The moment I confirmed that his breathing had stopped, I couldn't say a word.
The warehouse complex was unnaturally quiet.
All I could hear was the wind rattling an old iron gate in the distance, while my own breathing sounded even louder.
The man sprawled on the ground no longer moved.
The eyes that had been smiling at me just moments ago were empty.
I stood there for a long time.
My fingertips trembled.
I was afraid.
This time was truly different.
When I killed my father, I was a child.
I was a child who had lost his mother, and I could tell myself I'd struggled to survive.
I wanted to believe the second death had been an accident.
My memory cut out during the third.
Oh Sejun had drawn his knife first, I was hurt, and everything had happened in an instant.
But this time.
This time, I had followed him.
Even after seeing the address in the text, I hadn't stopped. I had gone there thinking that man might be the culprit.
And in the end, he was dead.
I looked down at my hands.
There wasn't any blood on them.
That was even stranger.
That my hands were clean after killing someone.
As if nothing had happened.
I slowly looked around.
Warehouses in the darkness.
Streetlights glowing here and there.
Trucks parked in the distance.
There was no sign of anyone.
Who had seen me?
Who had been hiding nearby?
Had the person who sent the text been here?
I couldn't be sure of anything.
There was only one thing I knew for certain.
I couldn't stay here any longer.
I backed away.
My legs wouldn't move properly.
My heart pounded like mad, and my throat was parched.
I kept looking over my shoulder.
Not because I thought he would get up again.
Because I felt like someone was watching me.
I ran.
It was nearly dawn when I got home.
The moment I closed the door, my legs gave out.
I sank down in the entryway.
My palms touched the cold floor.
Only then did I realize how badly I was trembling.
From the living room came the sound of the clock's second hand ticking.
The house was exactly as it always was.
The key dish Auntie Eunju had left on top of the shoe cabinet, the family photo hanging on the wall, Harin's half-open bedroom door.
That normalcy frightened me even more.
The fact that I—the person who had killed someone a few hours ago—was sitting inside this house now.
Had the body been found?
Or had it still not been found?
Had there been a witness?
Were there any CCTV cameras nearby?
Who knew I'd gone there?
How much had the person who sent the text seen?
Countless thoughts tore through my head.
I wanted to go back to the scene and check.
I wanted to see whether no one had really been there, whether the man was still where I'd left him, and what I might have left behind.
But I couldn't go.
Going back felt like proving for myself that I had been there.
I had already crossed a river I could never cross back over.
The thought made it hard to breathe.
Then I remembered the text.
An unfamiliar number.
A necessary evil.
An address and a time.
That person had called me there.
Sent me to that place.
They hadn't made me run into that man by chance.
They'd known he was the killer who had murdered the little girl—and seemed to know that I would recognize his eyes.
I'd fallen into a trap.
I took out my phone.
My finger stopped above the reply box.
[Who are you?]
[Who was that man?]
[Why did you send me there?]
I typed and erased, then typed and erased again.
If I texted them, they would know.
No—they already knew.
That I'd gone there.
That I'd met the man.
And that he was dead.
The moment I replied, I might be admitting my guilt with my own hands.
Then my phone rang.
I held my breath.
It was an unknown number.
The text was very short.
[Han Jiuk]
I stared blankly at those three words.
Han Jiuk.
Was that the man's name?
The name of the person I'd killed.
The name of the man who had murdered the little girl.
Or was it another piece of bait thrown out to test me?
I replied immediately.
[Did you see?]
I regretted it as soon as I hit Send.
But it was already too late.
No reply came.
That night, I couldn't fall asleep again.
The phone screen said nothing.
But the silence felt louder than any sound.
Were they watching?
Did they know what I'd done?
Or were they waiting until I fell apart on my own?
When I went to work the next day, the world was too quiet.
The police station was no different from usual.
Phones rang, the senior officers drank coffee, and someone went through the reports of calls that had come in overnight.
No one mentioned the warehouse complex.
There was no radio call about a body being found.
No order for an emergency dispatch.
As if nothing had happened.
That was even more frightening.
Someone was dead, and the world still didn't know.
The world still didn't know what I'd done.
I sorted paperwork all day.
My hands kept moving, but my mind was somewhere else.
Every time someone called my name, my heart dropped.
“Kang Minjun.”
When a senior officer called for me, I nearly dropped my pen.
“Yes?”
“Make a copy of this.”
That was all.
I took the papers and stood in front of the copier.
Listening to the machine run, I thought for the first time:
How many more moments like this would there be?
Would I have to live like this for the rest of my life, jumping every time someone called my name?
The rain began that afternoon.
At first, it was light.
Then, by the time I was getting off work, the rain had grown heavy.
I looked out the police station window.
Rainwater was washing the road clean.
Could it be?
Was it happening again?
Was the rain going to wash away my traces again?
I wanted to go back to the warehouse complex.
I wanted to check.
I wanted to see how much rain had fallen, how the scene had changed, and whether the man was still there.
But I couldn't go.
The moment I headed there, I would be no different from a culprit returning to the scene.
That fact held me back.
Four days passed.
Nothing happened during that time.
I grew more anxious.
The fact that the body hadn't been found didn't mean I was safe.
If anything, it felt like someone was deliberately dragging things out.
The unknown number never contacted me again.
I couldn't say anything to Mingyu or Uncle Taeseok, either.
For four days, I could barely eat.
Auntie Eunju asked me several times.
“Minjun, are you sick?”
“No. The field training's been a little rough.”
Lying was becoming more natural.
That frightened me.
Every night, I stared at the ceiling and repeated the same calculations.
What would happen if the body was found?
What would happen if it wasn't?
I never managed to decide which would be better.
Then, on the morning of the fourth day, the radio crackled.
Crackle.
“Body found. Near the warehouse complex on the outskirts. Appears to be male. All available units, please respond.”
My heart stopped.
When I heard the address that followed, I dropped the pen in my hand.
It was that place.
The address where I'd killed that bastard.
I climbed into the response vehicle.
I had to pretend nothing was wrong.
I had to act as if I'd never heard of the place, as if this were my first time at the scene.
But my fingertips had gone cold.
When we arrived at the scene, I knew everything.
The rain had washed it away again.
The ground between the warehouses was wet, and the dirt and dust had been crushed into the rainwater.
The forensics team moved busily, but I could tell just by looking at their faces.
There wasn't much left.
And yet one thing remained.
The item found inside the man's pocket.
A pink plastic hair clip.
Evidence believed to belong to the little girl.
My mind went blank.
Had that man really been the culprit?
Had I been right about what I'd seen in his eyes?
If so, what had I done?
Had I caught the culprit?
Or had I killed him?
No. Both.
I stood outside the police line and swallowed hard.
The people's voices faded into the distance.
Only the sound of the rain remained clear.
That's when I saw my father.
He was leaning against the warehouse wall.
The hem of his black coat was wet, and a familiar smile hung on his face.
“Well?”
He asked.
“This time wasn't an accident.”
I didn't answer.
“And yet the rain washed it all away for you again.”
My father slowly walked toward me.
“Maybe God is on your side.”
I clenched my fists.
“Or maybe the person who sent the text is your accomplice.”
His voice dropped lower.
“Whatever it is, Doyoon.”
I wanted to close my eyes.
But I couldn't.
My father stood in front of me and smiled.
“You're already becoming just like me.”
At that moment, someone placed a hand on my shoulder.
My body went rigid.
When I slowly turned my head, Kang Taeseok was standing there.
His eyes weren't on the scene. They were on me.
“You okay?”
He asked quietly.
I tried to answer.
That I was fine.
That nothing was wrong.
That I was only startled because it was my first time seeing the scene.
But no sound came out.
Uncle Taeseok's hand rested quietly on my shoulder.
It was warm.
That made it even harder to bear.
He watched me for a long time before speaking.
“Doyoon.”
I held my breath.
Then, in a very low voice, he asked:
“This really is your first time seeing this scene, right?”