Sauce on Rotten Meat

Lee Gwangsu stood in the middle of the scene. The courtroom floor was steeped in a deep, clotted red, and where the screams had been cut short, the tread of the forensics team tangled with the wail of ambulance sirens.

"Chief. We've brought a witness."

A subordinate detective led a middle-school girl forward, careful with every step. Her face was bloodless, her school uniform in disarray, but her eyes alone did not waver.

Lee Gwangsu drew a breath and spoke.

"What's your name?"

The girl was silent. Her gaze stayed fixed on some point along the floor, and she gave him nothing.

"You've got to tell me your name, don't you?"

Still no answer.

"Fine. You saw something. Doesn't matter how small. Tell me whatever you remember."

She did not react, as if she had shut her ears. Lee Gwangsu let out a breath snarled with irritation and frustration and took one step closer.

"Listen. If you won't cooperate, you could be looking at legal trouble yourself. Minor or not..."

That was the moment. The girl slowly raised her head. Clear, unyielding eyes ran Lee Gwangsu through, and the force of that unexpected gaze stole the words from his mouth.

"...The law? Legal trouble?"

She had just witnessed something horrific. Even so, there was not a tremor in her voice.

"I have never once lived under the protection of your law, or of state power. It was always the perpetrators who were sheltered, and the victims who had to hold their breath."

A denunciation of state power, of the law, of society itself. It was not the way a girl spoke.

She steadied her breath. Then she went on, resolve set in every word.

"But today, for the first time, I learned something."

"...Learned what?"

Lee Gwangsu asked it as if spellbound.

Lee Gwangsu stared at the girl's face, gone cold and hard, and found his mouth stopped. A certainty settled in him: no threat, and no pressure, would break that resolve.

And then—

"Chief!"

He turned to the detective who had come running.

"The other witnesses?"

"All of them are critical. Most have lost their sight. The rest are unconscious, or in shock too severe to give a statement."

"Hah..."

Lee Gwangsu raked a hand back through his hair. However he looked at it, this was not going to be simple. In the end, he had to pull a statement out of the girl in front of him.

He was still staring at her sealed mouth when something else caught him.

What now...?

A CIA officer who had been working one side of the courtroom hurried outside. He was not the only one. Agents of China's Ministry of State Security moved just as fast, as if they had confirmed something, and like a chain reaction the officers of Russia's SVR traded a look and left the scene in a rush.

In that instant—

There's something here.

Lee Gwangsu knew it in his gut. They had found something. The thing they had been looking for.

"Goddamn it. What the hell is going on?"

He watched the foreign agents move, his gaze snarled with confusion. A tension like the hush before a storm pressed in on him. Where was the culprit headed? And what was it they knew? Lee Gwangsu lifted his radio.

"All units, this is an emergency. From this moment, we shift to maximum alert."

He ran. Grass tore underfoot, and the thin fog that had climbed the ridge broke against his body and scattered.

Over the ridgeline. ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Toward one place.

Lee Haedong.

That name, and what remained of the man, burned through his whole body. He remembered. The words he had spat. The faces he had turned away from. The wreckage of lives he had torn apart came crushing back against his ears.

A trial that nodded along with the perpetrator and, without a word, forced silence on the victim. He had been a judge—the one man in that courtroom who ought to have been fairest, and most righteous—and still he forgot his duty and bore down on a ten-year-old whose own attorney had refused to defend him.

He roared at a child who might have wept at a touch. He told a child grieving his family not to cry. He coldly rejected testimony that appealed to feeling, declaring it had no legal force, and he denied everything that happened in that trial.

The hand that held his gavel did not strike for justice. It struck for hypocrisy.

Some people say it. That all things return to what is right. That evil, in the end, is made to fall. When he was young, he had believed those words. Later, he understood. The world does not flow by principle, or by the proper way of things.

A judge who ignored a ten-year-old victim and took the side of a perpetrator clutching money and power. That man now sat atop a still greater power, under the name of Minister of Justice. Where, in any of this, was the return to righteousness? Where was the good, and where was the evil? There was no way to name him except this: a monster wrapped in the title of justice's guardian.

And tonight, the bastard was holding a special gathering. Coming across that information had been chance. No—it had been inevitable. Park Changgi, judged in the courtroom only moments ago. From that man's memories, he had heard of today's meeting. A secret gathering that only junior judges, prosecutors, and men of their kind could attend. A villa on the deserted outskirts. ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠A place the law could not reach. The abyss of a hell where a justice that belonged only to them drifted in the empty air.

Nothing had changed. The world had not judged him in his place. So he went—into the deep place where the man believed no one would come. Toward their kingdom.

The night was deep. Here, though, it was always day.

Inside the lit villa, beneath the warm glow of a chandelier, aristocrats who had shed their robes of office loosened their ties and let their laughter spill through that wide, secret room. Champagne, whiskey, and vodka stood in rows across the tables. They knocked their glasses together, stroked the thighs of the young women pressed against their sides, and laughed, and talked, and mocked the world.

The women were nearly undressed. More than twenty years younger—young enough, truly, to be their daughters. College students, aspiring models, graduates of broadcasting academies, every one of them vetted and sent in on someone's recommendation. They were doing all they could, selling their bodies to seize the riches glittering right in front of them.

The hall was loud with it. Then someone shouted.

"The Minister of Justice has a word for us!"

In an instant, the noisy room composed itself. Men who had been lost in their pleasures lifted their heads.

Lee Haedong, king of this seat—no, of this kingdom—rose slowly from his place. He gave his brandy a light swirl and looked down on the gathering with steady, solid eyes. Chief ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠prosecutors. Presiding judges of the High Court. Heads of the great regional law firms. And, farther out, the connections of chaebol houses and the political brokers. Every one of them a vassal of this kingdom.

A satisfied smile on his lips, he began.

"We are the chosen."

The air grew light. Already knowing exactly what they were about to hear, the aristocrats lifted the corners of their mouths.

He lifted a hand, lightly, and the sound of breathing in the room thinned. Lee Haedong raised his glass and spoke without hurry.

"A politician? One prosecutor, and it is finished."

"A chaebol? One judge, and they go quiet."

And then the line they had all been waiting for—the king's sentence—fell from his mouth.

"We stand above the world. Emperors who need no king, no god, and no constitution."

"The moment we write a verdict, that becomes the truth. Evidence? Circumstance? Public opinion? We don't need them. The moment we carve the letters, everything is decided."

The glass in his hand rose, higher and higher.

"If we write it so, someone lives, and someone vanishes."

The quiet room began to stir again. Glasses went up. Cries of admiration and applause spilled through the hall. The monsters of the legal world, men who had made themselves gods of the verdict, nodded their heads.

And at the last, Lee Haedong thrust his glass as high as it would go and shouted.

"Cheers!"

Glasses struck as one. This was their kingdom. A solid castle raised on the rampart called the law.

But now—

The impact shook the room. That solid castle, the rampart of law that had boasted a hundred years of history, permitted a stranger's intrusion for the first time.

"...!"

The brows of the castle's king, Lee Haedong, twitched.

"Who dares...?"

He looked up. The glass he had been lifting at his leisure stopped in the air. In the shattered doorway, through a cloud of dust, a man was standing. Black clothes. A cold gaze.

In that moment Lee Haedong knew. And because he knew—

"Ha. Yes. So it's you. Han Seungwoo."

A smile touched the edge of his lips. It was closer to welcome than to surprise.

"The famous terrorist, gracing our villa in person."

At his words, the judges, prosecutors, and law-firm heads around him let a thin laugh slip through their tension. They had the certainty, and the leisure, of men standing inside an impregnable rampart called the law.

Lee Haedong looked the man over slowly, from head to foot, and spoke as if sneering.

"Charging in here all alone. But this is where you end."

He lifted a hand, lightly. Like a king's signal.

"Security!"

With the signal, the windows shattered all at once. From every side, men in black combat gear appeared in a line. Their equipment and their movement were not those of ordinary bodyguards. A fully armed counterterrorism unit of the Republic of Korea—men who existed to protect the people, moving like private soldiers under the Defense Ministry's tacit permission.

In a breath, the villa was perfectly surrounded, inside and out. Bolts snapped home. Every muzzle swung toward the man, and a triumphant smile spread across Lee Haedong's face.

"I don't know how the others went down, but I'm different. I'm the Minister of Justice. The law is me."

His voice climbed higher.

"What did you think filth like you could do to me?"

"Kill a few gangsters and you thought you could take me? Wake up to reality, you insane murderer!"

Knights to guard the kingdom. Lee Haedong was certain that force would protect him.

And then—

Han Seungwoo drew something from inside his coat. Two blades. No—too shameful to call blades. Cheap kitchen knives, the kind you would see on a supermarket shelf.

"Ha ha ha ha!"

"What is that?"

"Kitchen knives? He's going to take on a special-forces unit with those?"

The villa filled with laughter. Even the judges and prosecutors around them began pointing at the man and jeering. Lee Haedong snorted and shrugged.

"Just die already, you filthy murderer!"

But before the words had even finished—

"You..."

A voice began to spill out, low enough to raise the hair, with no swell of feeling in it at all.

"...swore an oath to protect the people."

The voice was low and cold. Anger was in it, but nothing raised, nothing hot. He spoke as if he were simply stating a fact.

"You were trained on their taxes. You exist for the people."

"Devotion. Duty. Justice. You dressed yourselves up in words like those."

His eyes fixed, exactly, on one operator who had a gun trained on him.

"So who are you protecting now?"

"The Minister of Justice? No. A man of power who swung verdicts around like toys. A bastard who spent this country like his private property."

"Where are the people? Are those people here?"

Silence.

"Why did you become the minister's private soldiers? I'm asking why you're in uniform, guns in your hands, stuck to a monster's back."

My gaze did not waver by a hair, and it ran them through the chest. But—

No one answered. They did not even shake. Their muzzles only came closer.

"Right. I understand."

You, too, are subject to judgment.

A heavy force flowed from the fingertips wrapped around the knives. The ability he had awakened through the child he saved while stopping an indiscriminate killing.

Cheap kitchen knives. But in my hand they awakened into weapons beyond forged steel—like truth setting its edge upon a monotonous law.

"Pattern A-3! Decoy team, advance. Encirclement team, simultaneous positions!"

At the commander's order, the counterterrorism unit moved fast. Three decoys came in from the front. They were not simply rushing. Shields up, they cut off the line of sight on entry and severed my view. At the same time—

"Secure the right-hand angle! Open three firing points!"

Left, right, and above, along the ceiling. They took the exact angles where a net would close, and a sniper team with live rounds loaded showed itself.

"Delay round—throw it!"

Something dropped to the floor in front of me. And then it began to pour out smoke.

Fine particles, too small to see, tangled the air. Breathe them in, and you black out. Close your eyes, and you die. Perfect. Truly the elite of the elite—the strategy of killing weapons trained for the state. Command, encirclement, denial of sight, simultaneous fire from every angle.

But all of it was strategy meant for human beings. I had already transcended humanity.

I closed my eyes. I held my breath. A single breath was enough.

I kicked off the earth and launched. Sight? My eyes were shut, so I could not see. And yet I felt them. Transcendent agility, a hearing honed razor-sharp, instinct—all of it shaped forms out of the dark. My eyes were closed, but as if a Mind's Eye were there, I could see everything around me, clear through.

In the instant my body left the ground, the first shots broke. Sniper rounds punched exactly into the three places where my footprints had been. But I was already gone. I turned at a speed no one could register, twisted my body, and kicked off the ceiling wall to throw myself into a rebound.

In that moment the blade moved. The muzzle of the soldier closing the net on the left was sheared away like tofu.

"Hit on the left! Team Four, casualties!"

The commander's voice climbed, but it was already useless. I turned, drove off my foot, and shifted my center. Low, skimming beneath the layer of gas, I cut from the slowest to the most dangerous, exactly. Precision that arrived in a fraction of a second. It was not strength. It was certainty.

From a blind angle at the rear, the flat of a kitchen knife drove into the temple of a soldier on the move. I did not cut him. I only struck. But the impact alone dropped him where he stood. The fallen groaned. I did not kill them.

Their sin was light. They had become the dogs of power, but most of it had been obedience to orders from above. Of course, even an order from above ought to be refused when the order is unjust. So I swung the blade of judgment with exactness—so the strength would drain out of their bodies, so they could never again fight as the henchmen of this filthy man of power.

"Flank! The flank!"

The remaining troops answered at once. Tactical shields led, and hands with pistols aimed for me from the blind angles. The body armor meant nothing. I knew the weakness in that gear. The tip of the knife went in exactly, into the gap between shield and protective suit, into the joint. A nerve block. A hand that could no longer hold a gun. They folded as if fainting.

And then the sniper, grating on the nerves. I had already read the line of the descending bullets and the source of the sound. I caught up a fallen shield and threw it, one after another. Screams broke from every side. The shields, carrying a monstrous strength, put down the snipers who had taken their positions before they could even react.

"Minister! Escape route secured. You need to pull out now..."

Lee Haedong and the legal men around him, faces gone the color of ash, made for the emergency exit. A few military officers volunteered themselves as escort and tried to guide them out. The kitchen knives in my hand punched clean through their thighs and calves. They had been driven in so hard they pinned to the floor—skewered, groaning where they stuck.

And then stillness came over the hall that had been so loud. The gas that had choked the room scattered on a wind drifting in.

I was standing ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠directly in front of them. Lee Haedong looked back, and his eyes froze in terror.

"N-no..."

Behind them were the soldiers, groaning in pain. In a corridor where only the cold traces of the fight remained, I spoke quietly.

Not the law. Not the army. In this secret kingdom where no one would come looking, there was nothing left to protect them.