Jisung's gummy smile lit up the police station as he walked through the doors, greeting his colleagues with his characteristic warmth. At twenty-one, he was one of the youngest officers on the force, but his infectious energy had already made him a favorite among his peers. The morning sunlight streamed through the station's windows, catching the brass nameplate on his desk-"Officer Han Jisung"-a reminder of the position he'd soon be leaving behind.
"Morning! Hey! Good morning!" His cheerful greetings echoed through the busy station, drawing smiles from even the most hardened veterans. Officer Kim at dispatch gave him a motherly wave, while Detective Smith looked up from his stack of case files long enough to return Jisung's bright greeting.
Despite coming from a wealthy family, Jisung had insisted on living alone in a modest villa since turning eighteen. His parents' sprawling mansion in the city's most exclusive district stood in stark contrast to his chosen home-a comfortable but simple two-bedroom unit in a quiet neighborhood. Independence meant everything to him-perhaps too much, his parents would argue. But that was Jisung: determined to forge his own path, even if it meant turning down the comforts of his family's wealth.
The familiar scent of coffee and printer ink filled the air as he collapsed into his desk chair, his well-worn leather jacket draped over the back. Hyunjin, his best friend and fellow officer, slid into the neighboring seat with his usual grace, somehow making even the simple act of sitting look like a choreographed move. "Hey bro," Hyunjin said, spinning to face him, his long hair tied back in a neat ponytail. "Ready for another day of saving the world?"
Jisung's smile faltered slightly. With only a week left before his resignation took effect, each morning felt bittersweet. After three years on the force, he'd submitted his two weeks' notice, uncertain if police work was truly his calling. The weight of human suffering, the constant exposure to society's darkest moments-it had begun to wear on him in ways he hadn't anticipated when he'd first pinned on his badge at eighteen. "As ready as I'll ever be," he replied, trying to mask the melancholy in his voice.
"Don't get all mopey on me," Hyunjin nudged him, sliding a fresh americano across the desk-their morning ritual since academy days. "Just because you're leaving doesn't mean you're getting rid of me. I'll be crashing at your place so often you'll wish you'd moved farther away. Besides, who else is going to help me with my terrible reports?"
The day passed in its usual blur of activity-desperate citizens reporting missing persons, suspects being processed, the constant hum of a city's darker side flowing through the station. Jisung handled each case with his characteristic mix of professionalism and empathy, though each tragic story seemed to reinforce his decision to leave. A mother searching for her runaway teenager. An elderly man reporting a scam that had cost him his life savings. The parade of human misery was relentless.
By seven PM, the fluorescent lights overhead had begun to hurt his eyes, and Jisung was ready to call it quits. The weight of so many others' tragedies sat heavy on his shoulders as he packed up his desk, carefully organizing the files he'd need to hand off to his replacement. Maybe leaving wasn't such a bad decision after all, though the thought of abandoning his colleagues-his second family-still twisted something in his chest.
The station's parking lot was nearly empty when he headed out, his motorcycle standing alone under the security light. After dropping Hyunjin off at home (his sister had borrowed his car, leaving him stranded and pouting in a way that made Jisung laugh despite his exhaustion), Jisung decided to grab dinner at an outdoor restaurant near his place. The warm evening air helped clear his head as he ate, though he found himself drifting into the kind of contemplative haze that often claimed him during quiet moments. The street lamps had just begun to flicker on, casting long shadows across the pavement.
It was on his way home that he heard it-a sound that made his police instincts snap to attention. A muffled cry, barely audible over the ambient noise of the night, but distinctive enough to raise the hairs on the back of his neck. Three years on the job had taught him to trust his instincts, and right now, every one of them was screaming that something was wrong.
Following the sound led him to an imposing two-story house, its upper windows illuminated and active with moving shadows. The property stood apart from its neighbors, surrounded by a well-maintained garden that spoke of wealth and privacy. In the gathering darkness, the manicured hedges cast strange, shifting shapes across the manicured lawn.
His knocks went unanswered twice before the door finally opened, revealing a butler in his thirties whose forced composure couldn't quite mask his anxiety. The man's uniform was immaculate, but his fingers fidgeted with the buttons at his wrist. "Yes?" he asked in a carefully controlled whisper, his eyes darting past Jisung to scan the street behind him.
"I heard some concerning noises," Jisung stated, his earlier fatigue replaced by sharp focus. The butler's reaction-a flash of panic, quickly suppressed-only heightened his suspicions. Years of interviewing witnesses had taught him to read these subtle signs of distress.
"Y-you must be mistaken," the butler stammered, his perfectly polished shoes shifting nervously on the marble threshold. "Nothing unusual here-"
"Sir," Jisung cut him off, his voice taking on the authority he'd developed over three years of service. His hand instinctively moved closer to his badge. "I'm a police officer. If there's something wrong here and you're covering it up, that makes you an accessory. One quick look around and I'll be on my way-unless you give me reason to come back with a warrant."
The butler's composed facade cracked like thin ice. His shoulders slumped, and when he spoke again, his voice was barely above a whisper, trembling with what might have been fear or guilt-or both. "Upstairs. Last room on the right. But please-you didn't hear it from me. They'll-" He cut himself off, swallowing hard. "Just... be careful."
Jisung nodded, his hand moving to rest on his service weapon as he climbed the stairs. The carpeted steps muffled his footfalls, but each step was still carefully placed to minimize noise as he approached the indicated door. The house was eerily quiet now, but he could feel the tension in the air, like the heaviness before a storm. Drawing his gun, he took a deep breath, then swung the door open in one swift motion, weapon raised toward whatever awaited him inside.
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