She had to wake Seo Tae-joon. The thought consumed her, a singular obsession that eclipsed everything else.
“Really… again?” The police officer at her front door sounded more bored than concerned. For Ji-woo, the stress was a physical weight. It didn’t matter how many times she called; nothing ever changed. Every morning, she opened the door to find a fresh delivery of roses on her porch. She could feel his tenacious gaze on her everywhere she went.
She ran into Hwang Jo-yoon multiple times a day. He seemed to materialize wherever she was, a constant, smiling presence. He would greet her, and she would turn away, the silence screaming in her ears. Her nerves were fraying to the breaking point.
I should have called the police the moment I saw him clinging to my window, she thought, a fresh wave of revulsion washing over her. Filth. Vile cockroach! In a desperate attempt to gather proof, Ji-woo had lifted fingerprints from the windowsill with adhesive tape. She had even bought and set a large animal trap near the wall.
“Like I told you before, we can’t get a clear look at his face on the CCTV footage. Besides, he wasn’t the only one who glanced over your wall. Several people did.”
“What about the roses?” she pressed.
“Hwang Jo-yoon has a confirmed alibi. He was already at work when they were left.”
Ji-woo dragged a hand over her face, frustration tightening her features. Her voice rose, thin and strained. “Then what am I supposed to do? You’re the police! He watches me all day. You’re supposed to help me.”
“Is that how you feel?” the officer asked, his sigh heavy with condescension. Ji-woo could hear the judgment in his patronizing tone, and it drained the fight right out of her. There was no point in saying anything more.
In the end, he left without offering a single solution. As his car pulled away, a young policewoman who had been standing by approached her. After a quick glance to ensure her partner was gone, she leaned in and whispered.
“There are local big-shots involved in this.”
“What?” Ji-woo felt a cold dread settle in her stomach.
“I went to Hospital D to check Hwang Jo-yoon’s alibi, and our station got a call almost immediately. A warning, telling us not to mess with them.”
Ji-woo’s fear had become a reality. She couldn’t find the words to respond.
“I’m sorry,” the policewoman said, her expression full of genuine sympathy. Ji-woo just nodded. It was no surprise Director Jo was pulling strings again.
“And… there’s a record of a false report you made two years ago, so…” the policewoman added softly, trailing off. With a final, apologetic nod, she turned and left. The message was clear: with powerful people involved and a black mark on her record, she was on her own.
So she was supposed to do nothing?
“You should make up your mind before you wake him.” Mi-sook’s voice cut through the silence, startling Ji-woo. She’d been staring so intently at Seo Tae-joon’s sleeping form that she hadn’t heard the other woman enter.
“What do you mean?”
The stress had whittled Ji-woo down; she was all sharp angles and shadowed eyes. Mi-sook looked at her with undisguised pity.
“If you’re going to use him, you have to be prepared to give something in return.”
“What?”
“What I’m saying is, you need to decide. If you want to see him as a murderer until the end, that’s one thing. But if you’re asking for his help… that complicates everything.” Mi-sook met her eyes. “You have to forget the old Seo Tae-joon, no matter what he did. You have to treat him like a new person.”
Ji-woo stared at her, shocked. “He doesn’t remember who he is,” Mi-sook pressed. “His memory is wiped clean. Right now, he’s a blank slate.” The words made Ji-woo want to flee the room.
A murderer was a murderer. Amnesia didn’t wash away the blood or change the fact that he had killed someone. It didn’t erase what she had seen. A person was dead. Clinging to that fact was the only thing that soothed the guilt of the lie she was about to tell Seo Tae-joon.
But Mi-sook was asking her to take it a step further. “That man has no memory, Ji-woo. He’s not the same person you saw on the mountain. He is a completely new person, a stranger to you and even to himself.”
Ji-woo didn’t know what to say. It wasn’t as simple as Mi-sook made it sound. He wasn’t a “new” person. He was still what he had always been: a killer.
If she woke him, convincing him would be easy. Her problem with Hwang Jo-yoon would be solved with a single threat. He would never show his face here again. But…
“I’ll be in the office until morning.”
“But…”
“I don’t want to talk about this,” Ji-woo said, her tone final. “I need to clear my head.” She crossed the living room and disappeared into the office.
A moment later, Mi-sook heard a faint rustling sound. Peeking inside, she found Ji-woo pulling on a pair of latex surgical gloves. It looked as though she planned to spend the night concocting a new fertilizer. With practiced efficiency, Ji-woo spread a plastic sheet over the table and retrieved a black tin from the mini-fridge. Seeing her so absorbed, Mi-sook quietly closed the door, leaving her to her work.
Mi-sook then silently opened the door to Ji-woo’s bedroom, her gaze falling on Seo Tae-joon’s peacefully sleeping form. She was still reeling from the phone call she’d received from the inquiry agency she’d hired to look into his identity.
“Ma’am, please do not call here again,” the man on the phone had said, his voice tight with panic. “We’re out. You don’t need to pay the rest of the fee. In fact, we’ll refund your deposit. Just please, don’t contact us again.” He had hung up immediately. When Mi-sook tried to call back, the number was already out of service. It had left her baffled and deeply unsettled.
She had, however, found one clue on her own, regarding the mountain behind Pine Tree Clinic. The mountain itself, the unmanaged surrounding land, and the network of trails—an area equivalent in size to a quarter of Cheongdo—all belonged to a single owner: Seo Tae-joon.
“Ji-woo…” Mi-sook murmured to the empty hallway. “What kind of man did you bring into this house?”