The morning sunlight hit Jihoon's face as he practically skipped down the street. The air was crisp, the sky clear, and his steps lighter than they'd been in months.
A new badge.
A new title.
And more importantly—an actual desk of his own.
"Han Jihoon, Detective," he whispered proudly, puffing out his chest as he entered the agency building.
The receptionist, Hyejin, looked up with a smirk. "Wow, someone's glowing this morning."
He grinned and set his bag on the counter dramatically. "You're looking at the newest detective in Seoul's finest small-scale, underfunded private agency."
Hyejin laughed. "Ah yes, truly an honor." She reached under the desk and handed him a small envelope. "Here. Your new ID card."
Jihoon tore it open eagerly, eyes lighting up. The card was sleek, his photo surprisingly decent.
"Detective Han Jihoon," he read aloud, beaming. "Oh man, I look so official. Like the kind of guy who gets paid to frown at clues and drink too much coffee."
"Yeah," Hyejin teased, "you already have the coffee part down."
Jihoon waved her off. "Details, details. Now, where's my new station of operation?"
She pointed down the hallway. "Third door to the right. The one that doesn't squeak."
He saluted her and strutted off, practically humming as he went.
His new desk was small, tucked near a window that looked out over the street. Papers, pens, and a stack of open case files sat waiting like a challenge. Jihoon rolled up his sleeves.
"Alright," he said confidently. "Let's solve some crimes."
Five hours later...
"Why is paperwork the real criminal here..."
Jihoon slumped in his chair, surrounded by a mountain of unfinished reports. His once-sharp handwriting had devolved into the scribbles of a dying man. The only sound in the room was the slow drip of coffee into his mug and his own sighs of betrayal.
Just then, Kang opened the door with his usual calm expression. "How's the new station?"
Jihoon turned slowly, dead-eyed. "Sir, I regret everything."
Kang snorted. "You'll get used to it. Oh, by the way—meet your new partner. He'll be shadowing you for a while."
Behind Kang stood a young man, maybe in his early twenties, with slightly messy black hair and a nervous smile.
"Uh, hello! I'm Yoon Minjae," he said, bowing politely. "It's an honor to work with you, sunbaenim."
Jihoon blinked. "Sunbaenim? Me?"
Kang smirked. "You're the senior detective now, remember?"
Jihoon nearly choked. "Oh no."
"Show him the ropes," Kang said before leaving, clearly amused.
"Alright, Minjae," Jihoon began, trying to look composed as they walked through the office. "This here is the evidence room. It's small, it smells like dust and regret, but it's home."
Minjae chuckled nervously. "You've been here long?"
Jihoon puffed up his chest again. "Long enough to know the coffee machine hates me."
They continued the little tour—the caseboard, the files, the vending machine that only dispensed lukewarm cans, and Kang's office, which Jihoon dramatically described as "The Dragon's Lair."
By noon, Minjae was already laughing freely at Jihoon's jokes, and the two had fallen into easy conversation. Jihoon found himself liking the kid; there was something earnest and genuine about him, like he actually cared.
"Sir, what made you become a detective?" Minjae asked at one point.
Jihoon paused for a moment, then smiled faintly. "I wanted to understand people. Why they lie, what drives them, what they're hiding... maybe even what they fear."
Minjae nodded slowly. "That's… deep."
Jihoon snorted. "Yeah, well, that was before I met taxes and paperwork."
Minjae burst out laughing. "I'll remember that."
The rest of the day passed in the peaceful rhythm of small tasks—checking reports, writing summaries, grabbing snacks from the convenience store downstairs.
By the time the sun began to set, the sky outside Jihoon's window glowed a soft orange. The office lights flickered on, casting a warm hue over the quiet room.
Jihoon leaned back in his chair, sipping cold coffee, watching Minjae sort through files with quiet focus. There was something comforting about the routine—the clacking of keyboards, the hum of the air conditioner, the low sound of distant rain starting again outside.
Minjae looked up suddenly. "Sir, do you ever get tired?"
Jihoon smiled tiredly. "Every day."
"Then why keep doing it?"
He thought for a moment, eyes softening. "Because even if the world's ugly… someone's gotta look for the truth in it."
Minjae nodded quietly.
When Jihoon finally left the office that night, the rain had stopped, leaving the streets glistening beneath the streetlights. He shoved his hands in his pockets, walking slowly, enjoying the faint chill in the air.
He passed by a small ramen shop, the smell making his stomach grumble.
"Hmm… maybe one bowl before home won't hurt," he muttered.
He sat by the window, watching people pass by, the reflection of neon lights shimmering on the wet glass. It was simple. Peaceful. Human.
As he slurped the noodles, he smiled to himself. "Detective Han Jihoon… finally living the dream, huh?"
Then he remembered the mountain of unfinished paperwork waiting for him tomorrow.
"...Maybe nightmare's more accurate."
He laughed under his breath, paid the bill, and walked home beneath the quiet city lights, the sound of his footsteps soft and steady.