Now It's Your Turn

The car door opened, and Team Leader Lee Gwangsu set his foot down, slow and deliberate.

Two detectives sprinted ahead of him. The forensics team was already hauling equipment out of the vehicle.

He did what he always did—ran the tape and stepped inside the cordon. But they were already there.

"…What the hell are those people."

Black jumpers. Four expressionless men and women, no shared logo, not a single name tag. Drones were already in the air, and the gear coming out of their bags was nothing the National Forensic Service of Korea had ever laid eyes on.

This was not an investigation put on for show. It was a recovery, carried out by people already certain of what they would find.

"CIA."

One of the detectives stepped in close and whispered it.

"Looks like they were sent straight from the States. No notice. They just walked in."

Lee Gwangsu ground his teeth.

"They jump a scene without a word of warning? Since when does anyone walk over the police like—"

Before he could finish, another vehicle appeared.

Chinese diplomatic plates. Two men in immaculate suits, and one woman in a sleeveless top and slacks. They came up without a word and swept the scene, and the equipment in their hands bore the mark of the Ministry of State Security.

They did not move like people treading dirt. They moved like people who had come to harvest information.

And then one more.

"Don't tell me…"

Someone muttered it. And just as expected—

A black SUV rolled onto the scene. The figures who stepped out wore civilian cuts of Russian military dress. They approached in silence, demanded the files, barely pretended to hear the police object, and began unfolding their equipment.

"Chief. This is… wrong."

The youngest detective said it carefully.

"What kind of case brings in America, China, and Russia all at once?"

Lee Gwangsu kept his mouth shut tight. He could not answer. He did not know the answer either. All he knew was the order that had come down from above: total cooperation. No—capitulation.

Everything was a knot of questions, but one fact he could see with perfect clarity. This case, and the suspect named Han Seungwoo, had already left his hands. Left Korea's hands.

Beyond the forensic line, a CIA analyst was lifting microfibers from the ground and reading them in real time. A Chinese State Security officer tracked residual heat nearby with a neural-response detector. Russian SVR was rebuilding the ground itself in three dimensions through a laser scanner.

Lee Gwangsu clenched his fist. He was powerless. Not one of them had offered to cooperate.

Cooperation? There was none. Only interests, espionage, and a fight over who held priority.

He swallowed it down.

The strongest intelligence services in the world, all moving at once, just to catch a single suspect.

And simply because that one man is somewhere in Korea right now, we've lost control even on our own soil.

Footsteps. A presence.

A little way off, a Chinese agent spoke quietly.

"He's moving."

"Confirmed?"

"Within a few hours… there will be another death."

Lee Gwangsu turned. He did not know what they were basing it on. And yet, strangely, the words carried certainty.

A CIA agent whispered into a radio as well.

"The next one will probably be… just one. He never kills the same way twice. But the reason he kills is always the same."

It was not only Korea. Now every eye in the world was fixed on Han Seungwoo's back, watching that single next step.

The one the whole world had turned its eyes toward had come to an entirely different place.

Carousel music reached his ear like the thin edge of a dream. It was a weekday afternoon, and still the amusement park was full of laughter. The sunlight was warm. People walked with happy faces, each of them lost in a small joy of their own.

But I stood alone inside all of that scenery, in a different hour.

I looked at the carousel. Like an old strip of film, a scene rose up—myself as a child, running with my father's hand in mine.

Father's voice was always big and solid. When I sat on those broad shoulders and looked down at the world, there was nothing in it to fear. The me of now was facing far too much of it.

I walked on, slowly. Among the bright headbands hanging at a stall, my mother's smile surfaced.

Mom set the headbands on our heads and was happy doing it. I thought that plain happiness would last forever. Her laughing face was still vivid, and the knowledge that I would never ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠see that laugh again gouged through my chest.

Before I knew it, my feet had stopped in front of a ride. Watching the great swing of the Viking ship, I heard my little sister's whimper.

The feel of her small hand clutching my sleeve was sharp and clear. Father glancing over as I soothed her. Mother's eyes, watching as if it hurt her too. But now, beside me… there was no one.

Even if I reached out, all I caught was emptiness.

I don't know how far I walked before I came to the ice cream shop. Through the happy children, I could see the table where our family had sat.

Mom's face was always gentle. Dad watched us and smiled, content. The ice cream that day had been so sweet. Now there was nothing on my tongue but bitterness.

A rough crash. I turned my head, and there were the bumper cars—children slamming into one another, grinning with everything they had.

We shouted and laughed together, and at the sight of us Mom and my sister clapped and cheered. Back then, so long as we had each other, everything was enough.

My fist clenched on its own. A hot mass rose slowly in my chest. Happy days. Ordinary days I had believed would last forever. There was a time when my family's laughter was my entire world, and I had failed to protect it.

"Hahaha—"

The laughter of passing families wrapped around me like an echo. Children laughing bright in their parents' arms. Siblings bickering, catching hands, and running. I stared, blank.

In those figures I saw the days we had lost.

"I'm sorry, Dad. I'm sorry, Mom. And… my little sister."

It was a confession that came far too late. My vision blurred. Their laughter, their hands, their voices spun round and round inside me.

If only I could return to that day, I would do anything. But even now—even with this singular power called Awakening—I still could not turn back the time that had already passed.

Before I knew it, the hour had moved on and the sun was going down. The lights of the amusement park burned brighter, and the dark inside me only thickened.

I turned to go and looked back one last time. Under those brilliant lights, it seemed as if my family were still standing there. They were waving. They were looking at me with happy smiles. Through blurred eyes I lifted my hand a little and answered. For that single moment, it felt as if I had gone back.

But I returned to reality soon enough.

Now I was only a man left alone after his family had been taken from him, living on with blood on his hands that would not wash off.

The carousel's tune receded. Walking back into the solitude, I made a vow. No matter what end my choice for them might lead to, I would not stop.

The tears I had shed for my family, and the blood I had buried for them, drove me forward again.

And now…

…It's your turn.

The ones who had shattered a family's dream. Shattered all of it. The revenge against the ones who had smashed my past—no, my present and my future along with it—was about to go on.

"Counsel's table… why is there no one…?"

At the judge's words, the girl on the victim's side trembled at the lips. The coat thrown over her middle-school uniform was worn thin, and her frail fingertips barely held the edge of the witness stand.

The courtroom was strangely still. No one moved. Only dozens of eyes rested on her—not pity, but the quiet gaze of observers watching prey.

Then a remark.

"Counsel… didn't show."

"Personal reasons, was it?"

"Cases like this, real lawyers don't take them in the first place."

The jury box. Men in suits laughed under their breath.

This courtroom was not a public forum. It was a stage the perpetrator's side had bought outright. And at its peak, even the presiding judge in his robes looked down at his papers, pressing the corner of his mouth flat to keep from smiling.

"Counsel's seat is vacant. Attorney Kim Taehyup, for the victim, has not appeared…"

He paused a beat on purpose, then went on.

"…and as a statement of just cause was submitted, this trial will proceed as scheduled."

"I object!"

The girl cried out, on the verge of tears.

"Last time… Attorney Kim said he'd definitely come. He told me to trust him…"

Somewhere in the gallery, a snicker broke loose. That laughter seemed to answer her, and the answer sent a chill down the spine.

In that moment, the girl in the witness stand began to tremble—small, at first. The trembling started at her lips and spread to the corners of her eyes, to her shoulders. Her nails dug into the desk, and not one person moved to stop her.

The judge ducked his head and turned a page. He avoided her eyes on purpose. Even he was nothing more than a supporting player on the stage. Every role had already been assigned, and this trial was a performance designed to break the victim completely.

"Order."

The judge said it as a formality, but no one grew quiet. The perpetrator's attorney rose and looked at the victim on purpose. The look was rude, and full of malice.

"Your Honor. With opposing counsel absent, the witness's statement can hardly be said to carry legal weight."

Then he turned his head and faced the girl ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠head-on.

"One child's emotional statement should not be permitted to decide a person's life."

Light applause drifted from the gallery.

Tears gathered in the victim's eyes. They were not the tears of grievance. They were despair, at a stage where everyone had conspired to destroy her.

"Why… is no one…?"

The girl's voice drifted in the empty air, so thin that the word courtroom meant nothing. This was not a court. It was a slaughterhouse wearing the name of justice. A show, scripted in advance, that mocked the truth and broke the victim down.

Enduring every gaze, the girl shut her mouth at last, so that she would not collapse. But the court declared it coldly.

"As counsel for the victim is not present, the testimony is dismissed, and we will proceed to the next item on the schedule."

A single sentence. And with that sentence, her world collapsed once more.

Beyond a glass of clear sake, tuna belly gleamed. Kim Taehyup glanced at his watch.

4:32. Right about when the trial would have just begun.

"Hyung, you sure you've got the time? Wasn't there a case?"

Park Jinsu, the junior lawyer seated across from him, asked it lightly. Kim Taehyup worked wasabi loose with his chopsticks, picked up a piece of sashimi, and laughed, sour.

"Filed the paperwork. Personal reasons. I'm not showing up."

"No way. The victim's a middle schooler, right? So the kid's just standing up there alone?"

"Who knows. Somebody's got to stand alone if they're going to learn how the world works."

Quiet laughter broke out. The lawyer in the next seat, Attorney Lee, filled a glass and chimed in.

"Classic you, hyung. I'd have been too gut-sick to sit through it."

"Which is why you're still stuck in some closet firm doing insurance adjustments."

Kim Taehyup looked at Park Jinsu for a long moment and smiled.

"I didn't go to law school to deliver justice. Kids who torch a whole career trying to save one worthless victim—pathetic."

"Still… if it's a grade-schooler or a middle schooler, it is a little pitiful."

"Jinsu."

Kim Taehyup set his chopsticks down and cut him off. His eyes were cold.

"Does pity flip a verdict? Does pity lower the rent on a law office? Does pity turn a suspended sentence into real time?"

"…"

"Money moves the world. And we're the ones who ride that current."

A brief silence. Another lawyer lifted his glass and buoyed the mood again.

"Still, hyung, that was brutal. A no-show on the actual day—that kid must've completely come apart."

"That was the idea."

"Then shouldn't you feel even worse?"

"No."

Kim Taehyup knocked the sake back in a single swallow.

"You have any idea what they paid me? It isn't the kind of money you get just for breaking one child's trust."

Under the table, his fingers moved, loud and pleased.

"Whoa!"

"Think a case like that will ever land on me?"

"I'm telling you, Attorney Kim. Your luck finally turned."

Envy, and jealous spite. These were lawyers who had thrown any notion of professional duty to the dogs.

A short silence. He lifted his chopsticks again and carefully tore into the sashimi. As the meal went on, another lawyer asked:

"Speaking of which… that business ten years back. A lot like that little kid's case, isn't it?"

"…"

"The crash that wiped the whole family out. You took the offender's money and ran."

"Heard the kid cried in court. 'You said you'd protect me'—something like that."

"Must've been a hell of a show."

Kim Taehyup smiled without a word. He lifted his glass, swirled it, and slowly opened his mouth.

"Ten years on, and it's all the same. People sell their trust. We smash it to pieces."

"Hyung, if this hits the papers, you're finished, aren't you?"

"I've already got every reporter's card. Grease the floor with money and they don't write the truth. They write that the case is closed. Whole world's like that."

Glass chimed against glass. Before their eyes, every manner of fine sashimi and the savory smell of grilled mackerel. In the mouth, the greasy taste of power.

Outside… the middle-school victim was crying. The one adult she had been waiting for—Kim Taehyup—was, in this very moment, pouring sake over that crying.

The glasses went back and forth for a long while. The scent of yuzu was just stealing over the platter of assorted sashimi.

"Come on—to Attorney Kim!"

"To—"

The pleasantly drunk men were clinking glasses again when a small thud landed. Then the commotion that followed.

"Uh… uh?!"

"Over there—aaagh!"

From down the hall, a short scream and the sound of breaking glass. And footsteps, carried through the floor like a vibration. Every eye snapped toward the door.

"What was that?"

Kim Taehyup rose and approached the paper-screen door. He had just opened it when the paper shrieked and split, and a black hand drove through.

"Wh—what?!"

Inhuman strength seized Kim Taehyup by the collar. The man who had been sitting in that chair was hauled out, body cutting through the air.

"Attorney Kim!"

"Hey—what the hell!! Who are you!! Let go!! Let go!!"

The man dragging him out ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠wore a black hood, and his hand was stained with blood. His face could not be seen, but his eyes were redder than the blood.

"S-somebody! Somebody, call—"

His colleagues got to their feet, but it was a meaningless gesture. All that remained where they had been sitting were overturned glasses and plates in disarray. Kim Taehyup and that man had already vanished without a trace.

"Aaagh! Stop!! Let—let me go!"

His body struck a concrete wall and bounced. He was dragged down the stairs, dress shoes tearing off his feet. His elbow split open. Blood welled from the scrapes raked across the back of his hand. Gasping, Kim Taehyup forced his reeling eyes up.

What he saw was the place he had abandoned. Seoul Central District Court. The seat where he was supposed to have been. The seat where he was supposed to have protected someone.

"…This can't be real."

He was still muttering, dazed and unbelieving, when he found himself at the doors of Courtroom 312.

The nameplate of the criminal division. And through the door, the judge's voice.

"In the absence of counsel for the victim, this court will now conclude the trial."

In that instant the man kicked the doors wide and strode in, still dragging him.

A stir exploded through the gallery. At the prosecution's table and on the bench, everyone lurched to their feet.

"What!"

"What is the meaning of this!"

"Stop him! Right now!"

The girl in the school uniform lifted her head and looked at him. At Kim Taehyup.

He could not have said why, but over those eyes the child from ten years ago laid itself. The strength ran out of his legs. He sank where he was, let a hollow laugh slip, and dragged in air.

That was when it happened. The man who had flung Kim Taehyup aside spoke—quiet, and perfectly clear.

A lie cannot defeat the truth. The truth merely… arrives a little late.