MONTHS LATER
The front door clicked shut behind her.
"I'm home~"
The words came out light, sing-song, a habit Shin Hyerin hadn't bothered to unlearn even after years of coming back alone.
Her shoes were kicked off unevenly by the door. Her coat followed, slung over a chair and forgotten. She stood there, swaying, as if deciding whether gravity was worth the effort.
She looked worse than she felt, and she felt terrible.
Her hair hung loose and tangled down her back, dark strands clinging to her cheeks with sweat. Shadows pooled beneath her eyes, bruised and deep. Her skin had the dull, papery pallor of someone who had slept in places that weren't meant for sleeping, desks, chairs, squad cars, anywhere exhaustion finally won.
She crossed the living room and collapsed onto the couch face-first, the cushions sighing under her weight.
"…Tch."
She rolled onto her back and stared at the ceiling, one forearm draped dramatically over her eyes.
Another day dumped on her lap.
From the pocket of her coat, she pulled out a folded newspaper. The paper crackled loudly in the quiet room as she opened it, the headline already familiar.
UNIDENTIFIED MALE CASE SPIRALS — LINKS TO MULTIPLE UNSOLVED INCIDENTS
She skimmed without interest. Dates, locations. Names of detectives she recognized, most of them were her seniors. Men and women who had chased the case hard. Then slowly. Then not at all.
"…Even they gave up," she muttered.
She let the paper fall onto her chest.
"What do they expect me to do?" she went on quietly. "When everyone else already decided it's a dead end."
Her tone wasn't bitter. Just tired. Like someone complaining about the weather.
She closed her eyes.
Footsteps creaked on the stairs.
"Mom?"
She opened one eye.
A boy stood at the bottom of the stairs, peering at her over the railing. He looked about ten, slight and sharp-eyed, hair still messy from sleep or thinking too hard, sometimes it was hard to tell which.
He smiled when he saw her looking.
"You're home early."
"Mm," she said. "Define early."
He padded over, holding a piece of paper, titled ACCELERATED PLACEMENT EXAM with both hands like it was fragile.
"I got my results back," he said, unable to keep the pride out of his voice. "Eighty-five this time."
She sat up instantly.
"That's a twenty-point jump from last time," Her eyes widened. "You're kidding."
He shook his head, grinning.
She snatched him up without warning, lifting him off the floor as he squealed.
"That's amazing!" she laughed, spinning him once before dumping him onto the couch beside her. "You're going to make geniuses like Albert Einstein look like jokes at this rate."
He giggled, squirming as she poked at his sides.
"Mom! Stop–!"
She finally let him go and ruffled his hair.
"Have you eaten?"
He froze.
"…No."
Her smile vanished.
"Shin Injoon! I told you not to skip dinner again," she said sharply. "Your brain runs on food, you know."
"I was watching videos," he said defensively.
She sighed.
…
Injoon sat onto a chair at the dining table. His tablet lit up as soon as he touched it, footage autoplaying without sound.
The white mask filled the screen.
A clip of the masked man protecting a harassed woman at night. Another of him standing silently while people cheered. Fan edits spliced together dramatic music and slow-motion shots.
Hyerin moved around the kitchen, chopping vegetables with practiced efficiency. The sizzle of oil filled the air.
From the table, the boy frowned.
"Mom?"
"Mm?"
"What's this?"
She glanced over.
He was holding the newspaper.
"Oh," she said easily. "Nothing. Mommy has nothing to do with it."
He hummed, unconvinced, and kept reading.
She finished cooking and brought the plates over, setting one in front of him.
"I made your favorite tonight, Bibimbap." she said. "Eat while it's hot."
Injoon's eyes were fixed on the paper, brows drawn together in concentration.
Hyerin noticed.
"…You interested in that?" she asked, casual enough.
He nodded slowly.
"They say the man doesn't have a name," he said. "But they know exactly what time he died."
She paused, a plate still in her hand.
"That's normal," she said. "Medical examiners–"
"Mom."
Her gaze shifted to him.
"Why did he die the same day the masked man made his first speech?"
The plate touched the table a little too hard unintentionally.
"—standing as a symbol of hope—"
Sound burst from the tablet.
Injoon flinched and scrambled to lower the volume, but the fan edit had already cut through the room, dramatic music swelling, the masked man's voice layered and echoing, slowed just enough to sound grand.
"As long as injustice exists,"
"I will stand."
The words lingered, artificial and heroic.
Hyerin didn't move.
Her eyes were fixed on the newspaper.
Dates.
Times.
A quote from the same speech, printed in bold.
Her thumb slid slowly over the ink.
She turned the page.
The music on the tablet reached its crescendo, cheers, applause, overlapping voices chanting the masked man's name.
Her lips curved. Not a smile, but something thinner.
"Eat," she said suddenly, pushing his plate closer to him. "Before it gets cold."
He watched her, confused. "Mom?"
"It's not my case, honey. You don't have to worry about it." she replied.
She folded the newspaper and slipped it under her arm.
For the first time that night, she felt awake.
Outside, sirens wailed, bleeding into one another as they passed.
Hyerin listened.
Thhe case stopped being dead.
And she realized she had already picked it up.