Human Butchers (1)
“Male-only 17:1, huh? You really stick it anywhere.”
Lee Gyu-cheol snorted as he stretched with a jump rope, trying to hold back his laughter.
“Male-only 17:1? What the hell does that even mean?”
“That's Kim Gwang-il's nickname for that punk. He's a beast against male perps, but put a woman near him and there's no bigger pussy in the world. He'd lose to a 17-year-old high school girl. Haha.”
“Hey, why bring that up here? Come on, hyung!” Kim Gwang-il's ears turned beet red as he lunged to cover Lee Gyu-cheol's mouth.
“Kekeke. It's true, though. The other day, you were taking that adulteress auntie's statement—wearing something a bit revealing—and you couldn't even look her in the eye. I was dying of secondhand embarrassment. Haha.”
Hwang Woo-sik nodded along from the treadmill, chiming in.
“Ugh, seriously, what kind of seniors are you guys...? Gyu-cheol hyung, just focus on your workout. Sitting at that desk staring at your computer all day is why you're such a twig. What kind of man's arms are those?”
Kim Gwang-il grumbled, head hung low. The sweaty gym filled with laughter.
“Anyway, wanna go for real? Gwang-il, you're the judo national team alum, right?”
I eyed him while slipping in my mouthpiece. At 90kg, the guy could break 12 seconds in the 100-meter. Kim Gwang-il, the judo dropout who was skilled not just in his specialty but in all kinds of martial arts, though he'd fallen short of a medal.
“What'll it be?”
“Judo would be too easy for you, Kang hyung.... Let's do MMA rules? Come on, let's throw some punches!”
His vibe shifted as he stepped onto the mat. The smirk vanished from his lips. Once an elite athlete gunning for the world stage, he couldn't hide the competitive fire creeping up now that we faced off.
It had been ages since I'd sparred his prime self. My muscles loosened, then tightened like coiled springs. A thrilling tension. Facing a national team reserve? I'd been top-tier in the police academy's martial arts classes, so I wouldn't go down easy.
“Three rounds, three minutes each, one-minute breaks. Ready. Fight.”
Lee Gyu-cheol gripped the stopwatch. Kim Gwang-il, geared up with shin guards, groin protector, and headgear, touched gloves in greeting. The massive mountain lumbered forward. I could imagine how the criminals he'd faced over the past decade had felt.
The brief feeling-out phase ended, and he closed distance fast. Low kick. A judo guy opening with a kick? I slipped back with footwork, and a mid kick followed. Not a Muay Thai log-swing, but a folded Taekwondo or Hapkido snap. Heavyweights rarely used it due to knee strain, but he pulled it off flawlessly. Insane body control. Kim Gwang-il's prowess, which had nabbed countless violent offenders barehanded, shone through again.
The pleasant buzz faded, replaced by heavy tension. I blocked the next mid kick with my gloved hand, absorbing the impact, and grabbed his calf with my free one. Both hands tied up, no easy strikes. I slammed my shoulder into his jaw—classic dirty boxing. The chin's one spot you can't really toughen. He backed off, sensing the damage, and I chased with double hooks.
As Kim looked ready to drop, his legs snaked around my arm and neck like a viper. He locked his ankles, squeezing my throat. Triangle choke. Air cut off. Carotids compressed, blood to the brain throttled. No mirror needed; my face was probably purple already.
“Tap out!”
Someone yelled. I shifted weight to escape, catching his disappointed grimace. No deference to rank anymore. On the mat, it was just man versus man, victory or bust. I liked that fire in him.
* * *
“...Huff huff.”
“Drink some water. National team judoka through and through.”
“Huff huff. What's the point? Judo base and I still got wrecked on the ground.... Even with 14-ounce gloves...”
He chugged water, frustration spilling out.
“...But something's off about sparring you, Cheol-gu hyung.”
Kim Gwang-il finally spoke after catching his breath.
“...How to put it? You slip out by a hair every time. Like, 'this is enough, it's over'—then boom, you exceed my prediction. Feels like you're growing mid-fight, adapting on the fly?”
“Shut it. Loser talks too damn much. Here, drink this.”
Lee Gyu-cheol shoved a full water bottle at him to calm him down.
* * *
On the way out after sparring, Kim Gwang-il's words lingered. Truth was, I'd been feeling it lately too. Right now, in 2013, I'm like a high-end PC loaded with top CPU and RAM. Ten years of violent crimes data always loaded, processed by that powerhouse CPU at key moments for optimal output. And the results? Executed through this 20-something body. Efficient. Deadly.
It applied to fights too. If human durability is 10, you need just 11+ to break them. No need for 100 or 1,000 against the guy in front of you. No point in a power straight for 100 or a Taekwondo back kick, Muay Thai knee for 1,000. A clean counter using their momentum for 11+... and humans drop. You get stronger matching your opponent. That's what Kim Gwang-il had nailed.
* * *
“Kang, you hear?”
Hwang Woo-sik asked quietly after morning briefing.
“...No. What?”
“That bastard Yoo Hyeong-cheol. Soon as he woke up post-surgery, he tried to off himself. Shattered a mirror and swallowed the glass. What a waste of blood money keeping scum like that alive...”
“...Team leader. Mind if I check on that fucker real quick?”
“Huh? What crazy shit are you planning now?”
“Gonna save some taxpayer cash.”
* * *
“What's his condition?”
“Patella's shattered into five pieces—rehab's pointless. Even if he leaves, he'll be crippled for life. And all that glass he swallowed? We're doing scans now. Esophagus is clear, but it's spread to his organs everywhere. Minimum two months hospitalized, even rushed.”
The doctor wiped foggy glasses, head bowed.
“Not very Hippocratic of me, but sometimes I wonder if I slogged through med school just to save trash like him. Anyway, just venting.”
“I get it. Can I question the suspect briefly?”
He eyed me a moment, then nodded silently. I brushed past to Yoo Hyeong-cheol's room.
“Gah! Y-you...?”
His eyes bulged like he'd seen a ghost. Restrained to the bed, he still recoiled. Glass had nicked his vocal cords—air leaked out in a creepy wheeze.
“Causing trouble here too?”
I perched on the mattress; his tremors vibrated through.
“One bit of advice. No more games. Play nice, or you die slow.”
“F-fuck you! No death penalty in this country anymore! All sentences on indefinite hold. You dumb cop don't even know that?”
“This country?”
My hand crept toward his throat.
“S-stay back, you fuck!”
Limbs bound, he still writhed. I seized his collar hard, whispering in his ear.
“When did this country become ours? Yours and mine? One promise: behave. Or you die.”
I summoned the terror etched in his DNA. Yoo Hyeong-cheol nodded frantically like a bobblehead, mute.
* * *
Turning the ignition, applause echoed from somewhere. His doctor approached with a smile.
“From this doc's view? Very legal, very reasonable questioning.”
I gave a curt nod and peeled out.
* * *
“What's this? Place is a mess.”
The station buzzed strangely. Cops cursing in corners, others sighing beside them. Violent Crimes Team 3 was no different. Hwang Woo-sik patted Lee Gyu-cheol's shoulder; dampness glistened under the guy's eyes.
“Hyung. Hold up.”
Kim Gwang-il dragged puzzled me outside.
“A detective from Yeongdeungpo Station next door—violent crimes unit—got killed.”
“What? How? Accident?”
“Joseonjok thugs based in Dallim-dong. Took a knife during their investigation...”
Joseonjok gangsters... Something clicked.
In 2013, a crime org that swallowed up all the small-time crews around Dallim-dong, unifying Yeongdeungpo. Cops died three in the crackdown—huge case back then. They operated cell-style, constant tail-cutting, making bosses impossible to nab. Hell, they even talked “War on Crime 2.0.”
“Explains the mood.”
“Yeah. Lots of talk. Gangsters don't fear cops. Citizens call us pigs. Media screams human rights if we crack down hard.... Now detectives take knives.”
“Right. So why's Lee looking like death?”
“...The dead guy's his academy buddy. Like brothers. High school pals, took the cop exam together. That's the story.”
We entered the office. Lee Gyu-cheol's eyes were red. Jaw clenched, holding something back.
“Kang—hyung! How does a cop die to a gangster's knife? They call it a 'mistake.' Says he got drunk, picked a fight. Yeong-ho never touched booze!”
“You're right, Lee. Not manslaughter—premeditated hit.”
His head snapped up, tears pooling. Hwang Woo-sik and Kim's eyes widened.
“Not just Dallim-dong—even nationwide, only one crew dares terrorize active cops. The bastards called human butchers...”
I pushed on, words heavy.
“No way—that happened last night. How do you know? Hotlines with Yeongdeungpo?”
Hwang Woo-sik gaped.
“Got my sources. Chief's briefing soon, but good to know early.”