Episode 37 – Threads Unravel
The city lay half-awake under flickering neon and rain-slick streets. At CHIPER's hidden HQ, silence pressed against concrete walls — the kind of silence that comes before something shatters.
In the middle of the meeting table, photos of the "ZeroFace" killings lay scattered: victims with plastic masks forced over frozen faces, the number "0" scrawled in black marker across their skin.
Kevin's jaw tightened as he flipped through the evidence. "We're missing something," he murmured.
Alex's voice was hollow. "It doesn't add up. No forced entry, no DNA, no footprints — he's a ghost."
Dohee glanced at Alex, noticing the pallor in his skin, the way his fingers drummed restlessly. "Are you okay?" she whispered.
"I'm fine," Alex snapped, too quickly. Regret flickered in his eyes, but he looked away before she could see it fully.
---
Across the table, Minjae leaned back, arms crossed, eyes cold as winter. His gaze kept drifting — not to the files, but to Miran.
She sat tense, shoulders curled inward, lower lip caught between her teeth. Every time Minjae's stare brushed her, she flinched as though burned.
Guen noticed. "Leave her alone," she muttered under her breath.
Minjae's mouth curved — not into a smile, but something darker. "You think she can handle this case?" he asked softly, loud enough that Miran heard.
Kevin shot him a warning look. "Enough."
Minjae didn't reply. Instead, he drummed his fingers on the table, gaze dropping to Miran's trembling hands.
---
Kevin cleared his throat. "ZeroFace escalated — four bodies this week. All killed within hours, left in public places. Media's going wild."
"And we have nothing," Dohee added bitterly.
"We do have something," Alex interjected, voice low. "Before each murder, a single message hits the victim's phone: 'Face the Zero.' Then the phone wipes itself."
Dohee's brow furrowed. "That's… sophisticated."
"It's beyond sophisticated," Alex admitted, swallowing. "It's my own encryption code. The killer hacked it — or worse, knew it."
Silence fell. Guen looked at him, shocked. "Your code? Are you sure?"
Alex's voice cracked. "I built it. Years ago."
---
Miran spoke up, voice small but shaking: "So he knows us. Or at least, knows you."
Minjae's gaze flickered to Alex, something sharp and suspicious behind his eyes. "Funny how it's your code," he drawled.
Alex stiffened. "Don't start, Minjae."
"I'm just saying," Minjae said, voice syrupy and dangerous. "Every time something goes wrong, it's you sweating bullets."
Dohee bristled. "Enough! Alex wouldn't—"
But Alex cut her off. "He's right to question," he muttered, guilt seeping through. "I did build it. If ZeroFace is using it, that's on me."
---
Tension coiled tighter around the table. Kevin massaged the bridge of his nose. "For now, we assume ZeroFace knows at least part of our operation," he decided. "Everyone stays together. No one goes out alone — especially you, Miran."
Miran's eyes widened. "Why me?"
"Because you're the easiest target," Minjae answered flatly. His voice was empty of teasing now — only ice remained. "You freeze. You cry. And you think fear can save you."
Her throat worked as she swallowed. "I… I can help. I promise."
"Don't promise," Minjae snapped, the words cutting deeper than she expected. "Prove it."
She flinched. Dohee shot Minjae a glare, but he didn't look away.
---
Kevin exhaled, trying to soften the air. "Alright. Alex, see if you can trace the code back. Dohee and Guen, work the victim's last movements. Minjae—"
"I'll babysit the chemical girl," Minjae interrupted, voice dripping with something between amusement and threat.
Miran's stomach knotted, but she nodded anyway.
Kevin didn't argue. "Fine. But keep her safe," he said firmly.
Minjae didn't answer, but the flicker in his eyes was darker than agreement.
---
Later that night, HQ grew quieter.
Rain fell outside, soft but relentless.
Miran wandered toward the archive room, papers clutched in hand. Behind her, footsteps echoed.
She turned — Minjae stood there, half in shadow, rain-damp hair clinging to his forehead.
"Where do you think you're going alone?" His voice was soft, almost lazy — but his eyes were sharp enough to cut.
"I… I was just—"
"Stop," he ordered.
She froze. Minjae stepped closer, boots silent on concrete. "You heard Kevin. Never alone."
"I'm not a child," she whispered, though her voice broke.
"No," he murmured, so close she could smell the rain on his skin. "But you are the easiest to break."
Her breath hitched.
---
Suddenly, he pressed her against the cold file cabinet, hand braced near her head. His breath brushed her cheek.
"Tell me," he rasped, voice low, "if ZeroFace takes you… what would you do?"
Miran's chest heaved. "I… I don't know."
"Wrong answer," he whispered, leaning in until his lips almost grazed her ear. "You fight. You scratch, bite, scream, do anything — except freeze."
Her knees trembled. "Why… why do you care?"
"Because," he whispered, voice roughening, "if you die, it'll be my fault. And I don't share guilt well."
His words burned more than soothed. Miran's vision blurred with tears, but Minjae didn't look away.
"Remember this," he ordered, stepping back at last. "I won't always be there to drag you back."
She nodded, too shaken to speak.
---
Elsewhere, in the server room, Alex's hands hovered over the keyboard.
His screen flickered — lines of code bleeding into red. A single message blinked on black:
> "Hello, Alex. Miss me? — Zero."
Alex's breath caught. His heart pounded so violently it felt like pain.
He typed furiously — but the message wiped itself, leaving nothing.
Behind him, Dohee stepped in. "Alex? You okay?"
"I'm fine," he lied, voice ragged.
She stepped closer, hand brushing his arm. "You're not," she whispered.
He turned, guilt and fear tangled in his eyes. "Dohee… if anything happens, promise me—"
"Nothing will happen," she cut in, firmer than she felt.
Their eyes met — raw, unspoken words hanging heavy between them.
---
Back in the briefing room, Kevin watched old surveillance footage, trying to catch something everyone else had missed.
Guen slipped in, coffee in hand. "Any luck?" she asked softly.
"None," Kevin murmured. "He's careful. Too careful."
She touched his shoulder. "We'll find him."
"For once," Kevin said, voice low, "I'm not worried about catching the killer. I'm worried about who he'll take from us first."
Their eyes locked — and in that shared silence, Guen's heart beat faster than it should.
---
In the corridor, Minjae watched Miran retreat to her desk. His gaze lingered — colder than it had any right to be, but underneath, something twisted: protectiveness turned cruel by fear.
Why did she shake him like this?
Before he could untangle the answer, Kevin's voice broke the silence: "Meeting's over. Get rest. Tomorrow, we hunt."
---
Night fell, and HQ emptied out.
In the dark, ZeroFace's symbol blinked on Alex's hidden laptop — a single, perfect circle.
Outside, rain hid footsteps that shouldn't be there.
Miran, in her tiny apartment, lay awake — the echo of Minjae's voice in her ear:
> "I won't always be there to drag you back."
She didn't know that soon — very soon — he wouldn't be there at all.
And neither would she.
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