The Seoul National Cemetery was draped in a thin, mournful mist. Captain Han Seo-yoon stood at attention, her dress uniform crisp, the silver bars on her shoulders catching the dim morning light. As the bugle played the final notes of the ceremony for a fallen comrade, her mind didn't drift to the dead. It drifted to a boy in a dusty high school uniform.
Flashback: 15 years ago.The school's basement was a place most students avoided. It smelled of damp concrete and forgotten things. Seo-yoon had followed a faint scratching sound, only to find Jae-han sitting on a crate. He was fifteen, with a face so beautiful it felt haunting. In his lap was a rabbit, its leg mangled by a trap. Jae-han wasn't crying. He was holding a small pair of pliers, his eyes wide and vacant, watching the blood pulse from the creature's wound.
"Jae-han! What are you doing?" she had screamed.
He had looked up, and for a split second, she saw nothing. A void. Then, like a shutter clicking into place, his eyes filled with tears. "Seo-yoon-ah... I was trying to fix it. I think I made it worse. It's hurting, isn't it?"
She had spent the next hour comforting him, believing his trembling hands were a sign of a heart too tender for this world. She never noticed that the rabbit's other three legs had been tied with surgical precision.
Present Day.
"Captain Han. A word."
Seo-yoon snapped back to the present. Colonel Min, a man whose face looked like it was carved out of granite, gestured toward a black sedan.
"The Ministry of Defense is being pressured, Seo-yoon," the Colonel said, his voice lowering. "Three of the victims of this 'Architect' killer were high-ranking reservists. The police are chasing shadows, but the Blue House thinks it's an inside job. Someone with tactical knowledge. Someone who knows how to move through a city without being seen."
"You want me on the Joint Task Force?" Seo-yoon asked, her pulse steadying into combat mode.
"I want you to lead the military's side of the investigation. You have the best analytical mind in the intelligence branch. And," he paused, looking at her with a rare glimmer of pride, "your husband is the best surgeon in the country. If we need expert consultation on the medical precision of these kills, we have the best resource in your own home."
The irony tasted like copper in her mouth. "I understand, Colonel."
The drive home was a blur of neon lights and heavy thoughts. When she entered the apartment, the air was clinical, smelling of lavender and expensive disinfectant.
Jae-han was in the kitchen, his back to her. He was preparing dinner, his movements a rhythmic dance. Chop. Sizzle. Stir. "You're late, jagiya," he said without turning. "The calibration of your day must have been off by forty-two minutes."
"Colonel Min wants me on the Architect case," she said, dropping her bag on the counter. She watched him. She wanted a reaction—a flinch, a question, anything.
Jae-han stopped. He turned slowly, the knife still in his hand, glistening with juice from a red bell pepper. He smiled—that perfect, Johan-esque smile that felt like a warm embrace.
"The Architect? The one the news calls a 'Surgical Genius'?" Jae-han tilted his head, his eyes curious. "That's a heavy burden for my wife to carry. But I suppose it's poetic. A soldier hunting an artist."
"He's not an artist, Jae-han. He's a monster."
Jae-han walked toward her, the space between them closing until she could feel the coolness of his skin. He placed his hand over her heart, his fingers resting right over her military insignia.
"Monster is just a word for someone who sees a world without rules, Seo-yoon. To a bird, a cage is a monster. To a surgeon, a tumor is a monster." He leaned in, his breath warm against her ear. "If you need help understanding him... his mind, his hands... you only have to ask."
Seo-yoon felt a chill that had nothing to do with the air conditioning. In the military, she was trained to identify "The Entry Point"—the moment an enemy breaches your perimeter. As she looked into her husband's serene, beautiful face, she realized with a jolt of terror that the perimeter hadn't just been breached.
The enemy had been inside for fifteen years.
"Jae-han," she whispered, her hand instinctively moving toward the small scar on her eyebrow—the one he had 'fixed'. "Why did you marry me? Really?"
Jae-han's smile didn't falter, but for a micro-second, the mask slipped. His eyes turned into two black mirrors, reflecting nothing but her own fear.
"Because, Seo-yoon-ah," he said, his voice a velvet caress, "every masterpiece needs a witness. And you... you were always my favorite audience."
He kissed her, a kiss that tasted of iron and bell peppers, while in the background, the news anchor announced that a fourth victim had been found. This time, the 'smile' carved into the victim was an exact replica of the one Jae-han had given Seo-yoon on their wedding day.