Qualia Chapter 1

— Ugh, it’s cold. This is P3. The target has exited the building. Khaki field jacket, black cap, and a mask. Height is in the high 170s, and shoes… Designer stuff, despite being a junkie?

 

Reports continued nonstop from the receiver in his ear.

 

Friday night, the streets of Hongdae were overwhelmed by a flood of people. Despite the chill of November, the massive crowd blended and dispersed, disorienting the view.

 

— P7, target confirmed. Passing in front of the convenience store. Moving in.

 

“Just secure the evidence. Record everything without missing a single thing.”

 

In the rather cold weather, a man sat on the rooftop railing of a four-story building, hands shoved into his pants pockets, white breath seeping from between his lips.

 

— P7, target has entered a building. Appears to be using a PC café on the 7th floor.

 

— PC café?

 

— Yes. Bought a seven-hour package and even ordered food. Grilled eel rice bowl with cheese topping, Americano, and extra pickled radish.

 

— Seven hours? Damn, shouldn’t we be playing a game with him or something? And what’s up with that menu? Why not just eat some ramen?

 

— P2 joining with P7. Accessed a gambling site, ID is —AnchovyBonehead—. Diagonally across from the location.

 

Hearing the ID, those on the line struggled to suppress laughter, creating a brief noise over the receiver.

 

Unfazed, the man listening to the report fiddled with a lighter in his pocket as he looked down at the city teeming with people.

 

“He’s not going to last the full seven hours. Code 7 — the signal they used back in Cambodia. It’s a trace left for someone.”

 

— Huh? He left after playing three rounds of Hold’em. Left the food untouched too. Should we tail him?

 

“No, if we move now, he’ll notice. You two secure the PC café. P3, you follow him.”

 

— P3 is already on the move. But… I think he’s noticed us, Team Leader. His gait has changed.

 

He had just taken out a cigarette when he sighed and began descending the rooftop stairs.

 

The building, built in the early ‘90s, was old and worn down. The crudely cemented stairs were littered with cigarette butts, and the emergency exit sign had been broken, leaving only the green light blinking.

 

“Check the bottom of the food he left, and get evidence of the guy retrieving it too. Now — where is he?”

 

— This is P3. That bastard is heading your way, Team Leader. North. At his current pace, he’ll be in front of your building in about 60 seconds.

 

“What about the detectives?”

 

— They’ve just entered the Hongdae entrance.

 

He started a mental 60-second countdown.

 

Stepping out of the building with a relaxed stride, he glanced around the area stacked with outdoor AC units like cargo and began walking in the direction P3 mentioned.

 

Back alley of Hongdae, at the edge of the neon-lit nightscape. The building wasn’t central; crowded by others packed side by side, its entrance faced an awkward direction.

 

Good for hiding, easy to sneak into, hard to detect. Thinking of fleeing to such an obvious place — the guy was an amateur.

 

— Team Leader Lee Du-i, go easy on him.

 

Before P3 could finish his sentence, a man in a khaki field jacket suddenly jumped out in front of Du-i, coming around the corner.

 

Startled out of his wits, the man must’ve sensed danger instinctively, because he didn’t come any closer.

 

“Hi there.”

 

Nearly 190cm tall, with long limbs and an appearance far from that of an ordinary person, Du-i’s sudden appearance and bright smile made the reaction understandable. Despite the pleasant smile, the subtly upturned corners of his lips carried a quiet menace that made him appear dangerous.

 

“W-Who the hell are you?!”

 

Bracing himself, the guy fearlessly threw a punch. It was quite threatening and sharp, but to Du-i, it looked like nothing more than child’s play.

 

He easily dodged the punch aimed at his face, grabbed the man’s wrist, and twisted it in the opposite direction of the joint.

 

—Crack.— With the sound, the wrist twisted completely around.

 

“Ahhhhhh!”

 

The man screamed, clutching his limp wrist as tears welled in his eyes.

 

“See, that’s what happens when you start swinging fists around. It’s upsetting.”

 

“Y-You crazy bastard!”

 

Du-i slowly cornered the frightened target. Every time he took a step forward, the other man stepped back two or even four steps. A narrow alley. The target didn’t even realize he was backing himself into a trap.

 

“A-Are you a cop?”

 

The man, now totally intimidated, struggled to hold back tears as he asked.

 

“No.”

 

“Then? What are you? Why are you doing this to me?”

 

“I just wanted to buy some gum. I heard you sell top-grade stuff.”

 

At the mention of gum, the target’s lips turned pale and trembled, his eyes filling with fear. He clearly didn’t believe Du-i’s claim that he wasn’t a cop.

 

“I-I’ve never done that.”

 

“Did I get the wrong person…?”

 

“You’ve got the wrong guy. I-I don’t sell gum.”

 

“That’s a problem…”

 

Du-i sighed, pulled out a cigarette, and held it in his mouth. As he tilted his head to light it, the man, eyeing him cautiously, attempted to flee.

 

But before he could take a single step toward the alley he had just entered, Du-i swept his leg and tripped him.

 

“Ugh!”

 

Losing balance in a clumsy, pitiful fall, the man trembled on the ground, unable to lift his head. Because of his broken wrist, he couldn’t brace himself as he fell, so his lips and nose were smashed, leaving his face covered in blood.

 

Nevertheless, Du-i stood calmly in front of the guy, exhaling cigarette smoke.

 

“Come on, good things should be shared. Anchovy bonehead Heo Woo-seong, where’s the stuff?”

 

The guy whose name was called slowly raised his bloodied face.

 

A rather strong wind blew, stirring the hair that had fallen over his eyes and the jacket he was wearing. The man’s eyes grew as wide as lanterns when he saw the belt across Du-i’s form-fitting black shirt.

 

“P-please spare me.”

 

“I’m not going to kill you. If you cooperate with the investigation, we’ll treat you. Feed you, too.”

 

“I-I’ll really die. If they find out my tail’s been caught, I’m seriously…!”

 

“KA-947A.”

 

As he murmured softly, his shoe pressed down hard on the man’s broken wrist. The man foamed at the mouth and rolled his eyes back in pain, unable even to scream.

 

“Where is it, the stuff?”

 

It was at that moment, when he asked again in a cold tone—

 

—Team leader, Detective Jeon Yoo-cheol is entering.

 

Suddenly, the sound of a police siren rang out nearby.

 

“Damn, that was fast.”

 

Letting out a sigh, Du-i stubbed out his cigarette and lifted his foot from the man’s wrist.

 

Then five plainclothes detectives, pale-faced, came running.

 

“Lee Du-i! Damn it, I told you not to kill him!”

 

The one shouting was Detective Jeon Yoo-cheol from Violent Crimes.

 

With a body massive enough to be mistaken for a gang leader, and a rugged face to match, Yoo-cheol raged when he saw the unconscious man.

 

“He’s not dead. I hate messy situations.”

 

“You call this alive? We’re gonna have to call 119 again! Damn it!”

 

“Anyway, if you’re taking this bastard in, let’s share the interrogation data. We’re the ones who caught him.”

 

At Du-i’s calm response, Yoo-cheol scoffed and yelled for someone to call 119, then slapped a cuff on one of the guy’s wrists.

 

“Heo Woo-seong, you’re under emergency arrest for violating the Narcotics Control Act. You have the right to an attorney, and the right to remain silent on anything that could incriminate you. Well, that’s enough Miranda rights. You’ve heard it seven times—you’ve probably memorized it.”

 

Grumbling, Yoo-cheol gave up trying to get the unconscious man to his feet and began a body search to check for personal effects. Cell phone, butterfly knife, cigarettes, lighter, wallet. And then, oddly out of place, he pulled out a ticket to a ballet performance.

 

A large shadow loomed behind Yoo-cheol.

 

He looked up blankly. A stunningly handsome face suddenly appeared above him.

 

“Whoa, damn. That’s heart-fluttering, you punk.”

 

“Senior, can I have that?”

 

“What, this?”

 

Yoo-cheol waved the ballet ticket, then firmly shook his head.

 

“This is evidence. So NO.”

 

“Then at least a photo.”

 

“Well, that much is fine.”

 

[Seocho-dong I-Heum Art Hall, Opera Theater, Sowol Hall. General Ballet Company — Giselle.]

 

“Senior, does he look like the type who’d go see something like this?”

 

“What is it? Is it famous?”

 

Du-i chuckled and nodded as he took a photo of the ticket. Then, as he stood and spotted the sedan that had arrived at the entrance of the alley, he gave a nod.

 

“Then I’ll take it that we’re sharing interrogation data. Thank you for your effort.”

 

“Hey, hey! You should at least answer before you go!”

 

“I’ll decide based on how you handle things, senior.”

 

“Damn, cold bastard.”

 

Turning away, Du-i exited the alley and got into the waiting car, disappearing from sight.

 

Only then did the detectives, who had been cleaning up the scene and taking photos, cautiously approach Yoo-cheol and ask in low voices. They had all been too intimidated by Du-i’s strange presence to ask before, just watching warily.

 

“Team leader, who is he? He looks familiar. Did you really have a junior like that?”

 

“Wow, looks like an idol. Kind of resembles some actor too. Could it be… that guy?”

 

“Oh! That guy?”

 

In the distance, the sirens of an ambulance wailed. Yoo-cheol, who had been squatting, shook his head with a weary expression and stood up.

 

“Yeah, that guy. Lee Du-i. Team leader of the National Intelligence Service’s International Crime Response Team. He’s an elite who worked overseas and just returned after stirring up a big case. He may be the top lunatic among lunatics, but he’s damn good at his job. Keep an eye on him—he’s our team’s savior this time.”