PROLOGUE

By the time the rain stopped, San-cheong county had already begun to breathe again.

The swollen streams receded into their banks, carrying with them broken branches, abandoned umbrellas, and the occasional plastic chair that had wandered too far from someone's porch.

Wisps of white mist drifted lazily between the pine-covered mountains, softening the jagged ridges until they looked almost unreal.

To outsiders, the morning was beautiful. To the people who had spent their entire lives beneath these mountains, beauty had always been accompanied by an unsettling silence.

The elders often said the mountain disliked being disturbed after heavy rain.

Children laughed whenever they heard the story. Teenagers rolled their eyes. Adults smiled politely and changed the subject

Only the oldest villagers still lowered their voices whenever they spoke of it.

They believed the mountain remembered every promise ever made beneath its shadow.

And every debt left unpaid.

✧

"Come on, old man. If we don't finish before noon, Boss is going to make us clean the western canal too."

Min tossed a pair of heavy gloves toward his coworker, who caught them with practiced ease before grumbling under his breath.

Hwang Dae-su had been clearing drainage systems for longer than Min had been alive, and he made sure everyone within earshot knew it.

"If the Boss wants the western canal cleaned," Dae-su muttered while adjusting his faded cap, "he can crawl in there himself."

"You've been saying you're retiring for the last seven years." Min commented, shaking his head as he looked for his torchlight in his bag.

"And I'll keep saying it until someone believes me."

Min-jae laughed. "You love this job."

"I love getting paid."

⁠✧

The stormwater tunnel near Baekwol-ri overflowed after every summer monsoon.

It wasn't unusual for tree trunks, dead animals, or even furniture to become lodged beneath the iron grates. The county workers joked that they could reconstruct someone's entire living room after a particularly bad storm. Last year, they'd found a refrigerator. The year before that, a washing machine.

Dae-su secretly hoped today would only be another refrigerator.

He wedged the metal hook beneath the grate and pulled.

Rainwater surged forward with a loud rush, carrying mud and leaves toward the river below. He crouched carefully, shining his flashlight into the darkness beneath.

Something pale drifted just beneath the surface.

At first he assumed it was a sack.

Then the sack moved closer.

His breath caught halfway up his throat.

The flashlight trembled violently in his hand as the current rolled the object onto its side. Five swollen fingers emerged through the muddy water, unnaturally white against the dark concrete walls.

For one suspended heartbeat, Dae-su simply stared.

His mind refused to understand what his eyes already had.

Then the flashlight slipped from his fingers.

The scream that followed echoed through the valley before disappearing into the forest.

✧

By eight o'clock, the narrow road leading to the drainage canal had become a maze of police vehicles, forensic vans, and curious villagers pretending they had simply been "passing by."

Yellow tape fluttered weakly in the damp breeze while uniformed officers struggled to keep the growing crowd at a distance. Someone insisted the body belonged to a tourist who had wandered too close to the river. Another swore it was a runaway from Jinju.

An elderly woman standing near the shrine at the roadside quietly shook her head.

"No," she murmured to no one in particular. "The mountain has taken another one."

No one acknowledged her.

No one told her she was wrong, either.

Detective Choi Eun-hyuk stepped out of the unmarked sedan with all the enthusiasm of a man reporting for jury duty.

The first thing he noticed wasn't the crowd.

It wasn't the police tape.

It wasn't even the unmistakable smell of decomposition carried by the damp morning wind.

It was the thick layer of mud that immediately swallowed his polished leather shoe.

He stared at it in complete disbelief.

"...These were new."

Beside him, Detective Na Kyun-ji slammed the passenger door shut before adjusting the hood of her windbreaker.

"You looked at a corpse before looking at your shoe exactly once."

"When?"

"Never."

Choi sighed dramatically. "I bought these yesterday." He groaned, “And today they became evidence."

"They're shoes."

"They're expensive shoes."

"They're still shoes." Kyun-ji rolled her eyes, simultaneously putting on her disposable gloves. “I can't handle you alone.”

He looked at her for a long moment before shaking his head.

"I miss working on financial crimes."

"You complained there too."

"Yes."

"You hated accountants."

"They're terrifying." He shuddered, looking unamused the second moment.

Kyun-ji chuckled despite herself.

Working alongside Choi for nearly five years had taught her one thing above all else: if he stopped making jokes, the case was bad.

Really bad.

The humor wasn't optimism.

It was armor.

The day he arrived at a crime scene without cracking a joke was the day she would start worrying.

✧

The smell intensified as they approached the forensic tent.

Even after years in homicide, there were scents the human body never truly accepted.

Rotting flesh was one of them.

It settled in the back of the throat and lingered there long after the investigation ended, clinging stubbornly to memory in a way perfume never could.

Dr. Han was already waiting for them, disposable gloves stained with mud as he scribbled notes onto a clipboard.

Without looking up, he greeted them.

"I was wondering how long it'd take you."

Choi glanced toward the covered body. "I hit every red light on the way."

"The dead are patient."

"The living aren't."

"Unfortunately."

Only then did the doctor look up, offering a tired smile that barely reached his eyes.

"You should've stayed in bed."

"I tried."

"And yet here we are." Detective Choi nodded to himself before glancing at the body.

The tarp was folded back carefully.

Neither detective spoke.

Water had changed the body almost beyond recognition. Weeks of submersion had swollen the skin until the face no longer resembled the person it had once belonged to. Features had blurred into one another, leaving behind something strangely anonymous.

Death had erased him with remarkable efficiency.

For a long moment, the only sound came from the distant rush of rainwater spilling through the drainage tunnel.

Kyun-ji quietly folded her arms.

"No identification?"

“Nothing visual, It's a male body." Dr. Han replied. "We'll need dental records or DNA to be certain for further details. It's already sent to the lab."

Choi crouched beside the body, studying every detail with practiced patience. The clothing remained surprisingly intact, a dark blazer, expensive enough to belong to someone accustomed to office buildings rather than hiking trails. A silver watch still circled the bloated wrist, frozen forever at 2:17.

Something about the scene unsettled him.

Not because of the body.

Because it looked... arranged.

As though someone had expected it to be found.

“Cause of death?” Choi asked.

"There's no obvious sharp-force trauma, no apparent gunshot wounds, and no visible injuries consistent with prolonged assault. I did notice a fracture around the upper cervical spine, but I can't determine whether it occurred before or after death yet. Water inhalation is also a possibility. I'll know once I examine the lungs.”

Was it a homicide or just an incident brought about by the storm? Detective Choi wondered.

“Hm, does it look like a homicide?” Kyun-ji asked, taking out her notepad.

“No. Can't tell anything yet. Even though it looks natural, we need the autopsy report to learn the final cause of his death.” The doctor concluded.

"Kyun-ji, gloves."

He held out his hand without taking his eyes off the body. Kyun-ji reached into the evidence kit hanging from her shoulder and passed him a fresh pair.

Choi slipped them on with practiced efficiency, his gaze wandering across the scene as though expecting the ground itself to confess something. Years in homicide had taught him one thing, people lied, memories failed, but scenes rarely did. Every footprint, every displaced stone, every overlooked object had a habit of speaking when everyone else had gone quiet.

"It'll be hard to know his identity," Kyun-ji said, folding her arms against the morning chill. "The face is... well, there's barely a face left."

"We did find a wallet." Dr. Han pointed toward the stainless-steel tray where the recovered belongings had been arranged in neat rows. "I was about to mention it."

"Great. Any ID?"

Choi nodded toward Kyun-ji, silently asking her to bring the tray over.

"Mhm... a few cards, some receipts..." Dr. Han replied while removing his glasses to wipe away the fog gathering on the lenses. "Most of the paper has deteriorated from prolonged exposure to water. We can dry and preserve them, but it'll take time. They're badly damaged."

"We don't have much time."

Choi muttered the words more to himself than anyone else. Families hated waiting. The press hated silence. His superiors hated unsolved cases.

He picked up the leather wallet carefully, surprised by its weight. Despite the water damage, the leather remained supple beneath his fingertips.

"Huh..."

A faint crease appeared between his brows.

"It's custom-made," he said. "A luxury brand."

"Oh?" Kyun-ji leaned closer. "Any tags or engraving?"

"There should be."

Turning the wallet over, Choi ran his thumb along the inner seam until he felt something stitched beneath the lining.

"There."

He gently unfolded the corner.

Instead of a serial number, a tiny silver plaque had been sewn into the leather.

J.C.

"I assume…," Kyun-ji murmured. “It's –”

"Initials."

"Could've been a gift."

"Or commissioned." Kyun-ji added.

Choi nodded absentmindedly. Wealthy professionals often ordered custom accessories, especially if appearances were part of the job. Lawyers. Executives. Financial consultants. It narrowed nothing while somehow saying everything.

“I'll ask the brand for more details regarding the product.” Kyun-ji nodded and walked aside, giving the detective space.

He continued searching the wallet.

A handful of faded receipts clung stubbornly together. Most of the ink had dissolved into meaningless blue streaks.

One business card had survived only because it had been tucked between two thicker cards.

Its edges had curled inward, and nearly every letter had washed away.

Only a faint embossed crest remained.

Clouds.

Or mountains.

Or perhaps both.

"What do you make of it?" The doctor asked.

"I don't."

He slid it into a separate evidence sleeve.

"Send it to preservation."

Dr. Han nodded. "We'll have the lab recover whatever ink is left."

A younger officer approached, holding a tablet in one hand while trying not to spill the paper cup of coffee balanced in the other.

"Detective."

"What've you got?"

"Kyun-ji noona asked me to run the initials through the recent missing persons database along with the estimated age."

"And?"

"One possible match."

The officer turned the screen toward them.

A clean-cut man smiled back from the photograph. Well-tailored suit, neatly parted hair.

The sort of smile people practiced before business meetings.

“Ji Chanhee. Age, 31. Occupation, Financial Advisor. Reported missing…. Thirty-one days ago.”

Reporting party...

The officer hesitated for a moment before reading aloud.

"...Seo Mi-rae."

The name lingered in the damp morning air.

Choi read the line again.

Relationship to missing person:

“Fiancée.”

"When and where was the report filed?" he asked.

"About a month ago, in Seoul."

"And no activity since?"

The younger officer shook his head in response. "Phone switched off the a day ago. Bank accounts untouched. No passport activity."

Kyun-ji frowned.

"Did he have any family except that woman?"

"No immediate family listed." she replied. “And the brand sent details, it matched with the missing person’s fiancée. Seo Mi-rae.”

"I see, Any details about the fiancée?"

Officer Il-hae gestured him to scrolled down, "Only emergency contact."

Choi stared at the screen for a long moment before handing it back.

"Notify the Seoul station."

"They've already been informed."

"And Ms. Seo?"

"They're trying to reach her now."

Silence settled over the group once more.

Somewhere beyond the police tape, a television crew had begun setting up their cameras, sensing another tragedy that might fill the evening news. Villagers whispered among themselves, stealing nervous glances toward the covered body before quickly looking away.

Death always attracted spectators.

Truth rarely did.

Dr. Han broke the silence first. "I'll let you know more after the autopsy."

"I'll need more than cause of death." Detective Choi glanced at his direction.

"Ofcourse,You'll get whatever his body is willing to tell us." The Doctor smiled.

Choi let out a quiet breath.

He knew, bodies never lied.

People did.

He looked once more at the waterlogged business card resting inside its evidence sleeve. The embossed crest caught the pale morning light for the briefest moment before disappearing beneath the cloudy plastic.

Something about it refused to leave him alone.

Not because he recognized it.

Because he felt as though he should have.

His thoughts were interrupted by the shrill vibration of an officer's radio.

"Detective Choi?"

The young officer lowered the device from his ear. "Dispatch says they've reached the reporting party."

Choi looked up. "And?"

"They're sending her here."

"Estimated arrival?"

"Erm…not sure, two hours? That'swhat it takes to drive here from Seoul."

The detective glanced toward the white tarp covering the unidentified man before returning his gaze to the mist-shrouded mountains beyond the canal.

Whoever Seo Mi-rae was, her morning had just become infinitely worse.