Life's Second Round (1)
“Here you go. Someone who still reads paper newspapers in this day and age. Hehe.”
The nurse handed over the stack of newspapers from the past month.
With print editions, articles get vetted by the desk editors and sorted by priority—the top stories hit the front page, letting you gauge an incident's weight at a glance.
I knew the future, but I couldn't recall every detail of the last ten years. Classifying cases and predicting outcomes? That process was essential for me.
And so, the day of my discharge drew near.
* * *
“So... you want to jump straight into fieldwork—in Violent Crimes, no less?”
Father's eyes widened as he double-checked, triple-checked.
Seoul Metropolitan Police Agency Public Relations Officer, Digital Communications Team. The title alone screamed elite. That had been my original posting.
A cushy gig: no grunt work, just pushing a pen, flashing your face on TV now and then for guaranteed promotions. The choice I'd made ten years ago, fresh off topping the police academy.
Of course, with Father as Chief of Security—second only to the Commissioner in Korea's police hierarchy—even flunking out would've let me pick any spot I wanted.
“Honey, talk him out of it. What if he gets hurt doing rough stuff... He's only just recovered.”
“Hah, don't be ridiculous. A man's gotta have that kind of guts. You learn to be a real cop from the ground up. Heck... I didn't say it, but when you got tapped for PR, it embarrassed me in front of my old students. Anyway, got a specific spot in mind?”
“Send me to Gangcheon Police Station, Violent Crimes Unit. And could you snag me a small place nearby?”
Sticking in PR would make chasing down that bastard impossible. Every move reported up the chain, his cronies embedded everywhere in the police lines.
Start in his district—Gangcheon precinct, my old haunt for a decade. Build my team. Hunt him down.
* * *
First day on the job. Craving the feel of the streets from ten years back, I ditched the car and walked.
Passing vehicles, people's outfits—faded just right, tacky in that nostalgic way. It hit home.
So this is how my second act kicks off, I thought with a smirk.
Then—
A scream. An middle-aged woman crumpled to the ground.
A motorcycle blasted past her, rear passenger clutching a women's purse that didn't suit him one bit. License plate folded in half.
Bag snatchers!
Rush hour clogged the roads, so the bike whipped around, gunning for the alley by the nearby Jungjung-ro post office.
You punks.
I'd worked this beat for ten years. I spun opposite their approach vector.
* * *
Right on time...
Engine roar hit as I rounded the corner. I snatched a construction brick and smashed the driver's helmet.
Thwack!
Crack spiderwebbed the visor; the bike toppled. Rear guy rolled into a textbook breakfall—pro moves.
Brick-hit driver yanked off his helmet, staggering up but shaking it off quick, dropping into stance.
Both had solid fundamentals.
Pros like this slumming it as bag snatchers?
He chucked the shattered helmet at me. In that split-second blind spot, he vanished.
Breathing from below—his left hand hooked my ankle like a scything sickle.
Wrestling takedown!
I yanked my hips back hard, creating distance, then drove an elbow loaded with body weight into his occiput.
Lucky the construction grit slowed his tackle; on a mat, no telling.
As he dropped—
Whoosh! Wind sliced my ear.
Instinct ducked my head. Rear-seater's haymaker—its wake tugged my hair.
They backed off, circling with footwork.
What the hell? Pickpockets who wrestle and box? This ain't Gotham, Batman's turf... That legendary 2013 Seoul where weaklings didn't survive?
Absurd, even mid-fight.
They measured distance, guards low—classic out-boxer shuffle.
Handle the downed one before he recovered.
No time.
His eyes flashed resolve. As he closed, I launched.
Twisted torso left, evading his left. My right arced a long parabola to his jaw.
Russian hook. Igor Bobchanchyn's Ukrainian banger—not boxing's hip-twist, but shoulder-launched centrifugal whip. Perfectly recreated in this little corner of the East, near Gangcheon Police Station.
Boxers are all the same... Instinct to lead left. Gotta get smashed once to fix it.
I unbuckled their belts, hog-tying hands behind. Smacked the mumbling one's nape as he stirred.
* * *
“Sir! Reporting in. Lieutenant Kang Cheol-gu, transferred to Gangcheon Police Station effective April 2, 2013. Reporting for duty.”
Everyone taking the report looked dumbfounded.
Yeah, even I felt a bit sheepish.
Flanking me: my morning catch, faces pulp, hands bound behind with their own belts.
“Wait, Detective Kwak—ain't that belt-tying trick from our station?”
“Yeah, for when cuffs run low on big busts... How's a fresh academy golden boy know that? Weird.”
Whispers from the detectives behind.
“Ah, welcome Lieutenant Kang Cheol-gu. Big splash on day one. Let's get along.”
Kim Dong-sik, Gangcheon chief. Same start as ten years ago.
Daddy's clout as academy dean meant Kim showered me with perks early on. That ended with Father's death—I took the fall on his orders, demoted from lieutenant to sergeant.
Just wait. I'm back in Gangcheon for you too. I'll crush you flat.
“Yes, sir. I'll work hard.”
There: tense-faced Hwang Woo-sik, sergeant. Seeing his young face from a decade back choked me up.
His insignia: lieutenant. Pre-promotion to inspector.
Now his nerves made sense. More experience, older, yet same rank as this kid from the academy elite. Eye-catching.
Off to the side, awkward: Lee Gyu-cheol and Kim Gwang-il, detectives. Gwang-il fresh out of patrolman.
Last life, I never showed you the support I felt. This time, I'll have your backs.
* * *
“What? You want to spin up a new Violent Crimes Team 3?”
Kim Dong-sik's eyes bulged.
“Yes, sir. Academy grad makes me a lieutenant—same as current team leads. Seniors giving direct orders to me would feel awkward all around. Better to build a fresh team, work without tiptoeing.”
“Hmm. Can't dismiss field experience, though. Theory from the academy ain't reality. Better to rotate through teams, learn from the vets.”
Kim fidgeted, scratching his head, cornered.
“Plus, if you get hurt out there... I couldn't face your father. This is Violent Crimes.”
“No issue, sir. All responsibility's mine.”
Sweat beaded on Kim's brow. He bowed his head a beat, then spoke slow.
“Hm. Alright, noted. We'll review positively. Till assignments finalize... stick with Team 1. Get the station vibe. But leading the new team? That's a stretch...”
“Got someone in mind for lead.”
* * *
Kang Cheol-gu left; Kim Dong-sik pulled a handkerchief from his pocket.
Dabbing his brow, his gaze settled coolly. He cracked his neck side to side, a smirk slipping out.
“Who knew he had this brazen streak.”
His hand reached for the phone.
* * *
“Pleased to work with you, Team 1 Leader Seo Dong-gyun.”
“Nah, the pleasure's mine.”
Smiling face, but his grip crushed mine.
My new-team pitch had spread like wildfire. Predictable reaction: spoiled academy brat's whim.
“Lieutenant Kang, catch up later—hit the scene first. I'll drive.”
Seo dangled the keys, a sly grin curling his lips.
* * *
Post-rush hour, streets were quiet. Passing Muakjae Apartment entrance, I asked:
“What's the case? Morning brief had nothing big.”
“You'll see, Lieutenant Kang.”
Post-discharge, I'd monitored papers for upcoming majors—no Violent Crimes in the station's queue per my memory.
Seo's game was obvious, dragging newbie to site. I smirked.
Muakjae 906: police tape up, two patrolmen at the door. Rot stench hit before the knob turned.
Lonely death.
Suspicion confirmed: hazing ritual.
Show the greenhorn—whose corpse knowledge topped out at pristine academy cadavers—decay's bitter reality.
Not bad intent. Even I skipped meals for days after my first.
But now? Ten-year police vet.
“After you.”
Seo's sleazy eyes grinned serpent-like.
“Sure. First scene's got me shaky.”
Inside, rot clawed my skull.
“Lieutenant Kang, what's the holdup? You'll see this endless. This is our job. Haha.”
“Stop. Don't enter. Shoe covers first. Preserve the scene.”
I booted up, paid respects while Seo deflated behind.
“...Lieutenant Kang, what're you doing?”
“Respect for the dead. Gloves and medical tweezers, please.”
Requested from the forensics already on-site, then pried open the corpse's eyes and mouth.