⟣ Investigation Room –
The air in the investigation room thickened the moment the officer slid a folder across the metal table.
A dull thud.
A familiar weight.
A past she had buried so deeply that even her dreams refused to touch it.
Ajin's expression, once razor-sharp and confident as she exposed Myun Hyuk, slowly loosened—just enough for the officers to exchange glances. Not fear. Not guilt. But something darker. A tightening beneath her eyes. A faint tremor in her jaw.
The lead detective leaned forward.
"Miss Ajin… we have to talk about your father."
Her fingers froze around the pen she'd been turning.
A long, suffocating silence draped the room.
"Your father's case," he continued, "was recorded officially as suicide… but new evidence suggests otherwise. Someone tampered with the scene. And we received an anonymous tip that you…" he paused, gauging her unreadable expression,
"you were the last person to see him alive."
Ajin lifted her eyes slowly—cold, glassy, emotionless.
"Is that so?"
Another detective opened the folder. Pictures spilled out—her father's body, the overturned room, the bloody vase, the burnt corner of a document. And then, a teenage Ajin, sitting on the stairs with hollow eyes and dried tears. A ghost of a girl who had survived a nightmare by becoming another nightmare.
"We found inconsistencies," the officer continued carefully.
"The neighbors reported screams from your house. They said your father was… violent."
Ajin's lips twitched. Just barely.
A memory clawed at her—
Her father's silhouette towering over her, the sound of breaking glass, his drunken voice snarling her name, the belt sliding from his hand—
She shut her eyes once.
Then reopened them, composed again.
"And what does this have to do with Jao's murder?" she asked coolly.
"It tells us who you are," the lead detective said.
"And what you are capable of."
The words hung in the air like a loaded gun.
Ajin leaned back in the chair, arms crossing elegantly, a small sardonic smile touching her lips.
"So you're suggesting," she said slowly, "that because my father abused me… I killed him?"
Her voice was soft. Mocking.
Cutting.
"We're suggesting," the detective said, "that your past is relevant.
Especially when you stand in front of us now with a video claiming someone else committed murder.
We need to know if you're telling the truth…
Or playing another game."
Ajin's smile vanished.
She lowered her gaze, her tone dipping into a chilling calmness.
"You want the truth?" she whispered.
Both detectives straightened.
Ajin raised her head, her eyes sharp as blades.
"I survived a monster," she said.
"One who called himself my father. One who destroyed everything I had before I ever knew what life was. If you want to investigate that, go ahead."
Her fingers tapped once on the table—measured, steady.
"But don't confuse a survivor with a killer."
The officers exchanged uneasy looks.
Ajin continued, voice low but powerful:
"If I wanted someone dead…"
She leaned forward.
"…there wouldn't be evidence left behind for you to find."
Silence.
Heavy.
Electric.
The detectives felt a chill.
Her calm was far too controlled.
Her trauma shaped into armor.
Then she sat back again, voice returning to its cold clarity.
"So," she said, "are we done digging into my past?"
"Or shall we return to the murder I came here to report?"
---
The atmosphere turned dense the moment the lead investigator flipped open a thin brown file—the one file Ajin never wanted to see again.
Her fingers froze on the table. The hum of the overhead lamp felt louder, sharper, slicing into her skull.
"Miss Ajin… we need to revisit your father's case."
Her spine stiffened.
Of course they would say that.
The past never died—it only waited to be dragged back out.
Ajin tilted her head, her expression unreadable. "Why? That case was closed years ago."
Her voice was calm, maybe too calm.
The detective exchanged glances with the others, then pushed the folder toward her.
"Because," he said carefully, "certain details… don't line up anymore. And with everything you revealed today—Myun Hyuk, his ex-wife, his dealings… we need to understand the full picture."
Ajin's lips twitched—a cold, almost mocking smile.
"Full picture? Of my life?"
The officer cleared his throat.
"Your father's murder was ruled a homicide caused by unknown intruders. But during new cross-checks, we found evidence that suggests your father wasn't only murdered—he was hunted. Targeted."
Ajin's hands balled into fists under the table.
Memories—blood on the tiles, her father's final scream, shadows in the hallway—flashed behind her eyes like lightning.
"And," the detective continued, flipping to another page, "you were the only witness… the only survivor. Your mother disappeared. And you were found outside the building, unconscious."
Ajin's jaw clenched hard.
"So what exactly are you implying?" she asked, voice steady but ice-cold.
The detective leaned forward, lowering his voice.
"You said Myun Hyuk knew everything about your past.
Who told him?"
Ajin's breath hitched—just barely.
Yes. Myun Hyuk had known too much. Too quickly.
"Are you saying," Ajin stepped closer, her gaze sharp, "that Myun Hyuk might be connected to my father's death?"
"We are not drawing conclusions yet."
"But your recent statements… the video… and your relationship with him raise possibilities."
Ajin laughed softly—bitter, broken.
"So my entire life… from childhood to now… has been someone else's game?"
The detective did not answer.
He didn't have to.
Ajin's shoulders lowered, her face shadowed by the overhead light.
Her voice dropped to a whisper, trembling with fury she refused to show:
"I will tell you everything.
About my father.
About Myun Hyuk.
About the night he told me he pitied me… and threw me into the pool like trash."
She looked up—eyes dead calm.
"But in return… you better promise me one thing."
The detective nodded slowly. "And what is that?"
"That when this ends…"
A pause.
A cold smile.
"…none of the monsters who ruined my life will walk out alive."
The atmosphere in the gray-walled investigation room thickened, the fluorescent lights buzzing faintly above Ajin's head. She sat still, hands folded, expression calm—almost too calm—after exposing Myun Hyuk's secrets. The officers exchanged glances, clearly unsure whether to fear her, pity her, or suspect her.
Then one of them cleared his throat.
"Mrs. Kim Ajin… there is another matter we need to discuss."
He clicked his pen, eyes lowering to the documents in front of him.
"Your past. Specifically—your father's murder case."
Ajin's smile faded. Her fingers froze.
"We have reason to reopen the investigation," another officer said. "Certain new… inconsistencies have surfaced."
Ajin blinked once. Slowly. "Inconsistencies?"
"Yes ma'am." They slid a file across the table. "According to the old reports, your father died from a fall down the stairs. The case was closed as accidental. But"—he tapped the page—"your statement at the time was incomplete. And now, with your recent testimony about Mr. Kim Myun Hyuk… we must confirm whether there were any external factors previously ignored."
A cold shadow passed over her face.
"And," the younger investigator added, "this isn't the first time someone close to you died in questionable circumstances."
Ajin's head turned sharply. "What?"
"We have also reopened the suicide case of Star Inkang."
The room fell silent.
Ajin's breath left her chest for a moment.
Star Inkang…
Her former colleague. The rising idol.
The woman who jumped from the broadcasting building rooftop years ago.
The woman the media had blamed for being "too weak" for the industry.
The woman who had once been Ajin's closest friend—until the day she suddenly wasn't.
Ajin's jaw tightened. "…Why are you bringing her up now?"
The senior officer leaned forward. "Because, Mrs. Kim, one witness back then claimed they saw you two arguing on the rooftop shortly before her death."
Ajin's eyes twitched—but she didn't break.
"And because," the officer continued, flipping the next page in the file, "the same witness claimed Star Inkang was terrified. She kept saying someone was going to ruin her life."
Ajin inhaled slowly, steadying her voice.
"So you're suggesting her death and my father's death are connected? Through me?"
"We're suggesting," the officer said carefully, "that the pattern of violence surrounding you… is unusual."
Ajin gave a small, emotionless laugh.
"Violence surrounding me? Or the violence men created around me?"
The officers stiffened.
She leaned back in her chair, eyes cold and sharp.
"If you really want the truth—dig deeper. Go ahead. Reopen everything. My father. Inkang. Even the lies Myun Hyuk built around me. But don't expect me to tremble like his ex wife. Don't expect me to break like Inkang."
Her smile was thin, dangerous.
"I'm still alive. And I'm still talking."
The investigators exchanged another uneasy look.
Ajin calmly crossed her legs.
"Well?" she said softly. "Aren't you going to ask what I know?"
And the room grew even colder.
The fluorescent lights buzzed above Ajin, a cold, clinical sound that made her already-tense shoulders stiffen further. The entire room smelled of old paper, ink, and suspicion. A mirror — the kind that hides officers observing from the other side — reflected Ajin's unreadable face back at her.
Across the metal table, two investigators flipped open a new file.
The red label read: CASE 11-S — STAR INKANG SUICIDE.
Ajin's eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly.
"Ms. Ajin," the older investigator began, sliding the file toward her, "we have one more matter to question you about."
Ajin crossed her legs, expression flat.
"Go on."
The younger officer clicked the recorder.
"Three months before your marriage… there was a suicide case. Star Inkang. Actor. Twenty-eight. You knew him."
Ajin didn't blink. "Everyone in the industry knew him."
"That's not what we mean," the older one said, leaning forward.
"We recovered his phone records. The last call he made before his death—"
He turned the page.
"—was to you."
The room went silent.
Ajin's jaw tightened for the first time since the interrogation began. But she did not look shocked — only annoyed.
The younger officer continued carefully:
"We also found multiple voice messages from Mr. Inkang to you… emotionally unstable ones. The tone suggests obsession… or distress."
He looked up.
"Several close colleagues reported that Inkang had been emotionally dependent on you during his final months."
Ajin let out a slow breath, eyes cold.
"And your point?"
The investigator's expression hardened.
"Our point, Ms. Ajin, is that many believe you may have… played with his emotions."
Ajin's fingers tapped the table once — a sharp sound in the quiet room.
"You're suggesting," she said slowly, "that I manipulated him into killing himself?"
"We're saying," the younger one corrected, "that you may have knowingly used his feelings for your own advantage… then discarded him. And considering your connection to multiple violent incidents—"
Ajin abruptly laughed.
Not loudly.
Just a low, razor-thin sound that made both officers shift uncomfortably.
"Do you genuinely think," she whispered, "that I have the time or the desire to manipulate some second-rate actor?"
The older officer didn't back down.
"You're involved in a murder investigation, a royal scandal, an inheritance war, accusations against your husband, and now—"
He lifted a photo of Inkang's corpse on the bridge.
"—a suicide victim whose last attempt to contact someone was you."
Ajin's eyes flicked to the photo.
Not even a twitch of remorse crossed her face.
"So what?" she said.
The officers exchanged glances — disturbed by how calm she was.
"Miss Ajin," the younger one said quietly, "Inkang's friends claim he told them you promised something. Something that made him hope. Something that broke him when you walked away."
Ajin leaned back in the chair, arms crossing.
"Hopes are his problem," she said icily. "I never asked him to cling to me."
Her voice dropped, barely above a whisper.
"And if he was weak enough to crumble, that is not my burden to carry."
The room froze.
Even the buzzing lights seemed to fall silent.
The officers' pens stopped moving at the same time — as if realizing this woman was far colder, far harder, far more dangerous than the case file suggested.
The older investigator finally said:
"Ms. Ajin… people are starting to wonder if chaos follows you… or if you create it."
Ajin smiled.
A sharp, knowing smile.
"Keep wondering."