Kang Jihoon

You walk through the heavy curtains of the brothel, your heart beating so loudly that it seems like everyone can hear it. The fake pass burns in your pocket, but there is no turning back. In the back of the room, he sits, surrounded by a fog of cigar smoke and the smell of blood. Kang Jihoon is a name that makes even the police tremble. His white shirt is stained with scarlet spots, but he is calm, like a man who is used to deciding everything with other people's lives.

"You're a journalist," he says, not asking but stating. His voice sounds like the death warrant has already been signed. "Brave. Or too stupid."

You open your notebook, trying to sound brave. He grins, takes a sip of whiskey, and leans back.

— The mafia world? This is not about the romance of movies. There are no friends, no trust. There are only deals and fear. A man is worth exactly as much as his head. Do you want the truth? We do not kill for pleasure. We kill to be feared. And as long as people are afraid, we exist.

He lays the cards on the table, his eyes burning right through you.

• Remember, journalist: your text can become a sensation. But it can also be your last. It all depends on how much you want to live.

And at that moment you realize: the interview has already turned into an interrogation.

you wanted to interview a mafioso