The spa night had ended somewhere around midnight, with full stomachs and relaxed muscles and a sense of camaraderie that none of them had expected. They had scattered into the night—Min-jun toward the subway, Jin-young into a taxi, Shi-eok on foot, Hae-rin to her car, Soo-ah to her bus stop, and Seo-ah to the black car that arrived to pick her up. Dae-hyun had watched them all go before driving himself home to his empty apartment.
Morning came too fast.
---
Dae-hyun arrived at the Yongsan station at seven-fifteen, later than usual. He'd actually slept in a real bed for once, and his body wasn't sure how to process it. He parked his SUV in the usual spot and walked toward the entrance, already running through the day ahead in his mind.
The missing persons case. Park Soo-jin. Twenty-four years old, disappeared two months ago from her apartment in Mapo. They needed to dig deeper, find connections, build something solid.
He rounded the corner toward the station entrance and stopped.
A crowd had gathered on the sidewalk. Cameras. Microphones. Reporters. At least a dozen of them, maybe more. And in the center of it all, trapped against the station doors, was Yoon Seo-ah.
"—just answer one question!"
"How does it feel to go from actress to detective?"
"Is it true you joined the police to escape a scandal?"
"Do you regret leaving the entertainment industry?"
The questions came rapid-fire, overlapping, relentless. Seo-ah stood with her back against the glass door, her face calm but her eyes trapped. She couldn't move forward without pushing through them. She couldn't move back without entering the station. She was pinned.
Dae-hyun's jaw tightened.
He walked forward, not slowing, not hesitating. The reporters were so focused on their prey that they didn't notice him until he was already among them.
"Excuse me."
His voice was quiet, but something in it cut through the noise. A few reporters turned.
"Sir, can you—"
He ignored them. He kept walking until he stood directly in front of Seo-ah, his back to the cameras, his body a shield between her and the chaos.
Then he turned.
The reporters faced him now—this tall, broad-shouldered man in a police uniform, his face carved from stone, his eyes colder than the winter air.
"Captain Kang Dae-hyun," one reporter said, recognition dawning. "You're the head of Team Zero, right? Can you comment on—"
"Get a life."
The words were flat, unadorned, and absolutely final.
The reporter blinked. "I'm sorry?"
Dae-hyun stepped forward, and the crowd instinctively parted. "She is a police officer. She works for this precinct. She has a job to do, just like the rest of us." His eyes swept across them, cold and hard. "Respect people's boundaries. She's not an actress anymore. She's a detective. And you are blocking the entrance to a police station."
Another reporter tried. "But the public has a right to know—"
"The public has a right to be safe. That's what we do here. That's what she does here." Dae-hyun's voice dropped lower. "Now move. Before I start taking names and filing obstruction charges."
For a long moment, no one moved.
Then, slowly, the reporters began to shuffle aside. They weren't happy about it—their faces showed that clearly—but something in Dae-hyun's presence made arguing feel like a very bad idea.
Dae-hyun turned back to Seo-ah. His expression softened just slightly. "Come on."
He put a hand on her elbow—light, professional—and guided her through the now-open path to the station doors. He pulled one open and waited for her to step inside.
Seo-ah moved past him, her face still composed, but her eyes... her eyes were something else. Gratitude, maybe. Or surprise. Or both.
The door closed behind them, cutting off the noise.
Inside the station, uniformed officers pretended not to have noticed. The front desk clerk suddenly became very interested in paperwork. Dae-hyun ignored them all and led Seo-ah up the stairs to the third floor.
---
The bullpen was already active when they arrived.
Min-jun was at his desk, reviewing case files. Jin-young had his monitors up, data scrolling across screens. Shi-eok sat quietly by the window, a cup of tea in his hands. Hae-rin was at the whiteboard, adding notes to the Park Soo-jin case. Soo-ah was organizing files, her usual energy undimmed.
They all looked up when Dae-hyun and Seo-ah entered.
Soo-ah's eyes widened. "Unnie! Are you okay? I saw the reporters from the window. They looked terrible."
Seo-ah nodded, her voice steady. "I'm fine. The captain handled it."
Min-jun raised an eyebrow at Dae-hyun. "Handled it how?"
"I told them to get a life." Dae-hyun moved to his usual spot at the front of the room. "Now, focus. We have a case."
He sat down—actually sat down, in one of the chairs near the whiteboard. The others exchanged glances. The captain usually stood. He always stood. Sitting was new.
But no one commented. They simply gathered around, taking seats, forming a loose semicircle facing the board.
Dae-hyun nodded at Hae-rin. "Profile. Give us what you have."
Hae-rin stood and moved to the whiteboard. She picked up a marker and pointed at the photo of Park Soo-jin—the smiling young woman at the center of it all.
"Park Soo-jin. Twenty-four years old. Graduated from Ewha Womans University two years ago with a degree in design. Worked as a freelance graphic designer from home. Lived alone in a small studio apartment in Mapo." Hae-rin paused, adding notes as she spoke. "By all accounts, she was quiet, introverted, kept to herself. No close relationships outside of work. No boyfriend. Her family lives in Busan—she talked to them once a week, regular as clockwork."
Soo-ah leaned forward. "So she was a loner?"
"Not exactly. She had friends, but they were casual. Coffee dates, movie nights, nothing deep. Her social media shows a normal life—food pictures, travel photos, work updates. Nothing unusual." Hae-rin circled something on the board. "But here's what's interesting. Two weeks before she disappeared, she told a friend that she'd met someone. A man. She was vague about it, but the friend said she seemed... nervous. Excited, but nervous."
Min-jun frowned. "Did she give a name?"
"No. Just said he was 'different.' That's the word she used. Different." Hae-rin turned to face them. "After that, her behavior changed slightly. She stopped posting on social media as much. She canceled two coffee dates. Her last phone call with her mother was shorter than usual—only ten minutes, when she normally talked for an hour."
Jin-young spoke up. "So she met a guy, got weird, then disappeared."
"That's the surface reading, yes." Hae-rin's eyes were sharp. "But here's what bothers me. Her apartment showed no signs of struggle. No forced entry. Nothing missing except her phone and wallet. The last person to see her was the convenience store clerk downstairs, at eleven PM the night she vanished. She bought ramen and milk, looked normal, said goodnight. Then nothing."
Shi-eok spoke quietly. "She knew whoever took her. Let them in willingly."
"That's my theory." Hae-rin nodded. "Which means the 'different' man she mentioned is our prime suspect."
Dae-hyun looked at Jin-young. "What do you have?"
Jin-young spun his laptop around. "Phone records. Park Soo-jin's last calls before she disappeared. Most of them are normal—family, friends, work contacts. But there's one number that shows up three times in the week before her disappearance." He pulled up the data. "A burner phone. Untraceable. It only called her, never anyone else. And it stopped working the day she vanished."
Min-jun leaned forward. "So he used a burner to contact her. Smart."
"Too smart for a random creep." Hae-rin tapped the board. "This was planned. He targeted her specifically."
Soo-ah raised her hand like she was in school. "But why her? She was just a normal person. No money, no connections, no enemies."
"That's the question, isn't it?" Dae-hyun's voice was quiet. "Why her?"
Jin-young spoke again. "I cross-referenced her with other missing persons cases in Seoul over the last two years. Same profile—young women, early to mid-twenties, living alone, introverted, no close relationships. I found three others."
The room went still.
Hae-rin's eyes narrowed. "Three others?"
Jin-young pulled up photos on his screen. "Kim Hye-jin, twenty-three, disappeared fourteen months ago from her apartment in Seodaemun. Lee Ji-ah, twenty-five, disappeared eight months ago from her studio in Hongdae. Park Eun-young, twenty-four, disappeared five months ago from her place in Yeonnam-dong." He paused. "All of them fit the same profile. All of them lived alone. All of them were quiet, introverted, no close relationships. And all of them vanished without a trace."
Min-jun stood up slowly, moving to the screen. "Let me see those photos."
Jin-young enlarged them. Four faces stared back—four young women, different features, different styles, but something similar in their eyes. Something soft. Something vulnerable.
Hae-rin studied them, her mind working. "He has a type. Quiet women. Isolated women. Women who won't be missed immediately."
Shi-eok's voice was hard. "How many more are there?"
"Unknown." Jin-young shook his head. "I only found these because the cases were flagged as suspicious. But if he's been careful—if he's been choosing women who won't be reported missing right away—there could be more we haven't found."
Dae-hyun stood and moved to the whiteboard. He looked at the four faces, at the connections forming in his mind.
"Jin-young, I want everything on these three other women. Phone records, bank records, social media, friends, family, work. Find me connections between them and Park Soo-jin. Anything they shared—a coffee shop, a park, a gym, a website."
Jin-young nodded, already typing.
"Hae-rin, keep building the profile. What kind of man targets these women? How does he approach them? How does he gain their trust?"
Hae-rin picked up her marker and started writing. "Confident. Patient. Knows how to make himself seem 'different'—mysterious, exciting, but not threatening. Probably older, but not too old. Handsome enough to attract attention, but not so handsome that he'd be remembered easily."
Min-jun added, "And he has resources. Burner phones cost money. Time to stalk these women costs money. He's not a drifter."
Shi-eok spoke. "He might have a job that gives him flexibility. Something that lets him move around during the day."
"Or no job at all." Soo-ah's voice was quiet but steady. "If he has money somehow. Family money, maybe. Or he works nights, so his days are free."
Dae-hyun looked at her with something like approval. "Good. Keep thinking like that."
Soo-ah beamed.
Seo-ah had been quiet throughout, listening, absorbing. Now she spoke. "The convenience store clerk. The one who saw her last. Has anyone re-interviewed him recently?"
Min-jun shook his head. "Original investigation talked to him once. He didn't remember anything useful."
"Maybe he remembers more now. Sometimes people don't realize what they've seen until later." Seo-ah's voice was calm. "And if this man was watching her, he might have been in that store before. The clerk might recognize a face without knowing why."
Dae-hyun studied her for a moment. Then he nodded. "Good instinct. Min-jun, you and Seo-ah go talk to the clerk this afternoon. Take Soo-ah with you—she notices details."
Min-jun raised an eyebrow but didn't argue. "Got it."
Soo-ah practically vibrated with excitement. "Yes! Field work!"
Jin-young spoke up again. "Captain, I found something. Park Soo-jin's bank records. She made a withdrawal of five hundred thousand won three days before she disappeared. Cash. That's more than she usually took out."
"Any reason?"
"Nothing in her messages or emails. But..." Jin-young zoomed in on something. "The ATM she used is in Hongdae. Near where Lee Ji-ah lived. The second victim."
Dae-hyun's eyes sharpened. "Get me a map. Show me all the locations connected to these women—their apartments, their usual routes, their ATMs, their coffee shops. I want to see if there's overlap."
Jin-young pulled up a map on his main screen. Dots began to appear—four different colors, each representing one of the missing women. At first, they seemed scattered, random. But as Jin-young added more data—favorite cafes, grocery stores, parks—patterns began to emerge.
"There." Hae-rin pointed. "Hongdae. Three of them spent time in the same area. Different places, but within a few blocks of each other."
Min-jun leaned closer. "So he's hunting in Hongdae. Finding them there, then following them home."
Shi-eok nodded slowly. "Makes sense. Hongdae is busy, crowded, easy to blend in. Easy to watch without being watched."
Dae-hyun stared at the map, his mind working through possibilities. "Jin-young, pull up any unsolved missing persons in that area from the last three years. Even if they don't fit the profile exactly. Cast a wide net."
Jin-young's fingers flew. New dots began to appear on the map—more women, more disappearances, more cases that had gone nowhere.
The board was filling up.
Dae-hyun looked at his team—six people, each contributing, each focused, each becoming something more than they'd been before.
"We're getting somewhere," he said quietly. "Keep digging. Keep connecting. This man is out there, and he's done this before." He paused. "We're going to find him. And when we do, he's never going to hurt anyone again."
The bullpen was quiet for a moment, the weight of his words settling over them.
Then Min-jun grinned. "Damn right we will."
Soo-ah nodded fiercely. "Team Zero doesn't lose."
Jin-young snorted. "We've been a team for like a week."
"A week without losing," Soo-ah corrected.
Even Shi-eok smiled at that.
Dae-hyun let them have their moment. Then he turned back to the board, to the faces of four missing women, to the work that still needed to be done.
"Let's move," he said. "We've got a predator to catch."