Chapter 2

Seoul Hospital

The hospital hallways glisten under fluorescent lights, the atmosphere a controlled chaos of white coats and blue scrubs. Amidst this whirlwind, Dr. Min Ji-hoon, the hospital's star surgeon, moves down the hallway, his cool calm, a stark contrast to the hustle and bustle around him. His walk is fluid and unhurried, his impeccably pressed white coat fluttering slightly with each step.

Ji-hoon greets the nurses with a charming smile, his dark brown eyes shining with a warmth that seems to melt the staff's stress. His every gesture conveys confidence and competence.

"Good morning, Dr. Min," a young nurse greets him, her cheeks flushing slightly.

"Good morning, Soo-yeon," Ji-hoon replies, his voice soft and comforting. "How is your mother? Did the operation go well?"

The nurse blinks in surprise. "Oh, yes, thank you so much for asking. She's doing much better."

Ji-hoon nods, satisfied, and continues on his way. "So easily impressed," he thinks to himself, his smile barely concealing a hint of disdain.

A few steps away, Dr. Han, a middle-aged fellow surgeon with thick glasses, rushes over.

"Ji-hoon," Dr. Han calls, a hint of anxiety in his voice. "I need your opinion on a case. It's a patient in 305 with a possible bowel obstruction. I'm considering surgical intervention."

Ji-hoon pauses, turning to his colleague with an expression of professional interest. "Of course, let's review the case."

In the doctors' lounge, Ji-hoon examines the CT images and lab results Dr. Han presents to him. His eyes scan the data, assessing every detail.

"Based on these images," Ji-hoon says, pointing to a specific area on the CT scan, "it seems there's a postoperative adhesion causing the obstruction." I would recommend exploratory laparoscopy to confirm and, if necessary, proceed with adhesion lysis.

Dr. Han nods, visibly relieved by Ji-hoon's opinion. "Thank you, Ji-hoon. I've come to the same conclusion but you know that another doctor's opinion is invaluable in these cases." Ji-hoon smiles modestly and says as they both leave the room. "We're a team, Han. We all do our part."

As they walk away from the doctors' room, Ji-hoon and Dr. Han discuss the details of the proposed procedure. Ji-hoon's confidence and knowledge are evident in every word, every gesture. Doctors and nurses passing by look at him with respect.

"—Dr. Min, your next surgery is scheduled in 30 minutes," a nurse announces as she passes. Ji-hoon nods with a calm smile. "—Thank you, I'll be there promptly."

He bids Dr. Han farewell with a polite nod and heads toward the elevators. As he walks, several staff members greet him with respect and admiration. Ji-hoon responds to each greeting with a warm smile and a polite nod.

Reaching the elevator, Ji-hoon presses the button and waits patiently. His posture is relaxed but professional, his expression serene. When the doors open, he steps inside and turns toward the hospital hallway.

For a brief moment before the doors close, the change in his face is subtle but undeniable. The warm smile fades, the eyes losing their compassionate glow. In its place, a mask of ice slides over his features. His gaze turns cold, calculating, devoid of all the emotion he had displayed moments before.

The elevator doors close.

The "Neon Dreams" nightclub looms before Seo-jun and Detective Kim, its once-bright facade now dull and surrounded by yellow police tape. The afternoon sun casts long shadows across the entrance, giving the place an even more sinister air. The distant hum of sirens and the murmur of onlookers create an eerie backdrop.

Seo-jun inhales deeply, mentally preparing himself. Kim notices this and cracks a sardonic smile.

"Nervous, rookie?" Kim growls as he ducks under the tape. "Welcome to your first real crime scene of the Unknown Vigilante."

Seo-jun squares his shoulders, his voice firm despite the tension in his jaw. "It's practically not my first scene, Detective. I'm ready."

Kim snorts, unimpressed. He pulls out a worn notebook and begins to recite: "Victim: Park Sung-ho, age 53." A bastard who prostituted minors. He was found three nights ago in the second-floor office.

Seo-jun frowns. "How did he die?"

Kim glances at him sideways. "His throat was slit. A clean cut, professional work, our Vigilante's signature. But first…" he pauses, his voice hardening. "He was tortured and castrated."

Seo-jun feels a chill run down his spine, but keeps his expression neutral. "What else do we know?" Kim frowns, his voice tinged with irritation. "That's all, boy. If we knew more, we wouldn't be here wasting our time, right?"

As he enters, the smell of industrial disinfectant assaults his senses, barely masking an underlying metallic aroma that Seo-jun recognizes as dried blood. His footsteps echo on the wooden floor, creating eerie echoes in the empty space.

A uniformed officer approaches. "Detectives," he greets in a tense voice and bows. "We've finished processing the scene, but everything is still as we found it."

Kim nods. "Thank you, Officer Lee. Anything unusual?"

Lee hesitates, his eyes shifting nervously. "Well… we found a bunch of burned papers in the bathroom. They appeared to be records of some kind of business. And…" he lowers his voice. "We found a fetish torture room in the deceased's office."

Seo-jun feels his stomach churn, but forces himself to maintain his composure. "Were you able to recover anything from the papers?"

"No," Lee replies. "If these papers contained important information, it's all been erased."

As they climb the stairs to the office, the creaking of old wood beneath their feet seems to amplify the tension. Seo-jun notices drag marks on the carpet.

"Detective Kim, look at this," he points. "It looks like the body was moved."

Kim crouches down to examine the marks, his skepticism evident. "It could be anything in a place like this, kid. Don't jump to conclusions."

Seo-jun frowns, but insists. "But the direction and depth of the marks suggest…"

"Okay, okay," Kim interrupts, standing up with a grunt. "Good eye. Maybe you're not so useless after all."

In the office, the scene is surprisingly tidy, contrasting with the brutality of the crime. There are no signs of a struggle, just a large stain of dried blood on the carpet behind the desk. The metallic smell is stronger here, mixed with a pungent aroma that Seo-jun can't identify.

Seo-jun examines the desk, noticing something. "Look, there are fresh marks that something heavy was here." He points to some indentations in the wood.

Kim nods, a spark of respect in his eyes. "Probably a safe. Our friend Sung-ho kept his secrets nearby."

As Seo-jun searches the drawers, he finds a partially burned business card. It only reads "…S Beauty only…". He also notices a small empty vial rolling around at the bottom of a drawer.

"Detective Kim, do you think this could be important?" he asks, showing her the card and the vial.

Kim examines the items and shrugs. "The card could be from any beauty clinic in Seoul. And the vial… who knows. Let's not waste time on this. Let's focus on the hard facts."

After an hour of meticulous searching, they return to the first floor. The silence of the club is oppressive, as if the building itself holds the secrets of what happened.

"So, what do you think, rookie?" Kim asks, lighting a cigarette.

Seo-jun frowns, his mind working at full speed. "The killer knew the place. He knew where the office was, how to get in unseen. And that clean cut… it doesn't look like the work of an amateur. But the torture…" he pauses, struggling to keep his voice steady, "is personal. This Vigilante doesn't just kill, he wants them to suffer."

Kim exhales a cloud of smoke, his expression grim. "Not bad, kid. This case… it's different. The Vigilante is escalating. The press is freaking out, and the boss is pushing for results. We need to solve this, and fast."

As they leave the club, Seo-jun can't help but feel like they're overlooking something important. His fingers brush the business card in his pocket.

"Detective Kim," Seo-jun says, pulling out the card, "I think we should investigate this together. It might lead us to something."

Kim looks at the burnt card and sighs, exhaustion evident on his face. "I told you, kid. I don't think it's anything very important. It's probably just a card from some random beauty clinic."

Seo-jun nods, but his expression remains determined. "I understand, but I still think it's worth investigating. If you don't mind, I'd like to pursue this lead on my own."

Kim shrugs, a half-smile on his tired face. "Suit yourself, rookie. Just don't let him distract you from the important parts of the case. And be careful… this Vigilante, whoever he is, is dangerous."

Seo-jun puts the card back in his pocket, his mind already working on how to approach this new line of investigation. Despite the horror of the scene, he feels a spark of excitement. This case could be your chance to prove yourself and maybe, just maybe, make a real difference.

The digital clock on the wall of the operating room reads 8:00 PM with a silent shift of digits. Ji-hoon, with precise, controlled movements, removes his bloody gloves, the latex peeling off his skin with a wet sound. He discards them in the bio-waste bin, the thud of the falling material echoing in the sterile room. He walks over to the sink and washes his hands meticulously. The astringent scent of antiseptic soap fills his nostrils.

In his private changing room, Ji-hoon strips off his surgical uniform with fluid, practiced movements. The fabric falls to the floor with a whisper, revealing his toned body. He slides under the shower, the hot water hitting his skin hard, washing away the stress of the day and the lingering smell of the hospital. He closes his eyes, allowing himself a moment of relaxation as the steam fills the small space. Minutes later, refreshed and revitalized, he dresses in an impeccably cut dark gray suit. He leaves the hospital, his presence commanding respect and admiration.

"Good evening, Dr. Min," a nurse says as Ji-hoon passes through the reception area, her voice tinged with admiration and barely concealed flirtation.

"Good evening, Eun-ji. See you tomorrow," Ji-hoon replies with a cordial smile that doesn't reach his eyes. His voice is soft and controlled, a perfect mask of professional kindness that hides the underlying coldness.

Leaving the hospital he climbs into his black sedan, a sleek and discreet vehicle, gliding through the streets of Seoul like a shadow on the asphalt. The city lights reflect off the polished bodywork, creating a play of light and shadow. Ji-hoon arrives at his apartment building, a modern structure of concrete, glass and steel that rises into the night sky.

Entering his apartment, we see a minimalist living room, dominated by gray and white tones, Ji-hoon removes his tie and jacket with an almost imperceptible sigh. The clothes fall onto the black leather sofa with a soft rustle, the only sound in the deathly silence of the apartment.

He heads to his kitchen and begins to prepare his dinner with fluid, precise movements. He takes a fresh salmon fillet out of the refrigerator, its pink color contrasting with the metallic coldness of the kitchen. He seasons it with his favorite spices and then places the fish on the electric grill, the hiss of hot oil breaking the silence as the salmon cooks, filling the air with its aroma, Ji-hoon cuts vegetables into small pieces. The knife moves with the same dexterity as a scalpel, each movement controlled and efficient, transforming the vegetables into uniform pieces.

After dinner and washing the dishes, leaving the kitchen as immaculate as he found it, Ji-hoon heads to his personal gym. Sweat beads on his brow as he goes through his workout routine. His muscles tense and relax rhythmically, a well-oiled machine in constant motion.

After his demanding workout routine, Ji-hoon slips under the shower in his room. The hot water falls over his athletic body, washing away the sweat and pent-up tension, while the bathroom fills with steam.

Minutes later, fresh and dressed in comfortable clothing, he sits down in front of his state-of-the-art computer. The screen comes to life with an almost imperceptible hum, illuminating his face with a bluish glow that accentuates his sharp features. His fingers fly over the keyboard with astonishing speed and precision, opening encrypted files and revealing profiles of criminals who have evaded justice. Each click of the mouse is like the tick of a clock, marking time.

One name catches his attention, standing out among the rest, Park Mi-sook. His eyes, cold and calculating, scan the report, absorbing every detail with an almost palpable intensity. Accusations of child trafficking, cases dismissed on legal technicalities, young lives destroyed by greed and corruption. The latest case was dismissed because the police conducted a raid without a valid warrant, invalidating all evidence collected. A cold smile, devoid of all warmth, slowly spreads across his lips. He has been following Mi-sook for weeks, studying her movements, her habits, her weaknesses. Tonight, he is finally going to quench his desire.

As he pours himself a glass of red wine, the dark liquid dripping into the crystal glass like fresh blood, Ji-hoon goes through Mi-sook's surveillance photos. Each image is a testament to his meticulous planning, every detail catalogued and analyzed with precision. He sips the wine slowly, savoring its complexity as his mind goes over each step of his impending plan.

Finishing the glass, he makes his way to his bedroom with silent steps. A hidden panel in the wall, invisible to the untrained eye, slides soundlessly, revealing a secret room lit by a dim blue light. The contrast between the apparent normality of his bedroom and this sanctuary of death is eerie.

On the wall, a whiteboard filled with photos of previous victims tells the story of his self-imposed mission. Each image is a trophy, a reminder of the justice he has meted out. Below, a stainless steel table houses a small high-definition camera, a black leather briefcase, and notebooks filled with meticulous notes written in precise, neat handwriting. Ji-hoon goes over his plan once more: he will intercept Mi-sook in the alley she always uses to get home around 11 PM. Every detail has been considered, every variable calculated. There is no room for error.

He dresses in black, each garment carefully chosen to blend into the shadows of the night. First he wears a pair of tight yet flexible black pants, perfect for moving undetected. Then, a black hoodie, allowing him to hide his face in the dark. His hands are covered with soft black leather gloves, making sure not to leave any footprints. On his feet, soft-soled black shoes, ideal for moving silently through the streets of Seoul. Finally, he puts on a black face mask, completing his transformation from respected surgeon to night avenger. From his briefcase he takes out a case of surgical scalpels, carefully selecting the ones he will carry tonight.

The streets of Seoul glow with neon lights as Ji-hoon steps out, an urban predator in search of his prey. He walks down dark alleys, his footsteps silent on the wet pavement, until he spots his target: Park Mi-sook, a middle-aged woman in a striking red coat who stands out in the gloom like a beacon of iniquity. Mi-sook stands on the corner of a busy street, her posture tense and watchful as she speaks quietly to a nervous-looking man. Ji-hoon watches the exchange from the shadows, his cold eyes taking in every detail. After a brief exchange, the man quickly walks away, casting furtive glances around, and Mi-sook begins to walk down the street, her high heels clicking on the pavement.

Ji-hoon follows at a distance, moving like a shadow among the shadows. His steps are silent, his breathing controlled. Mi-sook walks quickly, her hand gripping her bag tightly as she occasionally glances at her phone. Suddenly, as if sensing the menacing presence stalking her, she tenses visibly. She glances over her shoulder, her eyes scanning the darkness, but Ji-hoon has already hidden himself behind a dumpster, his body still as a statue. Mi-sook quickens her pace, her uneasiness evident in the stiffness of her shoulders and the quickness of her steps. In a desperate attempt to evade her unseen pursuer, she turns sharply into an alley, her heels clicking in the narrow passage.

The alley narrows, the brick walls closing in around her like the jaws of an urban beast. Shadows lengthen, dancing menacingly under the flickering light of a lone streetlamp. Mi-sook stops and turns abruptly, pressing her back against a cold, damp wall, the faded graffiti forming a surreal backdrop to the scene about to unfold. Ji-hoon emerges from the darkness like an avenging spectre, his tall, menacing figure blocking the only way out. The dim light reflects in his eyes, revealing a predatory glint that would chill the blood of anyone who saw it.

"Park Mi-sook, right?" Ji-hoon's voice is soft but icy, cutting through the night air. Each word is laden with barely contained menace. "The woman who traffics children."

Mi-sook's eyes widen, fear dilating her pupils until they look like black pools of terror. Her hand shakes uncontrollably as she searches for something in her bag, perhaps a weapon, something to protect herself, anything that might save her from the predator before her. "Who are you? What do you want?" Her voice trembles, barely a breathy whisper that fades into the night. "If you're after merchandise, it's not by following me like this that you'll get it."

Ji-hoon moves forward, each step measured and deliberate, the dim light from the distant streetlamp casting strange shadows across his face, accentuating the sinister smile that plays across his lips. His eyes, normally cold and expressionless, now shine with a feverish intensity, as if all the emotion he represses during the day is released in this moment of twisted justice.

"I'm not a customer," he says, his tone almost conversational, as if they're discussing the weather rather than in the middle of a deadly encounter. "I'm just a citizen enforcing justice where others have failed. Where the system has failed."

Mi-sook visibly pales, the color draining from her face as if the very life is draining from her body. Terror is evident in every line of her face, in the trembling of her lips, in the cold sweat beading her forehead. Her eyes, wide open, desperately search for an escape route, but find only relentless brick walls and the imposing figure of Ji-hoon, an insurmountable barrier between her and salvation.

"Justice?" she repeats, her voice cracking with fear, barely more than a trembling whisper. "I'm not a criminal. You're making a mistake."

"No?" Ji-hoon tilts his head, a gesture that in any other circumstance might seem like curiosity, but here only intensifies the threat implicit in his presence. His eyes gleam with a predatory intensity, like a wolf cornering prey. "You don't traffic children, Mi-sook? You don't destroy innocent lives for money?"

Mi-sook gulps audibly, her throat so dry the sound is almost painful. Her hands fidget, clutching at her red coat as if the fabric could somehow protect her from the fate looming over her. "I… I don't know what you're talking about," she stammers, the words coming out in a rush, a cascade of desperate denials. "I don't do any of that. You must have the wrong person."

Ji-hoon takes another step forward, invading Mi-sook's personal space. The alley seems to shrink, the walls closing in around them like a trap. Mi-sook can smell Ji-hoon's expensive cologne, a citrusy, fresh scent that mixes incongruously with something else, something metallic and dangerous that makes her heart beat even faster. "Oh, but we both know that's not true, right?" His voice is a terrifying whisper now, each word laden with a cold certainty that leaves no room for doubt. All those children, Mi-sook. All those lives you have destroyed. Can you hear them crying in your dreams? Or does the sound of money drown out their cries?

Mi-sook trembles visibly, her legs threatening to give way under the weight of the terror that consumes her. Ji-hoon watches every reaction, every tremor, intently. His eyes, cold and calculating, scan Mi-sook's body, cataloging every sign of fear as if it were another symptom in his diagnosis of guilt. A barely perceptible smile plays on his lips, an expression that doesn't reach his eyes and that only intensifies the aura of danger emanating from him.

With a deliberately slow movement, Ji-hoon raises his right hand, his fingers flexing as if he were about to perform a delicate operation. Mi-sook instinctively steps back, her back pressing against the cold, damp wall of the alley, searching for an escape she knows doesn't exist. The air between them is charged with a palpable tension, like the calm before a devastating storm.

Ji-hoon, with a fluid movement that reveals years of practice, pulls a small black case from his pocket. The soft leather glistens faintly in the dim light of the alley. He slowly opens it, the click of the clasp echoing like a death knell in the oppressive silence. Inside the case reveals a series of perfectly aligned surgical scalpels, each a masterpiece of precision and lethality.

With practiced fingers, Ji-hoon selects one, weighing it in his hand as if it were a natural extension of his body. The blade gleams with a metallic glint in the dim light of the alley, reflecting an ominous promise. He raises it to Mi-sook's eye level, who watches in horror as the light plays on the blade, dancing as if it has a life of its own.

Mi-sook understands in that moment, with crystalline, terrifying clarity, that she will not emerge from this situation unscathed. Terror washes over her like a cold, unforgiving wave, and her body begins to shake uncontrollably. Every fiber of her being screams silently, begging for a salvation she knows won't come.

"No… please," Mi-sook pleads, her voice cracking with fear, barely more than a broken whisper. "I'll do anything. I'll give you money, information, anything you want. I can help you, I can… I can change. Please, give me a chance."

Her words are cut off abruptly as Ji-hoon covers her mouth with his right hand, pressing down with a relentless force that speaks of a strength hidden beneath his elegant appearance. With his left, he holds the scalpel close to Mi-sook's face, so close she can feel the cold metal against her sweaty skin.

"Shh…" Ji-hoon whispers, his voice a macabre coo that sends shivers down Mi-sook's spine. "It'll all be over soon. But first, we're going to have a little session of… redemption. Consider it a gift, Mi-sook." The chance to pay for your sins.

With a precise movement, Ji-hoon makes a shallow cut on Mi-sook's cheek. The blade slides across her skin like butter, leaving behind a perfect red line. She tries to scream, but the sound is muffled by Ji-hoon's hand, turning into a dull moan that reverberates in her throat. Tears of pain and terror run down her face, mixing with the blood that begins to flow from the wound.

Ji-hoon continues his chilling, macabre task, his face a mask of concentration. His hands methodically inflict pain, tracing a map of suffering across Mi-sook's skin. Each cut on Mi-sook's arms and hands is a work of terrifying precision, designed to maximize suffering without causing fatal hemorrhage. Blood oozes out in thin scarlet threads, contrasting vividly with the pallor of her skin and the red of her coat.

Mi-sook's muffled screams intensify with each incision, her body convulsing in a desperate attempt to break free. But Ji-hoon's strength is relentless, his grip as firm as fate itself. The alley fills with the muffled sound of her agony, a macabre chorus that only rats and shadows can hear.

"Does it hurt?" Ji-hoon asks, his voice tinged with false concern that contrasts grotesquely with the brutality of his actions. His eyes gleam with a mix of curiosity and twisted satisfaction. "Imagine the pain of all those children, Mi-sook. This is only a fraction of what they felt. Every cut, every drop of blood, is a reminder of the lives you have destroyed."

Mi-sook tries to plead again, but her words are lost in incoherent sobs, muffled by Ji-hoon's relentless hand. Her eyes, wide with terror and clouded with pain, desperately search for some glimmer of mercy on her tormentor's face. But they find only cold indifference, a void that reflects the darkness of the alley and of her own soul.

Ji-hoon watches his handiwork with great fascination, as if he were performing a particularly complicated surgery. His eyes scan the wounds he has inflicted, assessing each cut with the critical gaze of an artist perfecting his masterpiece. There is a terrible beauty in the precision of his work, a macabre symmetry that speaks of a brilliant mind twisted toward darkness.

Finally, Ju-hoon releases Mi-sook, and she falls to the ground, Ji-hoon straightens up, his relaxed posture contrasting grotesquely with the scene of horror before him. In one fluid movement he crouches down and places the scalpel at Mi-sook's throat, just above the carotid artery. There is a moment of terrible anticipation, time seems to stand still as Mi-sook stares into the cold eyes of her victimizer, aware that these are her last seconds of life.

With a swift, precise movement, Ji-hoon makes a deep cut. The blade sinks into the flesh with terrifying ease, opening a crimson furrow that immediately begins to ooze blood. The vital fluid flows out in a scarlet torrent, soaking Mi-sook's red coat and forming a dark puddle at her feet.

Mi-sook drowns in her own vital fluid, her eyes wide in a final gesture of terror and supplication. Her body jerks in violent spasms as she struggles to breathe, each attempt producing only a wet, bubbling gurgle. Ji-hoon steps back, watching with cold indifference as the life slowly drains from his victim's body.

Before the light completely fades from Mi-sook's eyes, Ji-hoon pulls a small camera from his pocket, focuses, and captures an image of his dying victim. The flash briefly illuminates the alley, forever freezing Mi-sook's final moment into a grotesque work of art.

With smooth movements, Ji-hoon puts the camera and the bloody scalpel away in its case. Every action is deliberate and controlled, not a single wasted movement. He takes one last look at Mi-sook's trembling, bleeding body, his face a mask of indifference that hides the dark satisfaction he feels at his handiwork.

Without another word, Ji-hoon turns and leaves the alley with silent steps. His figure melts into the shadows, leaving behind the silence of death and a bloody reminder of his twisted justice. The only sound left is the steady dripping of Mi-sook's blood, a macabre requiem that marks the end of another night of hunting for the Seoul Vigilante.