The warehouse door gave way with a sharp crack.

“Positions,” Jisung's voice was calm, clear through the earpiece. “Team Alpha, flank left. Team Beta, hold the rear exit–” His words were cut when the door he was hiding behind was opened.

“Well, well. The cops finally grew a pair,” the man sneered. “Drop your gun! Now!”

Slowly, telegraphing his movements, Jisung unholstered his service pistol. He held it for a second before letting it fall. It hit the concrete with a definitive clatter that echoed in the tense silence.

“Good boy,” Scar-face said. “Now, don’t you fucking move from that spot.”

Jisung moved. He took one deliberate, quiet step forward.

The man’s bravado flickered. “I said DON’T MOVE!” he roared.

Jisung took another step. And another. His gaze was locked on the leader’s, not on the gun. 

“You’re crazy!” the leader snarled, his confidence cracking into confusion and rage. He closed the last of the distance himself, shoving the barrel of his gun hard against Jisung’s forehead. The cold metal bit into skin. Jisung didn’t blink. He didn’t flinch. He just kept leaning forward, his own motion pressing the gun harder against himself, his eyes pools of eerie calm.

The leader’s finger, slick with sweat, curled against the trigger. His face twisted in a snarl. “Last chance, pig!”

Jisung said nothing. He took one more micro-step.

The man pulled the trigger.

***CLICK.***

The sound was small, pathetic. A hollow, empty snap that died instantly in the vast space.

For a full second, there was only the sound of ragged breathing. The leader stared at his own weapon as if it had betrayed him. He pulled the trigger again. ***CLICK.*** And again. ***CLICK-CLICK-CLICK.***

“What the actual—?” The words were a whisper of pure, uncomprehending horror.

He never finished.

Jisung’s right hand shot up, not to block the gun, but to snake past it. His fist connected with a sickening crunch against the man’s jaw. Simultaneously, his left hand clamped onto the wrist holding the useless weapon, twisting it back in a sharp, professional motion. Using the man’s own stumbling momentum, Jisung pivoted and threw him. The leader’s body left the ground for a moment before slamming back down onto the concrete, the air bursting from his lungs in a choked gasp.

Jisung didn’t look at him. He lifted his hand, fingers straight, and made a single, sharp, slicing motion through the air.

From the cab of a silent forklift, from the shadowy rafters above, the tactical team swarmed. They moved with a speed that spoke of perfect timing, of knowing exactly when to strike.

Another one of the criminals, a hulking man with a wild look in his eyes, hefted a steel crowbar and charged straight for Jisung’s exposed back. Jisung, sensing the movement, turned. But instead of bracing for impact or raising a defensive arm, he did something inexplicable. He opened his stance and spread his arms wide.

The man crashed into him -and the crowbar fell to the ground- Jisung absorbed the impact, wrapping his arms around the larger man in what looked, for a bizarre moment, like an embrace. He locked his hands behind the man’s back.

“It’s over,” Jisung said, his voice low, meant only for the man’s ear. “Good work, Officer Kang.”

The tension drained from the ‘criminal’s’ body instantly. He gave a slight, almost imperceptible nod. As Jisung released him, the man -Officer Kang- reached into his grimy jacket and pulled out his police badge, holding it high. “POLICE! EVERYONE DOWN!”

Around them, the remaining criminals were being subdued, their shouts of panic mixing with the thud of controlled force. Their guns, when fired, produced only a chorus of impotent clicks. The warehouse, which should have been a battleground, became a processing center in minutes.

The two-week gamble had been a thread of nerve and steel. Jisung had identified the gang’s recruitment drive for a major shipment. While the Chief wanted a full-force raid, Jisung proposed a seed. Officer Kang, young and unassuming, was planted. For fourteen days, he was a new recruit, hauling boxes, earning trust, and, most critically, being put in charge of checking and loading the crew’s firearms. One by one, under the guise of maintenance, he replaced live rounds with precision-made blanks.

The Chief had argued, red-faced. “You’re asking an officer to live with armed criminals for two weeks! One slip, one search, and he’s dead! The entire plan hinges on them never once checking their ammo!”

Jisung had stood firm, his dossier of the gang’s lazy, complacent routines laid out like a psychological profile. “They feel safe here. They’re arrogant. They won’t check. Please,” he’d said, the word strange and earnest in the sterile office. “Believe in the plan.”

***

Back at the station, the briefing room buzzed with a tired but victorious energy. The Chief, a man with a face like worn leather and eyes that had seen too much, stood at the front. He waited for the chatter to die down.

“Another one closed,” the Chief said, his gaze landing on Jisung, who was standing near the back, trying to be invisible. “Clean. Fast. No injuries, no damaged evidence. That’s how it’s done.”

A few of the detectives clapped. Some offered Jisung nods of respect. Others, like Suno in the corner, just watched with a carefully blank expression.

“Lee,” the Chief called.

Jisung straightened. “Sir.”

“My office. Now.”

The good mood in the room chilled by a few degrees. A summons to the Chief’s office was never just for praise.

Jisung followed him down the hall, the sounds of the station fading behind the thick door as it closed. 

“Another call from your father,” the Chief said, without looking at him. “He said solving warehouse busts isn’t on your level. That I’m wasting your… pedigree.”

Jisung’s jaw tightened. He hated this. The constant oversight, the shadow of his father’s name reaching into his precinct.

“I gave you those cases to solve quickly, to build momentum,” the Chief continued, finally meeting his eyes. “But now he’s pulling strings. He says he’ll have you transferred to the FBI regional unit. A better fit for your talents.”

“What?” Jisung’s calm facade cracked. “No. I don’t want that.”

It was the dream posting for most. But for Jisung, it was his father’s world. A place built on connections and legacy, not just hard work. Here, in this messy, loud precinct, he had earned his place. He didn’t want to start from zero in a place where his last name would speak louder than his actions.

“Please,” Jisung said, the word unfamiliar on his tongue. He paced to the window, then turned back. “Give me… give me any hard case. The hardest one you have.”

His eyes landed on the Chief’s bulletin board. Among duty rosters and memos was a printed list titled ‘Cold Cases – High Priority.’ At the very top, circled in red and with multiple high-ranking detectives’ initials next to it like signatures of surrender, were three words: **BLOOD DIAMOND – UNSOLVABLE**.

“Give me the Blood Diamond case,” Jisung said, his voice firm.

The Chief blinked. “What? No. That’s not even officially directed to our station.”

“Then make it directed,” Jisung challenged, taking a step closer. “Bring it to me. Unless you want to lose your best detective. This station will lose its credibility if I get yanked out for the FBI.” He held the Chief’s gaze. “You don’t want that.”

The Chief was silent, weighing the insubordination against the bleak prospect of losing Jisung and facing the commissioner’s wrath.

“I’ll solve it,” Jisung promised, the fire of defiance clear in his eyes. “And this station will go higher in the rankings because of it.”

The Chief stared at him for a long moment. "You're officially tasked with solving the blood diamond case.”

The reports hanging on the board indicated : 

“The Blood Diamond: A complex web of diamond theft, drug dealing, and a criminal mastermind who has evaded capture. A case with minimal information. A criminal mastermind had managed to stay one step ahead of the law.” 

(⁠◍⁠◕⁠ᴗ⁠◕⁠◍⁠)

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