On the feed, his reaction was worth every risk I was taking. He froze. He stared at the ringing screen like a startled deer caught in headlights, his eyes widening behind his round glasses. I watched him quickly smooth down his ruffled hair with one hand, sit up straighter, take a deep, shaky breath, and swipe to answer.

"Hello?" His voice squeaked slightly. I heard him clear his throat, shifting in his creaky wooden chair. "Hello?" he said again, trying to sound composed.

"Hi," I said, keeping my voice low, smooth, and slightly raspy. "I got your message."

"Yes!" He exhaled, his shoulders dropping an inch. "Thank you... for getting me home yesterday. And for not, well... you know."

"Taking advantage of you?" I supplied, leaning back in my chair. "Don’t get me wrong, I wanted to go all the way. But you fell asleep on me. Was I that boring?"

"No, no!" Panic flared in his voice, his hands fluttering nervously over his desk. "You weren't boring at all. You were... really great."

I chuckled, the sound dark and warm. "Do you even remember what we did?"

He bit his lower lip, a soft, helpless sigh escaping him. "Bits of it..." He breathed heavily, looking around his empty room as if to check if someone was eavesdropping, even though he knew he was completely alone. "...I remember us kissing. And... you…getting me off. Did I cry? God, that's so embarrassing." He rubbed his temples.

"No, it’s all good," I murmured, my voice dripping with quiet affection. "You were incredibly hot. And so cute. I loved every second of it."

"Really?" He shook his head, but a small, tentative smile touched his lips.

"Yeah, really. But I wasn’t sure if we were moving too fast," I said, my tone shifting into something possessive and steady. "And honestly... I want you completely clear-headed when we finally fuck."

He went dead silent. On the monitor, I watched him bite his lower lip again, take off his glasses, and dab at his forehead with the back of one hand, his cheeks flushing a deep, furious crimson.

"Hello," I said softly. "Still there?"

"Ye-yes," he breathed.

"You don’t like to talk dirty?"

"Um, I-I’m not used to it," he stammered, rubbing his bare face. "But it’s okay if you want to."

I chuckled again because he was just so endearing to watch. "Do you want us to go slow?"

"Yes," he said quickly, almost too quickly. "I think it would be nice to get to know you."

Aww. He was so sweet.

"Okay," I said. "But I’m out of town for a few months. My work requires me to travel quite a bit. We can keep talking, though. Get to know each other over the phone?"

"Oh." His shoulders slumped slightly. "You are not in town?"

"Yeah. But don’t worry, I’m sure I’ll be back soon. You’re not getting rid of me that easily."

He nodded enthusiastically on the screen, a small, secret smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. 

"So," I prompted, shifting the angle of the interrogation. "Tell me more about you, you said you are a teacher?” 

He seemed surprised by the change in my direction, likely expecting me to keep flirting. "Oh. Yeah. I teach Math. I’ve been here for a year and a half..." 

"Do you enjoy it?" 

"Yes, I love teaching," he said, his voice warming up, losing some of its nervous edge. "It’s great. The kids are... well, they’re stressful, especially the third-years with the Suneung coming up, but it’s rewarding."

We talked on for about ten minutes. I asked mostly open-ended questions, letting him fill the silence. He answered honestly, happy to talk about his work, his voice a soothing baritone through the earpiece. I let him ramble about curriculum changes and the vice principal’s ridiculous new attendance policies.

 Then, I dropped the hook.

"Who’s Ji-ho?" I asked suddenly, keeping my tone casual.

On the screen, he froze. His hand stopped mid-air, a red pen hovering over a student's test paper.

 "What?"

 " Ji-ho," I repeated. "You kept calling me ' Ji-ho ' yesterday when you were drunk. Old boyfriend?" 

"No, no," he said quickly, his voice tightening. "Sorry. I must have been really drunk." He fell silent, staring blankly at the test paper.

 "Don’t want to say? That’s cool. We all have our secret crushes."

"He’s not a crush," he said defensively, his tone shifting into something firmer, more protective. "He’s my student. A difficult one. I... I should go."

"No, sorry, please," I said, softening my voice. "I’m really enjoying talking to you." I add quickly, playing on his emotions.

He squeezed the phone tight, his knuckles turning white. "Really?" he asked, unsure. 

"Yeah, really. It’s okay if you don’t want to talk about your student. We can change the subject. I just wanted to be sure I didn’t have a rival."

He chuckled unbelievingly at that. "He’s not your rival," I heard him mutter, and I saw the smile touch his lips on the monitor.

"Ok? That’s a relief then. 

He hesitates then starts talking.

"He’s a difficult student," Mr. Lee sighed, rubbing his temples. "Changed schools many times. I want to help him pass his exams this year. But..."

"But what?"

"He doesn’t have a sense of personal space. And he says inappropriate things. Like he’s... flirting with me." A sudden flush touched his cheeks.

I leaned forward, resting my elbows on the desk. "What? That’s incredibly disrespectful," I retorted, testing his reaction.

"Hmmm, I don’t think he means it that way," Mr. Lee supplied quickly, defensively. “He’s a good kid. Maybe he wasn’t taught physical boundaries growing up, I don’t know. I don’t understand him well enough yet; he hasn’t opened up much," he muttered, trailing off into deep thought.

"Do you like it? The flirting?"

"What?!” His head snapped up. “No! No, of course not. I wish he wouldn’t. He’s a student, he shouldn’t be doing that, and I always draw a firm line each time he does," he said earnestly.

He dropped his pen, nervously tapping a finger on the desk. “Maybe I should report it. But he’s been through so many schools already. I don’t want to give up on him because of this."

“Yeah, reporting might be overkill at this stage,” I said, ad-libbing to keep him talking, steering him gently away from involving the school administration just yet.

"Yeah... but the way he looks at me sometimes...” he sighs, “it makes me nervous as hell. I have to exert more authority around him than usual, and I’m not used to doing that. He completely throws me off balance." He sighed, defeated.

This was the opening. I needed to know. I needed to clear him of the dark suspicion that had brought me to this rural town in the first place.

"Are you attracted to him?" I asked, keeping my voice perfectly level. "Honestly. I won’t judge."

He went quiet for a long moment. I watched him stare fixedly at his hands.

"Maybe... I don’t know. Shibal!" he swore softly under his breath. “He’s my student. I shouldn’t be attracted to him. I know that," he finally whispered, his voice cracking slightly. "But he seems much more mature than me. Like he’s the one in charge. It’s hard to explain. You must think I’m a perv."

"No, no," I said smoothly, keeping my tone non-judgmental. "You’re human."

"Not a very good one at this rate," he muttered self-deprecatingly.

"Don’t beat yourself up. At least you know where to draw the line," I said, injecting a note of careful, tactical probing into my tone. "Has this happened with other students? I mean... are you usually attracted to guys that young?"

On the screen, his head snapped up again. This time, he looked genuinely horrified.

"Oh, no! Never! God, no," he said, shaking his head vigorously, his soft curls bouncing. "This is the first time anything like this has ever happened to me. I’d call it a midlife crisis, but I’m not even thirty yet.”

He sighed deeply, his face lined with anxiety. “I think it’s because he appears so much older than his age. Not physically, but his aura. I can’t really explain it.”

Mr. Lee is quite the perceptive one, I mused. Either that, or I’m losing my touch as an undercover agent.

“It’s the power dynamic that freaks me out, not his age. I don’t like kids. I like adults.” He paused, and then his face brightened a fraction. “That’s... that’s why I’m so relieved to have met you. You’re... exactly my type."

The tension in my chest—a knot I hadn't realized I’d been carrying for weeks—finally unspooled. My shoulders loosened. Not because I’d cracked the case, but because what I’d just heard completely derailed the predator profile I was expecting.

In criminal psychology, true offenders rely heavily on a classic triad of cognitive distortions: minimization, rationalization, and externalization. They minimize the boundary crossing, rationalize the relationship as "special" or "educational," and externalize blame by claiming the child initiated it or wanted it. They don't feel guilt; they feel entitlement.

Lee wasn't doing any of that.

His reaction was entirely ego-dystonic—his feelings were causing him intense psychological conflict and shame because they violated his moral code. He wasn't grooming the boy; he was terrified of him. He looked utterly humiliated, confused by an unwanted attraction he was actively fighting to contain. Every protective instinct he showed was geared toward keeping the student at arm's length, not drawing him closer.

Attraction alone doesn't make a criminal, and guilt over unwanted thoughts is a far cry from the intent to abuse. There was no manipulation here, no systematic breaking down of a child's inhibitions. If anything, he was desperate for distance.

It appeared he was just a lonely, repressed man who had been completely flustered by a boundary-pushing, hyper-mature teenager. Yes, the ethical dilemma of a teacher-student crush was present, but the calculated, predatory pedophilia I had been hired to investigate? The picture was completely blurring.

A strange, hollow feeling settled in my stomach. If Hyun-woo hadn’t molested my client as accused, then I was going to need to have a very serious, very real word with that kid.

"Hmmm... so I’m your type, huh?" I teased, letting the cynical investigator mask slip away for a brief second.

"Ye-yes," Hyun-woo stammered, a bashful, vulnerable sound that made my chest unexpectedly ache. "The only problem is... um, I can’t quite remember what you look like. Mianhae..." He mumbled the apology, hiding his face in his hand as if I could actually see him through the call.

I chuckled softly. "That is a bit of a problem," I replied. "But we can fix that. First... are you going to tell me your name?" I countered, gently sidetracking his curiosity.

"Oh," he said, blinking on the monitor as if just realizing we hadn't even exchanged proper introductions yet. "It’s Lee Hyun-woo."

"Hyun-woo," I breathed, letting the syllables roll over my tongue. It felt entirely different from calling him Seonsaengnim. "Can we talk again tomorrow, Hyun-woo? Same time?"

"Yes," he muttered. His eyes dropped back to his desk, but a deep flush crept up his neck, staining the tips of his ears. "Have a good night."

"You too."

I ended the call. On the monitor, I watched him slowly lower his phone. He stared at the blank screen for a long moment, biting his bottom lip as if fighting a losing battle to keep a massive, foolish smile at bay.

He failed. The smile broke through, lighting up his entire face and making him look incredibly young, soft, and devastatingly happy.

I slowly reached out and clicked off the monitor, plunging my room into pitch darkness.

I was completely screwed, and I wasn't entirely sure if I wanted to be rescued.