There are things that aren't in my file.
My file says: Kang Jisoo. Born in 1985 in Incheon. Only child. Degree in Criminology from Korea University. Joined the Seoul Metropolitan Police in 2010. Promoted to detective in 2013. Homicide Unit since 2014. No major disciplinary actions. No mandatory psychiatric history — voluntary records, if any, are confidential.
What it doesn't say: that my father died when I was eleven under circumstances the official report describes as a domestic accident.
What it doesn't say: that my mother never directly told me it was something else… even though for years I slept with my door locked.
What it doesn't say: that between sixteen and nineteen I did things that never made it into any file. Things on the border between what the law allows and what it doesn't. Things no one saw.
Or that no one wanted to see.
What it doesn't say: that I chose this profession not despite what's inside me, but precisely because of it.
Because if you're going to have a wolf in your head, you might as well work where wolves are studied from the outside.
I've spent twenty years studying myself from the outside.
I'm pretty good at that too.
Friday morning I walked into Park's office with the three folders and the three names and laid out the case for what it was: an active serial killer, three confirmed victims, consistent and progressive methodology, and a digital profile that had contacted eleven women in five months.
Park listened without interrupting.
When I finished, he stood up and went to the window — his usual gesture when he doesn't like something — and stared at the street for exactly ten seconds.
— Why wasn't this detected earlier?
— Because the previous cases were classified as suicide. — Flat tone —. The Han has high statistics. First-response protocol wasn't oriented toward looking for homicide indicators.
— Who classified the cases?
— I'm looking into that.
I didn't mention Song Minwoo.
Not yet.
Park turned.
— I need this contained. If it gets to the media that there's a serial killer in the Han…
— I know.
— The mayor has elections next year, Kang.
— I know — I repeated —. And I also know there are at least eight women in Seoul who have spoken to this man without realizing it. I need those names from the app. And I need more resources.
We held each other's gaze.
Park pulled a toothpick from his pocket.
— You have seventy-two hours before this goes up to Central Unit. — Pause —. And Kang… work with your team this time.
— I always work with my team.
— Yeah.
His tone said what didn't need repeating.
The eight names arrived that afternoon.
Im Suah and Lee Chanho split the interviews. I took the three in Gangnam.
I was looking for pattern.
Or proximity.
Or something I still didn't know how to name.
Han Jiseon. Forty years old. Lawyer.
She received me in her office with the tense calm of someone who hasn't yet decided whether she should be afraid.
I showed her the profile of K_Seoul_83.
Her expression changed immediately.
— Yes. I spoke with him. Two months, more or less. — Pause —. I blocked him.
— Why?
— Because I started to feel… watched.
She chose the word carefully.
— He never said anything inappropriate — she continued —. He was intelligent. Attentive. Wrote well. But there was something in the way he asked questions.
Brief silence.
— He knew too much about what hurts you.
That made me look up.
— Can you explain?
— He said things that sounded general. About loneliness. About what people hide. — She swallowed —. But they always landed exactly on my weak point. Like he knew where to press.
…
— Has he hurt anyone? — she asked.
— We're investigating — I answered.
— Did you give him personal information?
— No. — Pause —. Although I did mention the name of this firm.
Another pause.
Longer.
— Oh my God — she whispered.
I left my card.
In the elevator I reviewed my notes.
Knew where to press.
That's not intuition.
That's active profiling.
Someone who listens to map.
Someone who talks to open cracks.
Someone who uses empathy without feeling it.
I knew that profile.
Too well.
At 11:43 p.m. the notification came.
Someone had viewed my profile.
K_Seoul_83.
I didn't open it immediately.
I counted to thirty.
Then I went in.
He had looked.
Nothing more.
I waited.
At 12:02 the message arrived.
Interesting way to introduce yourself.
What exactly are you looking for?
I noticed the slight tremor in my hands.
I controlled it.
Control is what I do.
I replied.
Depends on what's available.
Three dots.
He was typing.
Most people lie on these apps.
They put what they think the other person wants to see.
There was rhythm in his sentences.
Space.
Cadence.
Someone who understands conversation as a tool.
And you don't?
The reply came without delay.
I never lie.
It's my only real virtue.
…
Interesting choice of words.
And your flaws?
Forty seconds of silence.
Then:
I know too well what I want.
Most people find that… disturbing.
I let a minute pass.
I didn't want to seem eager.
I didn't want to seem like anything I hadn't decided to be.
Most people are afraid of clarity.
The reply was instant.
Exactly.
I think I'd like to meet you.
I closed the app.
Too fast.
I went to the bathroom in the empty office.
Fluorescent light.
Tired face.
Eyes too alert.
I looked at myself.
Was this work?
Or was it something I would have done anyway?
I turned on the faucet.
Cold water.
Once.
Twice.
When I looked up…
For a second
The reflection wasn't the bathroom.
It was the edge of the Han.
The black bag.
The red dress.
Hands in a prayer position.
And me…
Crouched beside the body
Watching with an attention
That wasn't only professional.
I turned off the faucet.
And left without looking at the mirror again.