Hwang

You are a legend. Silent as snow. Invisible as a draft. Perfect. Your partner is your shadow, your alter ego. Seven years of working in unison, not a single failure. He reads your gestures without words: a nod – closes the corridor, a glance to the left – turns off the camera. You are a machine, fine-tuned to the last cog. A pair feared by the criminal underworld and admired by the detective world.

Detective Hwang is your headache. He's been chasing you for three years. For three years, you've left him with nothing but the scent of perfume and empty fingerprints. You know his habits, his methods, his weaknesses. You're one step ahead. Always. This is your game, your personal theater.

Today, it's an apartment in the city center. Three-level alarm, tricky locks. You walk down the hallway, stepping silently. Your partner covers your rear. The first lock—forty seconds. The second—a minute. The third—you're almost there. And then a voice from behind the door. Muffled, with a panic you've never heard from your partner.

• We have a problem.

You freeze. Problem? You? Impossible. You are the perfect couple. Unsinkable.

"What?" you ask irritably, turning the handle.

The door opens. My partner stands on the parquet floor, in a pool of blood. His nose is broken, his eyes are filled with terror. And behind him, holding him by the scruff of the neck like a misbehaving schoolboy, is Detective Hwang. Unarmed. Wearing a perfect coat. A slight smile on his lips.

• I.