Every lock hides a secret. But not every secret needs a key—some just wait for someone brave enough to pull the thread.
Morning painted Mapo District gray. Mist hung between old buildings, still tasting of last night's rain. Behind the apartment of Kim Soyeon, yellow police tape fluttered in the breeze.
Rae Jin stood below the third-floor balcony, eyes fixed on the window above. In his hand—a strand of nylon thread."This length… enough to reach the hinge from below," he murmured.
Kim Chanwoo, weary, appeared with coffee in hand. "You really came this early just to stare at a wall?"Rae didn't turn. "Sometimes truth isn't hiding. It's just waiting to be invited."
"Your brain's allergic to procedure.""And procedure's allergic to intuition."
They entered the room. Morning light broke through the curtains, exposing emptiness. The chalk outline on the floor glimmered faintly under dust.
Rae approached the window, tracing the latch. "See here? No forced marks. But it's worn—something's been pulled repeatedly from outside."
Chanwoo frowned. "You're saying the killer locked it from the outside using rope? That's absurd."Rae didn't reply. He tied the nylon to the latch and pulled it outward through the narrow gap. A faint click echoed. Locked.
Silence.
Chanwoo blinked. "You just locked it… from the outside?"Rae nodded. "Miracles are just logic people stop testing."
He repeated the movement faster. Another click. Perfect.
"So the killer could've left through the window," Chanwoo said slowly. "But how did he get down?"Rae looked below. "Hot water pipe. Burns your hands, but strong enough to hold weight.""Meaning gloves.""Leather, not rubber. The friction marks prove it."
Chanwoo sighed. "You're impossible.""I'm consistent."
"What was the killer's purpose, then?"Rae pulled the Polaroid from his pocket. "She wanted someone to arrive before 9:13. They didn't.""So she died waiting?""No. She died because they were late."
Yejin entered quietly, holding notes. "I spoke to the landlady," she said. "Soyeon's been getting white roses for weeks. No sender.""Apology flowers," Rae muttered. "Symbol of guilt."
"So it's emotional. Still—why disguise it as suicide?" Chanwoo asked."Because guilt needs to be believed. And the easiest lie to believe… is silence."
Yejin stared at him. "You talk like you've known guilt personally.""I lived with it once."
The words hung in the air.
Chanwoo finally spoke. "Alright, Detective Without a Badge. I'll run the CCTV. You chase your ghosts."Rae smirked faintly. "Ghosts leave better evidence than people."
As Chanwoo left, Yejin whispered, "You scare me sometimes.""Why?""It's like you see everyone's past."Rae turned to the glass. "I don't see their past. I see mine reflected in it."
Outside, sunlight cut through the mist, striking the thin nylon thread trembling between his fingers.
Every lie has a knot—pull the right thread, and the whole illusion unravels.