The Villain's Monologue
Chapter 3: Cinderella in High Tops
Seoul Arts High School was less of a school and more of a runway. The uniforms cost more than a civil servant's suit, and the parking lot was filled with sedans driven by chauffeurs.
Detective Kang Do-jin felt out of place. His beige trench coat was rumpled, and he smelled faintly of instant coffee and cheap tobacco. He stood in the principal's office, looking at a list on his clipboard.
"Five students," Kang muttered. "Five kids in this school bought those damn shoes."
The principal, a nervous man who clearly didn't like police cars parked in front of his prestigious institution, wiped sweat from his forehead. "Detective, surely you aren't suggesting one of our students is a... a gangster?"
"Not a gangster," Kang corrected, his eyes scanning the list. "A suspect in an aggravated assault case. A vigilante. Or maybe just a psychopath."
He tapped a name on the list. Han Ji-hoon.
"Bring me this one first," Kang said.
The Cafeteria - 12:15 PM
Ji-hoon was picking at his salad. He wasn't hungry. The adrenaline crash from the night before had left him nauseous.
Across the cafeteria, a group of girls was laughing. It was a high-pitched, cruel sound.
Ji-hoon's eyes shifted involuntarily.
At the center of the table sat Kim Ha-eun, the daughter of a real estate tycoon. She was smiling sweetly, pouring banana milk onto the tray of a quiet girl with glasses—a scholarship student named So-young.
"Oops," Ha-eun giggled. "My hand slipped. So-young-ah, clean that up, won't you? Since you're used to cleaning things. Doesn't your mom work as a maid?"
The table erupted in laughter. So-young kept her head down, tears dripping onto her rice, silently grabbing napkins to wipe the mess.
Thump.
Ji-hoon felt it. The heartbeat in his ears. The Shadow woke up, stretching its claws inside his chest.
She's evil, the Shadow whispered. Look at her smile. She enjoys the pain. Break her teeth so she can never smile like that again.
Ji-hoon's hand gripped his metal chopsticks. He squeezed so hard the cheap metal began to bend.
Don't, the rational Ji-hoon pleaded. Not here. Not in front of everyone.
She needs to be punished, the Shadow hissed. Walk over there. Grab her by the hair. Smash her face into the tray.
Ji-hoon's breathing turned ragged. The world was narrowing down to a tunnel vision focused entirely on Ha-eun's laughing throat. He began to stand up.
"Han Ji-hoon?"
A deep voice broke the trance.
Ji-hoon blinked, the red haze receding slightly. He looked up. A student council member was standing there.
" The Principal wants to see you. Now. There's a detective here."
The Shadow hissed in disappointment, retreating back into the darkness. Ji-hoon dropped the bent chopsticks onto his tray, covering them with a napkin.
"A detective?" Ji-hoon asked, his voice steady, though his heart was racing for a different reason now.
"Yeah. Something about shoes."
The Principal's Office
Ji-hoon walked in, performing the role he was born to play: The Innocent Student. He bowed deeply, ninety degrees.
"Hello, sir. Hello, Detective-nim."
Detective Kang leaned against the principal's desk, studying the boy. He saw a face that was plastered on billboards all over Seoul. Soft features, kind eyes, a polite demeanor. It was hard to imagine this kid crushing a man's knee.
"Han Ji-hoon," Kang said, not returning the bow. "Big fan. My daughter watches your dramas."
"Thank you. Please tell her I appreciate the support."
"I'm here about a purchase you made two weeks ago," Kang said, cutting to the chase. "A pair of 'Sky-Walker' limited edition sneakers. Size 270."
Ji-hoon didn't flinch. He had prepared for this possibility the moment he saw the news.
"Ah, yes. The red and black ones? They're beautiful designs."
"Where are they?" Kang asked. "I'd like to see them."
The room went silent. The principal held his breath.
Ji-hoon tilted his head, looking confused. "I don't have them anymore, Detective."
Kang's eyes narrowed. "You threw away two-million-won shoes after two weeks?"
"I didn't throw them away," Ji-hoon said, smiling sadly. "I donated them."
"Donated?"
"Yes. To the 'Hope for Youth' charity auction last week. I often donate my personal items to raise money for orphans. You can check with the charity organizer. It should be in their logs."
It was a lie. A brilliant, calculated lie. Ji-hoon had donated a box of clothes last week to clear his closet. He hadn't put the shoes in there—he had burned them in an incinerator at 4 AM this morning. But the charity logs were messy; they wouldn't have itemized every pair of shoes yet. By the time Kang checked, Ji-hoon could claim a clerical error or that they were lost/stolen at the warehouse. It bought him time.
Kang stared at the boy. The story was plausible. Han Ji-hoon was known for his charity work.
"Is that so?" Kang stepped closer, invading Ji-hoon's personal space. He sniffed. He could smell the expensive lotion, but underneath that... was there the faint, metallic scent of stress?
Kang's eyes dropped to Ji-hoon's hands. They were resting on his lap.
"You look tense, Ji-hoon-ssi."
"I've never been interrogated by the police before," Ji-hoon said softly. "It's a little scary."
Kang reached out suddenly. "Let me see your hands."
It wasn't a request.
Ji-hoon froze. If he pulled away, he looked guilty. If he showed them...
He slowly lifted his hands, palms down.
The makeup was good. Professional grade. Under the office's fluorescent lights, his skin looked smooth.
Kang grabbed Ji-hoon's right hand. His rough thumb rubbed over the knuckles.
Ji-hoon winced. It was a micro-reaction, barely a twitch of the eyebrow, but Kang felt the boy's muscles spasm.
"You're hurting me, Detective," Ji-hoon said, his voice dropping an octave.
Kang looked closely at the knuckles. He rubbed harder. A faint smudge of beige foundation transferred onto Kang's thumb. Underneath, a hint of angry purple-blue skin was revealed.
The air in the room grew heavy.
"Makeup?" Kang asked, holding up his thumb. "On your knuckles?"
Ji-hoon's mind raced. Think. Act. Improvise.
He let out a sigh, his shoulders slumping. He looked up at Kang with wide, pleading eyes.
"Please don't tell my agency," Ji-hoon whispered.
"Tell them what?"
"That I got into a fight... with a wall." Ji-hoon bit his lip. "The stress of the filming... sometimes I get frustrated. I punched the wall in my dressing room yesterday. If my manager finds out I damaged my hands, he'll cancel my break. I had to cover it up."
He looked like a stressed, overworked teenager on the verge of a breakdown. It was a perfect performance.
Kang stared at him for a long, agonizing moment. The story fit. Actor tantrums were common.
But Kang's gut was screaming. He's lying.
Slowly, Kang released Ji-hoon's hand. He wiped the makeup off his thumb onto his trench coat.
"Don't punch walls, kid," Kang said, his voice low. "Walls are hard. But sometimes... people are harder."
Kang grabbed his clipboard. "I'll check with the charity. If those shoes aren't there... we'll talk again."
"Of course, Detective. Take care."
Kang walked to the door, then stopped. He turned back.
"By the way," Kang said. "That alleyway last night? The attacker missed the thug's head by an inch. If he hadn't missed, it would be a murder investigation today. You're a good actor, Han Ji-hoon. Make sure you don't get cast in a tragedy."
The door clicked shut.
Ji-hoon stood there, the smile frozen on his face.
His legs gave out. He collapsed into the chair, trembling.
He looked at his hand. The makeup was smeared. The bruise was exposed.
He had survived Detective Kang. But as he looked out the window back toward the cafeteria, he saw Kim Ha-eun still laughing, still tormenting the scholarship student.
The Shadow inside him growled, louder than before.
The Detective is a problem, it whispered. But the girl... the girl is prey.
Ji-hoon closed his eyes. The script for his life was going off the rails, and he didn't know how long he could keep improvsing.