The bar was a symphony of clinking glasses and low, conspiratorial chatter—Han Sung-min’s natural habitat. He leaned against the polished wood, offering what he hoped was a charming, roguish smile to the woman seated next to him. She had intelligent eyes, the color of dark honey.

“You know,” he began, swirling the amber liquid in his glass, “you have beautiful eyes like the ocean. I would like to dive deep into them.”

The woman stared at him for a beat, her expression utterly flat. Then, she slid off her stool, picked up her purse, and without a word, walked away, melting into the crowd.

Sung-min’s shoulders slumped. He sighed, turning back to his drink. “Why do I even try?” he muttered to the bartender, who simply shrugged and continued wiping a glass.

It was then that his phone vibrated, blaring the obnoxiously loud ringtone he’d assigned to one specific contact. The screen lit up: Senior Detective Jae-hyun. Sung-min winced, taking a second to compose himself before answering.

“Senior! What a pleasant surprise,” he said, forcing cheer into his voice.

A dry, unamused voice came through the line. “Where are you at?”

Sung-min’s eyes darted around the bar. “I’m in the park. Working on a serious case. Public intoxication. It’s a real scourge on our society.”

“Stop your lying and come to Gangwon Province, in Chuncheon. It’s a murder case.”

“Now?” Sung-min groaned, the last of his flirtatious energy evaporating.

The answer was immediate and delivered in Jae-hyun’s signature deadpan. “Don’t be late, or you will be next.” The line went dead.

Sung-min threw a few bills on the counter and made for the door, the weight of the call settling on him. A murder case. In Chuncheon. This was the real thing.

Twenty-five minutes later, his cab pulled up to a quiet, secluded street. The houses were traditional hanok-style homes, spaced well apart, their dark tiled roofs silhouetted against the night sky. The crime scene house stood apart, not just in its size, but in the eerie stillness that now surrounded it. A few police cars were parked haphazardly outside, their light bars painting the neighborhood in silent, rhythmic flashes of red and blue.

He paid the driver and stepped out, his detective’s mind already clicking into gear. The house had a big, heavy wooden door. Imposing, he thought. A show of wealth, but also isolation. His eyes scanned the perimeter. No fence, no dog. He shook his head slightly. Having a dog solves all the problems.

Pushing past the uniformed officer at the entrance, Sung-min stepped inside. The interior was spacious, a blend of traditional Korean architecture and modern comfort. A wide hallway stretched before him. To the left was a formal dining room, and to the right, a staircase led to a second floor. The air was thick with a tense, solemn energy.

His eyes were immediately drawn to the activity in the dining room on the left. The body of a man was splayed on a sofa, the grim tableau illuminated by the harsh lights of the forensics team. The television was now silent. Senior Detective Jae-hyun was already there, standing like a stoic statue amidst the controlled chaos, his sharp eyes missing nothing.

“Sung-min,” Jae-hyun said without looking up from the victim. “Look everything very carefully and take notes. Don’t touch anything.”

“On it, Senior,” Sung-min replied, his usual flippancy gone. He pulled out his notebook, his gaze sweeping the room. He noted the position of the body, the blood spatter pattern on the wall behind the sofa, the absence of any obvious signs of a struggle. The victim had been murdered while watching TV. It was cold, execution-style.

Jae-hyun turned and moved into the hallway, his voice calm but authoritative. “I need the family members to gather here for a few questions before the ambulance arrives to take the body.”

Sung-min watched as an older woman, her face pale and streaked with tears, was guided to a bench by a younger man—presumably her son-in-law. This must be the mother, Eun-ji, and the brother-in-law, Hyun-woo. Sung-min’s pen flew across the page, scribbling observations. Mother: distraught, but coherent. Brother-in-law: shell-shocked, supportive. He looked at everyone with a suspicious eye, his mind already running through possibilities. The police photographers circled the room, their cameras flashing, capturing the brutal finality of the scene.

Just then, the front door flew open again. A man stumbled in, his face ashen and his breath coming in ragged gasps. He looked as if he had run from his car. This was Kim Kyung-min, the father. His eyes were red-rimmed, welling with tears he was desperately trying to hold back. He didn’t speak, didn’t ask any questions. His horrified gaze was locked on the doorway to the dining room, drawn to the horror he already knew awaited him.

Sung-min watched him, noting the raw, unvarnished grief. He made another note in his book: Father: arrived separately, genuine shock and despair. This was no longer a theoretical case in a bar; it was a shattered family in a sprawling, silent house, and he was right in the middle of it. The game had truly begun.