What Happened at the Central Police Academy (2)
The basic principles of Point-striking Martial Scripture were rooted in the martial logic of taking advantage of an opponent’s own force.
If ordinary external martial arts stored strength in the muscles and skeleton before detonating it outward, Point-striking Martial Scripture followed a slightly different path.
It did not seek the place where power gathered, but the point where it flowed and split.
In other words, it drilled into the crossroads where force changed direction.
The moment a person exerted force, their muscles contracted, their joints locked into place, and the flow of qi and blood surged in a single direction.
At that moment, the meridians became far more sensitive than usual.
In Point-striking Martial Scripture, this was expressed like so:
“The moment force is exerted, the blood opens its own door.”
Simply put, the more power an opponent used, the deeper the strike sank in.
The martial logic of taking advantage of another’s force meant planting that force elsewhere and producing an entirely different result.
That was why, in a sense, arrest techniques were something Song Tan was all too familiar with.
“Hah...”
Kim Yeong-tae, the senior inspector who had ended up sitting on the floor, slowly поднял his head.
He looked as if he still hadn’t fully processed what had just happened.
The other trainees were no different.
“W-what?”
“Just now... what did I see?”
The massive instructor had only been grabbed by the wrist, and yet his body had flipped over in midair.
How was anyone supposed to make sense of that?
“The instructor... must’ve gone easy on him.”
At someone’s words, the heavy atmosphere that had settled over the room loosened a little.
“Yeah! Guess he didn’t want to make us do drills at night.”
“But wow, the instructor’s impressive too. He could’ve just let it go, but he really went all out like that...”
“Maybe he was trying to boost the kid’s confidence?”
“Wasn’t that a bit too much for that? It wasn’t some windmill trick, was it—he actually did a somersault...”
“What’s amazing is that he can even do that. He’s over forty, isn’t he? How’s he still that nimble?”
The frozen mood soon turned into praise for the instructor’s mercy and consideration.
No one seemed to think that Song Tan had subdued him at all.
The difference in size was too great, and no matter how strong someone was, they couldn’t possibly send another person spinning through the air like a paper doll.
At least, not according to ordinary common sense.
“Wooo! Instructor, you’re the best!”
“Thank you! We’ll work even harder from now on!”
At the trainees’ cheers, Kim Yeong-tae slowly got back to his feet.
He couldn’t quite hide the sour expression on his face.
His gaze landed on the lean trainee standing in front of him.
Song Tan... was it?
The name was unusual enough to stick in his mind at once.
But that was all. He had looked like a completely ordinary trainee, one who’d shown neither special ambition nor any remarkable traits.
And yet he had gone flying in such a disgraceful way, like a paper doll caught in the wind.
Even back when Kim Yeong-tae had competed in judo at the National Sports Festival, he had never once sprawled out like that.
What the hell was that...?
It absolutely hadn’t been luck or some fluke.
The other man had reversed his own force almost perfectly.
Kim Yeong-tae had no idea what sort of technique he had used, or how he’d used it.
“You... did you perhaps study some kind of sport?”
“No, sir. Just light gym workouts, that’s all.”
“I see...?”
Just by looking at his build, it was clear he wasn’t someone who trained in a specialized sport.
That made it even stranger. If Kim Yeong-tae wasn’t losing his mind, then what had just happened should have been impossible.
Still, it was awkward to press the matter any further.
Not in front of all the trainees cheering because they thought he had shown mercy.
“Ahem. Trainee Song Tan of the 310th class... well done. You’ve got talent for arrest techniques.”
“Thank you. But, sir... about the promise you made...”
Kim Yeong-tae nodded readily.
“There will be no night drill today. And as promised, Trainee Song Tan will be granted a special overnight leave.”
The trainees clenched their fists.
“Nice!”
“Damn, I’m jealous. Overnight leave?”
“If I’d been picked at the end too, I could’ve gone out overnight... what a waste.”
“That’s life for you—luck and timing, right? I’m just happy I got out of night training.”
And so, after that slight little mishap, the first arrest-technique class ended with everyone satisfied.
***
The dorm lights had been dimmed one level in keeping with lights-out.
Under the faint indirect glow, four people sat in a circle around a pile of snacks.
“All right, cheers.”
The four of them clinked their cans together and immediately grabbed handfuls of snacks, stuffing them into their mouths.
Crunch— crunch—
“Anyway, Tan. What the hell happened back there?”
At Daeyun’s question—the mood-maker of the room—the other two also turned to look at Song Tan.
“I just did what I was taught, and then the instructor suddenly flipped over.”
At Song Tan’s casual answer—
“See? I knew it.”
“But did that guy study acting when he was younger? That stunned expression looked completely real.”
“Anyway, thanks to our baby brother, we preserved our precious evening time. Let’s all raise a toast.”
“Sounds good! Cheers!”
“Wouldn’t it have been so much better if this were actual beer?”
After that, the conversation became a stream of trivial chatter.
Song Tan mostly stayed in the role of listener.
“I went and failed at two businesses, and then my dad told me this time if I didn’t get a job, he’d just erase me from the family registry. But the way he looked at me, it didn’t seem like he was joking. I got scared out of my mind and hurriedly started preparing for the police exam.”
Lee Seung-ho, the oldest in the room, began telling the story of his own life.
“But why police, of all things? There must’ve been plenty of other things you could’ve done.”
At Jeong Daeyun’s question, Lee Seung-ho answered without much concern.
“Did I have any credentials? Did I have anything? I wasn’t even in a position to poke at a major conglomerate. Still, I’d come from a sports college, so I figured I had the build for physical work.”
Lee Jang-won, the second oldest, nodded in agreement.
“Same for me. I used to work at a trading company, but sitting there handling paperwork was maddeningly boring. If I kept doing that job any longer, I felt like I’d just die by my own hand, so I quit and went into Noryangjin.”
As they each opened up about why they’d become police officers, Lee Seung-ho glanced sidelong at Song Tan.
“Baby brother, why did you become a cop?”
“Yeah. You’re only twenty-two, right? You could’ve gone to college, or done something else first and then become a police officer.”
“Exactly. I don’t think being a cop is a bad job, but... people’s opinion of cops these days isn’t exactly great, and to be blunt, it’s not like the pay is insane either. I’m in this because I was cornered at the edge of a cliff, but you’re in a different situation. Honestly, don’t you feel it’s a shame? Or do you have some other reason?”
Under everyone’s inquisitive gazes, Song Tan scratched his head awkwardly.
“A reason, huh... Nothing grand. I just... wanted to try truly realizing justice at least once?”
“Huh? Justice...?”
For a moment, the three of them stared at each other with blank expressions.
Then—
“Puhahaha! Wow, this kid can be hilarious out of nowhere too.”
“So you’re saying you became a cop because you wanted to be an apostle of justice?”
“At last, our baby brother is looking cute enough to be a baby brother. Up until now you’ve been acting like some old man in his fifties.”
The three of them burst into laughter and took turns thumping Song Tan on the shoulder.
Their eyes were the same kind you’d use when looking at a younger sibling who still believed in Santa.
“Still, that’s cool. A democratic police officer with a strong sense of justice.”
“It’s making me reflect on myself, honestly. I was just thinking I’d get assigned somewhere easy and coast.”
At that, Lee Seung-ho—who had a rather pessimistic temperament—gave a somewhat bitter smile.
“I’m not trying to kill the mood, but once you’re actually out in the field, things won’t flow as smoothly as you’re imagining, baby brother.”
“Yeah... I heard from a senior who came for a special lecture last time that there are all kinds of absolutely fucked-up things that happen out there and make you lose faith in humanity. You have to just stand there and listen even when some complete bastard curses at you, and you have to dodge even if they charge at you. If some lunatic starts swinging a knife, you still can’t even fire your gun once... tsk.”
“I’m already worried. I’ve got such a short temper—wonder if I’ll even be able to put up with all that.”
“Seriously, you have to be careful. There are tons of bastards out there who’ll sue you and throw a fit over overuse of force, even if all you did was one shoulder throw. Especially you, baby brother! Don’t go punching people because you got angry in the heat of youth.”
At Lee Seung-ho’s warning, the corners of Song Tan’s mouth lifted by the slightest amount.
“Don’t worry. Swinging my fists around like some brute isn’t really my style...”
Not a single person took Song Tan’s words seriously, even though they sounded at first glance like a joke.
***
After finishing his Friday schedule, Song Tan left the Central Police Academy the following morning and headed for Chungju Station.
He did so under the envious eyes of all his classmates.
“His father must be really surprised.”
They talked every evening by phone, but there was always a trace of longing for his son in Song Bong-gu’s voice.
That was why Song Tan had gone to the trouble of pushing a little hard to secure the overnight leave.
Click.
“Thank you. Drive safely.”
After getting out of the taxi, Song Tan headed straight into the station.
The platform where he waited for the train was quieter than he’d expected.
With influenza spreading nationwide, everyone wore masks and stared at their phones.
If you went out and brought home a cold for no reason, that would be nothing but a nuisance, so Song Tan tugged his black mask a little higher over his face as well.
Shortly, the train bound for Jecheon will arrive at Platform 1.
Seated on a bench, Song Tan stared absently at the bag resting on his knees before lifting his head to look down the tracks.
Three years ago, when he had told his father he was going to become a police officer.
There had definitely been a streak of impulse in that decision.
Because the thought had suddenly struck him that he wanted to fulfill, in his father’s place, the dream that had been cut short by disability.
But now he saw it differently.
The torture specialist whose methods had inflicted nightmarish suffering on others—so much so that he had earned the title of Blood Questioner.
There had been orders, and there had been his own reasons, and there had even been a plausible justification.
For justice.
To prevent greater sacrifice.
To protect the Alliance.
He had inflicted torture while muttering such empty words of justice.
At the time, he had not thought of himself as human.
He told himself that he was not the one causing the pain, but merely carrying out orders; he was only the executor, and with that self-delusion he had committed cruel atrocities without hesitation.
And so guilt hid behind the word justice, while his conscience was buried beneath the rationalization of necessary sacrifice.
Countless faces that had met their end by his own hands drifted through his mind.
The stale smell of blood, the screams that rang in his ears, the curses saturated with malice—none of it had faded.
Song Tan acknowledged that all of it was his own karma.
That was why he wanted to become a police officer. No—he had to become one.
Of course, he knew very well that even if he did, the dead would not suddenly be free of pain.
Even so, there was a selfish desire in him: to establish, even a little, the kind of chivalry he had failed to realize in his previous life, a chivalry of his own that no one could interfere with.
As he fell into deep thought while waiting for the train to Seoul, someone suddenly caught his eye.
A man in a black coat forcing his way through the crowd of people with their faces buried in their phones.
His stride was uneven, his shoulders twitched subtly, and his breathing was rough for no reason at all.
To anyone else, he would have looked like just another anxious passenger waiting for a delayed train.
That man... is dangerous.
His eyes were bloodshot, wavering without focus.
The slick, creeping killing intent seeping out from him was far too familiar.
Song Tan’s gaze naturally followed the man.
When he reached the end of the platform, the man stopped for a moment and swept his eyes around as if weighing something.
Then, as though he had made up his mind, his eyes flashed with dangerous intent.
His hand plunged into his coat, and at the same time Song Tan’s body shot forward as if it had been snapped from a bow.