Inspector R' s at with his back straight, eyes fixed on the bank' s surveillance footage. Every frame, every second since the day the billion baht vanished was spread before him.
Lieutenant Yuu' s stood at his side, expression calm but sharp, his gaze moving between the documents and the glowing screen. His voice was steady and precise.
"You' ve been watching this footage every single day. Have you spotted anything unusual yet?"
"…It looks the same."
"The same? What do you mean?"
"The early-morning footage it' s identical to the day of the theft."
"What? Identical how?"
R' s minimized the windows and displayed two timelines side by side. Different dates, but the same video, frame for frame, second for second, stretched out for hours.
Udom frowned. "You' re right… it' s exactly the same. So it' s been edited?"
"More like a program overlaying one video on top of another."
"Can you prove it?"
"I' ll try."
Every morning, Kirit immersed himself in this sea of surveillance, forty cameras covering three months, painstakingly restored by the technicians. And every morning Udom joined him, offering analysis and a small espresso—short, sharp, enough to keep the inspector awake for hours.
Udom, impatient by nature, struggled with this meticulous approach. Watching hours of footage frame by frame seemed maddeningly slow. He often volunteered for the paperwork instead, letting Kirit drown himself in details.
"Hand me the files. I' ll take care of them. You just keep staring at that screen—you look like you' re onto something," Udom said softly, his offer easing the weight of the silence.
The pale-skinned inspector nodded, lips curving faintly.
"Yeah… I think I am."
In recent weeks Udom had seemed brighter, lighter—his voice softer, his moods more cheerful. The once-intimidating lieutenant was rumored to be unusually gentle with one particular colleague. Whispers spread quickly: perhaps the lieutenant and the inspector of the special task force were more than just partners.
"Eat more meat. You' ll need the strength," Udom murmured one evening, sliding a tray toward Kirit. Their shoulders brushed unintentionally, the inspector' s quiet smile betraying his thanks.
"Oh, right. There' ve been theft reports in Boonranee Alley. Let' s head over tonight."
Kirit caught the subtle shift in Udom' s expression—the fleeting thought of someone else. Someone smaller, stubborn, mischievous. Pyramid.
"Of course," Kirit replied.
Together they drove into the damp night, rain-slick streets gleaming under weak streetlights. Their footsteps echoed through the narrowing crowds until only the two of them remained.
It was then Kirit saw it: a crumpled wad of thousand-baht bills, smeared with mud, lying abandoned in the alley. He crouched, picked it up, thumb brushing over the dirt-stained notes. With a detective' s instinct, he photographed them immediately—this was no small change, but a fistful of cash.
A faint shuffle. He looked up.
A thin, ragged man stood a few steps away, chest heaving, eyes locked hungrily on the money in Kirit' s hand.
"Yours?" Kirit' s voice was calm, unthreatening.
The man flinched as if stabbed, then bolted.
Kirit and Udom exchanged a glance, then sprinted after him, water splashing beneath their pounding feet.
Slap, slap, slap.
Thud, thud, thud.
The fugitive burst onto the main road just as the light turned red. Cars roared through the intersection.
"Stop!" Kirit shouted, reaching to grab him. But..
A violent shove hurled him aside. A silver sedan tore past the spot where he' d stood.
CRASH!
The impact was deafening. Udom had taken his place. His tall body slammed onto the hood, then crumpled to the pavement, blood streaking his temple.
"Udom!" Kirit dropped beside him, hands trembling as he called for emergency services.
His phone buzzed.
(I' m craving fried chicken… come back soon, okay? ♡)
The message from Reye barely registered. He swiped it away and dialed for an ambulance.
At the Hospital
Hours passed. Kirit never left Udom' s side. Adjusting the blanket, checking the monitors, calling the nurse at every sign of discomfort.
One hour.
Five hours.
Nearly a day.
His sharp eyes never strayed from his partner, vigilance born of guilt and duty.
"Won' t anyone else come visit?" the nurse asked gently.
"His phone… it' s broken. I don' t know his family."
"Oh… but you' re taking such good care of him."
"…Am I?"
The nurse smiled faintly. "He' s out of danger now. Don' t worry."
"…Thank you."
The steady beep of the machines filled the room. Kirit stood unmoving, gaze soft with concern.
..
.
Meanwhile, at Kirit' s Condo
Reya curled on the leather sofa, one leg bouncing restlessly. His phone screen glowed in his hand, chat bubbles stacked with unanswered stickers.
A whole day, no reply.
His lips pressed tight, whispering into the silence.
"What' s so important you can' t even look at me…"
He leaned back, staring at the ceiling, torn between anger and longing. Should he call? Cry? Throw a tantrum? Or would that only push Kirit further away?
Ding!
His heart leapt—only to shatter. Not Kirit. Not the name he longed for.
"Come to the house tomorrow," his mother' s soft voice drifted through the phone. "We' ve decided where you' ll be placed in the family business. You only need to sign."
"…I—" His voice cracked, jaw tightening.
"Just do this for us. It' s nothing. We don' t want your father to… act."
Reya' s grip whitened around the phone. His teeth clenched until his jaw ached.
"Why do you always… take what' s mine?"
"You have your games. We have ours. This is politics, the foundation of our family' s power. Just do it, and leave the rest to us."
He shook his head violently, as if to dislodge the words.
"And if I don' t?" The whisper scraped his throat raw.
A silence. Then—her voice, cool and cutting.
"Your father already knows. About the inspector. Kirit, isn' t it?"
Reya froze, breath shattering, hands trembling uncontrollably.
"Mother!"
"If you refuse… then your father will interfere with him."
The phone slipped from his grip, clattering to the floor. His whole body went cold. Stumbling back until he hit the wall, he slid down, hands clutching his temples. His heart pounded painfully against his ribs.
Snatching the phone again, he opened the one chat that mattered. The photo of the necklace—the one Kirit had bought for him—stared back, unanswered.