Chapter Text
INCHEON, SOUTH KOREA, 0118 HRS, 2002
Jihoon burst through the rooftop door.
“Stop,” called Jihoon, skidding to a stop on the grey concrete, panting slightly from exertion. Thirty stories above the ground, the biting January wind stung like all hell. Across from him, Dokyeom — damn him and his ridiculously long legs — seemed unruffled, the stolen, cerulean gemstone he’d been clutching stowed somewhere, his gloved hands empty. Jihoon aimed his watch at his snow-white figure, its small circular sight locking onto him. “Interpol will have you on a stake for taking Lady Night.”
“I can tell. Because they sent you,” Dokyeom’s smooth, lilting tenor rang out, along with a gunshot. Jihoon instinctively flinched aside, but when he looked behind him, a single playing card had only knocked the bolt of the door home. With a sleight of hand, Dokyeom’s silvery card-gun, still smoking, vanished from his hand. His face was cloaked in moonlight and shadow. “Enjoy the show? You’re the only one who could get this far, aren’t you.”
Jihoon rolled his eyes at the dramatics, but something in him flared to life regardless at the acknowledgement — from Dokyeom, of all people. Stupid, stupid. “That cipher? Not your best work,” he said, letting some bravado slip into his voice. “That lock was cracked in minutes. Although the glitter bomb was quite spectacular.”
Dokyeom burst into a laugh, silvery and clear as a bell. “Did you see Inspector Kim? God, I think some of it got up his nose, he was sneezing a storm.”
Jihoon fought to keep his lips from quirking up. “You're a child. The task force is on their way, and it won’t be just me anymore if the gem leaves this building. This isn’t like you, Dokyeom, going after such big prey,” he said, growing serious. “Why risk pissing off the Italians?”
“I piss off everyone, detective,” the thief said. The way his voice slid over the word detective bothered Jihoon more than he wanted to admit. “Besides, things are going on that you can’t understand. It may have seemed that way, but this heist isn’t some normal, petty fun. Well, not all petty fun,” he amended. “This is bigger than both me and you.”
“Then tell me,” Jihoon challenged, narrowing his eyes. What’s got you in a bind?
“I’m not sure if I can, yet,” said Dokyeom, and there was a near-imperceptible waver in his voice that told Jihoon the man was being honest. “I want to scope out the sitch first.” Infuriatingly vague.
“Since when is the great Dokyeom ever unsure of anything?” Jihoon said, sardonic.
Dokyeom laughed. “Believe what you will,” he said. “But whether la Stella della Notte is returned tomorrow night—” the gem suddenly appeared, sparkling star-like between his gloved fingers, gone again in the span of a breath— “depends on what I find out tonight.”
Depressing a dial on his watch, Jihoon’s miniature watch-gun fired a tranquilising dart, its aim true. It expectedly bounced off the shimmering pale fabric of Dokyeom’s suit. God.
“Still trying to arrest me, Detective?” Dokyeom said, turning to crouch on the roof ledge, his body a coiled spring. “Why do you try, at this point. But that’s what I like about you.”
“Only because you make it so hard,” Jihoon growled, as the bolted doors behind them burst finally open with officers clad in the livery of the KNPA, the quiet suddenly exploding with noise and action. “There!” Jihoon shouted to them, pointing at Dokyeom. “Tranq him — quick!”
“Dokyeom!” came the familiar bugle of Inspector Kim’s voice, the man himself and his black brushlike moustache still covered with a light dusting of shimmer. “How dare you! The insolence of you to deface the force with your childish pranks! You’ve gone too far this time!”
“Oh, but I did, and it was brilliant,” the thief said smugly, his voice carrying easily across to Jihoon despite the riot of shouts surrounding them — a perk of his impeccable ventriloquy. “Good evening, gentlemen!” he announced to the rooftop. “Lovely to see you all. Rude of me, but we must part ways once more for now.”
Dokyeom swept into a theatrical bow, neatly dodging the bola net aimed at his person. “Till we meet again,” he lilted, swirling his ridiculous cape outward, moonlight catching on a sliver of a grin. His voice seemed suddenly to sound directly into Jihoon’s ear, relaying a message for him alone: “My favourite detective.” Jihoon could almost feel the phantom hiss of his breath.
As a volley of bullets shot forth, a cloud of smoke exploded, the smoke bomb suffusing everything in opaque purple.
Jihoon furrowed his eyebrows helplessly, watching the tall white figure vanish into the violet smoke and off the rooftop with all the air of an apparition, as he’d done so many times before.
“Dokyeom,” he gritted out. That pseudonym alone was ridiculous — man of many paths? More like, man of many-ways-of-pissing-Jihoon-off.
Rubbing his glasses against his blazer, Jihoon tsked, flipping his cellphone open. “Chief Inspector Choi? Dokyeom’s fled the scene.”
“Affirmative. No sight of his hang-glider. Might be disguised amongst the officers. We’ll take those present in for questioning.”
“He might also already be gone, if previous heists have indicated anything.” Jihoon began the walk back to the rooftop door as the police were marshalled and Inspector Kim began to mutter his litany of curses, dusting his coat off and sneezing as he did so.
A sigh. “Dammit, Jihoon-ssi. We’ll have words from the Italian Embassy in a few hours.”
“Occupational hazards. Besides, he’ll probably deliver the gem to our doorstep tomorrow, same old.” Dokyeom’s words rang in his head uncomfortably, but better not to mention what the thief had said till tomorrow, when literal and figurative light had been shed on this.
What was Dokyeom entangled in? He’d always been a solo act. Stealing a foreign, royal jewel — Lady Night, no less — and inciting the fury of the international community? The thief had never done anything this large-scale. The feeling of a mystery unsolved beat in his chest with restless wings.
“Let’s hope so,” Inspector Choi said. “Hell to pay otherwise.”
SEOUL, SOUTH KOREA, 2105 HRS, 1999
Like most things in Jihoon’s life, as he’d find out, it had all started with a death.
“Cheers,” rose the chorus. Jihoon fingered idly at his champagne glass.
“A leap of faith. A scientific marvel of progress,” Professor Yoon Sanghoon said from the lectern, pausing theatrically. Jihoon internally rolled his eyes. “Esteemed friends and colleagues, tonight we gather to celebrate the magnificent circumstances that have birthed the discovery of that mystical, completely new element, horanium, and eventually the first-ever horanium gemstone,” the man pronounced, his grey moustache bristling as he spoke. “Presenting the magnificent Chrysanthemum Countess.”
Golden light from the chandeliers high above refracted off the gleaming saffron-coloured gem in the glass box onstage to the champagne glasses that were held aloft, a hundred tiny mirrors of opulence. Similarly, Jihoon’s over-bored mind clocked a hundred inane observations. Points of exit: at the back where a tall, tuxedoed waiter with brown and curly hair was standing; at the front of the hall behind the stage; on both sides of the hall, three and nine o’clock. The pinstriped tie Officer Jeon was wearing was one he’d worn before, at Jihoon’s induction ceremony three months ago, the seat beside him conspicuously empty (curse Wonwoo for conveniently having a cold tonight, he thought sourly). And the dessert before them at the table — some oddly-coloured flan with berry compote — was overbaked.
“It is my honour,” the professor continued, “to present this historic inauguration. Tonight, South Korea has reached an unprecedented milestone in mineralogy. Tonight, we enrich the Korean jewellery market for good!”
Applause rang out through the hall as drinks were set down on tables. “Can you believe him,” whispered Yoon Jeonghan beside him, an urbane smile incongruously spread across his face. “It’s ridiculous. All this posturing for another of his banal projects.”
“It will be more significant than that,” Jihoon whispered back. “Or at least that’s what everyone says. The truth remains to be seen.”
“Blind faith,” Jeonghan returned, his delicate features twisting. “He’ll just use the discovery for fame and clout, and horanium itself will fade into jewel obscurity after about five months.”
“Well, it’s not technically just a gem,” hedged Jihoon. “Horanium is an element, isn’t it?”
“Mm,” Jeonghan allowed, turning back to face the stage because Professor Yoon’s voice was again rumbling through the mic.
“I would like to give due credit of this discovery to one of my closest associates,” the professor. “Without the brilliance of his mind, I would not have been able to refine this element into the beautiful jewel you see before you today. While still attending the KNPU, he provided valuable insights and worked on this with characteristic effort and excellence. You may know him as one of the most promising young investigators in the KNPA today — hence, I invite my nephew, Investigator Yoon Jeonghan, onstage to say a few words. Jeonghan, please.”
Jihoon nudged Jeonghan, a faint smirk curling his lip. “Duty calls,” Jeonghan murmured through a smile, going to the front of the hall amidst enthusiastic applause. His slim grey figure cut a stark contrast with his uncle’s wide, dark one. “Good evening, everyone. Truly, it was an honour to have worked on this project…”
As Jeonghan went on, Jihoon looked about the room again. Most everyone’s attention was riveted by his friend onstage — he was, after all, indeed one of (if not the) brightest of his cohort. At only twenty-three, the man had already assisted in cracking no small number of murder investigations over the past year of his office; his mind was whip-fast, Jihoon knew, only because he’d been on its receiving end far too many times to count.
Someone who wasn’t focused on Jeonghan, besides Jihoon, however, was that young, brown-haired waiter he’d observed earlier, now standing at the side of the hall. He looked up from a stack of plates — a face sharp in profile, nineteen or twenty, probably — and caught Jihoon’s eye; they held gazes for about three seconds before Jihoon looked away, feeling strangely embarrassed at having been caught inattentive. The waiter was now walking to the back of the hall presumably to exit, and Jihoon thought he could see a sliver of a smile on his face.
As Jihoon absently tracked the waiter, three things happened at once:
- Jeonghan stopped talking midsentence.
- The back door to the hall opened from the outside, and the waiter began running back into the hall.
- The lights went out.
Murmurs immediately filled the now-dark air. Jihoon blinked bemusedly for only a second before his mind kicked into action. That waiter had definitely seen something — something important, dangerous? — that… what? Was related to the blackout?
Before Jihoon could draw any conclusions, a hefty, soft thump suddenly sounded from the stage, as though a sandbag had dropped. But there were no sandbags in the rafters. Or, Jihoon thought, like a body.
As suddenly as they had died, the chandeliers flickered back on, illuminating Professor Yoon lying supine on the stage beneath the still-sparkling Chrysanthemum Countess, seemingly fainted. Exclamations rippled through the onlookers.
Jeonghan, still standing at the lectern, looked down and cried out. “Uncle!” He grabbed the mic, which was now working. “First-aid staff, please come!”
Jihoon was reeling from the turn of events, but he couldn’t get the sight that maybe only he had seen before the lights had died out of his mind. Could that actually be related to what had happened?
Jihoon got out of his seat, running onstage. “Jeonghan,” he burst out. “I saw something before the blackout. A waiter running away from the back door, like he’d seen something outside.”
Jeonghan’s face was steely and pale. “Suspect. Thanks, Jihoon-ah.” A first-aid staff member had come onstage as well, and she checked the professor’s neck, his lined face slack and eyes half-closed. His appearance made Jihoon feel an acute discomfort. So it was only him and Jeonghan who heard:
“Sir, his pulse is flatlining. He’s passed away. He's not breathing, either.”
“What?” Jeonghan exclaimed, kneeling to feel for himself. “No, you must be mistaken. Too sudden, no marks of injury — unless — a heart attack?”
“Likely,” confirmed the staff member. “That or a fatal stroke. My condolences, sir.”
Jihoon couldn’t believe what he was hearing. No warning and the professor had suddenly dropped dead? Thankfully, the other guests were still unaware, no casualties or collapsed people, but senior Officers Jeon and Lee were already jogging forth.
“You have to say something, hyung,” Jihoon said, putting a hand on his shoulder.
Jeonghan’s eyes darted wildly, seeming to make a split-second decision. “Miss, this stays between us and first-aid for now,” he told the staff member. Oh.
“Everyone,” Jeonghan said, taking the lectern, authority and composure falling onto his voice like a veil. “Professor Yoon has been shocked and taken ill from the incident — likely a power trip. Please do not worry.”
Jihoon furrowed his eyebrows at the lie, but didn’t intervene. It would only make matters worse now if everyone knew that he’d died suddenly.
“Meanwhile, let us conclude the event,” Jeonghan continued, as staff members brought the professor away on a stretcher. “My sincerest apologies to end on a sombre and unexpected note. But with respect to Professor Yoon, I would like to invite everyone to leave the premises in a calm and orderly manner as we investigate the incident. Thank you for attending, a good evening to everyone, and my apologies again.”
Confused murmurs erupted again, but people began to stand and move out of the venue. “Jeonghan-gun,” Officer Jeon called, having reached the front. “Was your uncle all right?”
“He appeared to have fainted,” Jeonghan responded. “Officers, I’ve got this under control with my associates, they’ll secure the gem. Jihoon-ah, leave with them.”
“I can help investigate,” Jihoon ventured.
“No,” Jeonghan said firmly. “We still don’t know,” he said, lowering his voice, “if Uncle truly had a stroke or… was offed. I want as few people here as possible — the perp may still be in the building, maybe in the room. Especially with what you saw.”
That waiter. Jihoon scanned the rapidly-emptying hall for him, tables with half-eaten desserts abandoned. “He’s gone,” Jihoon said belatedly, a sour taste in his mouth. “Left with the rest of the staff, maybe.”
“You remember what he looks like?” Jeonghan said.
“Yes.”
“Then his account may be useful,” Jeonghan said. “Jihoon-ah, could you—”
“Find him for questioning?” Jihoon interrupted. “Of course.” He hesitated. “I’m sorry again, hyung.”
Something flashed in Jeonghan’s eyes and passed in a blink. “Thank you, Jihoon-ah,” he said simply, his face a pale, determined tundra.
There were no accounts from the hotel manager or staff of a tall, brown and curly-haired male waiter, about nineteen or twenty years old. Nor did anyone recall seeing him leave with them. The man had vanished like smoke.
A day after the incident, Jeonghan, as the professor’s closest living relative, had announced it in an official statement: mineralogist-cum-jeweller Professor Yoon Sanghoon had passed away due to a shock-induced heart attack, where he was pronounced dead that night en-route to the hospital.
“Pardon, but what’s with this release, hyung?” Jihoon shook the document. “Are you not going to tell everyone how he really died at the venue? Because that opens the possibility that—“
“Toxicology couldn’t find any traces of poison in his blood, nor did the autopsy reveal any external points of injury or attack,” Jeonghan said, eyes dark. “We’ve no concrete evidence for this allegation.”
“You—” Jihoon said. “But — what about the blackout? Or the waiter? I’ve obtained no record of his employment or anyone who fits that description from the hotel. Isn’t that at least odd?”
“We have no proof,” Jeonghan said. “At the moment, we’ve only got your word to go on. Perhaps you only thought you saw him run.”
“So get more eyewitnesses,” Jihoon countered. “I can’t have been the only one who saw him. This is a loose end! Don’t you think the blackout was a little too... convenient? Deliberate, even—”
“Jihoon.” Jeonghan blinked slowly, fresh dark circles under his eyes jumping. “There is a simple answer to this. Ergo, we do not need further baseless speculation.
“Last night the floor’s electric closet suffered a temporary power trip.” Jeonghan ran a hand through his hair. “The professor has also had a history of cardiovascular issues. Read the dossier. No one has to know, Jihoon,” he said coldly. “First-aid was bribed to secrecy. I trust I won't have to do the same with you.”
Jihoon’s eyes widened. “Please,” Jeonghan said, voice softening. “Let’s not create any more unnecessary public outcry or quagmires for ourselves than already exist. My elderly uncle had a fatal heart attack. End of story.”
The tiredness in Jeonghan’s voice, the way his hands kept twitching back to the funeral documents on his desk, by virtue of him being Jeonghan — capable, clever, experienced, newly-minted Executive Head of his uncle’s mineralogy study, his senior in every way — made Jihoon say, “Okay. Okay, hyung. This stays here.”
Jeonghan nodded wanly. “Thank you, Jihoon. For everything.”
Jihoon bowed and excused himself from the office. As he walked through the corridor of the Yoon manor, thoughts roiled in his head like battling storms. I know what I saw last night, he thought, his mind refusing to relinquish the second-long image of that tall youth dashing panicked away from the door. And then he just disappears?
The whole incident, Jihoon felt, was bogged in uncertainty. But who, and for what purpose — a vendetta against the professor? Against Jeonghan?
Only he seemed to care, importantly. Jeonghan, the person who perhaps should’ve been most concerned, didn’t seem to.
Jihoon breathed in, out. This was Jeonghan; older, smarter, a trusted investigator, and his hyung. Meanwhile, who was Jihoon? A first-year Criminal Psych student. If the explanation Jeonghan presented was good enough for himself and the KNPA, it would have to be for Jihoon, too.
Jeonghan’s probably right, Jihoon told himself, shaking his head, the action reflected a hundred times from the mirrored walls. He knew Professor Yoon the best, too. Maybe that waiter really was no one. But the unsettledness would linger in his gut for months to come.
That moment had been his first — and only — taste of a mystery unsolved.
INCHEON, 0800 HRS, 2002
Until today.
Jihoon blinked against early morning sunlight, streaming through the window of his tiny yeogwan room. “What the fuck?”
Filling the screen of his cellphone was an encoded message; it’d appeared overnight. The only unencrypted text was the phrase at the top: TO MY FAVOURITE DETECTIVE.