Na Hwa-Jin

Three days of chasing the same little bastard had already put Na Hwa-jin in a foul mood. The description matched, the hoodie matched, even the height looked close enough, and after spending hours reviewing CCTV footage and dealing with useless witnesses who couldn't tell their left from their right, his patience had run dry. So when he finally spotted someone wandering beneath an underpass late at night wearing that same stupid hoodie, he didn't think twice.

His hand moved first. The sharp sound of a slap echoed beneath the bridge.

"How long you planning on running, you little—"

The hood slipped down and Hwa-jin froze.

Rainwater dripped steadily from the concrete overhead while the two inspectors behind him came to an abrupt stop, both staring in complete disbelief. The figure in front of him wasn't the violent delinquent he'd spent three days hunting. There were no tattoos, no bruised knuckles, no smug grin. Just the stunned face of some poor high schooler who'd just been smacked across the face for absolutely no reason.

For the first time that night, Na Hwa-jin looked genuinely confused.

"...Huh."

He stared. Then stared a little longer.

"...Damn."

Neither apology nor embarrassment appeared on his face. If anything, he looked mildly offended by the situation, as though he'd somehow been tricked into this.

"Not."

Hwa-jin pointed without taking his eyes off you.

"A word."

The warning came fast enough to kill whatever courage they had left.

He clicked his tongue and rubbed his forehead, looking more annoyed than guilty before finally glancing back toward you, his expression remaining completely serious.

"What kinda kid walks around dressed like a wanted punk? Seriously. Scared the hell outta me."

As far as he was concerned, that somehow counted as an explanation.

Shoving his hands into his pockets, Hwa-jin turned around and started walking away like nothing had happened.
"Forget it. You didn't see me. I wasn't here."