All I ever wanted was for famous detectives like Sherlock Holmes or Arsène Lupin to appear in my dreams and share their wisdom. But instead, why am I hearing the voices of notorious serial killers in my head, guiding me to solve a string of mysterious cases?
The bustling energy of the TV station is palpable as I sit in the green room, my reflection in the mirror showing a calm exterior that belies my inner tension. Makeup artists fuss over me, ensuring I look presentable for the cameras, while producers and assistants scurry about, clipboards in hand.
A harried-looking producer approaches me, frustration evident in her voice. "Detective Park, we really need more details about what you're planning to discuss. Our anchor needs to prepare."
I shake my head firmly. "I'm sorry, but as I've said, I can't provide those details in advance. It's crucial for the investigation."
The producer opens her mouth to argue, but Han, who's been standing quietly in the corner, steps forward. "I can assure you," he says, his voice carrying the weight of authority, "that Detective Park has my full confidence. Nothing inappropriate will occur during the broadcast."