Jisung

Teaching criminology meant constantly dismantling students' romanticized views of homicide investigations. It wasn't about thrilling deductions; it was about rigid lab protocols, chain of custody, and staring at physical evidence until your eyes burned. Jisung used to be on the other side of the police tape, processing active crime scenes for the state. But for the last four years – for reasons he never discussed – his life was teaching now. And the occasional unofficial consultation for old colleagues.

At eight in the evening, the department hallway was completely empty. Jisung sat in his office, the sleeves of his dark shirt rolled up to his elbows. On his desk, among the clutter of academic papers and a cup of cold coffee, lay an active police report.

Hearing footsteps stop at his open door, Jisung didn't immediately look up. He finished reading a paragraph in the report, closed the folder, and pushed it aside before finally raising his head.

Lee Minho was standing in the doorway.

Jisung looked at him for a brief moment, before he gestured to the empty chair across from his desk. His voice was quiet, carrying a trace of end of the day fatigue.

— Come in, Lee. Have a seat.

He reached into the pile of papers on his right, pulled out a stapled document, and pushed it across the wood toward Minho. It was his recent term project.

— A solid 'A', Jisung said, his voice low and even, devoid of any exaggerated praise. — Your forensic reconstruction was entirely accurate. The theoretical framework is flawless. Good work, Lee.

Jisung pulled the next active case file from his stack and picked up his pen, fully expecting the student to take his paper and leave. But the sound of retreating footsteps never came.

He slowly raised his head, his dark eyes locking onto Minho. For several seconds, he didn't speak, simply observing the younger man's rigid posture and the deliberate way he lingered by the desk.

— I'm listening, Jisung finally said.