Faceless Killer (2)
“Professor Seo, how many times have you actually encountered real criminals outside of the courtroom?”
“W-Well, that's...”
“I'm not denying that intermittent explosive disorder is a real illness. As you said, it certainly requires treatment. But!”
I took a deep breath.
“Among the countless criminals who claim schizophrenia, depression, or anger management issues, fewer than 15% actually needed treatment. The remaining 85% used mental incapacity as a way to slip through the cracks of the law. Your arguments have become their get-out-of-jail-free card.”
I stared straight into the camera.
“This is a clear message to those criminals: There is no such thing as anger management disorder. There's only 'good anger control' and 'selective anger management disorder.'”
* * *
[There is no such thing as anger management disorder. There's only 'good anger control' and 'selective anger management disorder.']
“Whoa! Detective Kang, you nailed that so refreshingly!”
“Right? It's exactly what we've always said among ourselves.”
Detective Lee Gyu-cheol nodded in agreement with Sergeant Hwang's words. The savory smell of grilling pork belly filled the air. This was the barbecue joint hosting Kim Gwang-il's discharge party after his hospital stay. On the TV, the current affairs show featuring me was playing.
“Honestly, it boils my blood when we catch those bastards fair and square, only for them to weasel out with crap like that!”
“You're the one who just got discharged—how much more booze are you gonna drink?”
Despite Sergeant Hwang's remonstrations, Detective Kim Gwang-il downed his shot glass of soju and let out a rough breath.
That's when it happened.
“That's you on TV right now, isn't it, officer? Mind if I buy you a drink?”
I noticed his worn jacket with frayed cuffs. He was wearing thick work boots caked in mud.
“Haha, don't worry, I'm no weirdo. I just finished a shift down at the construction site and came for a drink. Haven't heard such spot-on talk on TV in ages! Then I look over and see the star himself right here!”
“Yeah, it really clears out all the bullshit! Sometimes you see these scumbags who'd deserve getting beaten to death, slipping away with one excuse or another—it makes you wanna curse them out. Criminals should pay for their crimes!”
A group of rough-looking men, covered head to toe in dirt from their shift, raised their glasses and thumbs in approval.
“Haha, then I'll happily take that one shot.”
His calloused hand offering the glass felt oddly endearing.
* * *
[There is no such thing as anger management disorder. There's only 'good anger control' and 'selective anger management disorder.']
“Damn that bastard!”
Professor Seo Chi-yoon clenched his jaw while staring at the monitor. Veins throbbed on his forehead, and a harsh breath escaped his throat. As soon as Kang Cheol-gu finished speaking, applause erupted from various spots in the audience. Despite the moderator's pleas for silence, the clapping continued unabated. In the end, he hurled the remote across the room. He bit his nails without realizing it. He wiped the sweat pooling in his palms on his pants.
This wasn't just about being humiliated in a debate. 'That guy' was surely watching this broadcast too. The discussion hadn't unfolded according to the scenario 'that guy' wanted.
What do I do!
Seo Chi-yoon paced the room with his arms crossed. Once his head dropped, it refused to lift.
Then!
A familiar alert tone rang from his phone. His body stiffened like a fish electrocuted.
No! It can't be!
Desperately denying it, his hand slowly reached for the phone. He wanted to avoid it, but he couldn't. He opened the Mailgram messenger.
'I watched the broadcast. The developments were completely different from what I instructed. Haven't you grasped the gravity of the situation yet?'
It was him. Sweat beaded on Seo Chi-yoon's forehead.
'As a reminder to work harder, I'm sending a gift.'
Ding! Ding! Messages poured in one after another. To Seo Chi-yoon, those tiny sounds boomed louder than thunder.
“Ah, no!”
His legs gave way, knees buckling slowly. Inside the phone were photos of him. The quality was poor, but it was clear enough what he was doing. A girl who looked unmistakably underage knelt naked. In front of her stood Seo Chi-yoon himself, naked, holding a whip in his hand.
As he clutched his head with both hands, another alert chimed in his ear.
'Don't forget: I can destroy you anytime. I hope you don't repeat the same mistake.'
Seo Chi-yoon frantically unbuttoned his dress shirt. His trembling hands made even that simple task difficult. His breath came in gasps, as if someone were strangling him.
'Isn't it because professors like you are convinced that you and your family won't suffer such harm—that you'll never be victims?'
Kang Cheol-gu's words, the root of all this, echoed in his ears—the words that had sparked the entire incident.
“You son of a bitch! I'm a victim too!”
A beastly howl burst from Seo Chi-yoon's mouth.
* * *
A high-rise apartment in Seoul's Gangnam. From the penthouse window often called as much, a shadow gazed down at the city below. He toyed with the phone in his hand, then tossed it onto the bed as if he'd lost interest.
The shadow crossed his arms and looked down. The Han River, dazzling with sunlight by day, now appeared as nothing but black waves.
In truth, what he loved was the city's night. He was the true monster—and prophet—suited to this urban darkness.
His phone chimed repeatedly with messages, but he saw no need to check. It was probably that incompetent, desire-driven old pig, Seo Chi-yoon. No doubt begging for one more chance.
The corners of his mouth curled up slowly. His slender teeth gleamed white.
Kang Cheol-gu? He'd mocked anger management disorder on a nationally televised debate show. More precisely, it was a warning to every criminal who claimed mental incapacity.
Let's see what kind of guy he is.
Humming Tchaikovsky's Pathétique, he powered on his cutting-edge laptop. He logged into the police intranet—an internal network even most civilians didn't know existed.
When the ID and password prompt appeared, his eyes sparkled like a mischievous boy's plotting a prank. His fingers, slimmer and longer than most women's, danced across the keys with dazzling speed. His breathing quickened.
A restricted access list for mid-level police executives and above appeared. Stripping a woman's clothes no longer thrilled him with its one-dimensional pleasure. What excited him was unveiling classified intel hidden behind thick walls—bringing it to the surface with his own hands. This was the moment he lived for.
Kang Cheol-gu, Kang Cheol-gu...
Murmuring softly, he pulled up his records. Father: Kang Hyeok, police academy dean. A classic golden spoon family. Why would someone like that join the violent crimes unit? And what was with that fanatical hatred for criminals?
He knew the mindset of chaebol heirs better than anyone. Had he suffered some major trauma? Come back from the dead or something?
He chuckled and shook his head at the absurd thought.
He checked Kang Cheol-gu's internal police records. Starting with the arrest of serial killer Yoo Hyeong-cheol, then Park Hyeok-cheol of Geonwoo Group, and most recently the hot-topic salt farm incident—all crimes that had gripped the nation's attention.
A normal cop would have enough war stories from just one of those to last a lifetime of drinks.
Yeah. No wonder he's talking big.
He nodded. Ding! An alert popped up on the laptop.
– This is Park Jun-su from ImageTech. As instructed, hacking program installed on Executive Director Oh's phone at Hyeonseok Construction. Starting audio surveillance and video recording via his phone today. Will report any anomalies immediately.
Executive Director Oh. That guy's got dirt too.
The shadow's lips twitched faintly. Ding ding! More alerts.
– Jeong Il-ryeong here. Starting full CCTV recording of Seocheon-gu Police Situation Room.
– Park Pan-seok. Transferred 300 million to the virtual account as instructed. You're really deleting that video, right?
Time flies. He checked his watch, then silenced the notifications.
Finally found someone interesting. Small fry, buzz off for now.
As he snickered and checked the files, something caught his eye.
[No official record, but circumstantial evidence suggests personal ties to Hong Gye-young of Taehwa Group.]
Taehwa was notoriously generous in supporting Gangcheon Station. He'd thought it odd, but this explained it?
Hong Gye-young. A woman he'd only glimpsed from afar at a business presentation. For that haughty ice queen to take an interest in this guy! Way more fun than expected.
With a faint smile, he closed the laptop.
* * *
“Hyungnim, we got a body discovery report. Let's head to the scene!”
Gyu-cheol shrugged on his jacket and urged me along. My usual field partner, Detective Kim Gwang-il, was on desk duty for the time being. Sergeant Hwang's consideration while Gwang-il fully recovered.
“What's the case?”
“Yes, sir. An SUV was found near Yangji Stream Citizens' Park. A jogger spotted it—same car parked there for days, so they checked inside.”
Gyu-cheol sighed softly as he turned the wheel.
“Used lightning bolt suicide bags inside, plus three bodies. They called 112 right away. Beat cops are securing the scene now. Looks like suicide, but we'll know more on-site.”
* * *
The water level in Yangji Stream at the scene was noticeably higher, probably from last night's heavy rain. Reeds stretched wide around the walking path. Every gust of wind made them rustle mournfully.
Inside the police line stood a battered SUV. Old model, but a large seven-seater.
“Sir! Huh! Detective Kang Cheol-gu, right? It's an honor to meet you!”
“Yeah. Let's check the scene first.”
The patrol sergeant saluted crisply. The door was open, and the stench of a corpse assaulted my nose.
In the driver's seat sat a middle-aged man, presumably the owner. Right next to him in the passenger seat, a pile of spent lightning bolt bags. Second row: a young man slumped over. Third row: a high school girl in uniform.
“IDs confirmed?”
“Yes, sir. All had wallets on them, so no issue. Kim Chang-sik, 51. Hyeong Min-gyu, 32. Yoon Ye-ji, 18. Autopsy will confirm cause of death, but definitely looks like suicide.”
“Group suicide, huh...”
Two adult men and one high school girl. An odd combination. I leaned into the car.
Bodies tell stories. That's why initial scene investigations are so crucial.
Gloving up with medical gloves, I examined the corpses. Unlike other bodies that pale over time—especially the face—these showed no external anomalies. Classic carbon monoxide poisoning symptoms.
I checked the navigation. Final destination: Yangji Stream. They'd inputted it and driven here, meaning unfamiliar territory.
Why choose a strange place to off themselves...? Something felt off.
I turned to the girl in the third row. My brow furrowed involuntarily. Steadying my breath, I checked the back of her hand.
I exhaled sharply.
Slowly, I flipped her hand over. All ten fingernails were broken off.
The cold, young corpse was telling her story. The tragedy that unfolded in this car that day.
“Hyungnim? What's wrong? Your face...”
“Gyu-cheol, this isn't suicide.”