What Remains After Fate Steps Aside

The interior of the heavy Lincoln sedan was utterly silent.

Freed at last from the extreme terror and despair that had gripped her, Sophie's mother had let the tension drain from her body and slipped into a light doze.

Donovan was much the same.

He had not crossed the line between life and death the way Sophie's mother had, yet he too had kept his nerves stretched taut all day long. The weight of a human life hanging in the balance was never light.

From the back seat came only the regular, languid sound of two people breathing, filling the quiet. Cole, who was driving, handled the car with the utmost care so as not to wake the pair behind him.

Before long the sedan glided to a stop in front of Sophie's rundown house.

"We've arrived."

At Cole's careful voice both of them opened their eyes at once. They were tired, but neither had fallen into a deep sleep.

Donovan got out first; Sophie's mother hurriedly followed. Looking at her as she stared blankly at her own house with a face still half-asleep, Donovan tossed out casually,

"Your husband's not going to be inside. He sobered up and went to work. His wages will be deposited into your account every month without fail."

"...What?"

Perhaps because she had just woken from the car, everything—being rescued, and the husband who had been drowning in alcohol and violence every day now going to work of his own free will—felt like an unreal dream to her.

"He's gone for rehab and work, so it'll take a while, but when he comes back he'll probably be a decent human being."

At Donovan's confident voice she realized she had not misheard.

"H-how on earth..."

She could not understand how this man, who was not even a police officer, had wrought all these miraculous things in an instant. But that thought lasted only a moment before a more fundamental question surged up.

"Why... why would you give me such undeserved help?"

To her earnest question Donovan gave a short laugh and answered lightly.

"I got a request from your daughter's friends. Well, it was only a one-dollar job, but still."

"..."

"So just think of it as good luck."

"Luck...?"

Her bloodless lips moved. She had thought her whole life that she had no such thing as luck. The only luck and miracle in her miserable life had been meeting Sophie.

To the dazed woman Donovan said,

"No need to overthink it. Just go inside, see Sophie's face, and put her mind at ease. If you're still curious after that, come find me then."

He started to turn away, then paused, opened the trunk, pulled out a shopping bag, and casually thrust it into her arms.

"Th-this is..."

"Sophie's birthday is next week, right? You promised to buy her a dress. Tell her you were late because you went to get this."

With that, Donovan climbed back into the car without a second thought.

"Ah, wait a moment...!"

Before she could properly express her thanks, the Lincoln sedan driven by Cole cut through the dawn mist and drove straight off.

Clutching the shopping bag tightly to her chest, she stared blankly at the receding red taillights, then suddenly came to her senses.

"S-Sophie...!"

She hurriedly opened the old front door and ran inside. The moment she stepped into the living room she stopped dead in her tracks.

"...!"

The house, which had always been a mess of empty bottles and trash, had been cleaned to an unbelievable degree of neatness. Even the dining table was piled with warm, modest dishes of food.

"Hic..."

A suppressed sob burst from her lips. She could only think that the impassive-faced Asian man had arranged all of this out of consideration.

Covering her mouth with both hands, tears streaming down, she opened Sophie's bedroom door.

Creak—.

A small room where the faint light of dawn was seeping in. There, an angel who knew nothing of how the world had been turned upside down the night before was sleeping soundly.

The moment she heard that peaceful breathing, the hellish terror and fatigue washed away like melting snow. Still holding the shopping bag Donovan had given her, she carefully sat down by the sleeping Sophie's bed.

The child she had almost never seen again.

With a trembling hand she gently stroked her sleeping daughter's small face.

"Sophie... Mommy bought the dress I promised... My pretty girl..."

A tear that had rolled down her cheek as she sobbed quietly fell with a soft plop onto Sophie's cheek. At the warm droplet the child flinched, then slowly opened her eyes.

"...Mm."

Rubbing her eyes in her sleep, Sophie's small pupils widened.

"Mommy...? Mommy!!"

"Sophie! My puppy, sob, waaah!"

The two threw their arms around each other. It was the warmth they had miraculously ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠reclaimed from the edge of despair.

The next morning.

NYPD Midtown South Precinct briefing room.

Dozens of camera flashes exploded without pause, bright enough to blind, as the Acting Captain stepped up to the podium and opened his mouth in a heavy voice.

"In the early hours of yesterday morning, the Midtown South Precinct Homicide Team and Tactical Strike Unit raided Red Hook Harbor in Brooklyn and dismantled a large-scale human-trafficking and kidnapping organization."

A murmur spread through the room. The Acting Captain fixed the reporters with an unwavering gaze and drove the facts home.

"The perpetrators targeted society's darkest blind spots. Women suffering under crushing poverty or habitual domestic violence—in other words, victims whose sudden disappearance the world would simply write off as 'running away because they couldn't take the hardship anymore.' They hunted only those who met that perfect condition. It was a vicious crime."

The press gallery erupted. Unsolved cases that had been dismissed as simple runaways were, in fact, organized kidnappings—an earth-shaking revelation. Hands shot up everywhere and urgent questions poured out.

"New York Times! If they only chose victims no one would notice were gone, the investigation net should have been impossible to slip through. Captain, how on earth did you catch their trail?!"

Spotlights and questions laced with awe rained down. Then a seasoned crime reporter seated in the front row rose, eyes gleaming sharply.

"Wall Street Journal. The case you just announced is astonishing enough, but wasn't it also you who personally took down the Connect Holdings heir's 'VIP Dating App Serial Murder' case just a few days ago?"

At that single sentence the air in the briefing room changed. Realization struck the other murmuring reporters like lightning.

"You have perfectly crushed two of the worst crimes in succession—crimes that had no initial leads at all."

The reporter pushed up his glasses and drove straight to the heart of the matter.

"Since you took office as Acting Captain, the clearance rate for major crimes in your jurisdiction has soared to an abnormal degree, and you keep solving one high-profile case after another. We would like to know your secret."

Every gaze poured onto the podium at once. The Acting Captain wanted to speak right then. He believed everyone should know of Donovan's efforts—the man who had solved the crimes one after another and poured both material and moral support into the work.

But he could not.

Before leaving at dawn, Donovan had said:

This time you have to make full Captain. So you can respond fast if something like this happens again. That's how you help me.

The Acting Captain, who had hunted criminals alongside him, knew Donovan's insight well. If the man spoke that way, it had to be followed.

The Acting Captain leaned close to the microphone with a deliberately solemn yet composed expression.

"It is thanks to the officers who trusted me and moved as one under my command."

He stared straight into the camera lenses and continued in a heavy voice that did not waver by a single inch.

"As long as I hold this post, there will be no darkness in which criminals can hide within the Midtown South Precinct."

His declaration was not arrogance; it was absolute, uncompromising conviction.

"I will not look to outdated practices or the eyes of corrupt superiors. There will be only the safety of the citizens and the perfect judgment of the law. No matter what power they hide behind, no matter what blind spot they bury themselves in... I will track them to the end and arrest them without fail."

A radical declaration from the mouth of a precinct captain. Yet it was the exact answer the public and the press most wanted to hear from the New York police right now—scratching the itch perfectly.

Clap, clap, clap—.

Someone began clapping unconsciously; the sound spread through the entire briefing room like a contagion. Amid applause heavier and more solemn than any before, reporters' pens flew madly and flashes exploded as if they would swallow the room whole.

The Acting Captain turned his back on the barrage of questions and descended the podium with easy composure.

At the same hour.

NYPD Headquarters, Investigation Bureau Chief's office.

The large monitor covering one wall was still broadcasting the Midtown South Precinct briefing that had just ended. Watching the Acting Captain on the screen descend the podium with easy composure under a rain of flashes, the Bureau Chief let out a short laugh.

"Perfect."

It was not simply a matter of luckily catching criminals one after another. He had completely seized control of ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the press and, in a single stroke, raised the plummeting prestige of the police. Without shifting credit or making excuses, he had declared that he alone would command and take responsibility for the organization.

All the discontent and backbiting that had poured out from Headquarters when a mere Homicide Team Leader had been boldly appointed Acting Captain—every last bit of ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠that opposition had been crushed to pulp by a single briefing.

The Bureau Chief pulled the file folder he had set aside on one corner of his desk toward himself.

He uncapped his fountain pen and signed without hesitation. The soft scratch of the nib across the paper rang out cheerfully.

"Chief, this is..."

The aide standing beside him checked the document with startled eyes. The Bureau Chief set the pen down and gave a quiet order.

"As of today, remove the temporary tag. Issue the formal appointment as Captain of Midtown South Precinct."

"Yes, sir!"

The Bureau Chief turned his gaze back to the monitor. The piece he had placed on the board had perfectly proven its own right to the crown.

Of course, it had not been by that man's strength alone.

An unidentified Asian man who keeps tipping them off to cases and even helps solve them...

On one corner of the Bureau Chief's desk already lay a confidential Internal Affairs report on Donovan, who had been coming and going from Midtown South Precinct. A monstrous existence who had ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠instantly seen through the worst crimes that had possessed not even an initial lead.

Yet the Bureau Chief did not treat that fact as a problem. Instead he curled the corner of his mouth in pleasant satisfaction.

Doesn't matter. The very fact that he can pull a talent like that in as a police collaborator and put him to work is itself proof of that kid's outstanding ability.

What the upper echelons of the New York police wanted was not transparency of process—only overwhelming results and performance. As long as a reliable talent stood behind him to back up the declaration he had just made, there was no reason to dig into that identity and overturn the board.

Fine. I'll watch how far you climb in this city with that remarkable outside expert in front of you.

The Bureau Chief's eyes gleamed with interest.

While we're at it, I should give the two of them solid power so they can run wild even more freely in this city.

The one-dollar fortune-telling shop right in the middle of Times Square.

Zen Psychic.

From the tablet, the morning's briefing news of the Acting Captain kept streaming without pause. A faint smile touched Donovan's lips as he watched the screen with indifferent eyes—then,

Ding-a-ling—.

With a cheerful chime the shop door opened and the man who had been on the tablet screen stepped straight inside.

"I saw the interview. You looked pretty cool."

At Donovan's greeting the Acting Captain—no, the man who was now the formal Captain of Midtown South Precinct—gave a short laugh and approached.

"All thanks to you. Because you set the board, as of today I completely shed the 'Acting' tag."

He took a heavy leather case from his coat and set it on the wooden desk with a soft thud.

"What's this?"

When Donovan opened the case, inside lay a special identification card and badge clearly stamped with the NYPD emblem.

"It's the highest-level formal external specialist badge we can issue within our jurisdiction. Starting today, you're practically family to our department."

The Captain leaned over the desk and added in a low voice,

"But don't get the wrong idea. Just because I gave you this doesn't mean we'll start dumping annoying cases on you and making demands. I'm giving it to you so you can move freely in this city from now on."

"...Oh?"

"Just come find us when you need us. When you call, the entire Midtown South Precinct will move."

Following Salvatore's badge, now a legitimate free-pass from a New York police captain. Donovan pocketed the badge with a look of satisfaction.

"Thanks. I'll put it to good use."

The Captain nodded with a lightened face and left the shop. Not even a full minute later, the peaceful shop door was flung open as if it would break.

"Kyaaaaah! Mister, you're the best!!"

"A real magician!! Sophie's problem is completely solved!!"

Mia and Lily, who had been completely dejected the day before, came barreling in with their tension restored to two hundred percent.

"Yeah, yeah. Glad it worked out."

Just as Donovan was about to give a half-hearted reply, the two little kids who had been bouncing around suddenly cleared their throats, put on expressions of terrifying seriousness, and stood in front of the desk.

"We've made a very important decision!"

At Mia's declaration Donovan raised an eyebrow.

"From now on we won't casually ask you about light stuff like TikTok views!"

Kids grow up fast, they say—and it seemed to be true. Already this mature and—

"That's right! From now on we'll only find and solve the problems of friends who are really, really struggling!"

"We'll only bring friends who've been through unfair and scary things like Sophie, so just wait for us!"

He had misjudged. They had evolved in a completely different direction.

"...Huh?"

A blank sound slipped from Donovan's mouth. So they were saying they would keep bringing him those terrifying major crimes—kidnappings, murders, and the like? And Lily, who possessed the rare Munjeonseongsi physiognomy that naturally drew crowds like a swarm of bees, was going to do it on purpose?

"Uh... kids, I'm fine, really."

Even Donovan, who rarely blinked at anything, was genuinely flustered this time. But the children completely misunderstood his concern.

"I knew you'd like it! We're fine too!"

"That's right! We even changed our TikTok concept to interviews! We're interview TikTokers now!"

Donovan's words stuck in his throat.

No. The problem isn't whether you two are fine—it's that I'm not fine...

While Donovan was turning over how to handle this, the children had already reached their own conclusion and spun around.

"Then we'll go collect problems!"

"Interview sortie!"

The two beagle-like whirlwinds who had appeared like the wind left only their declaration of war and vanished like the wind again.

Even so, those kids aren't the type to rush off that fast...

As Donovan stared blankly at the open door, he immediately understood why. Beyond the doorway the children had cleared, two people carefully entered the shop.

"Mister... thank you. Mom really came back."

It was Sophie. The child's eyes were swollen, yet a bright smile that looked as if she owned the whole world spread across her face.

And behind her, Sophie's mother approached Donovan with trembling steps and stood before him. The moment she reached the desk she bowed deeply at the waist.

"Thank you... truly, thank you. My husband, the clean house, the warm food... all of it. I will never forget the grace you have shown us for the rest of my life."

At her tearful words of gratitude a giant question mark floated above Donovan's head.

...House? Food? What the hell is she talking about?

He had taken care of the husband, yes—he had asked Salvatore to "make a man out of him." But he had never asked anyone to clean the house or prepare food.

Did those scary mafia guys drag the husband out, get so pissed at how filthy the place was that they cleaned it in a fit of rage, and then left?

It was an absurd imagination, yet under the circumstances it was the only answer. Still, since he was the one who had sent them, in the end he had helped. Donovan saw no need to correct her and simply nodded.

"I'm glad it was helpful."

Sophie's mother's eyes reddened again.

"I really wanted to thank you in person. Because of you, I was able to see my daughter again. I don't know how I can ever repay this..."

"Repay? Got a dollar?"

"...A dollar?"

Donovan jerked his chin toward the old sign outside the window.

"If you're that grateful, you came to a fortune-telling shop—get a reading before you go."

"Ah! Yes... just a moment."

She hurriedly rummaged through her worn bag, pulled out a crumpled one-dollar bill, and carefully laid it on Donovan's desk.

Donovan's deep gaze settled on Sophie's mother's face.

"There's something I've wanted to tell you since dawn yesterday..."

"What...?"

At those words all sorts of worries rose in her mind.

Some danger to me? Or to Sophie...?

Sophie's mother's heart pounded. She knew this man's spiritual power all too well.

Yet from his lips came words she had never expected at all.

"It's a talent too good to waste on washing dishes."