The Old Dog's Nose

Cha Pilgu watched the entire spectacle from the newspaper’s underground archives. He had been down there on the day the Barrier rose, and on the day the Sky Screen of Truth first blazed across the heavens.

A windowless vault that never saw sunlight. The place where newspapers buried their aging reporters. For three years he had sat there sorting clippings, waiting for retirement. Fifty-three years old. Once he had been the star of the investigative team. Once.

He had sunk his teeth into a major corporation’s slush fund, only for the story to be killed at the desk. The company was an advertiser, after all. He had protested. In return they sent him to the archives. The real problem was that the punishment had not ended there.

The source who had handed him the documents had been an accountant at the firm. The man had come to Pilgu clutching a ledger, saying his conscience would not let him stay silent.

After the article was killed, the company discovered the leak. The accountant was fired, framed for embezzlement, dragged through a lawsuit, and lost his home.

Cha Pilgu had failed to protect him. He could not publish the story and he could not shield the source. The last words the man had spoken to him still echoed in his memory.

Someday. That someday had taken three years.

Afterward Pilgu drank more heavily. At that age he had learned all over again that the world did not change. And that an old reporter like him could do nothing about it.

Then, in the space of a few days, the world flipped upside down.

From the archives’ ancient monitor, Cha Pilgu had watched the sky’s broadcast. He saw the Park Sang-woo case ripped open. He saw the chairman’s son crucified in midair. He saw the dictator frame collapse. And for the first time in years he felt it again—that tingling at the tip of his nose.

The feeling an old hunting dog gets when it catches a scent it had long forgotten. The smell of something enormous drawing near. The smell of something powerful enough to overturn the world, buried deep underground.

For three years he had believed that nose was gone. Pickled in liquor, entombed in the archives, he had thought everything was finished. But the nose was still alive. It had simply had nothing worth smelling.

Now it was different. As the sky began tearing up the earth, all the buried scents rose at once. The old dog’s nose reacted like a beast gone mad.

“Pilgu, what are you doing down here again?”

The junior reporter Yuna had come down to the archives. The youngest in the city news desk and one of the few people who still brought coffee to the old man.

“Can’t you tell? I’m working.”

Cha Pilgu answered without lifting his eyes from the monitor. The screen was packed with captured footage from several days of sky broadcasts.

“You’re analyzing all of that? No one even told you to.”

“Since when do I need permission to do my job? If I did, I wouldn’t be a reporter. I’d be a civil servant.”

Yuna let out a small laugh, then peered at the screen.

“But honestly, Pilgu… don’t we reporters have nothing left to do? The sky is exposing everything. Why would we bother investigating?”

Only then did Cha Pilgu turn his head. He stared at her.

“Is that what you really think?”

“…Isn’t it?”

“Sit down. This old dog’s going to teach you something.”

Cha Pilgu pointed at the monitor.

“That sky showed us the Park Sang-woo case. Who was driving, who covered it up. Clean and simple. But Yuna, is that all there is?”

“…What?”

“The sky showed us one incident. The chairman’s son killing someone. The prosecutor burying it. But think about it.”

He dragged a chair over and sat.

“Why could that prosecutor bury it so easily? Why ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠didn’t our newspaper run the story? Why could that defense lawyer crush the victim’s family without breaking a sweat? What’s behind all of it?”

Yuna blinked.

“The sky gave us the dots. One case after another. But connecting those dots? The sky won’t do that. Who has to figure out what lies between the points and how they link together?”

“…Reporters?”

“Exactly. That’s our job.”

Cha Pilgu enlarged one of the captured images. The name of the prosecutor who had buried the Park Sang-woo case. Next to it were notes he had scribbled himself.

“This prosecutor didn’t only bury the Park case. There was another case I looked at years ago, and his name appears there too. Ten years back, a subcontractor CEO supposedly committed suicide. That one was closed as no charges. Same prosecutor.”

Yuna’s expression changed.

“Then…”

“The sky lit up Park Sang-woo. But behind that prosecutor, how many more similar cases are still buried in the dark? The ones the sky never illuminated. Digging those up is our job.”

Yuna nodded slowly. Something seemed to click behind her eyes.

“So… the sky shows us what happened, and reporters dig up the why and the how.”

“Now you’re starting to sound like a real reporter.”

Cha Pilgu grinned.

“Even if the sky reveals the truth, people forget quickly. They get shocked, they get angry, and after a few days they move on to the next scandal. But when a reporter weaves those facts into a story, everything changes.

Dots become lines. Lines become a picture. Only then do people see the structure. They realize it isn’t just one rotten apple—it’s the whole barrel. That’s when real change can happen.”

“Pilgu, that was surprisingly cool.”

“Surprisingly? Watch it, kid.”

They both laughed. Then Pilgu’s face grew serious again.

“And one more thing. The sky can’t bring back the dead. Not Park Sang-woo, not the seven months his mother carried him. But reporters can preserve their stories. Not as numbers, but as people. That’s the last thing we can still do.”

Yuna sat in one of the archive chairs and looked through the materials Pilgu had spread out. Old newspaper clippings, faded notebooks, yellowed memo pads. Everything he had organized during his three years in the basement. He had not simply been tidying.

All that time he ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠had been quietly piecing together the hidden links between buried cases, writing stories in his head that no one would ever read.

“Pilgu… you did all this by yourself?”

“Had nothing else to do. Hands were bored.”

Cha Pilgu smiled awkwardly. But Yuna understood. This was not the work of idle hands. This was a reporter who had been cut down but refused to stop being a reporter.

“But even if you write it, won’t the desk kill it again? If it touches an advertiser—”

Cha Pilgu was silent for a moment. Then he spoke slowly.

“That’s the thing. This time it’s different.”

He looked up at the ceiling of the windowless basement, as if staring at the sky somewhere beyond it.

“Before, even if I wrote the story, the moment they asked ‘Where’s the evidence?’ it was over. Sources clammed up out of fear of retaliation, evidence vanished overnight, and I became the crazy guy ranting alone. But now…”

“Now?”

“The evidence is floating in the sky. Even if sources stay silent, the truth doesn’t disappear. Even if advertisers try to pressure the desk, the sky can expose the hand that’s doing the pressing.”

For the first time in three years, Cha Pilgu’s eyes shone.

“In my entire career, I’ve never seen a playing field this favorable for reporters.”

Yuna watched him for a moment, then asked carefully.

“Pilgu… is the source from three years ago still reachable?”

Cha Pilgu’s face hardened. Yuna knew the story too. It was practically a legend in the city news department—the reporter who was exiled and the source whose life was destroyed because of it.

“…I don’t know. We lost contact a long time ago.”

“What if you tried to find him?”

“Find him for what? To put him in danger again?”

Yuna shook her head.

“No. It’s not dangerous anymore. You just said it yourself—the truth doesn’t disappear now. That source told you three years ago, didn’t he? That the truth would come out someday.”

Cha Pilgu looked at her.

“If that someday is now… shouldn’t we let him know?”

Cha Pilgu stayed silent for a long time. His throat burned. The debt he had tried to drown in alcohol for three years surged up at her words.

“…Yeah. You’re right.”

He rubbed his eyes roughly.

“This old dog had one debt left. Time to pay it.”

That night, Cha Pilgu stayed behind in the newspaper building. Not in the archives, but in the empty investigative reporting office—the desk he had been driven away from three years earlier. He sat at the dust-covered table, opened his laptop, and created a new document.

Just typing that single line made his hands tremble. It was the first proposal he had written in three years.

He opened the files. The prosecutor who buried the Park Sang-woo case. The subcontractor CEO’s suicide that came before it. The company that had commissioned the project. Its parent company. The name of that parent company.

Cha Pilgu’s hand stopped in front of the name.

Taesung Group.

The largest conglomerate in the country. The very name that had gotten him exiled to the archives three years earlier when he went after their slush funds.

All the dots were pointing to one place.

Cha Pilgu leaned back in his chair and let out a long breath. The trembling in ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠his hands had changed. It was no longer fear. It was excitement he had forgotten for a very long time.

“…So it’s you after all.”

He murmured at the name glowing on the monitor. Three years ago he had lost. He had been driven into the basement. But this time the sky was on his side.

He picked up his phone. After hesitating for a long time, he searched for an old contact. The number of the source from three years ago. A number that had surely been disconnected. Still, he pressed the call button.

The line rang. Once. Twice. Three times. Just as he was about to hang up, someone answered.

The voice was cautious. Cha Pilgu’s throat closed. He barely managed to speak.

“It’s me. Cha Pilgu. The reporter who… couldn’t keep his promise three years ago.”

The other end was silent for a long time. Then a small, trembling laugh leaked through.

“I saw it. That’s why I’m calling.”

Cha Pilgu squeezed his eyes shut.

“This time I’m going all the way. Nothing will be killed. I’ll restore your honor too. So… will you trust me one more time?”

Another long silence. Then—

After hanging up, Cha Pilgu sat alone in the empty office for a long time. His shoulders shook. The old reporter wept where no one could see him. The three-year-old debt finally had a path to repayment.

He sat down in front of the laptop again. Wiping ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠away the tears, he placed his fingers on the keyboard. The story he had written only in his head for three years could now be written for real. Without fear of it being killed. Without fear of his source being hurt.

Being a reporter meant this, he remembered after a long time. Digging up what power tried to hide and calling out the names of those who had been buried. He had become a reporter because that was cool.

Somewhere along the way he had simply forgotten that feeling. Pickled in alcohol, buried in the archives. Now, after three years, that feeling had returned. The old heart was beating again.

At the same time, in a convenience store.

Kim Jeongsang was working the night shift. In the quiet early hours with no customers, he indifferently watched the movements of an old journalist on his phone. A man who had stayed behind alone at the newspaper and was, after three years, finally writing a proposal.

He knew exactly what the journalist was digging into. And where it would lead.

Taesung Group.

Kim Jeongsang had deliberately not revealed it on the sky. If he exposed everything at once, people would remain mere spectators. He had given them the dots. Connecting them was something people had to do themselves. People like that old journalist. People like Prosecutor Seo Hajin. With their own hands, in their own places.

He opened a can of coffee.

“You got the scent right, old man.”

It was a quiet mutter. The corner of his mouth lifted, just a fraction.

The board was set. The hunt for the first major prey—Taesung Group—was about to begin. And the first signal shot of that hunt would be a trial taking place in a few days.

Ju Yeonghan’s trial.

The day the Domain of Truth would unfold inside a courtroom for the first time.

Kim Jeongsang poured water into a cup of instant noodles.

“All right, then. Let’s start with the first trial.”