As the studio buzzes with post-broadcast excitent, I find myself at the center of a whirlwind of praise and congratulations. Producers, technicians, and even the usually composed Kim Soo-jin crowd around , their faces alight with admiration.
"That was incredible, Detective Park!" one of the junior producers gushes. "How did you know he would call in?"
"Your instincts are unbelievable," another chis in. "The way you kept him talking... it was like you were inside his head!"
I offer a modest smile, uncomfortable with the attention but understanding their excitent. It's not every day that a dangerous criminal is apprehended live on air.
Through the crowd, I spot Han making his way towards . His face is a mix of relief and curiosity as he approaches.
"Park," he says, his voice low enough that only I can hear. "I need you to walk through this. What made you decide on this approach? How did you know Shin would react to the program?"
I take a deep breath, gathering my thoughts. The room quiets as I begin to speak, everyone eager to hear the explanation.
"It's about understanding the psychology of serial killers," I begin, my voice taking on a clinical tone. "They often have an inflated sense of self-importance, a need for recognition. By discussing Shin's past on national television, I knew we'd provoke a response."
I continue, delving deeper into the mindset. "Serial killers like Shin often feel misunderstood. They believe their actions have a higher purpose that others can't comprehend. By purposely misrepresenting his motivations, I knew he'd feel compelled to 'correct' us."
As I speak, I notice the expressions around changing. The initial excitent is replaced by a mix of fascination and unease.
"Moreover," I add, "these individuals often have a deep-seated need to control the narrative around them. By bringing his father into the picture and suggesting a motivation related to his mother, we challenged that control. It was almost inevitable that he'd reach out to reassert his version of events."
I pause, looking around at the stunned faces. "In essence, we used his own psychology against him. His need for control, his anger, his desire for recognition – all of it played into our hands."
The room is silent for a mont before erupting into impressed murmurs. People are nodding, so are scribbling notes, all seeming in awe of the insight.
But as I turn back to Han, I notice sothing different in his expression. There's a flicker of... is it unease? Concern? For a brief mont, his eyes narrow as he studies , as if seeing in a new light.
"Sir, I apologize for not sharing the details of my strategy with you in advance. I was concerned about potential leaks from the TV station staff. I didn't an to keep you in the dark," I say to Han.
Han's expression softens slightly at my words, but there's still a hint of sothing unreadable in his eyes.
"You speak as if you understand him intimately," Han says quietly, a slight chill in his voice. "As if you've been inside the mind of a killer yourself."
I hold his gaze steadily, about to respond, when Han shakes his head slightly, as if dismissing a troubling thought. His familiar smile returns, and he claps on the shoulder.
"Remarkable work, Park," he says, his voice now warm with pride. "Truly remarkable."
As Han joins the others in celebration, I can't help but wonder about that mont of doubt I saw in his eyes. But for now, I push the thought aside. We've caught a dangerous criminal, and that's what matters. The complexities of how we got here... well, that's a conversation for another day.
***
The bustling energy of the police station is punctuated by groans and muttered complaints. Officers huddle in small groups, their voices low but filled with frustration.
"Can you believe this?" Detective Kim says, waving a mo in the air. "We're in the middle of three major cases, and they want us to play party planners?"
Officer Lee nods in agreent. "It's ridiculous. Every year it's the sa thing, but this ti they're inviting all these big shots. Like we don't have enough pressure already."
The discontent spreads through the station like wildfire, reaching even our unit. I overhear Detective Choi grumbling to her partner. "Hand-delivering invitations? What are we, couriers? We've got real work to do."
Inspector Han enters the room, a stack of envelopes in his hands. The complaints die down to a low murmur as he begins to distribute them.
"I know this isn't ideal," Han says, his voice firm but understanding. "But it's part of the job. These retired officers have given years of service. Showing them respect is important."
Han reaches last, holding out a crisp white envelope. "Park, you'll be delivering this to forr Chief Superintendent Kang," he says, his tone a mix of seriousness and sothing I can't quite place. Curiosity, perhaps?
"Kang's never actually co to one of these parties before," Han continues, his brow furrowing slightly. "I've never even t him myself. But he was a legend in this unit back in the day. A lot of the higher-ups are hoping he'll finally make an appearance this year."
I take the envelope, turning it over in my hands. "Why , sir? Wouldn't it be more appropriate for a senior officer to deliver this?"
Before Han can respond, Detective Kim chis in from his desk. "Isn't it obvious? You're the unit's golden boy now, Park. If anyone can convince the old man to show up, it's you."
There's a murmur of agreent around the room. I feel a flush creeping up my neck as I rember the dia frenzy following the Shin case. My na has been plastered across newspapers and TV screens for weeks. There are even rumors of an online fan club, a thought that both amuses and unsettles .
Han nods, a slight smile on his face. "Kim's not wrong. Your recent cases have put you in the spotlight, Park. Sotis, that spotlight can be useful. Use it wisely."
I take the envelope with a nod. "Thank you, sir. I'll make sure it gets to him personally."
As Han moves away, I can feel the eyes of my colleagues on . So look annoyed at my lack of complaint, others curious.
Detective Kim leans over. "You're not bothered by this?"
I shrug, offering a small smile. "It's not my favorite task, but it's not so bad. Besides, I'm just grateful to be here, you know?"
Kim raises an eyebrow but doesn't press further. He doesn't know about my background, about the hurdles I had to overco to join this unit. Compared to those challenges, delivering an invitation seems trivial.
As the others continue to grumble, I tuck the envelope into my jacket pocket. It's a small task, but one I'll complete with diligence. After all, every aspect of this job is an opportunity to prove myself, to show that I belong here despite my past.
The complaints fade into background noise as I turn my attention back to my work.
***
The address for Chief Superintendent Kang's residence leads to an area I know all too well - just a few blocks from my grandmother's restaurant and my childhood ho.
The streets here are narrow, lined with older houses that have seen better days. Laundry hangs from balconies, fluttering in the gentle breeze like forgotten flags. The occasional stray cat slinks between parked cars, eyeing warily as I pass. The air is filled with the mingled scents of kimchi and grilled at from nearby hos, a familiar aroma that brings back childhood mories.
It's a far cry from the upscale neighborhoods I'd expected a retired Chief Superintendent to call ho.
Questions tumble through my mind as I navigate the familiar yet sohow foreign streets. Why would Kang choose to live here? Could this be his hotown, a place he returned to after years of service? Or is there so other reason a man of his stature would settle in such a modest area? Perhaps he values anonymity over luxury, or maybe there's a deeper story behind his choice.
I finally reach the address, standing before a small, shabby house that looks like it's been standing for decades. The paint is peeling, and the small garden in front is overgrown. It's hard to imagine this as the ho of a police legend.
I press the doorbell, hearing a faint chi from inside. No response. I wait a mont, then try again. Still nothing.
Sighing, I'm about to turn and leave when a gruff voice behind makes freeze.
"Can I help you?"
I turn around, and my eyes widen in recognition. Standing there, looking at with a mix of curiosity and wariness, is a face I know well - the old man who cos to my grandmother's restaurant every day. The quiet regular who always sits in the corner.
"Oh, hello," I stamr, caught off guard. "I was just... I an, I'm looking for soone, but it seems they're not ho. I'll co back another ti."
The old man's eyes narrow slightly, and then he says sothing that makes my jaw drop.
"There is no one in this house. It is only ."
I blink, my mind struggling to process this information. This man - the quiet regular at my grandmother's restaurant, the one I've seen nearly every day for years - is Chief Superintendent Kang?
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