Still Smiling (2)

The phone screen flashed. The instant the alarm went off, I knew.

With Crime had posted an update.

I opened the app at once.

The video that had sent me a message before was gone. In its place, a single notice was pinned.

A snort of laughter slipped out of me.

Guidelines violation? Sure. Never short of one hell of an excuse.

Everyone else would swallow it. The video had carried a message only I could make out.

I downloaded ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the new one without wasting a second. I fired up the program and watched the waveform crawl across the screen, and my fingers trembled, just a little. It was a simple job, nothing at all, and still my heart was racing for no reason I could name.

Had they planted one this time, too? A small doubt kept circling.

I hit play.

At first there was only noise. A crackling hiss — the kind of thing an ordinary person would have written off as static.

I didn't stop. I leaned in harder.

At last, a clear voice came through.

There it is.

My breathing went rough.

Me? Not even close. It was only possible because of the photo of Oh Myeongho attached to the video.

All it meant was that the piece of shit was scared enough to hide behind a double. I hadn't known a damn thing in advance.

Even so, With Crime kept stubbornly building me up. They were overestimating me worse than I'd thought.

I'm not on that level. I couldn't begin to guess what was going on in this person's head.

I narrowed my eyes at the screen.

My fingertips itched. This one meant to drag me in, no matter what. Not as some sympathizer nodding along from the sidelines. It felt like they wanted a partner.

For a moment I dragged in a deep breath, like the air had caught in my throat.

A deal. He scatters the evidence and the names into the world, and I hand those bastards a real sentence with my curses.

From here on, not just the famous trash everybody already knew and remembered. The forgotten sons of bitches, too. This one, that one — no picking and choosing.

I shut the laptop. My heart was hammering like it had lost its mind.

I opened the Status Window at once.

Through Curse Kaleidoscope, I looked in on the daily life of Yoo Hosoon, the psychopathic serial killer of the age.

Starting with him. There would be no more death sentences that were never carried out. Not inside a prison.

The moment the curse touched him, that narrow solitary cell would become the most brutal execution ground there was.

The heart of Gangnam, Seoul. Among the forest of skyscrapers, one building stood stark and tall.

Black glass sheathed its exterior, and the sunlight struck it in a hard flash. At the very top, a logo cut in thick Roman letters stabbed at the eyes.

One of South Korea's Four Great Guilds. Lavish at a glance, and heavy with an oppressive presence that could have passed for a state institution.

Today, a grave tension hung over the conference room on the top floor.

Only three people sat at the round table. Park Jeongho, Guild Master of D.K. The President of the Korea Hunter Association. And Lee Jeongwoo, the guild member running the briefing.

The air was heavy.

Park Jeongho spoke first.

"......We used a double, and he died anyway."

One hand rested on the table, fingers tapping it, slow. It might have looked like nothing more than a habit, but sweat dampened the nape of Lee Jeongwoo's neck as he watched.

The Association President propped his chin on a rigid hand.

"The Luxury Group case settled it. This is no simple coincidence."

At that, Lee Jeongwoo nodded and opened the report.

"This incident has made it clear. Someone is out there. An Awakened. The ability looks mental...... most likely some form of control."

Park Jeongho's face twisted.

"Mental-type? Targeting a ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠man whose face you don't even know — you think that makes any sense?"

He said it like a sneer, teeth half-bared, but killing intent ran through his voice. Lee Jeongwoo shut his mouth at once.

A short silence filled the room. The Association President broke it, murmuring low.

"......Just how ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠far does this ability go?"

Lee Jeongwoo went on, careful.

"From everything so far, he seems able to use it even without much information. A name and a face. Fragmentary details. That alone. It's even estimated that there is no limit on range at all."

In that instant, the air in the conference room froze solid.

"Which means......"

"Yes."

Lee Jeongwoo's voice dropped lower still.

"It doesn't even matter whether the target is Awakened. Defense, rank — none of it seems to apply. This isn't...... a mere Awakened. It's a calamity in itself."

Park Jeongho's eyes narrowed, cold, and he leaned forward.

"So what if it's a calamity? Since when has D.K pissed itself over talk like that?"

His palm cracked down on the desk. Papers jumped, and Lee Jeongwoo flinched on reflex.

"He laid hands on one of ours. This isn't one man's fight. It's a provocation against D.K."

Rage had ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠settled in Park Jeongho's eyes.

"That bastard is not walking out of this alive."

He let out a low breath.

"......Which is why we need a special investigation team. Authorize a formal investigation at the Association level. This can't be treated as a simple individual crime. It has to be regarded as a threat to the nation."

The Association President nodded and spoke with finality.

"The special investigation team is authorized. D.K Guild's participation is authorized as well. However."

He hesitated.

"What if the investigation team itself becomes the target? It could invite even greater damage."

Silence settled over the conference room. No one was quick to answer.

Lee Jeongwoo did.

"Looking at the pattern so far, he has targeted only criminals and ex-convicts who caused a public uproar. Institutions like the Association or the guilds shouldn't face a direct threat."

Park Jeongho arched a brow.

"......Only criminals?"

"Yes. Up to now, that's been the case."

Park Jeongho sank into thought for a moment, then nodded.

"Better to add real protection on top of that. Just in case."

He twisted the corner of his mouth, sneering.

"Surely he can't control the mind of an S-rank hunter. There's no way."

He rose slowly from his seat. His solid shoulders threw a long shadow.

"I'll be joining the investigation team myself."

The air changed again.

The Guild Master declaring he would step forward in person meant one thing. D.K was going to war.

Park Jeongho's gaze glinted, cold.

There was a man with a red name tag. Yoo Hosoon. The serial killer of the age.

Take away the fact that he was locked behind iron bars, and his daily life was exceedingly peaceful. No — peaceful didn't cover it. It was more like a package stay at a little hotel.

Every morning when he opened his eyes, sunlight came in tidy through the bars where a curtain should have been. Yoo Hosoon got up, ran water into the sink, and washed. The towels were always served warm, and the toothpaste and toothbrush were replaced on schedule. Three meals arrived on the tray, always on time — hot soup, rice, a few side dishes. Set against people outside who earned a day's food and ate it the same day, this was a premium course.

Yoo Hosoon filled his stomach and turned on the TV. Even inside the narrow solitary cell, the signal came through clean. News of chaebol corruption, an idol group's comeback stage, even the morning soap.

"Aigoo, those rotten bastards."

The world kept right on turning, and from behind the bars he sat back and enjoyed the view.

Religious books stood in a row along one side of the shelf. He opened the Bible, murmured the verses under his breath, and prayed.

"Lord, forgive me my sins."

Hands folded, eyes shut — at a glance, a devout believer. The smile spreading at his mouth was grotesque. He wasn't washing his sins away. He was chewing on them. Savoring them.

When exercise time came, he stepped out into the yard. The other inmates had gathered, loud as they loosened up, but the looks turned on him were different. Even the ones who usually swaggered avoided his eyes. No one picked a fight, no matter what. Even the former gangsters bowed their heads in front of him.

When he passed, the way opened.

Those reactions were another pleasure for Yoo Hosoon. The fact that he was still alive, and still something to be feared. That alone set his heart racing.

Even the guards were different. They were openly kind.

"Looking well. Feeling good today?"

"You've been eating too much lately, haven't you? Looks like you've put on a little weight."

The tone was perfunctory, but wariness and respect were mixed into it. Polite speech, aimed at a murderer — irony itself. Yoo Hosoon enjoyed even that. The crooked pull at the corner of his mouth proved it.

But what he truly enjoyed most was something else entirely.

Close his eyes, and he went back. He followed the thread of memory to the day he killed. The victim's screams rang fresh in his ears. The sound of a skull breaking when he swung the club. The feel of blood bursting, of flesh crushing apart. The pleasure of that moment could not be replaced by anything else.

Back then, when the eyes rolled wild. Back then, when the breath was choked off. He had gone beyond every pleasure a human being could know.

The feeling of reaching climax through sex?

That was nothing but a game. The rapture he had tasted through murder was a thousand times that. Ten thousand.

No one knew. No one could understand. The overwhelming satisfaction that could only be felt by killing.

Yoo Hosoon smiled. He closed his eyes and sank into the pleasure.

That was when a conversation from the yard stabbed into his ear.

"Hey, you seen the news lately?"

"What news."

"Ex-cons have been offing themselves one after another. Every last one of 'em a violent offender."

"Oh, that. I saw it. Heard those Luxury Group bastards all died."

"They're saying it ain't just suicide. Some Awakened is taking them out."

"For real? An Awakened? Then aren't we in danger too?"

"Word is he only picks violent criminals. Especially the ones who got a slap on the wrist."

Listening, Yoo Hosoon lifted his brows. For an instant his heart dropped straight down.

Don't tell me — me too?

His heart clenched, but he whispered to himself.

No. I'm different.

He had received the highest sentence in the Republic of Korea.

Death.

He was not in the same class as the ones who had walked away with a slap on the wrist. He was a man who had taken the heaviest judgment the state could give. It simply had never been carried out.

In this country, life imprisonment was the "maximum sentence."

Yoo Hosoon would spend what remained of his life here. All he had to do was wash his sins clean and prepare to go to heaven.

A solitary cell under a guard's eye twenty-four hours a day. Meals provided, exercise time guaranteed, even his faith left intact — a sanctuary. Was there anywhere safer than this?

Yoo Hosoon folded his hands in prayer and smiled.

I am already being punished enough. The world fears me, but the Lord forgives me.

Inside the prison, that was how he justified himself.

Not a murderer. A sinner who had repented.

In his eyes, the delusion had taken root that he was already a righteous man.