Archive of Our Own

Mun wakes up to the steady beeps of monitors.

His chest feels too tight to hold a breath, every single bone brittle and frail. But he can still breathe and feel, which seems to be an improvement from before, when he had been certain he could no longer do either of those things, because—

Because I've been shot, a thought floats and circles back to him.

"Oh good, you're not dead," says a familiar, ever-gruff voice.

His partner, Kang, is slouched in a white plastic chair next to Mun's bed. His eyes are red-rimmed and tired, a telltale sign of every minute he must have spent at Mun's bedside. They're in a whitewashed hospital room—Intensive Care, Mun thinks vaguely—with monitors, flowers and get-well cards surrounding his bed.

For a long moment, he only watches IV drips and air pumps—rise and fall, rise and fall. The thought settles in, more solid and tangible now: I've been shot. And I'm not dead.

"How long—" Mun starts to ask, though the question turns into a cough.

"Two days," Kang answers, somehow managing to sound both disgruntled and relieved at once. "Getting shot trying to arrest a perp for a white-collar crime. What's this, amateur hour? That's what you get for trying to prove some rich girl's innocence."

Mun's thoughts still are muddy, slippery when he tries to unravel any given thread of thoughts. Before he can reach a more coherent thought, Kang answers Mun's unspoken question with, "She's gone."

She. Sun Bak. Sun was at the club, where Mun had gone to arrest—then he remembers. Her brother. "Joong Ki Bak?" he asks, with some effort.

There's a noticeable pause before Kang says, "Don't worry about it for now."

Mun wants to argue. He wants to know. He has to know.

But his eyelids already feel heavy with a pull of sleep. Slowly, with his partner's reassuring presence at his side, Mun gives into sleep's insistence.

Mun's parents are a couple of retired teachers who often wonder but never say out loud where they had gone wrong in life that their youngest son grew up wanting to be a cop, of all things. And their wondering has never been more evident than now, when said son is lying in a hospital room from a gaping gunshot wound in his chest.

His mother spends most of her time in the hospital trying to hide her tears. His father spends most of his time stoically consoling his crying mother. It takes Kang's many reassurances and repeated cajoling to convince his parents to return to Busan, to their family home, trusting Mun will recover just fine. Immediately after, Mun's squad members take turns camping out at his hospital room.

Officer Kim, the greenest in the squad and arguably the brightest, smuggles in snacks and office gossips. "Sunbae," Kim says seriously, gripping Mun's hand with her both hands, "please don't even think about dying. Who's going to deal with Kang Sunbae when he's throwing his daily temper tantrum? He's gotten so much worse now that you're stuck in the hospital."

Kang thwacks Kim in the head with a rolled-up tabloid magazine. "I'll show you so much worse."

Kim swivels around to face Mun triumphantly. "You see what I mean, Mun Sunbae? Seriously, he's non-stop cranky now."

Mun doesn't laugh, only because it still hurts to do so. "Stop being so mean to the rookie," Mun tells Kang, who huffs as a response, and pats Kim on the shoulder. "You just come and tell me when he's being a big old meanie, all right?"

As a reward for going through a PT session without once falling flat on his face, Kang shows up with Lieutenant Eun and the case files and lets Mun study the evidence.

"She broke out of the transfer vehicle," Lieutenant Eun says, and summarizes for him all the ensuing events that culminated in a spectacular car chase, which Mun is frankly sad to have missed.

"That thing is practically a tank, and it went right over." Kang shakes his head. "No one's seen anything like it. Who the hell is she?"

Mun thinks, distractedly, that he has been looking for an answer to that question for a long while now. He's more interested in other bits of information. "She had a plenty of chance to kill her brother."

He doesn't miss the way Lieutenant Eun and Kang exchange a glance. "She did," Lieutenant Eun concedes, matter-of-factly.

"And yet," Mun points out.

"And yet she didn't kill him, and no," Kang snaps, annoyed. "That proves exactly nothing, and you know it."

And Mun does, he does know. Which is why he needs to be out there and get back to work, but it's slow going. The doctors assures him he will get better, but warn him that the recovery will still be a long, difficult road, and his left leg will not be the same again.

Kang snorts at this. "You don't know him, docs. He will get there, trust me. He's one stubborn bastard."

Mun grins widely. "I knew you love me."

Kang responds by hitting him with a balled-up newspaper.

On his last day in the hospital, Mun wakes up to the familiar hums of cicadas coming through the open window along with a draft of wind. It's late summer, he thinks. The air is muggy, and autumn is just waiting around the corner. Soon enough, there won't be any cicadas humming in early mornings.

Even inside and confined in bed, he can feel the rain in the air, the oncoming rainstorm that would soon spell the end of summer.

With that comes the inevitable conclusion: she's gone.

He tests the thought. Sun Bak is gone. Even if her innocence could be proven, it's more than likely that he will never see her again. There's nothing tying her to Seoul now, not even revenge. She won't return.

She's gone.

That doesn't mean the promise he made shouldn't be kept. His promise to her. Justice will prevail.

It will. It has to.

Get to work, he tells himself. Get better, and get to work.

On the day he returns to work on desk duty, the Justice Department announces it's dropping all charges against Joong Ki Bak.

Not enough evidence, says his boss. Captain Jung seems to have aged a decade while Mun was recovering. The pressure the older man must be feeling from the upper echelon is etched in every deep line of his face.

In the squad bullpen, everyone hovers around Mun, forming a loose protective circle. "This is total bullshit," Kang says hotly, gripping the back of Mun's chair. "That brat shot Mun. Chaebol or not, are we letting them get away with an attempted murder of one of our own now?"

"The footage from the club went conveniently, mysteriously missing, but that doesn't disapprove other hard evidence." Even Lieutenant Eun, ever by the book and always respectful, looks angry and out of sort. "The residue on Mun's shirt shows he was shot point-blank. Sun Bak couldn't have shot him from distance. That bastard Joong Ki Bak did. Did everyone at DA's office just fall asleep?"

"And what about the previous charges?" asks Officer Kim. "Suddenly, the Securities and Fraud Division doesn't have any solid evidence anymore? Bak received probation for negligent practice. Probation. That's barely a slap on the wrist!"

No one is saying anything they don't already know. They've all heard the whispers—Joong Ki Bak has a minister in his pocket. The man's got himself a bulletproof armor and nothing's going to stick to him.

Mun knows Captain Jung should've been promoted to a section chief many years ago. He was turned down three times because he has a tendency to protect his subordinates more than to obey his superiors, and now he has two years until retirement. Two, precarious years when anything and everything could go wrong.

Like, his subordinate getting shot. Like, trying to put away a suspect against the explicit directives.

"It's fine," says Mun. It's not. It couldn't ever be, but he places a placating hand on his partner's shoulder and turns to his captain. "I'm sure you did your best, sir. If the DAs can't prosecute, our hands are tied."

Captain Jung runs a hand down his face. He doesn't look at Mun in the eye. "I'm sorry, Mun. We've let you down."

There's a silence in the room. No one meets his eyes, not even Kang.

"Well, then." Mun breaks the silence, trying for a grin and finding it, somehow, in the face of the people who care deeply for him. "I'd say it's good that it's Kang's turn to buy us a round, isn't it?"

Kang looks up and catches Mun's eyes, quick in understanding. "Hey now," Kang counters, good-natured, "Says who?"

"Me." Mun puts an arm around his partner's shoulders. "Let's go."

Everyone proceeds to get shit-faced drunk. Two buckets of cheap soju later, Kim is wailing about the failure of justice to Captain. "What kind of a world are we living in, sir?" she cries. "What kind of world lets this happen?"

"Were you born yesterday?" Kang asks. "We all knew the world was shit."

"This can't go on like this," Kim says, continuing to wail.

"We will nail that son of a bitch," says Captain Jung. "We will all be there when it happens."

"I'll bring a hammer," says Lieutenant Eun, considering all options thoughtfully.

"I'll bring nails," Kim chimes in, brightening up.

"I'll bring soju," says Kang.

"Kang Sunbae is so cheap," chides Kim. "You should at least bring some bubblies for the occasion."

"And popcorn," Kang adds, as an afterthought. "Take it or leave it."

"Well, I'll just show up with a nice big smile, then," says Mun.

Captain Jung, for the first time that night, smiles. "Welcome back, Mun."

Almost every morning, Mun runs by the Han River and listens out for the faint sound of cicadas.

He runs in loops until his breaths start to stick to his lungs. He watches the river glitter quietly under the morning sun, watches the light settles on the waves. When he thinks he could, he stretches his legs and goes through the routine moves, straining to knit his broken body back together. His left leg is still taut, muscles unyielding and struggling to support his weight for a decent kick. In no less than five moves his legs collapse under him.

"You think too much," says a voice.

Grandmaster Nam stands behind him, arms crossed behind his back, and observing the river in a leisurely fashion.

Seeing Sun's old teacher again should be unexpected, but somehow Mun finds himself utterly unsurprised. Bracing his hands against his knees to pull himself up, Mun says wryly, "So I've been told, by your protégé."

Nam turns his glance at Mun. "I have heard on the news that you were injured."

"I'm on the mend."

"Not quite all."

"No, not quite," Mun admits. "But I'm getting there."

Nam is silent for a moment, his eyes seeing more of Mun than Mun can see of himself. "Try again," Nam instructs, "and this time putting the weight back on your left side. Gently."

Mun goes through the moves and stops when Nam holds up a hand.

"Not completely useless," Nam assesses.

Mun can't help but shake his own head. "That was frighteningly bad, I know."

"Self-pity doesn't become you, Detective," says Nam, not unkindly. "Again."

Mun closes his eyes, finds his breath, and goes through the moves again.

"You'll never find her," Min Jung tells him. "Not unless she wants to be found."

Her weathered face behind the bars is, as always, serene. Mun believes her every word.

Min Jung was already in for life for the murder of her husband, but adding a prison break to her call sheet didn't make her life easier, even with Mun's testimony of her cooperation during the capture after her escape along with Sun Bak. Still, she hadn't budged once, not offering a single word of information on where Sun may have gone after her escape.

"I'm not expecting to find her," Mun tells Min Jung, and at last that manages to bring a hint of surprise to her face. "When she first came in, did she tell you anything that may help support her innocence? Anything she may not have provided the police?"

Min Jung looks at him patiently, like she's about to scold a particularly slow child. "If she had any evidence, why would she have ended up here?"

"You know who was really behind the crimes she was in for, who was behind her father's death. She must have told you." She's silent, which Mun takes as a yes. "Given that, I can think of a few reasons why she hadn't wanted to volunteer the information. Can't you?"

For a long moment, Min Jung studies him. Whatever she sees in his face changes her expression. It's not of pity, not quite. "What is it that you are really after, Detective?"

"She deserves to have her name cleared," he answers. It's the truth.

"Even if no one else expects—or wants—you to?"

"Even if no one else wants me to, yes."

"It's not going to be an easy path for you."

In unthinking moments, he thinks he can feels the mark in him. A dent in his chest. A bruise somewhere over his heart. Most likely in the shape of her fist, he thinks, rueful.

At the graveyard, he looked up at her ferocious face and thought, I would go with you anywhere you ask me to.

"I am fully aware."

Min Jung nods, slowly and regretfully. "I believe you. And I would like to help you, but she hasn't told me anything. Sun was, as always, very careful."

He hasn't expected much else, not really, but a man grasping at straws does not care which particular straw may turn up with a handhold. "I understand."

He turns to leave the interview room, only to stop when Min Jung calls out.

"Detective."

When he turns to face her again, Min Jung's eyes are eminently kind with entirely too much understanding.

"I wish you every luck with your endeavor," she tells him, solemn and sincere. "You will need it."

"Here's a thing," says Officer Kim, pointing at the screen with her pen. "Sun Bak definitely had an outside help, an expert help. At least on two separate occasions. "

Mun considers the scenarios. "During the prison break, and at the club, with the traffic system. The systems were conveniently down at both times."

"Exactly," Kim says. "Someone broke into the systems for her, led her out, and then immediately proceeded to erase every step they took."

Kang waves at the monitor dismissively. "Can you just do your computer thing and find out who it is?"

Kim is already shaking her head. "Whoever this was, they were 100% pros. They knew which vulnerabilities to explore exactly and when. Okay, sure, any hacker worth their salt, given a lot of time, could manage this eventually, but this was a quick job, and the way they cleaned up after themselves? And these codes? There're maybe a few in the world who could theoretically pull it off this seamlessly. That's way beyond me."

Yet another mystery, Mun thinks, to add to the piles that belong to Sun Bak. "Remind me exactly how you know all about this yourself?" Mun asks Kim, one eyebrow raised.

"We all have secrets, Sunbae," says Kim, all wide-eyed innocence that's fooling no one.

"Careful," says Mun with a grin. "You know cyber crime already wants you back badly. If you break the case for them during your spare time, they'll retort to underhanded tactics to get you reassigned to them."

Kim snorts. "They can try. But you're right. It is strange that Sun Bak could get some mysterious hacker friends to get her out of the prison on demand like that. She really is something else."

"Don't encourage Mun," says Kang, looking irritable. "Obviously he's got too much free time in his hands, trying to stir up the cold case and still chasing after that woman. Oi, Officer Kim, any friend of yours you could set him up with? He clearly needs a date."

"Nope, no can't do, sir."

"He's not terrible looking," Kang points out, looking like he's a sucking on a sour candy. "You sure one of your friends wouldn't be interested?"

"My friends have a better taste—and sense—than dating a lowly public servant, Kang Sunbae."

"But they're fine with their friend being a cop?" asks Kang, rather suspiciously.

"They're totally fine with it because I'm completely and comprehensively awesome," says Kim, primly.

"Wait," says Mun, interrupting them both. "I'm right here. Do I get any say in this? I don't need to be set up."

"Yeah, you do." "Yes, you totally do, Mun Sunbae."

Both Kang and Kim turn their collective glare at him, and Mun, smart enough to recognize a losing battle when he's in one, immediately shuts up.

All along, he continues his run by the Han River.

Almost every step is a negotiation between his will and the strain he feels at his chest and at his leg. His will eventually wins over, and by the time dragon flies and cosmos flowers begin to brim at the riversides, he can run five miles without completely losing his breath. It's nowhere close to where he's been, what he's used to, not just yet, but he's getting there. He can feel himself coming back, slowly being knitted back together piece by piece.

Autumn is here, he notes suddenly in one of those mornings, with signs of Chuseok Festival everywhere. He would soon be visiting his family in Busan, where he'd playing with his nieces and nephews and fending off questions on when he's going to be bringing a nice, kind girl home.

Sun Bak would not have been someone he could be expected to bring home, and not just because she was a murder suspect or because she could've kicked his ass all the way to Sunday. She would've been too rich, too chaebol, utterly unreachable for someone as ordinary as he is.

But with her, he somehow knows, that wouldn't have mattered. Nothing else would have.

He's ready to give up after seven miles, but he could almost hear Grandmaster Nam's disapproving grunt behind him, so he grits his teeth and finishes the rest of the run.

It starts around the time he returns to Seoul after Chuseok. The first time, Mun doesn't think much of it. When a purse-snatcher brandishes a knife at him on a random backstreet of Insadong, he only thinks this must be the punk's unlucky day, trying to mug a cop of all people. He throws the kid into jail, writes an incident report, and pretty much forgets about it.

It's only after the second time, involving two well-armed thugs who clearly know what they're doing, going for his jugulars at every turn before Mun breaks their arms, that he begins to take it personally. His hunch is confirmed by one of the informants that Mun is rather fond of and rather wishes not to have to use on a regular basis.

"The word out there is that there's a price on your head," the kid tells Mun, fingers unsteady holding onto his last bit of cigarette. "Some big money, so the guys who wouldn't normally go after a cop are going crazy trying to get to you." He glances at Mun, worrying his lips. "You should really watch your back."

"You finally made the big league," Kang says dismissively when the word gets out, but Mun doesn't miss that Kang signs out an extra sidearm for an active use purpose and starts to carry off duty. When Kang is not with him, every squad member takes a turn to stick to Mun's side like a freshly chewed-out gum. For the next two days, his team collectively twitches when a passerby so much as glances at Mun, and when Kang shows up next morning clearly hasn't slept a wink, Mun decides it can't go any further.

When Mun walks into the top floor of one of the largest and fanciest buildings in the middle of Seoul, uninvited and unannounced, he's shown inside the office even before showing his badge. Every piece of furniture adorning the office is polished and gleaming with money, and behind the expensive and expansive mahogany desk, sitting with a broad grin, is Joong Ki Bak.

"You're looking well, Detective Mun," says Sun's asshole, murderous brother.

"So are you," says Mun. He keeps his hands inside his jacket pockets, only because otherwise he would end up actualizing his recurring fantasy of punching Joong Ki Bak in the face.

"I was very much concerned."

"Were you."

The slimy smile on Joong Ki Bak's face remains unperturbed by the flat tone of Mun's voice. "Of course," says Bak, smoothly. "Injured so gravely in the line of duty. Such a tragedy. But you seem to be recovering very well. I am much relieved to see it."

Mun almost doesn't want to do what he's come here for. He could, hypothetically, let this play out, and see if he could catch the next would-be assassin to come at him and tie these attempts back to Joong Ki Bak, but he doubts that the bastard slippery enough to get away with shooting a cop would be that sloppy.

And at some point, if this continues on, Mun's colleagues—his friends—will get hurt.

It's an easy decision then, so Mun asks, "How long?"

"How long what?" returns Joong Ki Bak, still maintaining a thin veneer of his smile.

Mun marvels at the restraints Sun must've exercised all along, not kicking the shit out of her brother on a regular basis while growing up with him. It does explain a few things, though, truly. "How long do you think you can keep this up?" Mun asks. "Your sister had every chance to kill you. She decided not to. If you give her yet another reason to come after you now, how long do you think you'll last? You're already looking for her shadow at every corner."

The smile gradually slips from Bak's face. "You seem to overestimate the fear that my sister could install in me while severely underestimating me."

"True, you are the most gregarious example of a slimeball I've ever had the pleasure to come across, and I've met a lot, so I guess I should underestimate you at my own peril." Mun pulls his hands out of his pockets and places them on Bak's desk, leaning over to meet the man's gaze. "Go on, then. Send more people after me. Maybe I can't stop all of them before I get to you. Maybe one of them gets in a fluke shot and takes me out of the equation entirely. Let's see how your sister reacts to that. Let's see how long you can last with your sanity intact until she comes for you."

"You must've suffered some aftereffect of your injury, Detective," says Bak. "You're not making any sense here."

But the smile is entirely absent from Joong Ki Bak's face by this point, and that's more than enough for Mun. "Give it your best shot, then," says Mun, and turns on his heels.

When Mun leaves the fancy office, he vows to get himself the footage of Sun kicking the crap out of her brother in the prison visiting room and watch them on repeat at the earliest opportunity. There is a chance that living vicariously through the experience would make him feel less inclined to do the same. A slim chance, but still.

At least the visit has the intended effect. The price on Mun's head miraculously evaporates, and all his squad members and friends start to sleep better at night again, so in the end, it's worth the trip.

"And you're sure?" asks the Interpol agent on the phone, for what seems like the tenth time.

Mun studies the grainy, black and white picture on the screen and makes a show of staring at it again. "I really can't say."

"You're one of the few law enforcement officers who came into direct contact with her," says the agent, somewhat accusatory.

Fair is fair, Mun thinks, there have been many, many more law enforcement officers other than Mun who had been unfortunate enough to come into close contact with Sun Bak. It's just that there haven't been many who remained conscious after a few seconds. "I've seen her, sure, but honestly, this picture—it's really not much to go on, is it?" Mun asks, and it's entirely true. The photo hardly shows anything except a dark outline of a short-haired woman delivering what has to be a devastating kick to someone's face, and his answer is certainly plausible enough that Mun could almost tell himself he's not lying.

Except he would recognize that same tilt of the head, those familiar outlines of the shadow, anywhere, anytime.

Sun is out there somewhere, still. And judging by the Interpol's interest, she's stirring up just about the same amount of trouble she used to rake right here in Seoul. For one, helpless moment, he wishes he could see her in her elements. Just one more time.

He stares at the photo for another moment before he tells the Agent, conclusively, "I'm sorry I couldn't be of more help."

Which is, once again, not entirely untrue.

The entire station spends most of December on alert over a new gang turf war. On the day three of the stakeout, Kang's smoking habit makes its unwelcome return, which has Mun place mints all over the fleet vehicle and throw them at his partner every time Kang reaches for a cigarette.

Two hours into it, Kang pops a mint into his mouth and tells him, "My wife has a friend who's friends with a cousin who knows this girl."

Mun blinks at his partner's apparent non-sequitur. "If you start an affair, Kang, your wife will literally snap you into ten pieces. I'd have to help her hide your body and make sure she can receive your pension, you get that, right?"

"A flight attendant. A real looker. Apparently her legs go on forever."

"Okay." Mun nods sagely. "I do know a few good places to hide a body just about your size. I'll start a list."

Kang completely ignores Mun's every word and says, "It's well past time to find yourself a woman who'd put up with you and settle down. I admit it would be hard to find such a mythical creature, but you've got to start somewhere."

Mun snorts. "Haven't you heard Kim? Who would want to settle down with a lowly civil servant like a cop these days?"

"Kwon-Ho ya."

The unexpected use of his first name stops Mun short, almost as much as his partner's sober tone.

Kang doesn't take his eyes off the club they're watching as he says, "Forget about Sun Bak. They, all of them, live in a different world from us. It's like an egg and a rock. No matter how hard you throw yourself at it, you're the one that gets cracked."

Mun doesn't—can't—dispute the point. His partner is rarely wrong, and he isn't wrong here, either. Not entirely.

"And maybe you're right and she isn't some crazy mass-murderer," Kang concedes. "Maybe she's even innocent of all these fucked up cases that seem to sprout around her some reason. But it doesn't mean shit. She's still another spoiled rich woman who couldn't give two shits about you out here."

Sun is out of Mun's reach, but not for the reasons Kang imagines. At least, not just. "You don't have to worry about me," Mun manages to say brightly. It takes some effort. "You know how well I take care of myself."

Kang's grunt eloquently expresses his disbelief, as if to say that he doesn't need to stoop to bringing up Mun recently getting shot at to make his point.

Thankfully, that's when three suspicious men in black suits come out carrying out suspicious wooden crates from the club's backdoor, so Mun doesn't have to try to assuage his partner's restrained concern.

For New Year's Day, Mun goes down to Busan to his parents' place and spend a couple of days with his parents, his brother and sisters and their assortments of kids. For most of the time he's on the kids-wrangling duty, so dutifully wrangle them he does, and gets into regular snowball fights with his nieces and nephews when he's not getting his ass handed to him in Call of Duty.

Before he leaves, his mom hugs him gently. "Kwon-Ho ya," she tells him, "just try to take care of yourself."

There are ever-deepening worry lines around her eyes and mouth, and there isn't anything else he can say except: "I will do my best."

It isn't quite a lie.

It isn't.

"Where did these assholes get their hands on the fucking automatic rifles?"

Kang's yell is just loud enough to be heard above the sound of gunshots coming from behind them. It is a good question—Seoul isn't exactly Hollywood and automatic rifles that come with armor-piercing bullets don't just start to circulate the market every week, but Mun has no time to speculate. He ducks down and pushes his partner around the corner. Then they're running down long, unfamiliar corridors until they finally see a possible exit, a metal door behind boxes and crates. Mun knocks them away and tries for the doorknob. It doesn't budge.

Footsteps are coming closer, along with occasional gunshots.

Mun pulls Kang down behind the crates, knowing that it wouldn't do much to block stray bullets. Trying to peek around the corner almost gets him shot in the face, so Mun ducks down again and settles heavily beside his partner. They're cornered, the door is locked and their radio is jammed. There's no way out. Mun kicks at the door a couple of times, just to be sure. It doesn't move.

"What good is your whatever belt in Taekwondo if you can't even drop kick some door open?" Kang grumbles, and returns a careful, measured shot toward the end of the corridor where the bad men that they came to catch are spraying bullets liberally at their direction. "Okay, this isn’t getting us anywhere. What about that?"

Mun looks up at a smallish air vent above their heads that Kang is pointing at. Maybe Mun could crawl up to it, and even that's one hell of a maybe, but Kang, heavy-set and with his bad knee, isn't going to make it through that.

"I'll hold them up here," says Kang, reading his mind. "Just get us the backup."

Mun shakes his head and shoots back at the men, trying to reserve his bullets that he doesn't really have. "I'm not leaving you here."

"Goddammit, there's no point in both of us kicking the bucket. I'm your sunbae and I'm ordering you to go!"

"I'm not going to tell your wife that I left you here by yourself, so shut up."

For a second, Mun thinks Kang is about to grab him by the collar and shake him. And that's just then when the door, with a loud mechanic beep, opens magically behind them.

They both freeze and stare at the door, almost wasting a second that they don't have. Mun swears that the CCTV camera above the door has just tilted its head and its lens iris winked at him.

"Shit," says Kang. "Go, go, go!"

They stumble through the door, which closes and shuts behind them by itself.

"No respect for your senior these days," Kang mutters at him while catching his breath. Mun elbows him and they're off on a run again, and soon very gratefully intercepted by the rest of the squad coming to their rescue.

"That wasn't me, Mun Sunbae," says Officer Kim later, when Mun thanks her profusely for getting the door open for them just in time. "I wasn't even on coms because we were busy trying to get to your position!"

"Then what was it, some freak malfunction?" Kang asks, clearly not believing it.

After the arrests have been made, Kim goes through the perp's system with a fine-tooth comb, and finds hints of carefully hacked records—and then finally a note, well buried underneath and rather enigmatically signed in English: 'Watch your back next time, 'kay? We can't always be watching your back! We've got shit to do!'

"Huh," says Kang, and Mun can't think of anything more insightful to add to that.

"The style reminds me of those hackers," says Kim, twirling a pen between her fingers. "You know, the ones who helped Sun Bak?"

Kang clears his throat and says, "Officer Kim, are you suggesting that some mysterious hackers that helped a notorious fugitive break out of our prison system helped us, of the Seoul Metropolitan Police, escape certain deaths?"

"Er, right," says Kim. "Uh, well, I'll just double-check, shall I? A malfunction is more likely. Occam's Razer and all that, you know."

Mun stares at the signed note for some time, but no answers come.

He shows up for a dinner with Kang and walks right into an ambush.

Her name is Ji Young and she's a flight attendant with Korean Air. She's twenty-seven and has two younger siblings that she's trying to support with her income, because one of them is smart enough to make it to Seoul University but her parents run a small kimbap place in Hongdae and can't afford the tuition. She has kind eyes and Kang's wife's enthusiastic approval. Throughout their dinner, she tucks a random stray hair behind her ear and tries not to smile too widely at him.

He plays with the cup in his hand and thinks back to his mother, who's always worrying over her youngest. He thinks back to what it means to be a good son that he's supposed to be. What it means to be a good partner. To be a good friend. To be all the things that he can't be if he's still thinking only of—

Ji Young's hands are soft, and there are no hard lines about her, no rigid resoluteness, that impossible strength in a thin frame that defines Sun Bak.

After dinner, they watch a sedate movie before he walks her home.

Later, he tries to remember what the movie has been about and can't recall a single line from it.

"Sir, have I been pissing you off lately?" Mun wonders aloud.

"What do you mean, lately?" asks Kang.

"Since when have you not pissed him off?" Even Lieutenant Eun decides to chime in from across the office.

"More so than usual, I mean," Mun clarifies, pointing at the file he's holding and raising an eyebrow. "Security detail? We're bodyguards now?" There's some big name film star coming to Seoul and somehow Mun's name has ended up on the list of the people tasked with the protective security details.

Captain doesn't even look up from the screen he's scowling at. "Not my idea. The brass wanted you."

"Me?"

"Yes, you. Apparently this hotshot actor asked specifically for one Detective Mun of the Seoul Metropolitan Police, so some of us also get to play bodyguards for absolutely no reason." Captain finally looks up, only to shoot him a pointed glare. "Wouldn't know anything about that, would you?"

Mun is completely baffled, but Kang twitches with a barely hidden glee at the assignment.

"How come you've never heard of him?" asks Kang.

"How come you know so much about him?" Mun counters, after Kang finally stops naming all the movies that the guy's been in.

"So Wol wouldn't shut up about the guy," mumbles Kang, referring to his teenage daughter. "She's asked for the autograph. Finally a chance for me to be a cool dad, so don't screw this up for me."

At the airport, they set up the security perimeters and finally meet up with the encourage. Mun thinks, for a brief moment, that the hotshot movie star's eyes turn saucer-wide when he sees Mun. Mun chalks it up to his imagination, but realizes how wrong he is when Lito Rodriguez runs right up to Mun and pulls him into a tight hug.

"Oh my god," Lito gushes at him, "you really are okay."

"Uh," says Mun, still frozen in the enveloping hug.

The bear hug graduates into a long, excited handshake. His boyfriend—husband?— Hernando appears at their side, one eyebrow arching up slowly.

Lito turns to Hernando and beams brightly. "Look, this is Detective Mun," says, patting Mun in the back. "He's a real good friend. We go way back."

No, we don't, Mun almost says, but he bites it back in time. The last thing he wants is getting involved in a domestic row of the protectees, and Hernando seems like a good guy. And of course, because movie stars and their friends are all uniformly eccentric, this time both Lito and Hernando decide to hug him together.

Other than such occasional bouts of eccentricity, the protection gig ends up being less of a headache than Mun's expected. Lito and his friends are a rowdy, flamboyant bunch, but their bubbly friendliness is infectious, and it's difficult not to be swept into their sunny energy. Even the issue of language—he can barely cobble together a few words in Spanish—isn't much of an issue in the end, and between most of them they piece together some decent English sentences to communicate with each other. Though, whenever Kang swears colorfully in Korean for one reason or another, Lito looks at him with a side-glance full of amusement, making Mun wonder whether the actor knows more Korean than he lets on.

Lito's movie is what truly surprises Mun, when he gets to catch a little bit of it during the big premier event while keeping watch at his post.

"I've always been alone," says Lito, his loneliness palpable on the screen. "I'm afraid I will always be alone. Because I don't know how else to be."

The line moves him in the way that few movies he's watched ever has. Mun tells Lito as much afterward.

When the mood suddenly shifts in Lito, Mun senses, rather than sees it. He's seen it a few times by then, how Lito just shifts, chameleon-like, into someone with an entirely different presence, and Mun wonders if all movie stars can switch on and off like this.

"May I ask what happened to you?" asks Lito, uncharacteristically serious. He nods at Mun's leg, at the clear sign of his limp that still hasn't quite disappeared since the gunshot.

Mun smiles a little at Lito. "Occupational hazard."

In the absence of Lito's usual buoyancy, something else seems to have rooted in him, something harder—and maybe sadder. "Detective, do you still believe that justice will prevail?"

Probably he's researching for a role, Mun tells himself. "I wouldn't be doing this job otherwise."

"No regret?" Lito asks. There's a faint, odd smile on his face. "A friend of mine wanted to know."

"Not an ounce," Mun assures him.

Something complex—something Mun can't quite read—passes on Lito's face before it settles on the usual, effervescent expression of his. "You're a good man," says Lito, with a reassuring hand on Mun's shoulder.

When their grand PR tour for the movie is over, Lito and his friends leave Seoul, but not before giving Mun another tight group hug that he's just gotten used to.

Lito, with a wide smile, tells Mun as his goodbye: "Until our paths cross once again, my friend."

Mun responds with a cheery wave and a smile, but he doesn't suppose he'll see Lito ever again.

The Interpol sends Mun another query with an attached file. This time, it's a short clip of a shadow that moves too fast for eyes to track.

"I really can't tell" ends up being his response, and Mun tells himself he's not lying, that he can't really be certain of those stark outlines, that memorable tilt of the head, the lethal moves he can recognize everywhere. That no one could be possibly sure of anything just based on such a short grainy footage.

That evening, he finds himself at the familiar cemetery and staring at the picture of Mr. Bak.

He's been reading the news about how Joong Ki Bak is running his company into ground—the company that Sun, by all rights as a loyal daughter, should've been the one to lead. Sun, who's now out there, somewhere, being chased by the Interpol for some enigmatic reason that Mun can't fathom.

He wishes her far, far away and so much more close.

Mun stares at Mr. Bak's photo once again and wonders at how much a father could damage his children.

When snow on the ground begins to melt and spring seems to be peaking around the corner to find an opportune moment to make its reappearance, a foreign military branch requires intelligence and the State Department asks Mun's squad to cooperate.

"That's not our department," says Kang. "Like, literally."

Even Lieutenant Eun seems doubtful of their new assignment. "Sir, why are we being asked to liaise with the agents affiliated some foreign military branch that we've never even heard of?"

Captain Jung spreads his arms wide. "Search me. Orders from the above. I had absolutely no say in the matter." Captain Jung gives Mun a long-suffering look, apparently convinced that somehow once again Mun is to blame here.

Mun has an unsettling feeling that Captain may not be exactly wrong. That feeling unsettles even more firmly when the liaison of this military division and his variously uniformed escorts show up at the precinct.

"If that man's actually military, I'll eat this shoe," says Kang.

Mun takes one look at the expensive cut of the suits that the supposed military liaison is wearing and his perfectly manicured white hair that wouldn’t meet any military regulations they know of, and he finds it difficult to disagree with Kang. And even more so when the first thing that the liaison guy does when he enters the bullpen is walk right up to Mun and demand in a cultured, posh English:

"Tell me what you know of Sun Bak."

Beside Mun, Kang groans. "That woman again."

The man ignores Kang entirely in favor of glaring holes into Mun's face. "Tell us where she is."

"Buddy, we'd all like to know," Kang snaps.

Mun raises a hand to stop Kang before his partner inadvertently causes an international incident. "If you came all the way here to ask us that, then I'm sorry to say you've wasted a trip," Mun says with a shrug. "We've already shared all I know with the Interpol. There hasn't been her sighting here for over half a year. She's in the wind."

The liaison studies Mun with shrewd eyes before he announces, "Then, we will interview other individuals of interest affiliated with her."

"Her only remaining relative is her brother who tried to kill her," Mun says, almost amused by the image of this military group trying to question Joong Ki Bak and his slippery ways. "Can't imagine how he'd know where she is now, but hey, if you want to talk to him, please be our guest."

"No, that would be a waste of our time," says the liaison, summarily dismissive. "There are people who have known her far better and a lot more closely—those are the ones we will question."

The look on his face makes Mun uneasy, and the man's small grin slants just a little, as if he knows exactly what Mun is thinking.

"Her martial art teacher," the liaison says, his disquieting grin still on his face, "resides in Seoul, does he not?"

Grandmaster Nam's house is still as meticulous and picturesque as the first time Mun visited the place during his initial search for Sun Bak. Mun had known perfectly well then, that while he was out in the yard talking with Grandmother Nam, she was inside the house, silently listening in on their conversation. All Mun wanted was to find her and have her returned to custody safely, and he badly wanted to convince her of his goodwill without causing unnecessary bloodshed. He wasn't and still isn't interested in any collateral damage.

Clearly, this supposed foreign military liaison doesn't share such stance.

"You will tell us where she is," the man says, eerily menacing, and takes a step toward Grandmaster Nam.

Mun has escorted them here, as requested by Captain Jung and demanded by his duty, but there is a limit to what he is willing to let happen under such demands.

"Okay, you can stop right there," says Mun, and slides between the man and Grandmaster Nam. "I was asked to extend our utmost professional courtesy, and I had every intention to do so, but whatever exceptions you think you are operating under, it does not allow you to harass a citizen of the Republic of Korea without any jurisdiction whatsoever. Back off, right now."

The liaison and his men do not back off, not that Mun has expected them to. Mun gently pushes Grandmaster Nam back and murmurs in Korean: "Sir, you should make yourself scarce right now."

"I will not be intimidated in my own house," says Grandmaster Nam, quietly furious.

"Neither will they. Look, what do you think your student would want here?" That seems to give Nam a pause, so Mun adds in a lowered voice, "I'll handle them. You should leave now."

Grandmaster concedes with a nod and disappears into the house. When a few men try to follow after him, Mun steps in front of them and blocks their path with a bright smile. "Nope, don't even think about it."

The liaison looks more than just a little irritated. "Detective, are you willing to risk a possible international incident over this trivial matter?"

"If you mean whether I'm willing to try to stop you from causing such an incident, then yes," Mun counters cheerfully, "I am more than willing. How about you?"

"You haven't seen the smallest extent of international incidents we'd be willing to risk in order to have Sun Bak in our grasp." The disquieting grin is back on the man's face again, and Mun is suddenly glad that his squad aren't here with him—these men would merrily mow down all of his colleagues on their way to Sun Bak without a second's hesitation. "How about your life, then?" the liaison asks Mun. "Tell me, Detective, are you willing to risk your life over this?"

Mun wonders, not for the first time, exactly what manner of predicament Sun Bak could be in for anyone to be this hotly after her. But then again, he's already cast his lot with her a long time ago when he's decided to believe in her. "I'm a police officer. I don't know what it means where you're from, but risking my life is my job."

"Very well, then," says the man, and he takes a step back as he motions his men forward. "If you would please relieve Detective Mun of his weapon."

Mun eyes the men as they spread around Grandmaster Nam's yard to circle him. There's thrumming in his blood, just as always before a fight, and his lips curl up at one corner, just a little. "Oh, you can certainly try."

The odds are decidedly not in his favor, but the point isn't to win the fight. All he needs to do is keep them occupied long enough to ensure that Nam escapes by the time this is over.

In that, at least, he succeeds. By the time Mun ends up on his knees from a blow to his head, well aware that he'll be blacking out any second now—he knows without a doubt that Grandmaster Nam is long gone.

"Wake up. Wake up!"

When frantic hands shake him awake, he's immediately greeted by a dull ache that seems intent on splitting his head in half and a searing pain shooting down his spine. They instantly and completely dominate all his senses that hearing the voice he's been sure he'd never hear again is immediately brushed off as an auditory hallucination.

It only makes itself known as real and tangible and not at all hallucinatory when he finally manages to blink up at the face staring down intensely at him. Even then, it's still a difficult feat, trying to make himself believe what he's seeing.

"Miss Bak," he says, numbly, just to be sure.

"Yes," Sun Bak confirms, her voice urgent and yet oddly patient. "Stay with me."

"Always," he says automatically, and means it.

"You've been drugged," she assesses, taking in his shape quite clinically. Her hands, deft and quick, undo the straps around his wrists and ankles, and she frees him from the chair he's apparently been tied to all this time.

"Steady," she says, pulling him to his feet.

He tries to obey, he really does, but his legs fold in half and crumble underneath. There's something wrong with him, he gauges, rather detachedly. His faculties refuse to follow any directions. He can't stop shivering.

He loses a moment, and in another, Sun is at his side again. She takes something out of her jacket, pulls up his shirtsleeves and shoots him full of—something, her each move precise and brooking no argument. "This should help," she says, holding him up in a sitting position and letting him lean against her.

He tries to breathe and not to shiver. His head feels heavy on her arm. "How do you know to do all this?" he asks, unthinking, even though it's really not even within the shouting distance of the many questions he's always had in mind to ask her if he were ever to see Sun Bak again in his life.

Her hands, wrapped around his shoulders, tighten gently. "A friend taught me."

"I'd love to meet some of these friends you have one day," he says, absently.

She glances sideways once. There's a little quirk of her lips, maybe even a hint of a small smile. Or maybe he's still full of drugs. The latter is more likely. "You already did."

"I what?"

"Oh, yes, you're still such a tall glass of water," she says, in a completely un-Sun like way. She freezes visibly and blanches. He thinks he imagines her muttering, 'Stop it' under her breath.

Before he can formulate any concrete thought let alone a salient question, she says, "We need to move soon. Do you think you can walk?"

They're in a small, dark room with cement walls with no windows and an imposing steel door as its only exit. He can guess that a 'no' isn't an answer he should give here. "Guess I'll have to."

She nods once and helps him up. Once on his feet, more immediate questions start to percolate in his scrambled brain, even as he has to steady himself with a hand on the wall. "Wait, who's doing this? Who's after you?"

And who would want to kidnap him? Her brother? But that's not quite right, Mun thinks. Joong Ki Bak might have influence in high places, but he couldn't possibly have the reach to get some foreign military forces involved.

Sun bites her lips once before she starts, "Detective, I know you've got no reason to trust me—"

"I'd follow you anywhere you ask me to," he tells her, entirely sincere. "You must know that by now." Her hand on his arm freezes. She doesn't look at him, but he continues anyway, "But I'm a police officer. I need to know whether any of these men would put innocent people at risk, if they intend more harms to civilians."

Sun holds her silence for a moment and doesn't quite meet his eyes. "There's a war that the world doesn't know about," she starts, hesitant and quiet. "I'm part of it. When they found out who I am, they tried to get to me through the few people that I care about."

Sun puts her hand over the doorknob and pauses.

"I thought I had no one left in Seoul who they could use to get to me," she says. She turns and faces him again. This time, she lifts her eyes to meet his. "Thank you for protecting Grandmaster Nam."

For a moment, he doesn't know what to say, and it's not just because his thoughts are still in a jumble and his legs remain unsteady. "How's he?"

"He's safe, for now. You, on the other hand," she says, opening the steel door, "are not. Let's fix that now."

Outside the door is a long, dark, gray corridor. She leads him out, silent and deadly, and seemingly aware of her every step she takes, and he follows.

After stepping over the fifth unconscious man dressed in military gears, the thought finally occurs to Mun. "Wait, was I—was I a bait?" Mun asks, suddenly horrorstruck. "You shouldn't, you can't be here. If they set this up to have you here—"

"Oh, if they really believed this would stop us, then we have no choice but to disappoint them," she says, confident and determined, and there's the stubborn tilt of her head that he'd recognize anywhere, anytime. Even now. Especially now. "Thoroughly."

They come to a fork on the road that leads to two equally dark gray corridors. She pauses for the barest second before she says, "Left."

He follows her without a question. The corridor comes to an end with another steel door that would not open of its own volition.

"Nomi," Sun says simply, and the CCTV camera above the door blinks out in a manner that seems entirely too familiar to Mun, somehow.

The door clicks open, and there's a faint smile on Sun's face, and his awestruck face, reflected on her eyes.

"Let's get you out of here, Detective Mun."

Next time he's awake, he's on a moving train.

A freighter train, he thinks dimly. He smells hay and grain around him, and feels the shudders of wheels over the uneven train tracks underneath.

He's slanted against one of the walls. The side door of the train car is halfway open, and there's Sun Bak, with her legs dangling over the edge, her back turned against him. The sun is hovering over the edge of the horizon unfolding just beyond her shoulders, and she's watching the sceneries as the train passes them by.

She's not at all fearful of tipping over. Neither is he.

There's a dull pain still firmly residing in the back of his brain, and he knows he should—he should really find out what's happening. He should try to get ahold of his squad. Kang would be going out of his mind by now. He needs to report this and make sure those men who held him can't harm anyone else on Korean soil.

There are thousands other things he should be doing. Instead, he's staring at the outline of her shape, the way the amber sunlight falls on her shoulders, and the way it leaves him entirely peaceful. How all of it feels—right.

"How about a rematch?" he asks.

She turns to him, her head angled in a silent question.

"I've learned some new moves, you know," he says, feeling feather-light. "I demand a rematch, Miss Bak. I bet you I can hold out maybe five seconds longer than before."

She huffs a laugh. It sounds light. Careless. "Once we get out of here, and once you're no longer drugged, then maybe."

She crosses the distance between them, quiet and sure-footed, and slides down next to him.

"You were somewhere else, just now," he says, knowing he's not making much sense but not caring about making sense all that much, either. "Where did you go?"

"I'm right here," she says, and her arms are once again around him. "You should get some rest."

As always, he obeys. With her head against his shoulder, he drifts back to sleep.

Mun wakes up with the scent of the ocean, the smell of his hometown he can sense even through his sleep.

"We're here," she says, her hand on his cheek.

"Busan?" he asks, head still thick in sleep, and she nods once.

When the train trails to a slow stop, Sun opens the side door and checks the perimeters before stepping out. "It's clear," she says, offering her hand to help him down.

He's rather pleased to find that he can once again stand on his feet without worrying about tripping over himself at any moment. He follows her out into the night and she stops them in one of the back alleys of the train station.

"We've lost them, and they shouldn't be able to track you," she tells Mun, "so it should be safe for you to go back to Seoul. But just in case, make sure your police friends are with you for a day or two until we resolve the situation here."

"We?"

"My friends and I," she says, her voice firm, "we will put an end to all of this. For certain, this time."

He doesn't hesitate, then. "Whatever it is, I can help. I'd like to."

She studies him for a long moment under the streetlight. He can read her face well enough to know when she's visibly steadying herself for what she's about to say.

"You're a good man," she pronounces gravely, as if it's a lethal, incurable condition. The stubborn, determined tilt of her head is back again, but this time there's something else there, too. Something pensive. "You should go marry the kind flight attendant, have adoring, sweet-faced kids. Live a happy and normal life."

Mun feels himself flinch. Flight attendant. "How did you—"

"No," she says, whirling around and waving both hands wildly in the empty air. "Not another word from any of you."

He blinks. "What—"

Her eyes flicker back to him and she flushes. "Not–not you. Never mind."

"Please," he reaches out and touches her arm, "tell me."

"You'd be a good husband." She sounds—wistful. "A thoughtful, caring father. The world needs more of them. We all need more of them."

Mun has to shut his eyes for a moment. Mr. Bak, you have so much to answer for. When he opens them again, he has to ask, with a smile that almost feels painful on his face, "Do I get any say in the matter?"  

It's her turn to close her eyes. "I don't—I didn't want to pull you into this."

"You didn't. It was me, barging into your life with both eyes open, asking you to kick my ass, remember?"

"This, what I do, it's dangerous. And before you say you understand the risk," she says, putting her hand on his chest, "you have a family. Friends. People who love you and count on you. I won't ask you to throw your life away—throw them away."

He thinks of his mother. Kang. His squad. Mun's been shot before. Mere words, mere ideas, shouldn't feel like a gaping wound. But at her seriousness, at her sincerity, all his possible answers—appealing, desperate, or begging—begin and die on his lips.

She looks at him like she knows his exact thoughts. Her hand slides away from his chest, but the wistfulness doesn't leave her face, not quite yet. "They won't come after you or anyone close to you ever again. We'll make sure of it."

There's no more time to think, then, because a black van approaches them from behind. Before he could say anything in alarm, Sun turns toward the van, expectant and unconcerned. A couple of foreigners step out of the vehicle.

"You sure about this?" says one of them in English, an American from his accent. He glances at Mun once before speaking to Sun again. "You know, you are allowed to be happy."

Sun looks exasperated. Maybe even fond. "I expected this from Riley and Kala, but you?" she answers him, incomprehensibly, in Korean.

"He's not wrong, you know," says the second man, in a thick accented English. German, if Mun were to hazard a guess.

Sun, looking appalled, directs her glare at the second man. "You too?"

The man absently scratches at his short beard and throws a defensive shrug. "Hey, the guy wants to help and we could use him, but it's your call."

The American looks uncertainly at Mun and then at Sun again. "If you're sure."

"You know I'm sure," says Sun, unwavering.

"Well, then, let's get going," says the German, with another shrug.

"Wait, just a moment," says Mun, reaching out for her just as she's turning away. He can tell she doesn't want to face him, doesn't want to let him erode her resolve. "Your brother was being protected by a minister. Last week, that minister was arrested on corruption charges. Joong Ki has no one left he can hide behind. This time, all the charges will stick. Your name will be cleared. Justice will prevail. However long it takes. It will."

He says them all, everything he's always hoped he could tell her, in a rush. She doesn't turn to him for a long moment, but then she does.

In a single move, she pulls Mun in close and kisses him.

Helpless as always, he follows her lead and kisses her back.

"Thank you," she tells him, her hands gently cupping his face. Her smile is small and heartbreaking. "For everything."

And with that, she's gone again.

Mun stands behind as he watches the van, with Sun and her friends inside it, disappear into the night.

He watches after it until the thought finally settles in him.

Sun Bak is gone.

He watches for a long time.

Life, somehow, goes back to normal.

Spring arrives so silently that Mun realizes the changing of the season only when the air he lets out is no longer foggy and white. Soon, azaleas and cherry blossoms are everywhere.

He goes for his run around the Han River one morning and pauses when he sees Grandmaster Nam standing at the riverbank, arms crossed behind his back and as leisurely as ever.

"Let's see to your form again," says Grandmaster, no hellos, no preambles, when Mun approaches him.

Mun goes through the practiced moves, as ordered. After one full routine, he stops and watches Nam assessing him with keen eyes.

"Not completely useless?" Mun supplies, palms braced against his knees to pull himself up.

"Not quite," answers Grandmaster Nam, with a small grin tugging at his lips. "But it's never too late to learn a new move or two. Try again."

With a small grin himself, Mun does.

"Where does this go?" Mun asks, lifting another box.

Min Jung does not have a lot of possessions—she's expected to spend the rest of her life in prison, she explained to him, so she's been making efforts to keep all traces of her existence intentionally small. An early parole hasn't been what she's thought would happen to her, and certainly not this soon.

Mun helps her with moving into her new apartment and finds small little things she could use to decorate her place. Out on parole, Min Jung seems sunnier, and decades younger.

Min Jung asks him, just once. "Was the path worth it for you?"

Mun gives the question the consideration it deserves, and recalls the moment on the train. The way the sun was lit in gold and yellow over her. Her light footsteps as she crosses the distance between them. Her smile at the end.

"Every moment," he tells Min Jung, and means it.

Min Jung gives his hand a gentle squeeze.

That night, Mun is back at the cemetery with a fresh set of flowers for Mr. Bak and once again wishes for better fathers in the world.

He doesn't see Ji Young again.

Mun gets to keep his promise.

Almost a year since he's been shot and exactly a month after the minister has been put behind bars, Mun gets his arrest warrant and walks into the top floor of one of the largest and fanciest buildings in the middle of Seoul.

His entire squad comes along to watch.

Kang brings popcorn and forgets soju.

Mun is given the honor of cuffing Joong Ki Bak personally, an honor which he enjoys immensely. "I'm arresting you on the suspicions of murder and attempted murders—"

"And a plethora of other misdeeds," adds Officer Kim from the side, tossing another popcorn into her mouth.

Kang throws popcorn at Joong Ki Bak as the asshole is dragged away, screaming and kicking and foaming at the mouth. "Whose turn is it to buy again?" Kang asks, already seemingly bored by the proceedings.

Everyone except Kang points at Kang.

"Can't be yet," complains Kang, his mouth hanging open comically. "You're all pulling my leg."

"Nope," says Mun, with an arm around his partner, "but on account of today being a very special and extra joyful occasion, I will personally treat you all to soju."

"I do love you," says Kang, solemnly, "you know."

Laughter tries to bubble up in Mun, and he doesn't fight it. "Oh, I do know."

Out on cases, from time to time, Mun catches CCTV cameras following him.

Every time, he waves hello.

Lito sends him a message. Things are hectic, says Lito, maybe a tiny bit crazy, even, but he and his friends are hoping to come back to Seoul again this summer. He truly hopes Mun can join them.

So does Mun.

It's summer. Cicadas have returned. Another early morning, just like any other morning, he goes for a run by the side of the Han River.

For a moment, he stops to watch the sunlight over the water, its glitters breaking over the waves, just as the city begins to wake up. And when he turns, there by the side of his road, where the land and the water meet, is Sun Bak.

No one is with her. No one follows her.

She stands next to him, and for what seems like eternity, they watch the morning sun settle over their city together.

"Thank you for clearing my name," says Sun. "For making sure that justice prevails."

"Are you," he starts, fighting a sudden lump in his throat, "are you safe now?"

"Yes," she tells him, and her voice is, as ever, strong and certain. "So is everyone else."

She turns to him, then. And there's something else there on her face, something anxious and soft.

"So now I'm free to tell you—there's something I'd very much like to tell you." She sounds strangely shy in the way she never is, but there it is again, her small, devastating smile. "And there are people who'd love to meet you, if you'd like. That is, if you'd be willing to come with me."

She looks up and offers him her hand, quiet and slow.

He takes her hand, feeling feather-light, and smiles. "Miss Bak, the answer is, has been all along, always."

END