your time.

“Don’t go anywhere. Stay as we agreed until I arrive. And once the work is done… let’s take Nari for a walk tonight.”

Jin spoke while still staring at the mansion.

— Okay.

Han Naeyung answered softly, just like always. There was nothing different. Right now, she was probably with Nari. He had to meet Woomin, apologize, mourn Jaemin’s sorrow, and then return to Han Naeyung.

Jin steeled his resolve and got out of the car. Shadows of people moved across the curtained windows of the living room. Woomin would be inside.

Should he meet the new member of Woomin’s family? Twenty years had passed. This case had deviated from his gut instinct, and it might be completely unrelated to Woomin. Perhaps his appearance would force Woomin to recall unpleasant memories of the past.

His conflicting thoughts about whether he should meet or avoid him clashed in his mind. Woomin would likely resent him. He would have every right to. If he hadn’t lost Woomin and Jaemin, the tragedy might never have occurred.

No matter what resentment came his way, he had to accept it. This time, he didn’t hesitate. He pressed the doorbell, and music rang. Jin took a deep breath and steadied himself.

— Who’s there?

An older woman’s voice came from inside.

“I… am…”

Jin swallowed hard and continued.

“I’m Gyo Jin.”

It had been a long time since he said that name.

— Gyo Jin? Wait a moment. Honey, do you know someone named Gyo Jin?

The woman raised her voice as she asked her husband.

— I don’t know anyone by that name. Are you sure you’re at the right house?

“I know your son…”

— Our son? Please wait.

The door opened with a click. Jin adjusted his hair, ruffled by the wind. He shook off the remaining hesitation and walked down the stone path to the front door.

With each step, he felt like his whole body was being pierced by hundreds of needles. Finally, the door opened, and Woomin’s parents appeared.

Jin lowered his head and looked at them. He searched for Woomin behind them, but couldn’t see him. Was it a blessing or a curse that he wasn’t face-to-face with him right now? Jin sighed heavily and turned his gaze back to Woomin’s parents.

“Who are you?”

The man, who seemed to be the father, widened his eyes. Jin couldn’t look away from the man’s intense gaze.

A metallic screeching noise echoed in his ears. Jin hesitated before speaking.

“Judge Han… Sungwon?”

“Yeah, you’re Gyo Jin. What brings you here?”

Han Sungwon responded in surprise.

“Honey, do you know this person? You said you didn’t know him earlier.”

“You said Gyo Jin, didn’t you? I don’t know him.”

“That’s strange, I thought I said…”

The woman said, as though seeking reassurance from Jin.

The orca.

That word echoed in his mind like a red warning signal.

“When I was still active, that guy was an intern prosecutor. You must know him, a prosecutor from the Seoul High Court?”

Han Sungwon lowered his gaze toward his wife, still looking confused. She nodded, but her voice trailed off.

“But, Prosecutor Jin, what brings you all the way out here?”

Jin felt odd. Why had a prosecutor from the Seoul District Prosecutor’s Office come out to this suburban house?