John’s flimsy excuse, ciming that he had snatched Seo-young’s gun and dropped all five goons himself, was paper-thin. No half-decent detective would buy a story that childish, and Seo-young knew it too well, as a detective herself. She couldn’t lean on him to bail her out this time; the ball was hers to py.
Across the scarred metal table in the precinct’s interrogation room, Min-jun lounged, one leg crossed over the other, a cold smirk curling his lips as he watched her like prey. Seo-young’s mind raced, gears grinding at full tilt. Her first move was to figure out how much he knew already. Until she had that locked down, her lips must stay sealed. He must have already grilled the rescued hostage, so any slip in her story, any csh with that woman’s account, and Min-jun would pounce, twisting it into a noose.
The room felt smaller with every tick of the clock, walls pressing in, their chipped gray paint flecked with years of frustration. A faint buzz from the overhead light grated on her nerves, the bulb’s weak glow bouncing off the one-way mirror behind Min-jun. Seo-young sat straight, scarf still knotted loose to hide John’s marks, her borrowed T-shirt and blood-streaked pants a quiet reminder of st night. Min-jun’s patience was fraying, and she could see it in the twitch of his fingers. But his voice still came out smooth, ced with menace.
“Take your time, Detective Park. Tell me what happened st night. No rush, we’ve got all day.”
He’d shaken off the public sting of her earlier outburst, slipping back into that icy, elite mask he wore so well, calm, coiled, dangerous. But Seo-young wasn’t ready to bite yet. She needed to stall, throw him off bance. Leaning back, she softened her face, batting her long shes, lips pursing into a pout that trembled like tears were a blink away.
“What’s wrong, Min-jun Oppa? Did I do something wrong? Why’re you interrogating me like a criminal?” Her voice dripped honey, that “Oppa”, their tongue’s usual term of "big brother", but usually used for a boyfriend or husband, nding like a velvet jab, paired with a coy tilt of her head. It was pure flirtation, a calcuted py to rattle him.
Min-jun’s cheeks flushed. Before his eyes, she was leaning forward slightly, elbows propping her up, her soft, full breasts pressing gently against the table’s edge, the loose neckline of John’s T-shirt teasing a glimpse of her deep cleavage beneath. His mind flickered, unbidden, to nights they’d shared, skin on skin, and her ughter in the dark. A needle of regret pricked him: maybe he shouldn’t have followed Miller’s pn to burn her. But it passed quickly, snuffed by his ambition again. His career trumped women, any woman, especially one who had clearly cheated on him. He didn’t know how far she had gone, but the strong taste of cigarettes on her nipples that day told him enough. She had let someone else’s lips on her tits, and it festered in him like rot. Just so you know, he loathed the stench of cigarettes.
He straightened, voice like frost, clipped and professional. “You know exactly what you did, Detective Park.”
But Seo-young read him like an open book, as if every flicker of his mood id bare. His control was teetering, and she needed to push harder, first lulling him into dropping his guard, then scrambling his thoughts into a mess. Crossing her arms tight, she struck a defensive pose, subtly pressing her elbows inward to nudge her full breasts together, a quiet tease masked as instinct. Her face stayed soft, eyes wide and pleading, voice trembling just right.
“Min-jun Oppa, why am I being grilled like a suspect? I know I shouldn’t have snapped at you earlier. Was that wrong? Can you please not be mad at me?”
It was a cssic situation ripped straight from their old pybook. Their dynamic, shaped by his higher rank, their cultural roots, and her once-blind devotion, had always pyed out like this. Seo-young would fume at his slights, but swallow it or sh out, then end up being the one apologizing, smoothing things over.
The familiar script worked its magic. Min-jun’s shoulders eased, suspicion thawing as his mind churned over the moment. He knew she was marked, and Miller’s pn had only missed its shot, not its target. Her days left were numbered, a dey at best. So why not py along, take her olive branch? Days of grinding cases had left him pent-up, no release, and even st night, talking to a female cop who was not even remotely as attractive as Seo-young had stirred him. She was doomed anyway, but he could still have some fun with her after this talk and before she vanished.
He softened his tone, letting warmth creep in, a calcuted dose of charm. “Seo-young, look, I want to help you, but you’ve got to tell me what happened st night.”
Seo-young caught the shift, his old, smooth mask slipping back, the one that used to make her melt. He was lowering his shield, leaning into that alpha swagger, thinking he could reel her in. And this was perfect. A crack in his armor meant one sharp jab could shatter his cool entirely. Her lips twitched, as she was the hunter now, and he was wide open.
Sidestepping his question, Seo-young fanned herself with a slow flick of her hand. “It’s so hot in here,” she said, voice light, almost careless. With a deliberate tug, she unraveled the scarf from her neck, letting it slip to the table. Her skin bared a gallery of hickeys, red, purple, unmistakable, sprawled across her throat like a brazen map. Min-jun’s pulse surged, rage quickly boiling up, scorching his thoughts. You fucking slut, he seethed silently, knuckles whitening as he gripped the table’s edge.
Her move was razor-smart. If she’d fshed those marks right out the gate, Min-jun might’ve shrugged, pyed it cool, and cimed that he didn’t care, as she was dead to him anyway. But she’d pyed him first, stoking his want with her pouty “Oppa” and that teasing lean, letting him think he could still pull her strings, a glimmer of filthy hope. Now, dropping this bomb after he had bitten the bait? It was a gut-punch, designed to spike his emotions so fast his brain would trip over itself, control slipping like sand.
Seo-young wasn’t done though. As if worried he’d missed the show, she tilted her head back, fanning her neck with zy sweeps, her skin glistening under the room’s harsh light. “Don’t you feel hot, Min-jun Oppa?” she asked, voice syrupy, eyes glinting with something sharp.
Yep, still hitting him with “Oppa.” Before, it’d been a lure to lower his guard, and now it was a bde, pure mockery. Her face screamed smug satisfaction, like a wife fresh from a lover’s bed, makeup smudged from wild sex, but still casually tossed out, “Honey, how’s your day going? I went to get my hair done today” to her fuming husband. Every word, every gesture, was a middle finger aimed at his pride.
Min-jun’s forehead pulsed with veins, jaw muscles knotting so tight his teeth nearly ground audibly. His hands clenched, nails biting palms, but he choked it down, no explosion, not yet. His voice slid back to that ft, professional chill, though a raw edge of fury bled through. “Detective Park, you’re the one who shot those five in the warehouse, right?”
Seo-young couldn’t hold it any more. A sharp ugh burst out, echoing off the gray walls. She was a detective herself, steeped in interrogation games; bluffing was her bread and butter. But Min-jun’s attempt? Clumsy, desperate, almost pathetic. She saw it clear as day: he was unraveling, his cool cracking like thin ice.
Time for her to twist the knife. “Are you serious with that question, Min-jun Oppa?” she said, voice ced with mock surprise. As she spoke, her fingers grazed her bra strap, tugging it briefly, a casual move that bared her shoulder, funting another cluster of John’s hickeys, dark against her skin. “Your interrogation skills are so fucking dumb I’m practically suffocating. I need some fresh air.”
Min-jun’s brows knitted, a storm brewing in his eyes. Her “Oppa” stung now, a deliberate jab that turned his own charm against him. Also, her “fresh air” line threw him off. What’s this bitch pying at? he thought.
Seo-young didn’t leave him guessing long. She reached into her pocket, pulled out a pack of smokes, and fished one out. With a slow flick, she lit it, the fme catching the tip red. She took a deep drag, lips curling around the filter, then leaned forward and blew a zy plume right into Min-jun’s face. Her slender fingers held the cigarette delicately, the white tip smudged with her lipstick’s faint pink. This was a sight John would’ve called pure fire, sexy as hell, and he would probably beg her to give him a drag on that same smoke. But to Min-jun, it was filth, a sp of defiance.
“You’re acting just like that whore from st night, smoking in an interrogation room!?” he spat, disgust dripping from every word, his voice loud enough to rattle the table.
Seo-young’s pulse jumped, not from fear, but victory. That one line blew his mask to pieces. She’d spent years mimicking his hatred for cigarettes, molding herself to please him, and now that reflex had flipped, becoming the key to his undoing. His outburst handed her everything, confirmation of what the hostage had spilled to him, id bare in a single, sloppy snap. He was done, defenses in shreds, and she’d barely had to lift a finger.
This was an interrogation room, one had eyes behind the one-way gss, catching every word, every move. Someone was watching, recording. His stiff, professional “Detective Park” from start to finish screamed it. Typical Min-jun, always pying to an audience. He was a man obsessed with his polished image, Nexis City’s elite star, every gesture calcuted to shine. He would never risk a misstep in here, not with his reputation on the line. Yet Seo-young’s prodding had just ripped a hole in that facade. He was calling the hostage, the victim, a whore? That wasn’t just a slip; it was a fre. The girl must have gotten under his skin, same as Seo-young. Just over smoking? Highly unlikely. Min-jun’s real game was his career, and right now, that meant burying her and John. This was his ticket to pleasing his sugar daddy, Miller. So the hostage’s story couldn’t have fingered them. If it had, Min-jun would’ve pounced, not filed. That left one option: the girl’s account didn’t pin the shootings on John or Seo-young. And who else was there to pull the trigger? Couldn’t be those goons themselves, could it? Only the hostage herself.
Deduction, my friend, elementary.
Seo-young’s eyes barely flicked at Min-jun’s insult, her confidence ironcd now. She had cracked it open, and he was hers to toy with. Leaning back, she took a slow drag, exhaling a curling wisp of smoke, her face cool as marble. “Detective Kim, your words just now were highly inappropriate,” she said, voice steady, deliberate. No more “Oppa”, as that game was done, the word sour on her tongue now, a relic of a weakness she’d burned away. She pressed on, smooth and sharp. “She was acting in self-defense, and she was clearly under influence—those dead thugs pumped her full of drugs. So I simply don’t understand what she did to make you this angry.”
She gave nothing away, absolutely no scrap of st night’s truth. Any detail could csh with the hostage’s story, handing Min-jun a rope to hang her with. Instead, she flipped it, zeroing in on his rage, tossing the spotlight back. He couldn’t expin his outburst without tripping over himself, and she would cut off his next question before it formed. The air in the room thickened, her cigarette’s faint crackle the only sound as she watched him squirm.
Min-jun’s fists clenched, knuckles white, teeth grinding so hard the sound nearly broke the silence. He pinched the bridge of his nose, fingers trembling with force, his polished, genteel mask crumbling to dust. His gre burned, raw and venomous, fixed on Seo-young across the table. She met it with a taunting ugh, her voice dripping scorn. “Easy there, Detective Kim. Pinch any harder, and you’ll wipe off that foundation.”
Her eyes flicked over him. This man was obsessed with perfection, his hair still fwless, not a strand out of pce, bangs hovering exactly two centimeters above his brows, just as precise as when they had sex nights ago.
And angry as he was now, his barely-there makeup, so subtle it was nearly invisible, still hadn’t smudged, except on his nose of course.
She almost ughed at her old self, so hung up on his curated charm. Last night with John fshed vivid again, him pinning her down or her riding him, his hair a sweaty, tangled mess, sweat dripping onto her skin. That face, somewhat handsome, no pretense, mouth always half-open, panting heavy, and she could never guess where it would nd next.
He even licked my nose, that fucking pig, she thought, a flush creeping up her cheeks, a low heat sparking in her belly, even though her vagina still ached, swollen from their marathon.
But now wasn’t the time for those thoughts. She snapped back, shoving the sweet, filthy haze aside to face Min-jun. Her mind ticked through what she knew already: John was likely safe from a manhunt for now, and as long as she didn’t slip, she’d skate clear too. To keep that edge, she needed to shut this conversation down fast. Min-jun was still choking on her “foundation” jab, speechless, face twisting with impotent rage. Perfect. She was ready to nd the kill shot.
Her hand dipped into her pocket, fingers closing around her underwear from st night, torn, stained, a loaded relic. With a flick, she slung it onto the table, where it nded with a soft thud between them.
“Detective Kim, I suggest you stop digging into my business,” she said, voice cool, final. “We’re done, you and me.” She then nodded at the panties on the table, a smirk curling her lips. “That's what I did st night, your favorite underwear of mine. Keep it as a souvenir. Stop obsessing over me, okay? Instead of sniffing around my life, maybe try solving a case.” She capped it with a quick wink, sharp and insolent, then turned, striding out of the interrogation room with a swagger that dared him to stop her.
Min-jun sat frozen, a statue carved from shock. His whole life, he’d been the golden child, school, work, every room bending to his shine. Never, not once, had he tasted humiliation this raw, this public. His mind churned, a storm of disbelief, rage, confusion, and shame crashing together, leaving no space for reason. Only one thought burned through the haze: What the fuck did that bitch do st night? Seo-young’s parting shot, “Stop sniffing around my life”, still rang in his ears, a taunt that cwed at his pride. She wouldn’t dare betray me. She wouldn’t fucking dare, he told himself. Without thinking, he grabbed the panties she’d flung on the table, torn, crumpled, heavy with intent, and pressed it to his nose, chasing final proof. One sniff, and his world detonated. The thick, unmistakable musk of another man’s semen smmed through his sinuses, a gut-punch to his brain, setting every nerve abze.
He lurched forward, ready to erupt, when a timid voice crackled through the room’s speaker. It was from a junior female cop, tasked with monitoring his conduct behind the gss. “Uh, Detective Kim… there’s, um, something white on your nose. Looks… sticky.” The words nded like a guillotine. Min-jun’s control shattered. Fury flooded him, unstoppable, and he snatched his phone, hurling it at the one-way mirror with a guttural roar. “Get out!” The gss spiderwebbed, the crash echoing in the cramped room.
Just outside, lingering by the door, Seo-young caught the chaos, Min-jun’s breakdown, loud and unmissable. A grin split her face, sharp and satisfied. She shook her head, chuckling low, and strolled off, humming a tune under her breath. “All I need, is a good defense, cos I’m feeling like a criminal…”
It was Fiona Apple’s Criminal, a song etched deep from her childhood. Her mother, Yeong-suk, used to spin it on repeat, crooning along in their house, tossing out its wisdom like a mantra: “When a girl will break a boy, just because she can.” And Seo-young got it now, the truth clicking into pce. Her mother’s endless refrain wasn’t just lyrics; it was a lesson in power.
Today, she’d lived it.
Seo-young stepped out of the precinct, and lit another cig with a flick, took two slow drags, and let the smoke curl upward, grounding her. The high of crushing Min-jun faded slowly, her mind sharpening back to the bigger game. John’s intel id it out: Vitacore Pharma, the precinct’s brass, and the Reapers were tangled tight in this case. The Reapers were no real threat now, because of John’s newly found connection to them. But Anthony, the son of a Vitacore executive, was her target. To nail him, she needed to clear the board first. Min-jun and Commissioner Miller were still cwing for control, and whoever in Vitacore’s ranks was shielding Anthony.
Vitacore Pharma, huh?
Seo-young’s thoughts snagged on her mother, Yeong-suk, again. The woman was sharp as a bde, all cold calcution, like a machine with no room for warmth. She was one of Vitacore’s top brass, running her department in the headquarters like her personal chessboard.
Seo-young sighed, gncing at her phone, then at her car parked across the precinct lot. Her brow furrowed, a decision locking in. She turned, heading down a side street to a grimy corner store. Minutes ter, she emerged with a cheap burner phone.
Meanwhile, John had just hung up with Rafael, his head still spinning from the news. The hostage from st night, she had taken the fall for gunning down those five thugs. Rafael’s doing, actually. Man had worked fast, tapping his precinct mole to coach her statement, spinning a clean story. It was the perfect fix: no heat on John, none on Seo-young, and the girl herself, drugged, kidnapped, traumatized, would likely skate free, no charges sticking. Rafael framed it as a gesture of good faith, a nod to their fresh alliance. In return, he’d poached JT, John’s right-hand man in the Reapers, swapping him in as his new Soldato to repce the dead bodyguards. Fair trade, maybe, but it stung. John was still chewing on it when his phone buzzed. It was Seo-young, right on cue.
“John, you’re coming with me to Asteryne,” she said, “for the case. My mom lives there. She’s a Vitacore bigshot. We might get something useful from her.”
The word “mom” hit John sideways, a mix of nerves and his kinky thrill sparking low. He kept it cool, though, leaning back against the storage unit’s wall, phone pressed to his ear. “Uh, can’t you just ask her yourself? Why drag me all the way out there?”
Seo-young let out a soft sigh, tone dipping, almost coy. “I’m kinda nervous facing her alone. Come with me, John. Keep me steady, maybe help me figure out how to py it.” A hint of a pout lingered, like she was half-flirting, tugging him closer.
They were still new, barely past the spark of their first nights, that hot-and-heavy phase where every word carried weight. John liked her, really liked her, and he wasn’t keen on screwing it up. He shoved down the fleeting, reckless daydreams about her mom, keeping his voice even. “But, uh, you know… me…”
Seo-young caught his drift instantly and ughed, a quick, bright sound that cut the tension. “Yeah, right. If you actually pulled that off, I’d be impressed. She got me from a sperm bank, handpicked, no less. Never once saw her bring a guy home, not ever. Pretty sure she’s got zero interest in that kind of thing. So if you’re feeling bold, good luck with that!”
somerealnerd
