Salt Fields (2)
“Stop right there!”
It would've been fine to just ignore him. There was no reason to chase after what might've been a person or some animal. But from the eerie gaze of the minbak lady to the damp air permeating the entire island, everything was screaming a warning.
Something's here on this island.
The pursuit lasted less than 50 meters. Unlike his initial explosive burst, the shadow quickly lost speed. He'd just been using his knowledge of the terrain for quick maneuvers—his stamina seemed pathetic from the start.
As my eyes adjusted to the darkness, my vision gradually cleared. It wasn't some deer. That shadow was human.
Panting breaths brushed my ears. The moment he stumbled over a branch, I caught sight of his feet. Barefoot. Running through these bushes barefoot?
My eyes narrowed. He was close enough to grab. I launched myself forward.
We tumbled together over branches studded with thorns. Even through my thick fishing windbreaker jacket, my back stung.
The shadow I'd seized slowly raised his head. The instant our eyes met, I involuntarily sucked in a ragged breath.
He was human, but not quite. Not in shape, anyway.
The mouth of the figure in my grasp slowly opened.
“...L-let... go. Don't... see me.”
The words were so faint, I had to strain to make them out. It barely sounded like language from human vocal cords.
I examined the 'shadow' more closely. Around 170cm, emaciated frame. His left ear was half-torn off, the right one gone entirely. Jaundice had turned his skin yellow from head to toe, even the whites of his eyes. The black pupils against yellow sclera gave off a grotesque vibe.
Between his intermittently parting lips, I glimpsed teeth. Only three or four left, all rotted black from lack of care.
“...What the hell is this?”
Gwang-il, who'd caught up late, let out a low groan. The empty tackle net in his hand dropped limply to the ground.
That was when it happened.
“Please let him go. He looks like this, but he doesn't cause trouble for others.”
A young woman's calm voice struck my ears. As I turned to find the source, the man pinned beneath me scrambled up and crouched beside her. His head bowed, ragged breaths still leaking from his mouth. Like a dog that had endured brutal beatings, now hiding behind its owner upon spotting her.
“You outsiders should head back. As I said, this old man's not dangerous.”
She looked mid-20s. Average build, bobbed hair, plain features—but her eyes held unusual depth.
“...That guy looks abused at first glance. He needs medical treatment too. Can you tell us what's going on? We're police.”
“Hah, police?!”
A low sigh escaped her lips the moment Gwang-il finished speaking. Deep-seated distrust of the cops.
“Forget it. Please go back. You too, Mr. Hwang—head to the village head's place now.”
“...Ah, uh. Village... head.”
The moment 'village head' left her mouth, the man's body shuddered violently. But he soon hung his head in resignation. The classic reaction of someone conditioned through endless repetition. Textbook gaslighting victim.
“We're not local police. We're from Seoul.”
“...Seoul?”
For the first time, an actual expression cracked the icy mask on her face.
“Yeah. Haven't you seen this guy on TV? Detective Kang Cheol-gu—the hotshot cop making waves lately. We don't know the details, but we'll help.”
Her eyebrows twitched at Gwang-il's deep bass rumble. After staring into my eyes for a long moment, as if verifying something, she finally nodded.
“This isn't the place to talk. Mr. Hwang, you go on home. You two, follow me.”
* * *
Less than five minutes on foot. At the foot of the mountain, a modest playground came into view, carved out of the hillside. A faded two-story building bore a wooden sign: Sinseon Middle School.
Even after sunset, a few kids played on the field. The sea breeze carried the sharp tang of salt everywhere.
“This is where I'm staying.”
Round the corner of the two-story building, a makeshift dormitory abutted the school. Stark and shabby, but the door was sturdy steel—out of place with the rest.
She pulled a keyring from her bag. One, two, three locks. Only then did the steel door creak open with a heavy thud.
“Come in. This should be safe enough to talk.”
A tiny room, small enough for an adult man's fingertips to touch opposite walls. The only furniture: a low desk, and beside it, a glass-framed certificate on the wall.
[Teacher Employment Exam Pass Certificate.]
No dust on the seal from the Songtak City Personnel Committee Chairman.
“If this were my real dorm, I'd at least have something to offer you... but right now, nothing.”
The room was so cramped that her low voice reached us as we sat cross-legged. A heavy sigh followed.
“Where to start? Let me introduce myself first. I'm Seon Mira, science teacher at Sinseon Middle School. Well, contract teacher, technically. I majored in science but teach math too—whatever's needed. Not many students.”
She continued with a self-deprecating chuckle.
“That old man you saw earlier is Mr. Hwang... He has a physical disability.”
Another low sigh escaped her.
“...Honestly, I don't know if I should be telling this to strangers I just met.”
Seon Mira pulled her chin in tight, lips pursed as if deep in thought. It didn't take long for her mouth to open again.
“That old man works at Village Head Choi's salt fields here... as a retainer. Or more accurately, Choi's slave. Eight years of forced labor...”
“Slave? In this day and age...?”
Gwang-il's voice hardened.
My eyes narrowed. My breathing grew rough. Not our jurisdiction—I'd only read about it in the papers. If memory served, this was part of the 2013 'Island Slave Salt Field Incident'.
“There was another guy, Mr. Bae, besides Mr. Hwang. He begged help from a mainland fisherman and escaped the island secretly. But they caught him and dragged him back. Then... he vanished. On an island this small, if there's no trace... hard to say he's alive.”
“What? Didn't they report it to the police? How could...?”
A hollow laugh burst from her at Gwang-il's question.
“Police? Report? Ha! Useless. The cops themselves dragged Mr. Bae back here!”
Seon Mira stared blankly at the bare, decoration-less wall.
“You two live in Seoul—you don't know how rural places work. Korea's elite networks are blood ties, school ties, regional ties, right? Sinseon Island's tangled up in that bullshit web—blood, school, region—all maddeningly intertwined. Even including the nearby mainland!”
Harsh words for a 20-something middle school teacher. Her eyes twitched faintly.
“What? Blood ties, regional ties—what are you talking about...?”
“Teacher's right.”
I cut in before Gwang-il could finish. Seon Mira's gaze turned to me.
“...This isn't a one- or two-day thing.”
I tilted my head toward the framed certificate on the wall.
“What does that say?”
“Hmm. Let's see. Songtak City Personnel Committee Chairman Kim Deok-chul. So what? Anything weird?”
“Right. We call people by title and name. But in rural spots like this—especially isolated islands—they're just 'the third son of the persimmon tree house'. Get it?”
Seon Mira's pupils shook like she'd seen a ghost.
“Not just that. The island's sole police box chief? To Village Head Choi, just a snot-nosed kid from the clan house they played with barefoot. Everyone's entangled, covering each other's sins.”
Waves crashed faintly in the distance.
“The success path in island villages is obvious: escape to the mainland. Ambitious kids pull and push via blood and regional ties. Even after leaving, they build networks, share info, eliminate common enemies. Mr. Bae didn't know—went straight to a Songtak police box after escaping. If he'd gone to an out-of-jurisdiction station, he might've made it.”
“I-I can't believe it. In 21st-century Korea? Anyway, solution's simple. At dawn, contact our station for backup. Or skip that—we investigate ourselves, bust 'em all. Different jurisdiction, but inhuman crimes like this qualify for cognizance.”
Gwang-il ground his teeth, shouting.
I shook my head. I knew this case. Mr. Hwang came via a job agency into this hell. Exploited for eight years at 100,000 won a month, beaten, threatened—treated worse than human. But Choi got just three years six months suspended for four. Later reduced because the defendant showed remorse and victim's family didn't want punishment. Mr. Bae, presumed dead, body never found—no murder charge stuck. Case buried.
This time, I'd handle it my way. A cold smile tugged my lips.
“Teacher Seon.”
Her head turned toward me.
“I'll solve this island's problems. But I need some items.”
Her eyes widened at my quiet request.
“I can get them. But where will you...?”
* * *
No fences—that's typical for island villages. Everyone knows even how many spoons the neighbors have, so no petty thieves, and nothing to hide.
Rare for such a village: a two-story house ringed by 3m earthen walls. Windswept area where most build single-story, this stood out starkly.
In the modern second-floor living room—mismatching the dirt walls—two people held a hushed talk. Cicadas masked their voices.
“...Yeah. Outsiders at that Sun bitch teacher's dorm now?”
“Yes, Village Head. Moon's down, but those fishing geezers ain't back, so I checked. That sly wench lured the outsiders with some talk and took 'em to her place!”
“...Hmm. So they are. What kinda people, these outsiders?”
“Dunno that far...”
A man in his early 60s sat at the head seat. Lifetime of sea wind and sun had tanned his face red. The 'seat' was just stacked cushions, but that less-than-10cm height screamed status difference.
“For now, don't act suspicious...!”
BAM!
The door flew open like it'd shatter.