Chapter Text
The mayor scrutinized the two men before him with a steady gaze. They certainly painted a promising picture: tall, lean, and decked in uniform.
He crossed his hands over his desk and cleared his throat.
"I must admit, I am impressed by the efficiency of the national police agency. To send two officers mere days after my request... I am most grateful."
"We rushed here as soon as we could," the younger man spoke, "given the urgent nature of this case."
Flashes of grisly memories intruded the mayor's mind. He swallowed the urge to vomit.
"Yes, well. In all my years of humble servitude, I'd never seen such atrocities. What was left of those poor souls... it shocks the imagination." He visibly paled, as if recalling something abhorrent. "That cursed mark on their skin--"
"Rest assured," The older of the pair interjected, "We will stop at nothing to bring these victims justice."
He had a kinder countenance compared to his stern younger partner. The mayor felt himself at ease, despite the circumstances.
"As I trust you will, lads. In return, I will support your efforts in any way I can. I only make one request of you. Please, keep your investigations covert. I don't want my citizens falling into a mass panic."
The older man furrowed his brows in disapproval. "Forgive me, sir, but are you saying the folks here don't know about the recent deaths?"
"Oh, they know enough," The mayor shook his head. "I have enforced a media blackout on the matter, but the locals gossip. You'll soon learn nothing stays quiet in this town for long."
"Then why the secrecy? There may be a murderer on the loose. Don't you think people deserve to know for their safety?"
The mayor looked ragged, age-wearied by the burdens of his job. "This is a small, self-sustaining town. News like this--it could spell our end. My people may not know the truth, but they know enough to stay vigilant and lock their doors at night."
"You may not agree with me, detectives, but this is my way of keeping the community safe."
Yeongnang was a small, off-the-map agricultural municipal nestled deep inland. A nation-wide economic crash in the 1990s drove most of its able-bodied residents out to the cities in search for work. Now, the once-thriving community consisted mostly of elderly, children, and other leftover dependants.
It was in this sleepy town that three people were slain in alarmingly rapid succession.
Junho lifted the sheet off the first victim: Kim Min-su, a seventeen year old highschool student; reported missing by his teacher after he failed to attend class. He was found in his dormitory in a pool of blood, his throat gashed open. Carved into pale, rigor-mortis flesh was the ominous symbol: a circle, triangle, and square layered atop each other, a twisted rendition of an old children’s game.
"There it is." Junho noted grimly, "He has the mark."
"They all have it." Gihun confirmed upon checking the other bodies. "No doubt about it. This is his signature."
"But why is he back, after all this time?" Junho frowned. "And why strike here?"
It had been three long, blessed years since South Korea's most infamous serial killer, The Frontman , vanished without a trace. Some say he died, some say he grew too old, or perhaps he had just grown bored and finally moved on. One thing was certain: the boogieman who terrorized the nation for two decades was never caught. Gihun always believed he was still out here, and now, his worst fear was validated.
"You don't think this is a copy cat?" Junho suggested. "A fan trying to continue his legacy?"
"This is him, I'm sure of it." Gihun scrutinized the incriminating symbol with a strange intensity. "I'd recognize his work anywhere."
After all, he had to face the same mark every day, etched onto the side of his neck, for the past three years.
Junho fell silent.
"Part of me still doesn't want to believe it," he conceded, "But you're right. He really is back."
Gihun met Junho's solemn gaze. "We have to stop him before he claims any more lives.”
Junho had found Gihun three years ago, at the lowest point Gihun's his life.
Gihun had just been discharged from the hospital. Reporters with cameras and microphones hounded his street, fighting for a glimpse of their target. Sensationalized headlines splashed across front pages with his face and name blurred out: MIRACLE OR ILL-OMEN? FIRST AND ONLY SURVIVOR OF THE FRONTMAN RELEASED FROM CUSTODY. Police in street clothes camped outside his building on the off chance--perhaps, even hoping--that the Frontman would return to finish the job. Their interrogations with Gihun had been frustratingly fruitless, with Gihun unable to offer any useful information on the man who held him captive for days. Months passed like this, and eventually, the reporters left, and so did the police. Gihun was once again, alone.
Except, Gihun could not go back to normal. His recent brush with death had left him a broken, paranoid man. Gihun holed himself in his room, afraid to step outside, afraid of the dark, afraid of his own shadow. Afraid the masked man in black would return and drag him back into the abyss. He could still feel those cold, gloved fingers--the piercing gaze beyond that inscrutable mask--as if he'd never escaped, and the Frontman was still with him. The freshly-bandaged wound on his neck burned, a permanent reminder of the past which would haunt him forever.
Every night he went to sleep afraid he would wake up and find himself back in that locked room, and his freedom was the dream.
He had escaped one prison, only to enter another one.
One day, when Gihun finally mustered up the courage to leave his house, Junho was waiting at his door.
It had been pouring rain, and Junho's shoulder was already soaked through from where the umbrella couldn't cover.
'... How long was he standing there for? ' Gihun found himself wondering.
"Are you Seong Gihun?" The young man asked.
"...Yes," Gihun answered cautiously, "Who's asking?"
"My name is Hwang Junho," His fist furled and unfurled at his side, as if he was carefully selecting his next words, "I'm with the police. I need to talk to you about your recent encounter with--with The Frontman."
Gihun physically recoiled, as if lashed by the very mention of that name. "Why?" He spat out harsher than he intended, "I already told you guys everything I know."
"We're taking another look at the case. Please, I need to ask you some more questions."
"No matter what I tell you, it's useless. You guys said as much." The Frontman had been dressed head to toe in black, his face disguised with a mask and his voice modulated. He had left no DNA on Gihun's body that could be traced. The police were almost as frustrated as Gihun--their biggest lead yet, and still they had nothing.
Junho pressed on. "The Frontman doesn't take captives, he kills them. You're the first one he let go--why?"
"I don't know, okay?" Gihun snapped. "How am I supposed to know what that psycho wanted? Look, I don't know who you are, but I can't help you. Go find someone else."
"Wait!" Junho shouted as Gihun turned his back to him. "I'm looking for my brother--He disappeared twenty years ago--I think he was The Frontman's first victim."
Gihun froze.
"My superiors have already given up." Junho admitted. "I'm under no illusion that my brother's still alive. But--if he's dead, I need to find the man who killed him, bring him to justice. No one else will. Please, help me. You're the only one I can turn to."
Gihun gripped the doorknob so hard his knuckles bled white.
"...And what are you gonna do once you find him, huh? Stop him?" Painful memories welled up in his mind. "He's a monster--he won't be caught, and he can't be stopped. If you try, you'll end up dead. Or worse." Like me.
"I know you're scared," Junho persisted, "But we have to try. Think of the others. Of the innocent deaths we could prevent."
The face of a young woman flashed in Gihun's mind. He released a pained gasp, as if stabbed by the memory.
Gihun was fixed in place, a battle brewing within himself. A part of him desperately wanted to run inside and lock the doors--hide like a coward, so that nothing could hurt him anymore--but the other part--the part that screamed louder--knew Junho was right. He would never be able to live with himself if he ran away again.
"...Junho, was it?" Gihun turned towards the young man, and pushed his door open. "Do you prefer coffee or tea?"
In an ironic twist of fate, the moment Gihun and Junho began working together, the Frontman disappeared. For three long years, they scoured the news for any traces of the man, to no avail. Gihun had truly been his last victim…
..until now.
When the mayor's letter came in, Junho's superiors swept it under the rug. They were hesitant to re-open such a notorious case, especially coming from a backwater town. It was easy to bury one’s head in the sand when the horrors occurred so far from home.
So, Junho and Gihun set off to investigate the matter themselves. Junho took what unpaid time off he could, and Gihun's fake credentials were easy enough to forge.
They had split up earlier in the day, agreeing to gather information separately before reconvening in the evening.
The mayor had assigned them separate quarters in the centre of town. As Gihun made his way over, he reviewed the details in his mind.
Kim Min-su, the first victim, had been found eleven days ago. The second victim was Yoon Young-hyun, a fifty-five year old carpenter, was found dismembered in his bath tub three days after that. The latest victim, Park Si-eun, was discovered four days ago. The thirty-three year old nurse had been dead in her car, deep strangulation marks on her neck.
This was what made the Frontman so hard to predict: his victims varied in age and demographics, and he never stayed in one location for long. The only clue tying their deaths together was the symbol he carved onto their skin--his calling card. Gihun subconsciously tugged at the bandages on his neck which concealed his own mark from view.
If his analysis was correct, there was a three-day interval between each death. Gihun gnawed at his lips. He arrived in this town ten days after the first murder occurred. By all accounts, there should have been another body discovered yesterday...
Gihun was so lost in thought that he hadn't noticed the man walking straight into him until it was too late. They collided head on, and a hot, stinging sensation seeped through Gihun's shirt.
A fragrant scent of coffee hung in the air.
"Shit, I'm so sorry--are you okay?” A panicked voice came. “Are you burnt?"
"No, uh–I’m fine." Gihun was disorientated, and his chest stung. His shirt was rapidly cooling off, leaving a wet, tacky feeling on his skin.
"I was running late, and I wasn't looking--I’m sorry, I’m not usually this scatterbrained.”
Now that Gihun took a good look at the other man, he looked around Gihun's age, with thin-rimmed glasses and bangs slightly tousled with impact. He wore what looked like a home-knit sweater, and carried a weathered school bag in one hand, and a now-empty mug in the other. Gihun was suddenly struck by a sense of familiarity, even though he was sure they’d never met before.
“It’s alright, Gihun said, "I should’ve been paying attention too.”
“You say that, but you’re the only one with a ruined shirt. Please, let me make it up to you.”
He pulled a piece of paper out from his bag, and began to scribble on it. "Call me when you can. At least let me pay for your dry cleaning."
"Thank you," Gihun glanced at the paper the other man gave him, " ...Young il. "
"Don't mention it. This is the least I can do for you, Gihun."
Gihun froze. "How do you know my name?"
"Ah," Young il's lips twitched. "You’re that detective, right? The one who came from out of town this morning?”
At Gihun’s blank look, Young il elaborated, “I was talking to your partner earlier, and he mentioned you by name. You’re a new face, so I assumed..."
So it was Junho. He works fast, Gihun thought, already interviewing the locals...
"Ah, is that so," Gihun said, abashed, "I'll be in your care then, Young il."
That night, Saebyeok visited him in his dreams.
"Are you living well, Gihun?" She asked.
No, Gihun opened his mouth, but nothing came out.
"Why didn't you find my brother, Gihun? Why didn't you help him?"
I tried, please, you have to believe me, I tried.
"I hope you enjoy yourself," Saebyeok's eyes rolled out of their sockets, blood streaming down her cheeks like trails of tears. "Enjoy the life you stole from me!"
Finally, Gihun's voice returned. He screamed his throat raw, but no one was there.
A gloved hand gently caressed his face.
"Sleep, now." The Frontman's cold mask gazed down at him from above. "I have you."
Gihun screamed even harder. The floor gave out beneath him, and he was sinking, an endless free fall into the abyss.
The small figure of a child emerged before him.
"I miss you, dad." The girl implored. "Why did you abandon me?"
I'm sorry, Gayong, Gihun cried, his heart twisting in sorrow.
"Why play the hero?" Saebyeok whispered from behind, her hollow eye sockets haunting him. "You couldn't even save me in the end."
In the distance, Gihun heard someone scream. He flailed wildly, unable to see in the dark, panic choking the air from his lungs. It took a long time before he realized he had awoken back in the real world, and the screams were his own.
The bright red letters on his bedside clock blinked 2:01AM.
Gihun buried his face in his pillow, and sobbed.
In the end, it was Young il who called Gihun first.
"I got your number off the town registry," Young il explained, "I hope you don't mind."
"It's alright," Gihun replied, a little taken aback. "What is it?"
"I couldn't stop thinking about how poorly our first meeting went, and I feel bad. Please, let me buy you a drink--make it up to you."
"You don't have to--"
"I want to," he cut off. "You'd be doing me a favour—take the guilt of my conscience."
Gihun went quiet as he contemplated Young il’s offer. His night terrors were still fresh on his mind, and he didn't feel like staying in his room. Besides, this could be a way to learn more about the town he was here to investigate.
"Who am I to turn down free drinks?” Gihun yielded. “Where do you have in mind?"
"Great,” Young il replied, satisfaction evident in his voice. "Meet me at the square in five. I'll show you around."
The establishment was about half full, smooth jazz music blending in with the dull murmur of conversation. Gihun and Young il grabbed their drinks and secluded themselves to a corner table.
"This was my favourite bar back in the day.“ Young il glanced around, taking the place in. “It's so much quieter now.”
“It’s probably for the best that people are staying home," said Gihun. “It’s not safe outside, especially in these times.”
“Because of the recent murders?” Gihun glanced up in surprise, and met Young il's steady gaze. “That’s what you and your partner came here to investigate, right?”
"That’s right." Since Young il breached the topic, Gihun cut to the chase. “Please, tell me what you know."
Young il sighed heavily. “I’ve lived in this town all my life. You except to see stuff like this on TV–never would I have thought something like this could happen so close to home. I’m the one who reported him missing, you know. The first victim, Kim Min-su.”
“Ah,” Gihun connected the dots. “You were his…”
“His homeroom teacher.” Young il confirmed. “He was such a quiet kid. Didn't talk to anyone, went straight home after school. Some people I can read like an open book, some I can’t get through no matter how hard I try— I couldn’t get through to Min-su.”
Young il took a deep drink, and slammed his glass onto the table. “I regret not trying harder, now. I keep thinking about what I could’ve done differently-- how I could have saved him.”
“You can't think like that,” Gihun urged. “I’m sure you did all you could."
“I know,” Young il gave a soft smile. “But it never quite feels like enough, does it?”
No, it doesn’t. Gihun understood Young il's feelings all too well.
“…in any case, there’s no point in mulling over the past. Let’s move on to a lighter topic, shall we? I didn’t ask you out just to make you depressed.”
"Alright,” Gihun sipped from his glass, the alcohol settling warm in his stomach. “How long have you been a teacher here, Young il?"
"Me? I’ve been working at this school for as long as I can remember. It's funny…" His gaze drifted in reminiscence, "When I was younger, I was stuck between becoming a teacher, or a policeman.”
“A policeman?”
“Hard to imagine, right?” Young il chuckled. “I’ve always wanted to work in the public sector. Help those in need, give back to my community. It's cheesy, I know."
"Not at all," Gihun found himself saying. "It's an admirable goal. I can tell you care a lot about your students... Your eyes go soft when you talk about them."
"Is that so?" Young il shifted, a shyness about him. "Yeah, well. It's hard not to care when I pretty much watched them grow up, you know? They're like my own kids. Not much older than my son, really."
"You have a son?" Gihun's interest perked.
"Just the one." Young il's eyes drifted to Gihun's left hand. "What about your family, Gihun? Did your wife move here with you?"
"No, we're, ah--we're divorced."
"Oh...my apologies. I saw your ring, and I assumed--"
"Don't be. It happened a long time ago." Gihun twisted the wedding band on his finger. "To be honest, I don't know why I still wear this thing. Force of habit, I guess."
"...Actually," Young il empathized, "I'm divorced too."
Gihun tried to keep the surprise off his face. He had assumed Young il to be a family man. He just seemed the type.
“It was amicable. My son lives with his mom’s side of the family, in the next city. I visit them every chance I can get.”
“I’m glad you can still see your son often.”
“I try. Our children are the best version of ourselves, right? We need to support them when we can.”
Gihun couldn’t help but think of his own daughter.
“I have a little girl, too," he shared. "She’s in America now.”
“America?” Now, it was Young il’s turn to be surprised. “That’s quite far.”
“It is." His fingers clenched around his cup. "I think about her every day.”
“Do you visit her often?" inquired Young il.
“I haven’t seen her since she moved overseas,” Gihun admitted the painful truth.
“I see. It’s not easy, travelling that far—“
“No, it's not that. It's just–there’s something I need to do first, before I can— before I can face her.”
Young il went quiet.
“...Something more important than your family?” His gaze was heavy, and Gihun suddenly felt naked, as if Young il was seeing right through him.
“Yes." Gihun felt the irrational urge to defend himself. "You may not understand it, but…” there’s a murderer out there, and I can’t just sit around while people are dying.
“This thing you need to do–Is that why you’re here?”
Gihun nodded firmly.
Young il broke their gaze, and Gihun released the breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding.
“In that case, I hope you finish what you came to do, and reunite with her soon.” Young il raised his glass, “for you daughter.”
Gihun drank to that. The alcohol slid smoothly down his throat, burning hot in his stomach.
They talked and drank, and the night went on. After a few rounds, both men had loosened up, a camaraderie burgeoning between them.
“I have a confession,” Young il leaned forward, his cheeks dusted pink with intoxication, “When I first saw you, I felt this strange pull towards you, like I already knew you–”
“--despite us having never met before,” Gihun finished. “That’s funny, I felt the same thing.”
“Maybe this is what they call fate," Young il mused. "Maybe we have met before–in another life.”
Maybe you're right , Gihun thought.
After all, fate worked in mysterious ways.
“You weren’t kidding,” Young il slurred into Gihun’s shoulder, “When you said you drink like a horse…”
“And you weren’t kidding,” Gihun heaved, dragging the other man out the bar, “When you said you couldn’t hold your liquor.”
Young il swayed against Gihun as they waited for the cab, nearly knocking them both off balance. 'Damn, what does he eat all day?' Gihun found himself wondering. For such a lean man, Young il was deceptively heavy.
“Young il, what’s your address?” Gihun hastily shoved Young il into the backseat when the cab finally came, climbing inside with him.
“Dormitories… third floor… apartment 301…”
Gihun froze. That was the same building he was staying at. Young il practically lived next door.
What a small world, he thought. Young il’s earlier words flashed through his mind . Maybe this really is fate…
Young il groaned as the cab sped off. “We’re almost there,” Gihun rubbed his back in soothing motions. Don't throw up, don't throw up, don't throw up...
When they finally reached their destination, Gihun shoved a wad of bills into the driver’s hands and hauled his inebriated companion out. The cold night air seemed to wake Young il up as they stumbled their way across the road.
“You hanging in there, Young il?”
Young il answered in the form of a grunt.
I’ll take that as a no, then.
Now, came the hard part.
Like most other buildings in town, the apartment was a relic with no working elevator. With a firm grip on Young il’s waist and the other man’s arm secured around his shoulder, Gihun took a deep breath and ascended the stairs.
By the time they reached Young il’s unit, Gihun felt like he’d run a marathon.
“Young il, where are your keys?” Gihun muttered more to himself than anyone else as he dug through Young il’s pockets. He found them before long, and opened the door.
“Ugh… Gihun…” Young il leaned into him again, nearly knocking Gihun off his feet. Gihun fumbled the walls for a light switch, but Young il’s dead weight made it impossible to spare one arm. Gihun quickly gave up and manoeuvred them through the apartment in the dark. Luckily, he didn’t have to search long. He pushed the bedroom door open and dragged Young il inside.
Right as they reached the bed, Young il’s leg caught between Gihun’s and they fell onto the mattress in a tangled mess.
Gihun’s breath was knocked out of his chest as Young il landed on top of him. The other man was surprisingly heavy, pinning him like a butterfly to a display board. Gihun called Young il's name, to no response. He pushed at Young il, gently at first, then with all his strength; the man would not budge. Instead, buried his face into Gihun's neck, and released a content sigh. Then, he fell still.
"...Young il?" Gihun called tentatively. Young il's soft, rhythmic breath tickled Gihun's ear.
Oh, geez.
"Young il, come on, wake up." He patted the other man's back. "I'm not some hot date you brought home, okay?"
The reality eventually sunk in that Young il was knocked out cold, and he had no choice but to wait for the man to either wake up, or roll off on his own. The seconds ticked by, and Gihun's mind wandered in the dark. Young il was solid and warm around him.
He smells nice, Gihun thought absentmindedly.
Young il shifted atop him, and Gihun's heart jumped. But instead of moving away, Young il shifted even closer. Gihun shuddered as Young il’s hot breath brushed against his skin– right where his scar was.
With one hard, adrenaline-fueled shove, Gihun pushed Young il off. Young il rolled onto his back with a soft grunt. Gihun shot upright, heart thumping hard in his chest. He sat there for a long time, frozen in place. Finally, he calmed himself down enough to glance behind. Young il was fast asleep. Gihun dragged a palm down his face, suddenly feeling drained.
Gihun made his way back into the living room and finally found the light switch. His eyes stung at the brightness which filled the room. Gihun didn’t know what he expected, but what he saw still surprised him. The apartment was clean and organized, almost to a militant degree, but barren. There were no family photos, no clutter, no colour. Perhaps this was to be expected of a divorced man, but it painted a lonely picture. Gihun's apartment fared no better. At least Young il kept his space tidy. He made his way into the kitchen--Young il had actual food in his fridge, unlike the takeout that plagued Gihun's diet. But the one thing he was looking for wasn't there.
Gihun walked back to Young il’s room, turned the man onto his side, and placed an empty trashcan by his bed. He left the apartment quietly, returning moments later with an electrolyte drink in hand.
He placed it on Young il’s nightstand with the sticky note attached: Drink this in the morning—will help with hangover.
Gihun woke up the next morning to a knock on his door. Young il stood on the other side, a bag in hand. His face was pale, and he rubbed at his temples like he was nursing a headache.
“For your troubles last night,” he croaked. “I made it this morning. I hope you like buchimgae.”
“Oh, you shouldn’t have,” Gihun accepted the package. “How are you feeling?”
“Still a little under the weather, if I’m being honest,” Young il's brows furrowed. “I’m so embarrassed, I never drink. I really overdid it yesterday.”
“Hey, don’t worry about it.” Gihun smiled. “I had fun last night. I haven’t lost track of time like that in a while.”
“That’s a relief,” Young il smiled back. Then, he grimaced, as if recalling an intrusive memory, “I hope I didn’t say anything too embarrassing,”
“Nothing that’ll get you sent to prison,” Gihun teased. “Would you like to come in? It would be rude of me to eat this alone.”
“Believe me, there’s nothing I’d like more. But duty calls. My students can’t learn without their teacher.”
“You’re still going to school?” Gihun asked, surprised. “Are you okay to teach in your condition?”
“I’ll manage,” Young il looked doubtful, but Gihun didn’t press. “I’ll see you around, Gihun. Make sure you eat that while it’s hot.”
The dish was still warm in his hands, and it smelled delicious. Gihun couldn't remember the last time he ate a home made meal.
It wasn't until long after Gihun saw Young il off that a thought occurred to him. He never gave Young il his address.
How does he know where I live?