Pitbull and Jeon Gi-hun
"Haa, damn it. Looks like another day of nothing."
Reporter O Seung-hwan drummed his fingers aimlessly against the desk and heaved a long, heavy sigh.
On the day Master Plan premiered, he had unleashed a barrage of scathing criticism in a speculative article that cast doubt on Ryu Yeon-woo's acting ability. But as the days went by, Yeon-woo's popularity and recognition as an actor only climbed higher, and that problematic piece of his became a perpetual laughingstock.
Whenever it seemed on the verge of being forgotten, community posts would resurface with screenshots of his article under the sarcastic title "The Prophetic Power of Your Average Korean Peninsula Reporter," mocking him with pure irony. He couldn't even push back.
The young actor who had gone so far as to snatch the Golden Bear at the Berlin Film Festival and was currently rewriting his career high in real time was no longer someone O Seung-hwan could afford to touch. After that, he failed his promotion review and was even overtaken in rank by a junior who had joined three years later. He had begun seriously wondering whether he should just quit.
Ding—
A new message appeared in the anonymous tip channel he had set up.
"Hmm?"
O Seung-hwan clicked it open and his eyes went wide.
"What the hell. It's Jeon Gi-hun?"
"Why? What is it?"
Rumble—
The junior reporter at the next desk rolled his office chair over with his feet. O Seung-hwan hurriedly closed the message.
"What. Get lost, you bastard."
"Come on, senior, what is it?"
Catching the unmistakable scent of a scoop, the junior hovered. O Seung-hwan's face twisted.
"Tsk. Not leaving? Don't even think about licking this. I'll cut your tongue out. These days I'm ready to bite anyone."
"Fine, fine. I'm going."
At O Seung-hwan's glare, the colleague raised both hands in surrender and rolled back to his seat. O Seung-hwan watched him go, then quietly reopened the tip-channel message.
It contained a photo of Jeon Gi-hun holding some mosaicked object, along with a message.
The instant he finished reading, O Seung-hwan's chest began to pound.
This is a free meal even if I can't eat it. I have to bite no matter what.
His fingers flew across the keyboard.
The reply came almost immediately.
O Seung-hwan read the message and crowed inwardly with delight.
In a reporter's life, cases like this sometimes appeared. The entire affair was already fully prepared; they simply wanted post-facto coverage. From a journalist's perspective, it was literally just setting a spoon on a table that had already been laid.
Hehehe. What a windfall.
Grinning from ear to ear, he typed at speed. In situations like this, the smartest move was to ask no questions and simply do exactly as instructed, promptly. Whether it was a real scoop or not could wait until he saw the attached file the anonymous tipster would send.
The moment he sent the reply, the attachment arrived. O Seung-hwan glanced around once, then quietly double-clicked the file.
Ohhh!
The second he saw it, he knew exactly what kind of case this was.
…Jackpot. Jeon Gi-hun on drugs?
Multiple clear shots showed him glancing around furtively while stuffing a plastic bag of white powder into a paper shopping bag. O Seung-hwan dumped every file onto a USB stick and shot to his feet.
No idea how long an online submission would take. And since they specifically asked for Criminal Division 3, better go in person.
As he hurried out of the office, the junior called after him.
"Senior O! Where are you going!"
O Seung-hwan didn't even pretend to hear. He strode straight past. Watching him leave, the junior shook his head.
"Damn. Must've bitten something huge. I'm jealous."
Reading the messages, Yeon-woo allowed himself a satisfied smile.
This time he had zero intention of exposing even a single hair of himself or Han Hae-un. Baeksol had invested real effort into this particular drug card; if things went sideways, they would almost certainly dig. The story had to be nothing more than a scoop-starved reporter who happened to dig into Jeon Gi-hun's tail and struck gold.
Even if O Seung-hwan went around blabbing, the contact had been made through an anonymous tip on a secure channel, so there was little real risk.
He remembered the question Hae-un had asked while they were planning.
"But Team Leader, what if they go after that reporter?"
Yeon-woo had shaken his head firmly.
"No. Those guys never touch civilians. It has nothing to do with any sense of justice. Simply put—it doesn't make money."
They were not the sort who moved on revenge or rage. Their motives were simple: Does it make money? Does it pose a long-term threat? Those two alone.
O Seung-hwan fit neither category.
The risk of eliminating a civilian inside the country far outweighs any gain from removing a reporter. Especially a journalist.
Of course, that was not the only reason he had chosen O Seung-hwan. As they continued to clash with Baeksol, there would inevitably come a time when they needed a reporter they could control directly. If they leashed him with scoops from the start and trained him gradually, "the media" could become a thoroughly useful weapon.
A little while later another message arrived from Hae-un.
In movies and dramas, a prosecutor strides in holding a search warrant and brandishes it right in front of the suspect before the investigation begins. That is pure dramatic device. In reality, a prosecutor almost never goes to the scene in person. Usually it is police officers or prosecution investigators who handle the actual search.
But Prosecutor Kwon—known as "Pitbull"—was an exception. He was standing right there on site.
One of the investigators approached and whispered in his ear.
"Prosecutor. We found syringes at the house, but there's no sign of any drugs. The suspect claims he has diabetes and keeps them for insulin injections."
Prosecutor Kwon gave a short, dry laugh.
"The repertoire is always the same."
Insulin required dedicated insulin syringes, yet drug suspects invariably offered that exact excuse.
Not at the house, huh… Then it's definitely in the car.
The tip photos had shown him removing something that looked like it came from a trunk, so the first thing they had done upon arrival was open the trunk. All they found were piles of brand-new sneakers. Even the spare-tire well held nothing but emergency tools.
"Hmm…"
While Kwon was still turning it over, the suspect himself—Jeon Gi-hun—came down to the parking garage.
"Hey, Prosecutor. I don't know what nonsense you heard, but I can't just sit still if you keep this up."
"…Can't sit still?"
Jeon Gi-hun's face was twisted, his hands trembling as he glared at Kwon.
"You turn my house into a disaster zone and treat me like some drug offender. I have people I can call too."
He knew perfectly well that the man who supplied him—Manager Ju—was a power player who could erase a mere prosecutor in an instant. He had simply been too afraid to make the first call, so he had held back until now. Watching the prosecutor and investigators show no sign of leaving even after tearing through both house and car, Jeon finally steeled himself and reached for his phone.
That was when Prosecutor Kwon strode back toward the trunk of Jeon Gi-hun's car.
"Hey, you've already searched it several times! There's nothing in there!"
Face flushed with rising fury, Jeon advanced. Kwon held out a hand and stopped him.
"Wait. This car is weird."
He carefully studied the roofline running from the roof down to the taillights and the line of the trunk itself.
"The height doesn't match."
The interior wall of the trunk sat lower than the overall body line; the two did not align.
Thump. Thump—
He rapped the upper section of the trunk with his fist.
"Bring a crowbar."
Sensing real danger, Jeon Gi-hun rushed forward in a panic.
"H-hey! Do you know how much this car costs?! If you damage it even a little, your salary won't cover it!"
Investigators grabbed him as he thrashed, desperate to keep anyone from touching the trunk. Kwon paid him no mind. He took the crowbar the investigator handed over.
From the way the man was screaming, Kwon was certain he had hit the mark. The tool was normally used to force doors open when a suspect refused to cooperate during a forced execution. He jammed the tip between the trunk lining and the body and levered hard.
Creak—
That was not a sound car interior materials ever made. It was the sound of some wooden structure breaking. With that crack, a gap opened in the upper section of the trunk and a plastic bag filled with white powder dropped out.
A safe built into the car trunk. There was probably another way to open the space, but Kwon had simply torn it open with the crowbar—and it had worked.
"Hid it well like a rat. Arrest that man."
"Yes, sir!"
The investigators moved in at once and snapped handcuffs around the wrists of the stunned Jeon Gi-hun.
"Mr. Jeon Gi-hun. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney, and if you cannot afford one, one will be appointed for you."
Looking at him with the same contempt he might reserve for a bug, Prosecutor Kwon recited the Miranda warning as he slowly approached.
"And if you cannot appoint counsel, a public defender will be appointed. Do you understand that you have these rights?"
"Y-yes?"
Jeon Gi-hun's face had gone scarlet with panic. Kwon regarded him with indifferent eyes and pointed at the smartphone still in the man's hand.
"You just answered 'yes,' right? So you understand. And go ahead—make that call. I'm really curious how your higher-ups plan to get you out of this one."
In an instant Jeon Gi-hun's face flooded with pure panic. He opened and closed his mouth like a goldfish, unable to form a single word.