Home
The apartment was quiet.
Smaller than the old house.
Simpler.
But warmer.
Because here—
There were no shadows from the past.
Or at least…
Fewer of them.
Song Kang Min stood by the kitchen sink, rinsing his cup.
Behind him, Song Ji Won sat cross-legged on the couch, flipping through channels absentmindedly.
"Oppa."
He didn't turn. "Hmm?"
"Do you ever think about moving?"
"No."
"Why not?"
He paused briefly.
Then continued rinsing.
"This is fine."
Ji Won watched him for a moment.
She knew that answer.
It meant:
Don't ask further.
So she didn't.
⸻
What They Lost
There were no pictures of their father in the apartment.
None on the walls.
None on the shelves.
Not even stored openly.
But that didn't mean he was forgotten.
Just…
Not spoken about.
⸻
Seven Years Ago
The call came late.
Too late.
Kang Min remembered the silence more than anything.
Not the words.
Not the explanations.
Just—
The quiet that followed.
Song Min Jae was found dead.
No witnesses.
No clear motive.
No evidence strong enough to hold anyone.
The case dragged on.
Then—
Closed.
"Insufficient evidence."
That was all.
Ji Won was nine.
She didn't understand everything.
But she understood one thing:
Her father wasn't coming back.
⸻
Back to the Present
"You're thinking again," Ji Won said suddenly.
Kang Min turned slightly.
"What?"
"You do that," she said, pointing at him. "You go quiet… but like, more quiet than usual."
A small pause.
Then—
"I'm always quiet."
She rolled her eyes. "You know what I mean."
He didn't respond.
But he didn't deny it either.
⸻
Unspoken Truth
Ji Won leaned back against the couch.
"…Do you think they ever found who did it?"
The question hung in the air.
Heavy.
Dangerous.
Kang Min's hand stilled slightly.
Just for a second.
Then—
"No."
"Do you think they will?"
He turned off the tap.
Dried his hands.
Then looked at her.
"I will."
The answer was calm.
Certain.
Not emotional.
Not hopeful.
Just—
Final.
Ji Won held his gaze.
Then nodded slowly.
"Okay."
She believed him.
Completely.
⸻
CID — Later That Morning
"Ghost Eyes Case."
The name lingered in the room.
Unsettling.
Unnatural.
Kang Ara stood at the board, organizing the files.
"We have three confirmed victims so far," she said.
"All ruled as suicides initially."
Bong Soo leaned forward. "Let me guess… not actually suicides?"
"Correct."
Su Young tapped her keyboard. "Patterns are too consistent. Same positioning. Same expression."
Jae In added quietly, "And the eyes."
Silence.
Kang Min stepped closer.
"Show me."
⸻
The Pattern
Photos appeared on the screen.
Victim 1.
Victim 2.
Victim 3.
All different.
Different locations.
Different backgrounds.
But the same ending.
Eyes wide open.
Frozen.
Like they had seen something—
Right before they died.
Bong Soo frowned. "Why do they all look like that?"
Ara crossed her arms.
"Fear."
Jae In shook his head slowly.
"No… not just fear."
He pointed.
"That's recognition."
⸻
Something Familiar
Kang Min stared at the screen.
Unmoving.
Unblinking.
Then—
One image caught his attention.
Something small.
Almost nothing.
But enough.
A detail near the victim's neck.
Faint.
Precise.
Controlled.
His expression didn't change.
But inside—
Something shifted.
A memory.
Fragmented.
Unclear.
But close.
Too close.
⸻
The Case That Wasn't There
"Run all unsolved homicides from the past ten years," Kang Min said suddenly.
Ara looked at him. "All of them?"
"Yes."
"That's a lot of data."
"Filter by similar cause of death. Controlled scene. No forced entry."
Su Young nodded. "I'll handle it."
Bong Soo tilted his head. "You think this goes back that far?"
Kang Min didn't answer immediately.
His eyes remained on the screen.
"…Further."
⸻
A Hidden Connection
Su Young paused.
"…Wait."
Everyone looked at her.
She frowned slightly at her screen.
"There's something."
"What is it?" Ara asked.
Su Young hesitated.
"An old case… about seven years ago."
Kang Min's gaze snapped toward her.
"Victim: male. Case closed due to lack of evidence."
She clicked the file open.
The photo appeared on screen.
Song Min Jae.
The room went silent.
Bong Soo blinked. "Wait… isn't that—"
Ara turned slowly toward Kang Min.
"…your father."
No one spoke.
Not immediately.
Kang Min stared at the screen.
Calm.
Still.
Unreadable.
But his voice—
When he spoke—
Was colder than anything they had ever heard.
"Reopen it."