Officer Kim

Kim Taehyung, 24. A police trainee, but already a formidable traffic cop on the highway. His outward appearance is icy and impenetrable, with a look that makes you want to apologize for your very existence. His voice is low, drawn-out, and emotionless. Inside, he's a burnt-out perfectionist who hates the "golden youth" more than anything else. He works not for the money, but because it's the only place where he can legally exert pressure on people. His family: his father abandoned him, his mother works double shifts, and he raised his younger sister alone. He refuses to take bribes on principle—it's beneath him. He's polite until he smells money and insolence. He's lanky but wiry. He wears his uniform impeccably.

Jeon Jungkook, 20. The youngest son in one of the city's most influential families. His father owns a hotel chain and is a friend of several lawmakers, and his mother is from the old money. Jungkook attends a prestigious university "for show," but is really only busy racing his black Audi, partying, and annoying his dad. He has a sweet personality on the outside, with puppy eyes and dimples, but inside, he has a feeling of absolute impunity. He's not mean; he's just never heard the word "no." He smiles when he gets caught because he knows he'll be home that evening, and his dad's secretary will pay the fine. He loves taking risks on the road because adrenaline is the only thing that breaks his eternal boredom.

The first time Taehyung caught Jungkook was three days after Taehyung was released on solo patrol. It was half past two in the morning, the highway was empty, and a black Audi sped past so fast it knocked Taehyung's cap off. He pulled him over. A doe-eyed guy got out and handed him his license with a smile, "Oh, sorry, it was an accident." Taehyung wrote out a fine for half a million won. Jungkook nodded, got back in, and five minutes later sped past again—almost a hundred over the limit. Taehyung simply gritted his teeth and remembered the name.

They met five more times over the next two months.

Twice—for driving without a license. Jungkook simply "forgot it at home." Three times—for sitting behind the wheel, as if seat belts were a liberal invention for him. Each time, Jungkook looks at Taehyung with those wide eyes, sighs, says, "You again," and calls his dad. Taehyung writes out a ticket, takes the car to the impound lot, and files a report. And a day later, the order comes: "Let him go, we've sorted it out."

At the police station, they're already teasing him: "Oh, Taehyung, is your little prince up to something again?" There's a photo of Jungkook's father at a corporate party with the mayor hanging in the chief's office. Taehyung knows the system is rotten. But he doesn't take bribes. Not because he's naive. Because if he did, he'd have to smile at that insolent brat. And he won't.

Today is the sixth time.

Jungkook was speeding along the Seoul-Busan highway at a speed of 160 km/h. Taehyung was standing in the bushes, although he wasn't supposed to be. He jumped out onto the road with a baton, not even blinking as the Audi whizzed past him, barely a meter away. Jungkook braked, honked, and got out.

He's wearing a white T-shirt, his hair is tousled, and on his wrist is a watch worth one and a half times Taehyung's annual salary. He's smiling his signature smile, but there's something else in his eyes, not embarrassment. Taehyung can't tell—and doesn't want to.

"Officer Kim," Jungkook tilts his head to the side like a curious puppy. "Are you following me? Six times. I'm starting to think you just enjoy stopping me."

Taehyung doesn't smile. He takes out a notebook, the peak of his cap casting a shadow over half his face.

— License and registration certificate.

Jungkook sighs and digs in his pocket. His movements are lazy, graceful. He hands over his documents. Taehyung checks – everything is in order, because Dad's people have already cleared the old fines, as always.

"One hundred and sixty on a section with one hundred and twenty," Taehyung writes without looking up. "Fine: four hundred thousand."

Jungkook is silent. Then quietly, almost purring:

— What if I say that I’m in a hurry?

Taehyung finally looks up. He looks at Jungkook. His gaze is as heavy as a concrete slab.

"Then I'll issue a ticket for speeding, causing an emergency, and failing to use a turn signal when changing lanes. That'll be seven hundred."

Jungkook pauses. Something playful and wild glimmers in his gray eyes.

"What if I tell Dad that without a license, he'll punish me?" His voice becomes a little lower, more playful.

Taehyung slowly closes the notebook. He stares at it for exactly one second.

• I don't care.

He turns and walks to the patrol car to process the paperwork. Then he hears a chuckle behind him. So quiet, almost gentle.

"Officer Kim," Jungkook leans on the hood of his Audi, crossing his arms over his chest. "Did you know your eyelashes are really long? For such a strict man?"

Taehyung freezes mid-step, his back becoming as straight as rebar.

— One more word and I'll charge you with petty hooliganism. That's the article.

Jungkook grins widely, the dimples deepening.

"You would never put me in jail, Officer Kim." He steps forward. "You're too good for that."

Taehyung grips the baton so tightly his knuckles turn white. Then he gets into the patrol car and writes out a ticket. Silently. As matter-of-factly as possible.

As Jungkook drives away—slowly, at a respectable eighty—he glances in the rearview mirror at Taehyung standing on the side of the road. And for some reason, his smile is no longer playful, but almost tender.

And Taehyung stands there. He watches the black Audi drive away. And he feels something scraping in his chest, where it should have been empty long ago.

"See you soon, Officer Kim," Jungkook whispers through the closed window.

Taehyung finally looks up. He looks at Jungkook. His gaze is as heavy as a concrete slab.

"Then I'll issue a ticket for speeding, causing an emergency, and failing to use a turn signal when changing lanes. That'll be seven hundred."