The Art of Breaking a Man
“...Is that even a human being anymore?”
Detective Lee Jintae lowered his binoculars, his tongue clicking against the roof of his mouth in disbelief. Park Jongsu was currently huddled on a plastic chair in front of a convenience store. Or rather, the hollow shell of what used to be Park Jongsu was there.
The skin under his eyes had sunken and turned a sickly, bruised black, as if rotting, and his unfocused pupils darted around incessantly. His hand, attempting to bring a cigarette to his lips, trembled so violently that he couldn't even manage to flick his lighter.
“He’s human. He’s just a bit sleep-deprived.”
I replied dryly, chewing on my straw. It wasn’t exactly something to brag about, but I had a certain knack for breaking people. If you asked me if that sounded like something a psychopath would say, I wouldn’t have a rebuttal. But if I were to offer an excuse, after spending ten years dealing with otherworldly beings and criminals who didn't speak my language, you learn a thing or two. Whether it’s a human or a monster, the mind is a far more fragile piece of glass than you’d think.
Tearing flesh and breaking bones is for amateurs. Torture inflicts immediate pain, but it also breeds spite. If you torture a truly vicious bastard, you only plant the seed of a “let’s die together” mentality. That’s why the real masters don’t lay a finger on the body. Instead, they target the most fundamental needs. Like sleep, for instance.
“Even so, how does a person end up like that in just three days? Did you drug him or something?”
Lee Jintae clearly couldn't fathom the sight of Park Jongsu. A thug who had seen it all had been reduced to a wreck in a mere seventy-two hours. A mere three days—the time it took for a hardened criminal from the Incheon underworld to become half-mad. Then again, he must have seen all sorts of things in his career as a detective.
“Drug? No. I told you, he just hasn’t been able to sleep.”
“Does not sleeping really do that to a person?”
“Mister, imagine someone waking you up every ten minutes for three days straight. And imagine they’re invisible.”
For humans, sleep isn’t just a rest. It’s an essential process for cleansing the brain and maintaining sanity. But what if every time you closed your eyes, a cold touch brushed your cheek, and just as you were about to drift off, the bed felt like it was crashing down? I guarantee you, no one lasts a week.
Besides, Mr. Choi was diligent. He stuck by Park Jongsu’s side twenty-four hours a day, kindly waking him up every time he tried to lose consciousness.
“That Park Jongsu guy, he was known for his grit. He was the type to snore through his sleep even when locked in a holding cell...”
“Grit or not, there’s no match for sleep deprivation.”
I rested my chin on my hand and looked down at Park Jongsu. He was currently on the boundary between reality and hallucination. Since his brain wasn't getting a moment of rest, his cognitive functions were shattering, and the hallucinations had begun. Passersby would look like ghosts, and the sound of the wind would sound like screams.
Then, Lee Jintae asked cautiously, “...Did you give that Mr. Choi any specific instructions? Like, did you tell him to turn into a terrifying shape to scare him?”
He seemed to have misunderstood, thinking in a strange direction. I shook my head.
“I just told him to harass him.”
“What? Just harass him? Can a person really end up like that just from that?”
“Just poking him, keeping him from sleeping, and staring intensely so he can feel the gaze. That’s all.”
Lee Jintae’s expression twisted strangely at my words. It looked like he thought it would have been better to just order him to beat the guy up. But there was a deeper meaning to this.
First, it was for Mr. Choi’s sake. He was a good family man at heart. If I had ordered him to commit specific acts of evil—like strangling someone or cursing them while shedding blood—it would have been no different from polluting Mr. Choi’s pure soul. Even if I didn’t pay him a salary, I was an excellent employer who cared for his staff. An employee turning evil due to work stress? We don’t have that in our company.
And second, it was a matter of efficiency. Humans are imaginative animals, and the imaginations of those who have committed sins are far richer than the average person’s. There was no reason for Mr. Choi to get his hands dirty.
“W-who’s there!”
When Mr. Choi tapped his shoulder, Park Jongsu flinched and jumped up, looking behind him. He was barefoot, having apparently sold off one of his shoes somewhere.
“F-fuck...”
He looked around, then sat back down on the chair, but his hands were still shaking violently. As you can see, if you provide a little stimulation, the guy does the rest of the work filming his own horror movie.
“Argh!”
The Park Jongsu screaming right now wasn't looking at Mr. Choi. He was looking at the schoolgirl he had killed.
“Don’t come! Don’t come near me! I’m sorry!”
Just as I had guessed, when the schoolgirls on the street turned toward the convenience store, Park Jongsu suddenly jumped up and waved his hands at thin air.
“That guy must be crazy.”
“Ugh...”
Park Jongsu sat on the ground, clutching his head, regardless of whether people were cursing him or not.
“...Isn’t he going to go truly insane? Forget a confession, he needs to go to a mental hospital.”
“Nah, he’s still doing fine for now.”
I waved my hand lightly at Lee Jintae’s worried voice. It was true—even if he wanted to go insane, he couldn't.
Mr. Choi was keeping that line perfectly. Making him just crazy enough, but not letting him go completely. It was a tightrope walk.
“Ugh!”
Well, seeing him stagger to his feet, it seemed he had reached his limit.
“Looks like he’s reached his limit. Let’s follow him.”
“...Yes.”
Park Jongsu started walking somewhere without even wearing his shoes properly, and Detective Lee Jintae and I followed him quietly.
“Is he broken? They said he was a guy who’d seen it all, but he’s nothing special.”
“......”
It was quite funny to see him wandering the streets, staggering like a broken doll.
“Time for the final blow.”
I pulled a red fan from my coat. It was an item used by the old woman, the grandmother of the Taebaeksan brass bowl.
“What is that?”
“A war trophy, you could say.”
Whoosh!
As I unfolded the fan, a chilling wind rose. Even though the minor deity was dead, the energy lingering on the object seemed to be as strong as ever.
“Mister, wait here for a second. I’ll be right back.”
“Let’s go together.”
“Mister, anyone can see you’re a cop. From here on out, it’s my field of expertise, so just watch from here.”
I left Lee Jintae behind and followed Park Jongsu into a secluded alleyway. Before long, I saw him slumped against a wall, gasping for air.
“Huff, huff...”
His world must be pitch black. There was something invisible strangling him, and nowhere to run. I silenced my footsteps and approached right in front of him. Then, I looked down at the top of his head and clicked my tongue.
“Tsk, tsk.”
At my voice, Park Jongsu’s shoulders flinched. But perhaps he didn't even have the energy to lift his head, as he just kept trembling while huddled over.
“Look at the state of a living man. You’re no different from a corpse.”
Only then did Park Jongsu slowly lift his head and look at me with unfocused eyes.
“W-who...”
Instead of answering, I tapped his shoulder with the fan.
“Isn’t it heavy? That young girl, filled with resentment, is stuck right to your shoulder.”
“...!”
Park Jongsu’s eyes widened as if they would tear.
“Wh-what... what are you talking about!”
“You know better than anyone, don’t you? That girl who died by your hands and is wandering the nine heavens. The child you killed and shoved into a cold wall is strangling you right now!”
As soon as I finished, he screamed and backed away.
But his back was against the wall.
“D-don’t bullshit! I didn’t kill her! I didn’t!”
Was he still not in his right mind? Perhaps it was the instinct of a murderer, but he instinctively denied it first.
“Do you have proof? Huh? Do you have proof that I did it!”
I smirked and signaled to Mr. Choi.
At that moment.
“Gah!”
As Mr. Choi struck his neck lightly on my cue, Park Jongsu clutched his throat, gasping for air.
“Guhhh...!”
“Proof? That hand strangling your neck is the proof.”
“S-save me! Please save me, Master!”
The guy seemed to have mistaken me for a shaman or an exorcist. Of course, that was what I was aiming for...
“Money! I’ll give you money! How much do you want? Please, just get this ghost off me! Huh? I’ll give you everything I have!”
That vulgar nature, trying to solve everything with money rather than repentance. At times like this, I miss the laws of the other world. Because there, you could cut down guys like this without hesitation.
Anyway, I kicked away the hand of the guy clinging to my feet.
“You crazy bastard. You think you’re taking travel money to the afterlife? Do you think a vengeful spirit will back off just because you offer money?”
“Th-then what do I do! I feel like I’m going to die! I can’t breathe!”
“You have to live like that forever. That’s your karma.”
I shot back at the guy who couldn't answer.
“You are in hell while alive, and you will be in hell when dead. She will never leave your side until she has chewed up all your bones and flesh.”
“Arghhh! No! I don’t want to!”
At those words, Park Jongsu clutched his head and thrashed about. It must be terrible just to imagine it. The hell of the last three days continuing for a lifetime? Death would be better.
I’d driven him far enough; now it was time to cast the bait.
“Still, shouldn't a living man have at least one way out?”
“Is, is there a way? I’ll do anything! I’ll do whatever you tell me!”
“It’s simple.”
I stared straight into his eyes and said quietly.
“Pay for your sins with the laws of this world.”
“...Yes?”
“Vengeful spirits live on resentment. She’s clinging to you because it hurts her to see you living well and eating well out here. So, if you confess your sins yourself and pay the price, the vengeful spirit will be satisfied and leave you.”
Actually, that was a lie. Because paying for your sins doesn't make a vengeful spirit disappear. But what he needed right now was the certainty that he could escape the fear.
“Go to prison and rot for the rest of your life. You have to show her that you are suffering and repenting, so she can leave without regrets.”
“Pr-prison...”
Park Jongsu’s pupils wavered. For the usual him, prison would be a place he’d hate more than death, but to him right now, prison wasn't a place of punishment. It was a place without ghosts. A place where he could sleep. A place where minimal safety was guaranteed. It was his only escape.
“Choose. Whether you’ll wither away and die while being harassed by a ghost for the rest of your life, or pay for your sins and live like a human before you go.”
I folded the fan and turned away. Then, Park Jongsu scrambled to cling to my feet.
“M-Master! Can I really be forgiven if I turn myself in?”
“Why are you asking me that? How sincerely you are repenting is for her to decide.”
Kick!
I kicked his hand away and walked out of the alleyway. Just in time, Lee Jintae, who had been secretly watching from the corner, approached.
“How did it go?”
“You saw it, didn’t you? It’s all over.”
“Can we just let that guy go?”
Lee Jintae tried to chase after Park Jongsu, who was staggering away to the other side of the alley, but I stopped him. There was no reason to chase him.
“Mr. Choi is escorting him, so you don’t have to worry about him going off-track.”
And exactly two hours later.
“Yes, this is Lee Jintae. What? A confession?”
Lee Jintae’s expression changed strangely as he took the call.
“...I understand. What’s the content of the confession? You’re keeping the murder weapon? Okay, I’m heading in right now.”
“See? I told you he’d turn himself in.”
“Huh, wow. I’m speechless.”
A moment later, after hanging up, he shook his head with a hollow laugh.
“Thank you, Kang Jinwoo. Thanks to you, I feel like a long-standing blockage has been cleared.”
“Don’t mention it.”
“I have to head to the station right now. Should I drop you off at a nearby bus stop?”
“No, go ahead.”
After finishing the conversation, Lee Jintae tried to head straight to the police station. But I had no intention of letting him go just like that. If there’s something going, there must be something coming.
“Mister, you know there’s no such thing as a free lunch in this world, right?”
“...What do you mean by that?”
Lee Jintae, who was about to get into his car, hesitated at my words.
“Give and take.”
“......”
“I helped you, so now it’s your turn.”
His face hardened as he understood what I meant.
“Even if you didn’t say it, I was planning to start investigating the ledger as soon as the Park Jongsu case was wrapped up.”
“Since you’ve already dipped your toes in, let’s go all the way. You know that unemployed guy we saw a few days ago? Even if he gets fired from his job, that person will be responsible for your retirement.”
“Haha, don’t worry about me. Whether it’s ‘The Root’ or whatever, I’ll contact you as soon as I step on their tails.”
“I’ll be counting on you.”
Watching Lee Jintae’s car drive away, I wore a satisfied smile.
“A new employee has arrived.”
As for the salary, the admin would take care of it.
“Should I buy some bungeoppang on the way?”
Just as I was about to head home with a light step.
Buzz!
My phone in my pocket vibrated briefly. I pulled it out and checked the screen, and a familiar name popped up.
[Lee Junhyeok]
He was the guy I’d been in touch with occasionally since the Damyang collaboration.
“What’s up, hyung, at this hour?”
“Oh, Jinwoo. Are you busy?”
“Why?”
“It’s nothing, but are you interested in doing a broadcast together?”
A broadcast?
I furrowed my brow.
“A collab? That’s a hassle.”
“No, it’s not an internet broadcast, it’s a cable TV show, and this will be quite helpful for you too. The appearance fee is decent, and it’ll be a sure way to promote your channel.”
I hesitated at the mention of an appearance fee. Who doesn’t like money? Besides, the timing was perfect. My first settlement was going to hit my bank account soon. The problem was how to explain this to my parents. An unemployed son suddenly earning hundreds of millions? Knowing my parents’ personalities, they’d be more worried about whether their son was involved in a crime like voice phishing or coin fraud rather than being happy.
But if it was a TV broadcast, that was a different story. For the older generation, what better guarantee of success is there than appearing on TV?
‘If I tell them it’s money earned from appearing on a broadcast, they’ll believe me.’
Easing my parents’ worries and naturally laundering the donations. This was killing two birds with one stone.
“What kind of broadcast is it?”
“They said it’s a shaman special? ‘War of the Gods’ or something like that, but it’s a program that brings in truly gifted shamans to verify them. The production team must have seen the Damyang collab, because they were pestering me to make sure I cast you.”
I had unfinished business with those guys anyway, and they were even setting the stage for me. There was no reason for me to refuse.
“Sounds fun.”
I should go on TV and do some filial piety. And maybe cause a little bit of trouble on the side.