Sung-ho

**Sung-ho Kwon** is an undercover police operative who’s on a mission to uncover the truth about a brutal stabbing; partner of Min-jun and the one in charge of handling Tadashi’s case. He has to find evidence against a killer, before the bureaucratic Seoul police department are forced to release him to continue his reign of terror.

## **Physical Appearance**

Sung-ho is a tall, effortlessly handsome man with dark brown eyes and black hair.

## **Personality and Traits**

Cunning and quick-thinking, Sung-ho effectively infiltrates the whereabouts of multiple murders by taking on possible suspects. While many types would panic in the situations Sung-ho experiences, he manages to keep his cool and strategically avoid being caught. He is constantly looking for more information and troubleshooting problems in real time. When the police laugh off Jimin’s story about Tadashi’s death, Sung-ho trusts his instincts and follows his hunches. He stays practical and focuses his attentions on the here-and-now in order uncover the mystery of the death of Tadashi.

By the end of the season, Sung-ho is nearly broken from guilt over the death of Tadashi, to the point that he apparently refuses to spend any of the money at all and just lives as an aimless drifter. Like Jimin, Sung-ho considers himself responsible for the murder of Tadashi, and it hangs over, even giving him an emotional breakdown.

## **Role in Season 1**

### ***Your Eyes Tell***

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**Case Number: A/M 27/04/20/1246**
Incident: Murder

Reporting Officer: Police Officer Sung-ho Kwon

Date of Report: 27. December 2023

1. On 27.012.2023, the 24-year-old victim Tadashi Satō was reported deceased by several witnesses.  Most recently, the male victim was seen around 9:30 p.m. at the so-called "Bar 81" in Seoul.

2. Street, No. 1890-1891. According to reports by the victim's witness, he is said to have moved away from the last place of residence independently at said time.

3. After initial investigations, surveillance recordings had spotted the victim around 9:35 p.m. at the emergency exits of "Bar 81" no. 1890-1891 and the alleyway in the night.

4. Show street. After leaving the site, the track got lost.

5. So far, no claims have been made by third parties.

6. Follow-up reports will follow.

```

The night is dark and rainy when they emerge onto the sidewalk, walking briskly towards where Sung-ho had parked to escape the late autumn air. Every silence that falls between them in the car is filled by the measured pace of the wipers while Min-jun busies himself with readying his notebook, writing down the date, time, and the neighborhood for future reference. Both of them are well-known for being detail-oriented and meticulous -- it’s a reason they work so well together -- but it also manifested itself in their personalities, which can make them difficult to work with for someone on the outside.

    If he was irritated by their previous conversation, he doesn’t show it as he speeds through the lights slightly above the speed limit, getting the address sent to him via his computer GPS and not bothering with the route once he sees where it is. The traffic wasn’t terrible for the time of day and the time shows three minutes after the half hour when they arrive at Songpa-gu, Olympic-ro, 300 롯데월드타워, moving through at a snail’s pace around all the people and parking just in front of the crosswalk. A swarm of police vehicles, officers, and civilians are already crowding around the entrance to the scene, which is clearly marked-off with yellow tape to keep people back and it’s flanked by two stern-looking men in uniform, their faces vaguely familiar. Sung-ho gets out first, bowing a bit to the men in greeting, and they move the tape up for the two of them. He shows his badge to prove his identity and the crowd waiting just pasts the entrance split down the middle, leaving a space for Min-jun to slip through as he leads the way down the slope and into the shade of the alleyway, the temperature physically dropping as they decline just past a few dumpsters. The civilians are shouting questions at him, revealing their identity as journalists, but he ignores them. He can’t explain a situation he knows nothing about and it had always bothered him the way journalists descend on a scene desperate for information, seeing the body as a story and not as a human-being. The victims and their families deserve respect like anyone else. “You’d think it was an idol or something with all the damn people here,” Min-jun grumbles, his voice nearly getting carried away. “This isn’t the first death in Seoul and it won’t be the last. Their interest will never make sense to me. How did they even find out so fast?” Sung-ho shrugs, letting the warmth from his coffee cup brush across his face as they approached the scene. He knows most journalists simply want the truth but a lot of them take it further than that, desperate for anything they can sell to the masses. Robberies and, to an extent, corruption doesn’t interest them but a body draws them in like nothing else. At least this particular location keeps them from seeing too much, although it would inconvenience those who worked in the building next to the crime scene. “What are we looking at?” Min-jun asks when he fails to answer, tucking his hands into his pockets to keep them warm. It’s cold for early November and the breeze in-between the two buildings are near constant, his black hair unwilling to stay on his forehead. “Judging by the crowd out front, I’m guessing homicide. They have a nose for this sort of thing, you know.” Do-hoon, their forensic science technician, nods in response to the question or perhaps the statement and when he steps aside, Min-jun flinches ever so subtly, swallowing the curse that’s making its way up his throat. Sung-ho, however, has no such reservations. “Jesus. The son of bitch really did a number on him, didn’t he?” Sung-ho crouches, pushing his long coat behind him, and pulls on the gloves that are handed to him. Min-jun does the same, passing his coffee off to a nearby officer, and walks around Sung-ho’s other side to get the full picture.

    It’s nothing he has ever seen before and it fascinates him, even if it’s grotesque. It’s not the scene of your average murder. Instead, it has the presentation of the type you always see in dramas. It’s the sort of crime scene a detective can only dream about, the sort that can make a career. The body is of a very young-looking male -- presumably a high-schooler no less -- who is completely slumped, his legs spread out. He’s wearing a blue tweed blazer jacket, alongside black skinny jeans. He is fractured by countless gashes across the skin of varying thicknesses and depths. They crisscross his chest, dividing the section into pieces that are still attached. It’s impossible to tell how many of them there are due to the dried blood that blurs all the lines and the lonely overhead light provided little illumination. Crimson drips thickly from the victim’s plump lips, mixing with saliva as it fell to join the growing trail on his chest. His facial structure was also interestingly unique. Looking at his face Sung-ho sees neither a boy nor a man but something trapped between. Eighteen he might have been, but he had yet to lose the lingering vestiges of his teenage years. His features seemed too large to be called mature from his large eyes to his button nose, to that plumpness of a mouth of his. Despite his features being very cherubic and soft, Sung-ho can’t shake his initial feeling upon studying him. He was an adult child. He was trapped between two worlds. A large pool of blood around him on the ground. His blazer sliced-up from the lacerations. Aside from that, the body was seemingly devoid of any wounds -- defensive or otherwise. It was almost perfect, if not for the lack of life. “What do you think?” Min-jun asks, not addressing anyone in particular. “In your professional opinion, of course.”

     “Well,” Sung-ho says, squatting in front of the victim head to examine his throat. “I think the cause of death was this slit here but we’ll get a second opinion. A professional one, if you will. Whoever they are, they know what they’re doing and I’m sure the coroner will agree with me. It doesn’t look jagged or uneven. His hands are clean, with no defensive marks, and there is very little blood.” “What about the other punctures?” “That’s conclusive with a fall,” Dohoon interjects, examining it through the lens of his camera. “It’s possible he could have been at the restaurant and had too much to drink. He could have lost his balance; the inclined streets can be tricky if you’re inebriated. Or the killer was there, one of the two.” Min-jun nods. “Yes, that makes sense. It’s an odd scene, though. I wonder what his motivation is for such a display.” Min-jun crouches near the victim’s black leather, high-heeled boots to inspect with a feather-light touch, making sure not to move the victim in any way. “Any theories, Dohoon-*hyung*? Sung-ho-*ah*?” Sung-ho sighs and crosses his arms, hoping that if he looks long enough something will jump out at him. The presentation is less obvious, less showy and dramatic. He gets the sense that if there had been, the body would have been found sooner. The sooner it was found, the more intact the display would be. There is nothing about it that suggests he thought the victim was special, that the relationship between them had been personal. It felt hollow. “He didn’t care about him,” Sung-ho says quietly, a bit hesitant. “Not like the last time, if it’s even the same person. I mean, think about it. No-one found him for several hours. If the killer wanted us to see the body, he would have left the body where he couldn’t be ignored.” Min-jun frowns, interested but not convinced. “He left the boy where he couldn’t be seen and apparently people just walked right past, not hearing screaming or anything. Maybe visibility has nothing to do with it.” “Well, if that’s true then why showcase the body? Why make a spectacle of the murder by just leaving it? He was killed here, wasn’t he?” He directs the last part to Do-hoon, who nods. “Most likely. There’s a lot of blood.” “It’s messy,” Min-jun adds, catching on. He straightens, heading in the direction that Do-hoon had pointed, careful not to step on any tracks. “There’s blood everywhere, on the ground and on his body. It’s splattered on the wall behind him like abstract art. The killer paid special attention to how the victim looked and how the victim was perceived. Why maul him in such a way?” Sung-ho hums to indicate that he agrees. “And in doing so, he failed to preserve this victim’s unique beauty. This was personal but in a different way. It’s almost like the killer was annoyed by him. He didn’t bother to clean-up or move him or take any of the belongings. I wonder if it was spontaneous. I wonder if he killed him to scratch an itch rather than to make a point. A sign of a young or inexperienced killer, usually. Veterans know how to be patient.” “That’s interesting,” Min-jun says, pointing at him as he makes his way backwards and to the side. “That’s really interesting. I think you’re onto something. But come here, look at his. Does it look like a partial print to you?” Sung-ho makes his way to beside the dumpsters, stepping over the things Min-jun had avoided, and squats to better see in the low light. It does look like a print, left in a mixture of blood and what appeared to be mud. He isn’t an expert but it looks to be the half with the heel. “Well, I’ll be damned. That’s reckless but it’s lucky for us. I’m not surprised though. The scene is so messy it would be hard not to step in any of this, especially if you did it in the spur of the moment and were just trying to get it done rather than trying to get it right.” “Could it be a copycat?” Min-jun wonders, motioning for Do-hoon to photograph the print up close so it can be casted for evidence, which he does. “The energy is different. Is it possible that someone is trying to mimic what happened with the other murder four years ago given all the attention it has received in the media?” “I guess,” Sung-ho says, treading back over towards the victim’s lifeless body. “It’s early but there’s a precedent for it; it’ll just take time to prove. It’s nearly impossible to create a signature with just one murder and I hate to be the one to say it but we’ll never be able to identify it if he doesn’t kill again.” Min-jun gives an exaggerated exhale, vibrating his throat, and joins him near the entrance. With their initial investigation over, the other forensic technicians move in to finish the photographing and to prepare the body for transport, a job Sung-ho doesn’t envy. Once at the entrance of the alleyway, they remove the gloves and shoe protectors, disposing of them with the officer who comes to collect them. “Do we know who found the body? Have any witnesses come forward, do you know? Or should I speak with Beomseok-ssi?” “He would know better than me. He was talking with the man who’d called it in, I believe. Over by where you came in.” Sung-ho and Min-jun go in search of him, and found Officer Beomseok near the entrance. He’s mid-conversation with another man, a civilian or perhaps a journalist who was dressed in suit pants and a polo, and the officer smiles upon seeing the pair, all of them bowing when they come together. “Oh, good. Just the people I wanted to see. Gentlemen, this is Park Dongsun. He is a shop owner who discovered the body. Dongsun-*ssi*, these men will want to ask you some questions. Is that okay?” He nods and Beomseok steps back, giving them space, and Min-jun steps forward in his place, his light-hearted demeanor from earlier fading away. “I’m Detective Min-jun Kim,” he says, shaking the man’s hand and then stepping back so that Sung-ho can do the same. “This is my partner, Detective Sung-ho Kwon. Can you walk us through what happened?” “Yes, of course.” He points to the entryway to his left, which is blocked off by the yellow tape. The faces of the journalists are visible just beyond, still a murmuring swell in the background. “I walked through that entrance there so I could get my car and go home and when I passed the section marker, a homeless man ran up to me in hysterics; horrified. He told me he discovered a dead body, and I went to check it out myself, and the poor kid was there. It was in plain sight and I thought it was a mannequin at first since no-one else had reported it. This is usually a busy area.” “What time was this?” Sung-ho asks, his notebook out but not open. “About ten or so, maybe a little before. I’m sure of it.” “You didn’t see anyone else or hear anything unusual?” Min-jun asks. He’s taking notes more furiously than Sung-ho. “Anything helps, even if it seems insignificant.” “Not that I can recall. This place has cameras though, I think. You could check them.” “We’ll do that, thank you. And you said your name was Park Dongsun, yes?” He confirms that it was and Sung-ho passes over a business card from his wallet. “If you think of anything else, this is our direct line. Feel free to call whenever or leave a message.” He agrees he will and Sung-ho pushes Min-jun gently towards the car, giving one last look back at the body. Do-hoon is taking wide-shots from above and at an angle while another technician is preparing the surrounding area for transport, his point of view overtaken by other officers closing in, masks on and hands covered.

     Once they are free from all the voices, Min-jun exhales heavily and gets back in the driver’s seat. He doesn’t start it right away, however. He just stares out the window, his eyes unfocused, as Sung-ho got settled in the limited space. It takes him one and then two tries to get the seatbelt in properly but Min-jun doesn’t even blink as he struggles. He supposes he’s used to it after years of exposure. “You felt it too, didn’t you?” he asks softly. He doesn’t wait for Sung-ho to respond before he continues. “There’s something bigger going on here, I know it. This isn’t some random kill. You don’t just lay out people like sacrifices because you’re bored. This bastard is trying to tell us something specific and I’ll be damned if I don’t figure out what it is.” “What are you saying, hyung? That he’s just getting started?” Sung-ho doesn't like the thought of something so sinister and unknown lurking around densely populated neighborhoods but he also knows that the murder has the potential to be the beginning of everything. Some cases alter your career forever and this can be one of those cases, if Min-jun’s gut feeling is right; it usually is and that is what unnerved him. Min-jun turns to face him, holding up his notebook for emphasis. “I’m saying anything’s possible and that we should prepare for the worst. You never know with a city like Seoul.” The police and the technicians are quickly swallowing the scene, removing all evidence via carefully labeled bags, and none of them are taking any questions that the countless reporters asked.

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Sung-ho arrives to work early the morning after the body is discovered. They didn’t even have a positive I.D. on the body yet but hopefully something will change once he has the pictures from Dohoon and the autopsy report from the coroner, which he will receive surprisingly early as soon as Min-jun is ready to go downstairs. He is still sitting at his desk, typing up an email while frowning at the screen and forcing Sung-ho to get comfortable on the corner farthest away from him while he waited. “I told you that you could go down without me,” Min-jun says, hitting the backspace several times. “The coroner doesn’t need both of us.” “And I told you that I prefer to go together. I think this sort of information is best heard first-hand, even if it’s not much. Besides, I thought you’d want to see him.” Min-jun doesn’t dignify that with a response and he doesn’t have to. “Fine. Give me two more minutes,” Min-jun says and starts typing faster. Sung-ho decides to pace in the direction of the window, rotating his arms to stretch them as he stares out at the view. The police department is located in a nice neighborhood, one Sung-ho doesn’t actually live in, but he’s always grateful his office has a window since he spends so many hours inside it, especially during cases. His attention will often drift there when he’s taking a break to rest his eyes. The Seodaemun District is located just northwest of the city center and is fairly residential but there are plenty of sites to attract tourists and as the midday hours approaches, he can see the foot traffic picking up outside. Min-jun finishes with about thirty seconds to spare in Sung-ho’s head and he leads the way to the lower level where the coroner is waiting. The medical examiner’s office and the accompanying mortuary are usually rather monotone in color and somewhat cold but he supposes that one gets used to it after a while. It isn’t as dark and dramatic as it seems in dramas though and the coroner’s personality goes a long way in cheering the place up, as did the little brightly-colored flowers he’d gotten permission to put on the floor in lieu of a path. His supervisor is endearingly but dangerously indulgent at times but luckily, the coroner is not the type to take a mile when given an inch. He greets them both with a smile, dressed in his white lab coat, and shows them over to the metal table where the body lays. After eight years of schooling, he’s technically still undergoing clinical training but his direct superior often lets him present any findings or even to examine the bodies if he himself is not there or busy with other cases.

     It gives the coroner valuable experience and no-one questions it, since all the information he’s given up to that point had been credible. Sung-ho also can’t deny that he prefers the coroner’s company and trusts his judgement; he will never intentionally lead them astray. The light overheard’s on and very bright despite the small window, bringing to the forefront every mark and vein on the boy’s body, and it’s a stark contrast to how he had been presented twenty-four hours earlier. He was obviously young and fairly attractive; it was the face of someone who didn’t deserve to die and Sung-ho wonders why the killer had thought differently. The coroner clears his throat and starts at the beginning, strands of brown hair falling out of line across his temple. “First of all, the time of death was somewhere between 9:45 and 10 p.m., I’d guess. Rigor mortis can set in as early as four hours afterwards and he was moved prior to that. With the cold temperatures outside, the process of rigor mortis is slowed down so he’s better preserved than he otherwise would have been inside. I’m sorry I can’t give you a smaller window.” He pulls back the sheet further to reveal the top half of the body. “You were right,” he says, tracing the gash with a gloved finger. “About your theory, according to Dohoon-*hyung*. This laceration here was the cause of death. For the most part, it was a clean cut with a confident and steady hand from the soft spot on the side of the throat to the juncture of his jaw and neck. You can see here,” he points to a spot just left of center, “...where it’s deeper.” The coroner grabs his clipboard from the other table. “We got the results back from some of the tests already as well. Fingerprints say that he is Tadashi Satō; twenty-four-years-old and a newbie resident of Seoul -- no dental records yet. Moved from Japan, no parents or siblings. I’m still waiting on toxicology, but I’m sure he was inebriated in some capacity.” “Okay. Does this suggest anything else to you?” Min-jun asks, crossing one arm over his chest and using it to support the hand that rubs at his chin. “Can you get a sense of his emotions or intentions? You’ve seen the photographs, I’m sure.” “I have. In my best estimation, he wasn’t particularly angry. Annoyed, perhaps. But aside from the kill mark and the wings to make his point, where which were done post-mortem, Tadashi’s untouched. He did what he intended to do and then got the hell away. As for what this suggests, I think it’s safe to say that it’s personal. There’s no way to know from this that he knew her personally, although that’s possible, but he certainly had a message to send and he used Tadashi’s body to do it.” Min-jun nods and says nothing, still processing that, so Sung-ho takes over. “Tadashi didn’t fight back, did he?” “No,” the coroner says, sparing Min-jun a brief glance before meeting Sung-ho’s eyes. “There were no defensive wounds. I think it’s fortunate that he was largely unaware of the whole thing. I can’t imagine bearing witness to whatever brand of evil did this to him.” Sung-ho exhales, relieved that Tadashi hadn’t had to suffer for too long. It was hard seeing any dead body but it was always worse when they are young. But at least now they know who he was and they could notify his next of kin. He squeezes the coroner’s shoulder and thanks him for the information. “Nice work, *hyung*, as always. Let us know when the tox screen comes back, okay?” “Will do.” He sends them away with another smile, yelling for Min-jun to shut the door behind them as he pulls the sheet back up to cover what remains of the boy. The two detectives are left together in the hallway to make the trip back up to the main floor. It’s wide enough for them to walk side-by-side so they do, gravity bumping their shoulders every few steps. “Do you still think there’s another motive?” Min-jun asks, his voice reverberating unapologetically off the walls. “I don’t know. That would be the easy answer but I don’t want easy, I want the *truth*. I think that if it *was* for some religious cult, then why? What purpose does that serve in divine punishment?” “And why an alleyway?” “Exactly. What does it have to do with anything? Is the place significant in a way that we’re not seeing?” Sung-ho hits the button to call the elevator. “The excessive stab wounds are bugging me, too. Why stab him so many times that ruthlessly?” “You know something else that’s been bothering me? Why now?” Min-jun asks, talking with his hands in a way that’s habitual for him. “Why that night? Was it planned or did he simply just take advantage of the 'hang-out' so as not to be noticed? And why Tadashi?” The doors open and they step inside, punching the number for ground-level. As the panels slide closed, Sung-ho stares at their reflections in the metal and sees how much taller than Min-jun he is, how much broader. But none of that matters and their intelligence doesn’t matter either, not if they can’t put the pieces together. It will become just another cold case in a stack of cold cases and Tadashi’s parents would join countless others without closure. Just another murder in a growing pile of them. He exhales heavily, leaning against the wall. “So many damn questions.” And never enough answers.

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It has been four days and Sung-ho is still in disbelief. When he enters the room carrying two steaming coffees, Sung-ho doesn’t sit in his chair but rather on the corner of the desk, his arms folded. It’s clearly his day off, being a Sunday and all, and he’s wearing jeans and a sweatshirt with Converses that looks well-loved. The shirt hides the muscled arms he’s sure he has seen during their last encounter but he forces himself not to think about that. “Are you okay?” Sung-ho asks. His voice is neutral, careful even. If he’s affected by their conversation before in any way, he doesn’t show it in his mannerisms. Maybe that’s for the best. Sympathy can easily be misconstrued and his state of mind is fragile enough as it is. “I’m fine,” he says, testing the temperature of the coffee with his tongue.

     “He didn’t hurt me. Does that mean you’re not going to file a report this time, either?” Sung-ho’s lips twitched but he didn’t quite smile. “That depends.” “On what?” “On what you have to say.” the shop owner nods and sits forward, leaning his arm heavily against the side of the chair. “You’re going to think I’m crazy,” he begins, initially a hush but growing louder as he speaks, “but it was him. It was the man from the alleyway, I know it was.” “Did you see his face?” Sung-ho asks, writing something in his notebook that the shop owner can’t read from so far away, not when it’s upside down. It must have been laying on his desk for him to have it ready so quickly. “No, not really. He was wearing a hat and a mask, just like before. It felt the same, though. It was bone-chilling and not just because it was cold out. If she hadn’t warned me, he would have grabbed me and God only knows what he would have done.” “She? There was a witness?” The shop owner smiles. “Am I getting warmer, Detective?” Sung-ho lets the laugh escape for a brief second, their eyes meeting, and the shop owner has to look away. “You’re getting there,” he says in response. “Did you know the woman? Can you describe her to me at all?” He nods but to the second question, not the first. “She was young, early twenties probably. I didn’t know her personally but I know that she worked in the building. I’ve seen her in the halls before. Her ID lanyard was blue so she worked in communications somewhere.” “Okay. I’ll see if we can track her down. What about the attacker? Did you notice anything else about him? His height, his build? Did he smell like anything in particular?” The shop owner remembers turning and seeing him there but he had already been pulling away, his eyes mostly unseen and not in any great detail. But he appeared to be of average height and slim and he told Namjoon as much. “I’m sorry I didn’t see more. He moved so fast.” Sung-ho waves him off. “It’s fine. Witnesses rarely give highly detailed descriptions, at least accurate ones. The brain isn’t built to process information that way. We see things in parts and that’s how we best remember them. If you had gotten a good look at his eyes, they would have stood out to you more than anything else. The shape of them would have imprinted in your mind. I can set you up with a sketch artist, if you feel comfortable enough with what you’ve seen. It might help you build a fuller picture later on.” The shop owner shrugs, hears himself say might as well, and then Sung-ho picks up the phone, asking after the whereabouts of someone named Jungkook. “Jeon Jungkook, the sketch artist, has some time right now if you’d like to sit down with him,” Sung-ho says, commanding his attention once again and getting comfortable at the computer, keeping his notebook open with a paperweight so he can type without holding it. “He works one corridor over.” “Okay, thank you.” He drinks more of the coffee, not wanting to waste it. “Right,” Sung-ho says, finishing his sentence on the keyboard and getting to his feet. “I’ll walk you over to Jungkookie. He’ll take good care of you. He’s very skilled.” The shop owner doesn’t question it. Sung-ho leads the way, inadvertently giving the shop owner a view of his rear profile, and he forces his eyes to follow the walls instead as they crossed a hallway over to the other side. He doesn’t know where the sudden thoughts are coming from but he wishes they’d go away. Appreciating the view will only make it harder to destroy. “Here he is,” Sung-ho says, tapping on the partition that divides Jungkook’s workspace from his neighbor’s. “Jungkook-*ah*, perk up. I have a witness for you.” A head of black hair appears above the wall, headphones on, and when he smiles, his face reminds Sung-ho of a bunny. He seems too soft and trusting to work in a place that processes criminals but he supposes everyone has their vices and a job is a job. His hand reaches out and the shop owner takes it, having been conditioned to do so. “Hello, I’m Jungkook Jeon. You can just make yourself at home. I got a stool here somewhere, hold on.” He pulls his hand away and digs around somewhere out of sight. Sung-ho crosses his arms, his body leaning against the edge of the doorframe. “Here you go. Give me one second to fetch my materials and we’ll get started. Did Sung-ho-*hyung* feed you or give you something to drink at all? He’s usually pretty good about making his witnesses feel comfortable but I couldn’t help but notice that you’re empty-handed.” Jungkook seems to tower above him as he collects things from his desk to clear a space, pulling objects from a drawer and depositing the headphones over his computer screen, which displays some scene in a paused video-game. From the new angle, Sung-ho can see that Jungkook is wearing a pair of black combat boots that immediately conflicts with the soft image, as does the hand tattoos and numerous rings. It doesn’t exactly scream regulation and he is pretty sure that *Overwatch* is not allowed but no-one around seems to care. “Do you usually work from your desk?” the shop owner asks, curious at the level of chaos and borderline unprofessionalism he is being presented with, albeit endeared by it. “Oh, no. I typically interview people in the interrogation rooms but the location doesn’t really make a difference as long as the witness feels comfortable with me.”

     Apparently finding what he’s looking for, Jungkook pulls his chair up to the part that’s been cleared and sets down a sketch board, along with various pencils and pastels. He narrates what he’s doing as if the shop owner is an apprentice trying to learn the craft. “I’ll start out with a pencil made of harder graphite for the early details, since those are much lighter. It doesn’t smudge very easily so it will suit the foundation of the face. Clean lines are best when working with the face, you know.” Jungkook puts a glove on his right hand and wiggles the fingers to try and accommodate for the rings. “This is for shading. It’s cleaner than my fingertip and helps prevent extraneous marks from getting on the sketch.” “I can’t say I’ve ever overseen this process before.” “It’s interesting, or at least I think so.” He smiles and turns on his little lamp. “Now, how well the reconstruction turns out depends on your level of detail so try to give me as much as possible. You can always come back if you remember something else or if you see the face better, okay? So don’t overthink it. In fact, I recommend that you don’t.” The shop owner runs a hand through his hair, as if not sure why he feels nervous all of a sudden. “I’m not that good with faces, not really.” “That’s alright, most people aren’t. Any detail helps. Did you know,” he says, angling the paper to the left a bit, “that human faces were not designed to recall the face in parts? It’s true. We’re much better at composites, with the entire face in focus. Having everything in pieces causes us to question the smallest details, since features are hard to recognize on their own without context. Just picture them in your mind and describe to me what you see. How did the face make you feel?” He shuts his eyes and tries to recall the attack, tries to remember how he felt when he turned around. He had been afraid for a split second, that much he knew for sure. When he’d heard the boy scream, when he’d seen the man in all black behind him, it had sent a hot whip of panic down his spine despite the frigidness of the air. It was something he’d never felt before -- real danger, a threat. “It felt cold, lifeless,” he said quietly. “I barely saw him but when I did, it gave me chills. He was rushed, turning away so quickly that I almost missed him. I didn’t really understand the hurry -- the area was all but deserted -- but I guess when you’re committing a crime you wanna take what you came for and get the hell out.” “Okay. Was he thin or heavy-set? That is, was the face slender or sharp or was it rounder?” “It was average I think, if that makes sense. Not noticeably round but it wasn’t gaunt either. He was wearing a mask so all I could see were the eyes and his neck.” “And what did they look like?” Jungkook asks, drawing the outline of the face with short, quick strokes in a standard manner until more details were forthcoming. “Were they big or small, his eyes?” The second encounter had been closer but too fast, the eyes gone in a second, but the first time the man hadn’t known he was being watched. Then, the shop owner had seen the eyes but they were from a distance and not for very long, somewhat hidden in the shadows of the neon lights. “Smaller, I think. Narrow?” “Do you recall their placement? Were they close together, far apart, or average?” “Average, I’d say. They were about the only thing I could get a good look at, even though it was dark.” He leans forward, trying to catch a glimpse of the infant drawing. “He was fair-skinned, no tan or anything, and early to mid-twenties probably. The lines were there but not obvious.” Jungkook pauses. “I thought you didn’t get a good look at him?” “I didn’t,” the shop owner says. “But have you seen my skin? Trust me when I say I notice other people’s.” “Fair enough. What about his hair?” Jungkook asks, searching for a thicker pencil with his ungloved hand. “I don’t know. It was hidden under a hat.” Jungkook begins outlining the section for the hair, drawing the scalp slightly to the right, and keeping it in the vicinity of the forehead. It’s a lot of detail for something that would be hidden but Sung-ho appreciates the effort. “What sort of hat? A baseball cap?” The shop owner nods. The man had no scars or moles, or at least none that were visible from the eyeline up and that he could see in such a short time. His wrinkles were standard, apparent only when the facial expression changed to one of panic, and his eyebrows were naturally thick but he admitted that his perception might be skewed due to the mask, just as the details might fall prey to memory. Jungkook uses a black pastel and his gloved middle finger to shade the hairline, doing the same to the edges of the mask he drew from the bridge of the nose down. Satisfied for the moment, he turns the sketch around and slides it forward. “How does this look? Does it resemble him accurately? If something looks or feels off, please say so. I will make any changes you deem necessary.” “I think that looks fine, for now.” With the look satisfactory, he begins the process of shading to add depth and definition to the features. With the mask, very little can be done (just as very little can be seen) but he does his best to bring the face to life. He mentions as he works that the eyes can be even more expressive than the face in its entirety. “Great, you’re all set,” Jungkook says, standing and removing his glove by loosening one finger at a time. “I’ll make sure the sketch finds the right hands. Have you finished your report yet?”