America's Pride
Why had the Foreign Ministry director turned pale and started raging?
Simply because America was a superpower?
No.
The core issue was a violation of the Vienna Convention.
This treaty was the absolute bible for diplomats worldwide.
Yet a mere detective at Incheon Yeongjong Police Station had tossed this sacred pact into the trash.
Violating the Vienna Convention wasn't something you could just apologize for and move on.
It triggered the fundamental principle of diplomacy: reciprocity.
What was reciprocity? "An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth."
If you ignore our citizens' rights, we'll ignore yours.
If America used this incident as an excuse to invoke reciprocity, hundreds of thousands of Korean students, expatriates, and overseas Koreans in the US would be at risk.
They'd lose any grounds to demand consular assistance if arrested by US police.
But what the Foreign Ministry truly feared was something else: Persona Non Grata.
"Unwelcome person."
The host country could expel a diplomat from a violating nation without explanation.
In other words, if the US State Department wanted, they could declare:
"Since you illegally detained our citizen and broke the treaty, we're kicking out the Korean ambassador and consuls in Washington D.C."
This was a nuclear bomb-level sanction, right on the brink of severed ties.
The director's mind was already painting the worst-case scenario.
And the cause? A frontline detective's promotion lust and the Ministry of Gender Equality's performative show.
"Arrrghhh!"
In the back seat of his official car, the Foreign Ministry director clawed at his hair and screamed.
"Those crazy bitches... Ruining the country over some divorce alimony?!"
The Ministry of Gender Equality and Judge Choi Hyun-jin's typical Joseon-style WWE spectacle.
Now, cleanup was impossible.
"Oh no, oh no!"
The Minister of Gender Equality's office was a funeral home.
The phones were on fire.
Blue House Chief of Staff.
Foreign Minister's office.
Even the National Intelligence Service.
Every power center in Korea was unleashing a barrage at Minister Kim Ji-young.
"Minister! Official document from Foreign Ministry! They demand an explanation now!"
"VIP is furious at the Blue House..."
Kim Ji-young clutched her head with trembling hands.
Just yesterday, the mood had been perfect.
Kim Ji-hoon, the perfect weapon.
Using him to push child support enforcement laws and women's policies, their approval among women had hit an all-time high.
The ministry had been starving.
Ironically, because there were no major cases harming women.
A department screaming about women's rights and victim prevention, yet without victims, it couldn't justify its existence—a paradoxical organization.
Employees even half-jokingly prayed:
"Ah, isn't there a big case somewhere?"
"Can't someone get raped?"
A bizarre rain ritual, waiting for victims like setting out water.
And into that desperate(?) wish fell Kim Ji-hoon.
They danced with joy.
Like necromancers raising a corpse, they dragged him out, branded him women's enemy, and tore him apart.
As always.
Business as usual.
Just planning to grill one more "han-nam" for some approval ratings.
"Why... why did it turn out like this?"
Minister Kim Ji-young looked on the verge of tears.
She didn't know.
That the man they'd touched wasn't just some ordinary guy, but a nuclear switch.
In cold terms, it was true.
[Presidential Medal of Freedom].
No legal immunity came with it.
It didn't let you murder or skip taxes.
Legally, Ji-hoon was just one average US citizen.
If the Korean government insisted they'd followed the law, it wasn't logically wrong.
But.
That was textbook talk.
Real diplomacy and politics ran on emotion and pretext, not logic.
What kind of country was America?
A nation obsessed with uniformed soldiers, firefighters, and heroes.
Their hero illegally detained abroad, ignoring due process?
This struck at America's pride.
America's citizens' pride.
"Dare to touch our hero?"
If that sentiment boiled over nationwide, politicians had no choice.
Republicans or Democrats, they'd rush to condemn Korea.
A lukewarm response? Branded "incompetent at protecting citizens" or "hero-abandoning politician," they'd get shot by voters next election.
So US politicians had to go all-in, hardline.
No immunity? Treat them like they had it.
That's what a Medal of Freedom recipient was.
Yet a minor Korean ministry, guarding their rice bowl, touched that reverse scale.
10 PM.
The lights in the cybercrime team's interrogation room went out.
"Ha, what a tough bastard."
Park Detective stuck out his tongue as he left the room.
A grueling four-hour interrogation.
But he'd gotten nothing.
Ironclad silence.
Wheedling, coaxing, slamming the desk in threats—Ji-hoon hadn't pried open his lips, like they were glued with bond.
In the end, Park threw up his hands.
Nighttime interrogations without suspect consent were illegal.
No way Ji-hoon would agree.
"Toss him in holding for now. We'll interrogate again tomorrow morning."
Park barked irritably.
Plenty of time anyway.
48 hours.
Break his spirit within that, done.
Clang.
Iron bars slammed shut, echoing down the holding cell corridor.
Ji-hoon settled in the corner of his roughly 3-pyeong solo cell.
Cold chill rising from the floor.
Musty smell stinging his nose.
Dim ceiling.
Ji-hoon hugged his knees, leaned against the wall, and closed his eyes.
As silence fell, suppressed emotions burst like a dam breaking.
Grandma...
By now, he should have arrived at the funeral hall, changed into mourning clothes.
Standing beside Dad, bowing to guests, offering a drink before Grandma's portrait.
"I'm sorry..."
His voice trembled softly in the dark.
"For coming too late... I'm sorry."
He'd flown 12 hours from America.
So close now.
Yet that short distance felt endless.
Iron bars blocking even Grandma's final path.
Never feeling those warm hands that cherished him again.
This reality, denying even that grief, pierced his bones.
Hot tears streamed down his cheeks.
Ji-hoon wept soundlessly.
But.
As tears dried, a venomous blue poison filled the void.
Ji-hoon lifted his head, glaring into the void.
Sorrow turned to rage, rage to vengeance.
The government that trampled his family, his final goodbye to Grandma.
They'd just wanted to torment him.
Humiliate moderately, scare into submission.
But they'd crossed the line.
Touched the untouchable reverse scale.
Ji-hoon's eyes gleamed fiercely in the dark.
Meanwhile, the quiet front yard of Incheon Yeongjong Police Station flipped upside down.
Screech—!
A black large SUV braked hard right before the entrance, tires smoking.
American flag on the bumper flapping in the night wind.
Plate: [Diplomatic-001].
A US Marine hopped out of the driver's seat, then the back door opened.
Henry, US Consul General in Korea.
His face was grim and fierce, like a general heading to war.
Behind him, Choi Il-woo's sedan pulled up.
Choi Il-woo stepped out and stood beside Henry.
"This way, Consul General."
As the two entered the lobby, on-duty patrol officers jumped up in shock.
"Wha—what?"
"Stop! What is this?!"
One officer tried to block, but Henry was undeterred.
He flashed his ID right in the officer's face.
"US Consul General. Bring Kim Ji-hoon now."
"Pardon?"
While the officer floundered with the English, Choi Il-woo stepped up.
"He's the US Consul General. Get the chief! Now!"
The lawyer's shout turned the lobby into pandemonium.
Lee Cheol-su, the station chief, lounged on the sofa watching a variety TV show.
A peaceful night.
Incheon Airport jurisdiction meant petty cases aplenty, but major crimes rare.
He yawned, checking his watch.
Time to sleep?
Ring—!
Then the phone rang.
Lee tilted his head, picking up.
"Yes, who is..."
"You bastard!!!!"
A eardrum-shattering roar exploded from the receiver.
Lee nearly dropped the phone in shock.
The voice belonged to the National Police Agency Chief.
"Ch-Chief? What..."
"Are you insane? Crazy? Out of your mind?!"
"Huh? No, why suddenly..."
"Did you lock up an American in your station or not? Tell the truth!"]
"An American?"
Lee blinked.
American?
Any report like that today?
Probably just some drunk causing a scene.
"First I've heard... Maybe a mix-up..."
"Mix-up my ass! Foreign Minister called me directly! Your guys kidnapped and locked up someone who got the US Presidential Medal!"]
"......Pardon?"
"US Embassy just stormed your station! Get out there and fix it! Can't handle this, you're fired! Got it?!"]
Click.
Line dead.
Lee stood dazed, phone in hand.
Brain freeze.
American? Medal? Kidnap? Firing?
Words floated unconnected in his head.
Then.
Beep-beep-beep.
Phone rang again.
"Chief! Chief! Big trouble!"]
"What is it! Why the fuss!"
"US... US Embassy here! Consul General himself!"
"What?!"
It was real.
Police Chief was right.
"Wh-what! Why's the Consul General here!"
"Don't know! Cyber team's demanding today's suspect! Hurry down or they'll break the door!"]
"Cy-cyber team? Who fucked up?"
Lee's face turned ashen.
"These crazy bastards... Who'd they touch..."
No time to dress properly.
He bolted out barefoot, slipper flying off unnoticed.
Cold sweat poured down his back.
Terror that his neck was on the chopping block.
"I'm coming, cooperate! Keep the perp waiting!"
His scream echoed toward the station.
Screech!
Lee Cheol-su's car slammed into the parking lot.
He leaped out, oblivious to his missing slipper.
Black diplomatic vehicle and US Marines stood imposingly at the entrance.
The sight nearly buckled his legs.
"Ah, fucked..."
He sensed instinctively.
This was beyond his pay grade.
No choice, though.
Deep breath, he charged the lobby like a cow to slaughter.
"Outta the way! Move!"
Corridor chaos.
On-duty officers milling confused, shouts echoing somewhere.
Source: Cybercrime team office.
Lee flung the door open, panting.
"What's going on!"
And.
He lost his words at the scene.
Center of the office.
Blue-eyed giant, Henry the Consul General, stood like an angry bear.
Beside him, Choi Il-woo waved documents, berating detectives.
"International law violation! Illegal detention!"
Henry's roar made the windows rattle.
Opposite.
The culprit, Park Detective.
Sweating buckets, pale face retreating.
"No... that's not... We followed procedure..."
"Procedure? Denying consular access is procedure?"
Choi Il-woo stabbed sharply.
"Notify after 48 hours? You mad? That's your excuse?"
"Ah, no... clerical error..."
"Shut up!"
Henry slammed the desk.
"I need to see him now! Open holding in 1 minute, or else!"
Park was near tears.
Promotion? Eval?
Gone from his mind long ago.
Then, his savior appeared.
Station chief Lee, standing blankly at the door.
"Ch-Chief!"
Park brightened, yelling.
"Chief! You're here! These guys barging in, obstructing..."
He believed the chief would back him.
Park scurried to hide behind.
"Chief, these foreigners acting all high and..."
But.
Lee's eyes were rolled back.
To him, Park wasn't a subordinate.
"Ch-Chief...?"
Lee raised his foot instead of answering.
Thwack!!
Dull impact split the room.
"Argh!"
Park screamed, rolling on the floor.
Shin.
Lee had nailed Park's shin precisely.
Silence blanketed the office.
Henry, Choi Il-woo, watching detectives—all mouths shut.
"You... fucking lunatic!!"
Lee's lion roar erupted.
He grabbed Park's collar, shaking the rolling man.
"You sane? Who'd you drag in? Who'd you lock up?!"
"No... Ch-Chief... wanted suspect..."
"Wanted? You dog! Foreign Minister called! Police Chief called!"
"Pardon...?"
"Know who you grabbed? Why touch a US medal recipient!"
Lee kneed Park's groin again.
Thud!
"Arghh!"
"Open holding now?! Get the keys! Now!"
Lee bellowed, heaving.
Then bowed 90 degrees to Henry.
Grovelingly swift pivot.
"S-sorry!"
The station chief begged, face drenched in sweat.
And Park, rolling on the floor, finally realized.
What he'd touched wasn't promotion fodder.
"What the hell... have you done..."
Lee's wail shook the station's night.