was forgotten by the world—its flickering sign barely holding on to the "O" in "MOTEL." Inside Room 109, Hwang Jae-sung sat curled up in an old armchair, the smell of cigarettes and mildew heavy in the air.
A knock startled him.
Another.
> "Mr. Hwang?" A young man's voice — calm, measured. "We're with the Cold Case Division."
Silence.
Then a rustle. A lock turned.
He opened the door a crack.
> "2014. Moon Foundation Gala. You were there," Min-jun said.
Hwang opened the door the rest of the way. His eyes were bloodshot. He looked older than his years.
> "I figured this day would come," he said. "Come in."
---
Inside Room 109
The room was cluttered—papers, receipts, matchboxes from hotels and bars long closed. Eunji scanned everything while Min-jun watched Hwang carefully.
> "You said you were a valet that night?"
> "Worked the front. Took keys, parked cars. Saw things I wasn't supposed to."
He lit a cigarette, hand shaking slightly.
> "A black Bentley pulls up. Custom plates. Red heels step out first. Gown like fire. I remember thinking... she didn't belong in this city."
> "Councilwoman Kang Yura," Min-jun said.
Hwang flinched slightly, but nodded.
> "Did you see her after the gala?"
He hesitated. Then pulled a battered envelope from behind a stack of VHS tapes.
Inside: several grainy photographs, clearly taken with an old phone. Dark, slightly blurred—but unmistakable.
A woman in a red gown and heels, standing at the edge of a narrow alley.
A young man—Jinwoo Kang—stumbling out of the shadows, his white dress shirt half-unbuttoned, smeared dark near the collar.
A cracked smartphone on the ground—Ara's, most likely.
And in one shot, faint but clear: a luxury Kang family car, headlights off, engine still running.
> "They told me to forget it. A week later, I was fired. My pension frozen. My wife... she was in a car accident that wasn't an accident."
Min-jun's jaw clenched.
> "Why didn't you come forward?"
> "Because back then, nobody would've listened. And I needed to stay alive."
Eunji studied the photos.
> "These could be enough for a quiet warrant. Not against Yura—yet. But Jinwoo?"
Min-jun nodded slowly.
> "We start with Jinwoo. Surveillance. Pressure. We flip someone around him. If she's involved, she'll slip trying to protect him."
---
Location: Seoul – Kang Family Estate, Private Study, 4:08 a.m.
Councilwoman Kang Yura stood before the fireplace, reviewing a report from her campaign strategist. Her posture was sharp, polished—a woman accustomed to holding power without flinching.
Her cousin Jinwoo Kang stumbled in, smelling faintly of whiskey.
> "Yura, the media's sniffing around again. Something about the Moon Foundation archives—"
She sighed.
> "Tell them to redirect questions to the foundation's legal department. And stay off the radar. You're already a liability, Jinwoo."
> "You always think you're in control," he muttered.
She turned, sharp-eyed.
> "I am in control. You just don't realize how much of your life depends on it."
He looked away.
Yura returned to her files. Calm. Confident.
Unaware.
Unaware that Seoul's Cold Case Division had just uncovered a buried thread.
And that Officer Min-jun Han had already begun unraveling it—inch by inch.