The night deepened, wrapping Itaewon's narrow streets in a hush broken only by the hum of passing cars and the neon glow of late-night bars. In the Choi residence, warmth lingered in the air after dinner, the scent of galbi-jjim and soy broth still clinging to the kitchen walls.
Hana had left not long ago, her laughter with Chae-Rin fading down the hallway.
The apartment had settled into its usual quiet.
Detective Choi Hyun-Soo sat at the dining table, a tumbler of whiskey cradled in his hand. His shoulders, usually squared with the authority of years on the force, sagged beneath the weight of too many unsolved cases and too many nights chasing ghosts.
A knock sounded at the door.
Three short raps — a pattern he'd known for decades.
Without asking, he called out, "Come in."
The door opened, and Detective Kang Jae-Min stepped inside.
A man of similar age, with graying hair combed back and a lean, sharp face etched with exhaustion. His eyes — dark and steady — carried the quiet of a man accustomed to horrors.
"Hyun-Soo," Kang greeted, his voice low and rough. "Didn't mean to drop in this late."
"You never mean to," Choi said with a small smirk, gesturing to the table. "Whiskey's poured."
Kang set his coat aside, his movements stiff. The strain of recent weeks clung to him like an old wound.
They sat in silence for a moment, the weight of years and too many crime scenes hanging in the room.
Finally, Kang spoke. "Another one last night."
Choi's brow furrowed. "Where?"
"Busan outskirts. Dockside. Whole crew — wiped clean. Not a sound reported. Not a goddamn witness."
Choi let out a slow breath. "Same pattern?"
Kang nodded. "Fast. Silent. No surviving members. No calling card, no demands. No one taking credit."
He rubbed a hand down his face. "It's not like the old gang wars. This… this is something else."
Choi poured him a drink, the clink of ice the only sound between them for a long moment.
"Any leads?" Choi asked quietly.
Kang shook his head. "Some call him a ghost. Others think it's some outside crew from mainland China. Or a rogue assassin. None of the evidence matches."
He looked up, his gaze heavy. "The surviving lieutenants are holed up like rats. Even Ji-Yeon's people are running scared."
Choi grunted. "I heard. It's spreading north."
"Yeah," Kang said grimly, taking a slow sip of whiskey. "I was asked to come up and brief the Seoul department. They're worried whoever this is won't stop in Busan."
Choi leaned back in his chair, the words sinking in.
If this thing reached Seoul — his family, Chae-Rin…
"You think it's personal?" Choi asked.
Kang considered it, then nodded. "Feels like it. Not a power play. No one's claiming turf. No money moves.
After a brief pause "It's… vengeance. Cold and precise."
They both fell silent, the distant rumble of city traffic the only sound beyond their thoughts.
"By the way," Kang murmured, almost as an afterthought. "Saw a girl here earlier. Yours?"
"My daughter's friend. Good kid."
"Keep an eye on them," Kang said quietly, finishing his drink. "If this storm comes north… it won't care who's in its path."
Choi nodded, his expression hardening. "I intend to."