Author's Note:
Some stories run parallel, and some quietly cross paths. Keep an eye on Minchol's journey—there's more happening behind the scenes than you might realize. The unspoken connections often hold the greatest surprises.
Chapter 1, Part 1 — Beginnings in Hongcheon
The early morning sun filtered softly through the tall pines lining the outskirts of Hongcheon, casting long shadows over the quiet streets where Minchol had spent most of his childhood. At eighteen, he was still figuring out who he wanted to be—far from the towering skyline of Soule, but with a steady resolve that already set him apart.
Minchol laced up his worn sneakers, the familiar creak a small comfort as he stepped out of his family's modest home near the general store. The air was crisp, carrying the scent of pine and distant mountain streams. This was a place where days moved at their own unhurried pace, and yet, Minchol felt the restless pull of something bigger.
He glanced toward the horizon where the expressway—Route 60—cut a clean line through the countryside, connecting Hongcheon to the sprawling city of Soule. That road represented a future full of possibilities, one he was eager to chase.
His phone buzzed lightly in his pocket. A message from the local police recruitment office:
"Training starts next week. Welcome to the Soule Police Academy."
Minchol smiled, a mix of nerves and excitement fluttering in his chest. Becoming a police officer wasn't just a job to him—it was a chance to serve, to protect, and to find his place in the fast-moving world beyond his hometown.
Before he left for Soule, he took a moment outside, eyes tracing the familiar hills surrounding Hongcheon. Across the sea, beyond the faint shimmer of the horizon, lay Chengshantou—an elusive land barely visible on the clearest days, a reminder that the world was far bigger than this small corner of Baegung Republic.
He whispered to himself in English, the language he'd grown up speaking at home alongside Korean, "This is just the beginning."
With that, Minchol turned toward the road ahead, ready to step into the life that awaited him.
The morning air was still cool as Minchol climbed into his aging Mitsubishi, the engine rumbling softly to life. The familiar scent of the car's interior mixed with the crispness outside, grounding him as he pulled onto Route 60—the Soule Yangyang Expressway.
He reached for his phone and tapped play on a playlist filled with English songs from Cariforna, his home state in the far-off land of his father's ancestors. The steady beat of a classic rock track filled the cabin, the lyrics floating around him like a soundtrack for the road ahead.
Minchol's piercing blue eyes reflected the pale sunlight as he navigated the winding expressway, the trees and mountains blurring past. His thoughts drifted, fingers tapping lightly on the steering wheel in time with the music.
What will the academy be like? he wondered. The stories from friends and older cousins echoed in his mind—early mornings, tough physical training, endless drills, and the pressure to prove himself. But beyond the challenges, there was something else: a chance to step into a world bigger than Hongcheon, to make a real difference.
The rhythm of the song shifted, a guitar solo rising, and Minchol felt a surge of determination. He wasn't just chasing a career; he was chasing a purpose. The academy wasn't just a place to learn—it was where he'd become the man he wanted to be.
Passing familiar landmarks, his thoughts wandered briefly to Pixarland, the sprawling amusement park in Cariforna he'd dreamed of visiting one day. Somewhere far away, life was moving too—but here, on this road, Minchol was ready to start his own journey.
As the city skyline of Soule began to emerge through the morning mist, the soaring towers of the Soule Police Headquarters loomed in the distance, a stark contrast to the peaceful hills he'd left behind.
He exhaled slowly, the music fading into the background as the reality of the day settled in. The path ahead was uncertain, but Minchol's resolve was clear.
This is just the beginning.
Chapter 1, Part 2 — Present Day
[Timestamp: 2025-05-14, 09:15 AM — Soule Police Headquarters, Deputy's Office]
The morning light streamed through the tall windows of the Soule Police Headquarters, casting sharp rectangles across the rows of desks and computers. Minchol sat at his workstation, the crisp folds of his police uniform neat beneath his badge and the distinctive Soule cap resting on the side of his desk.
His piercing blue eyes scanned the screen as he typed, methodically filling out police reports from the previous night's patrols. The hum of the precinct buzzed around him—phones ringing, officers chatting quietly, and the steady beep of the dispatch radio in the background.
At thirty, Minchol had long since traded in the wide-eyed trainee for a seasoned deputy. His sharp instincts and calm demeanor made him a reliable presence in the precinct, someone colleagues trusted when things got complicated.
Despite the routine of paperwork, his mind remained sharp, recalling the lessons and challenges from those early days at the academy. The steady rhythm of his typing was a far cry from the adrenaline of patrols or the quick decisions demanded in the field, but it was a vital part of the job—ensuring every detail was recorded, every case documented.
A glance out the window reminded him of the city's constant movement—the sprawling streets of Soule stretching out below, the distant hum of traffic along Route 60 blending into the familiar soundtrack of urban life.
Minchol adjusted his cap, eyes narrowing thoughtfully as he reviewed a particularly complex case. The balance of his two worlds—methodical and precise at work, warm and approachable at home—was a tightrope he'd learned to walk well.
The phone on his desk buzzed with a new dispatch call, breaking his focus.
With a steady breath, Minchol rose, sliding his cap into place.
Another day, another call to serve.
Chapter 1, Part 3 — On Duty
The dispatch radio crackled sharply, cutting through the hum of the precinct.
"Unit 5-3, we have a report of a disturbance at the intersection of Maple and Han River Road. Possible altercation. Please respond."
Minchol's eyes flicked to the radio, then to the monitor displaying the call details. Calm and focused, he stood and slipped on his cap, the badge catching the light for a brief moment.
"Unit 5-3 responding," he said crisply into the radio.
He grabbed his jacket and stepped into the corridor, the soft clicks of his polished shoes echoing through the station as he made his way to the garage.
Minutes later, the siren of his patrol car pierced the morning calm as he navigated the busy streets of Soule with practiced precision. The city pulsed around him—the mix of towering skyscrapers, crowded markets, and narrow alleys familiar but always demanding his full attention.
His mind reviewed the dispatch notes: possible argument escalating, but details were scarce. He prepared mentally for anything—a heated but harmless dispute, or something more serious.
Arriving at the scene, Minchol parked with measured care, stepping out with his hand near his radio, alert but composed.
The street was bustling with bystanders, faces blurred by distance but eyes sharp for trouble. Two men stood apart, voices raised, tension thick in the air.
Minchol approached with a steady, authoritative presence.
"Gentlemen," he said firmly but calmly, "let's talk this through before it gets out of hand."
His piercing blue eyes met theirs, unwavering.
The city might be large and unpredictable, but in this moment, Minchol was the steady hand keeping chaos at bay.
Chapter 1, Part 4 — On Duty, Continued
Minchol took a slow, deliberate step forward, his voice calm but firm.
"Alright, let's start with your names and what happened here."
The two men exchanged uneasy glances. The taller one, mid-30s, crossed his arms. "I'm Lee," he said shortly. "This guy cut me off, almost caused an accident."
The other, younger and visibly agitated, snapped back, "I was in the left lane! You sped up and cut me off first!"
Minchol's gaze shifted between them, reading the tension like a practiced negotiator.
"Sounds like a misunderstanding," he said evenly. "But this isn't the place to settle it. You could've hurt someone."
Lee shifted uncomfortably. "Yeah, yeah, I know. Just got heated."
Minchol nodded. "Good. I'm going to need your licenses and registrations. We'll sort this out properly, but I need you both to keep calm."
The men complied, fumbling through wallets and pockets.
As Minchol inspected the documents, his radio crackled again with an unrelated call, but he stayed focused.
Returning the papers, he said, "I'll be filing a report. Both of you should consider this a warning. If there's anything more serious, we'll take further action."
The tension eased as the men nodded, muttering apologies.
Minchol stepped back, his posture relaxed but watchful. "Drive safely, both of you."
He watched them separate, the atmosphere shifting back to everyday city noise.
A small nod to himself, and Minchol turned toward his patrol car, ready for whatever the day might bring next.
Chapter 1, Part 5 — On Duty, Continued
No sooner had Minchol settled back into his patrol car than the dispatch radio crackled again, urgent but controlled.
"Unit 5-3, we have a report of a possible burglary in progress at 24 Juniper Street. Neighbors report suspicious activity. Proceed with caution."
Minchol's eyes narrowed as he keyed the microphone.
"Unit 5-3 en route to Juniper Street. Copy that."
He started the engine, siren silent but lights ready as he navigated through Soule's tight residential streets. The quiet neighborhood was a contrast to the city center's bustle—rows of small houses with tidy yards, the kind of place where everyone knew each other.
He approached 24 Juniper cautiously, parking a short distance away to avoid alerting anyone inside. Peering through the window of the house, Minchol caught a glimpse of movement—shadows shifting quickly in the dim interior.
His hand hovered near the door handle as he radioed in.
"Dispatch, 5-3 at location. Confirming possible suspect inside. Request backup."
A brief pause.
"Copy, Unit 5-3. Backup is en route."
Minchol took a deep breath, steadying his nerves despite years of experience. This wasn't a simple traffic dispute anymore.
He knocked sharply on the door.
"Police! Come out with your hands where I can see them!"
No response.
Another knock, louder this time.
The front door creaked, then swung open just a crack—enough to reveal a pair of wide eyes and a breathless young woman.
"Please, officer, I didn't do anything!" she said, voice trembling.
Minchol studied her for a moment, then said calmly, "Ma'am, are you alone in the house?"
She nodded quickly. "Yes, I was home when I heard noises."
"Alright. Stay right here and lock the door behind you. Backup is arriving."
Minchol stepped back, pulling out his radio again to report the situation.
Moments later, the flashing lights of another squad car appeared down the street, and the tension in the air thickened.
Chapter 1, Part 7 — On Duty, Continued (Revised)
Minchol had barely finished logging the previous call when the radio came alive again.
"Unit 5-3, possible burglary reported at 214 Yongdu-dong. Neighbor reports strange noises and movement last night. No visual confirmation. Please respond."
He exhaled softly through his nose.
"Unit 5-3, copy. En route."
Yongdu-dong was older than most districts of Soule—tight, sloped streets, a mix of renovated homes and small mom-and-pop shops, with laundry lines stretching between balconies. Minchol navigated the patrol car through the narrow roads until he reached the address.
The house looked quiet, neatly kept, and definitely not recently broken into.
The front door was shut, but not locked.
Minchol keyed his radio quietly,
"Dispatch, 5-3 on scene. No forced entry visible. Door unlocked. Beginning interior check."
He pushed it open with two fingers, letting it creak inward. His flashlight beam swept across polished floors, a tidy shoe rack, framed family photos—nothing overturned, nothing disturbed.
A few minutes later, after clearing the rooms, he stepped back outside where the reporting neighbor, a middle-aged man in slippers, approached nervously.
"You said you heard noises?" Minchol asked.
"Yes, officer. Around… maybe 1 a.m. It sounded like… I don't know, like someone dragging something heavy inside. But I didn't want to go out and check."
The man scratched his neck, embarrassed. "I wasn't even sure if the family was home."
"They weren't," Minchol replied gently. "They're out of town for two weeks. Nothing was touched. It's a false alarm, but you did the right thing calling us."
The man nodded in relief.
Still, as Minchol returned to his car, a tension lingered.
Hongcheon had calls like this sometimes, he thought, but Soule? Three suspicious calls in under two hours, all in different neighborhoods?
He rested his arm on the steering wheel and stared down the quiet Yongdu-dong street. The air was still, almost too calm.
Either coincidences… or someone testing responses.
Neither possibility sat well.
He lifted the radio again.
"Dispatch, 5-3 back on patrol. Keep me updated on any additional calls."
He drove off, but the unease stayed with him—quiet, persistent, like the distant hum of the city that never fully slept.
Minchol was halfway down the hill when something tugged at the back of his mind.
Something about that man in slippers.
He replayed the interaction in his head.
—The man had approached the house after Minchol finished clearing it, not before.
—He never gave his name.
—He mentioned he "wasn't sure if the family was home," but he somehow knew they were out of town.
—And the slippers… spotless. Too spotless for someone who supposedly stepped outside after hearing noises in the middle of the night.
Minchol frowned, easing his foot off the accelerator.
That didn't add up.
He slowed the patrol car to a stop, signaling as he made a crisp U-turn back toward the narrow lane of Yongdu-dong. His heartbeat didn't spike—not his style—but a sharper focus settled over him. His instincts had saved him before, and they rarely bothered him without reason.
When he pulled up to the house again, the man in slippers was gone.
Completely gone.
The street was empty, quiet enough to hear distant traffic from the main road. Minchol stepped out of the car, scanning windows, balconies, rooftops. No movement.
He walked back toward the house. The unlocked door was still ajar, exactly as he'd left it.
Just as he was considering calling in a follow-up check, a voice came from behind him—small, startled.
"Excuse me—why is my door open?"
Minchol turned.
A young woman stood on the walkway, holding a laptop bag, car keys dangling from one hand. She was maybe twenty-three, neatly dressed in a blue tech-company hoodie and jeans, glasses slightly fogged from the chilly air.
"Are you the resident?" Minchol asked, stepping aside so she could approach.
"Yes. I live here. I just got back from a night shift at the lab." She blinked rapidly, confused. "What's going on? I definitely locked that door this morning."
She didn't look frightened yet—more annoyed, exhausted—but the tension in her posture told him she understood the seriousness.
"I'm Deputy Minchol Raines, Soule Police," he said, gently. "We received a burglary call from a neighbor. I searched the house earlier—no sign of forced entry or disturbance. But just now, I came back because…"
He hesitated just enough to make her pay closer attention.
"…your neighbor who reported the call seemed suspicious. He's already gone."
Her eyebrows knit.
"What neighbor? The house on the right is empty, and the couple on the left is traveling."
A cold clarity slid into place for Minchol.
The man in slippers wasn't a neighbor.
He was the trespasser.
Minchol straightened, scanning the street again, this time with a sharper edge.
"Ma'am," he said, voice low and calm, "I'm going to need you to stay close to me. We might have an attempted break-in on record after all."
The wind rattled a laundry pole above them, but otherwise the whole block seemed to hold its breath.
"We'll go inside together," he added. "This time, we check everything."
She swallowed, nodded, then stepped next to him—close enough that he could shield her if he had to.
Minchol rested his hand near his holster, the familiar weight grounding him, and pushed the door open once more.
Only this time, he wasn't ruling out the possibility that someone had been there…
or still was.
Chapter 1, Part 8 — The Slipper
Minchol entered first, steady but alert, the young woman close behind him. This time his eyes traced every corner with the precision of twelve years on duty—shadows behind doors, edges of rugs, the faintest disturbances on smooth surfaces.
The house still looked undisturbed, but now he wasn't trusting appearances.
"Stay in the entryway for now," he told her gently. "I'll call you when it's clear."
She nodded and clutched her laptop bag to her chest, standing just off the threshold.
Minchol moved deeper into the living room. The faint smell of outside air drifted through the cracked window he hadn't noticed earlier. He followed the air current, scanning the floor.
That's when he saw it.
Near the window, half-tucked under the low table, lay a men's house slipper—light gray, worn at the heel, with a few grains of dust stuck to the fabric. Just one.
Left foot.
He crouched, examining it without touching yet. The angle it sat in, slightly askew, suggested it had been lost in a hurry. A scuff deep in the rubber sole caught his attention: whoever wore it had bolted out fast.
He was here.
Minchol exhaled slowly through his nose.
He retrieved a plastic evidence sleeve from his uniform pouch, slid his glove on, and carefully lifted the slipper into the bag.
"Ma'am?" he called.
She stepped toward him. "You found something?"
He held up the evidence sleeve. "This isn't yours, right?"
Her eyebrows shot up. "No. I don't own anything like that. I live alone."
"That's what I thought." His voice softened, steady and controlled. "It likely belongs to the intruder. He might've dropped it while escaping before you got home."
Her face paled a shade, but Minchol stepped a little closer, speaking calmly.
"You're safe. He's long gone. And you did nothing wrong by coming home—this is on him, not you. We'll handle it."
She drew a slow breath, visibly grounding herself in his reassurance.
"What happens now?" she asked.
"I'm taking this back to the station for analysis," he said. "We'll check fibers, prints, DNA if we get lucky. In the meantime, I'll request a patrol car to pass by your street every hour tonight. And I'll file a full report so we can tie any future activity to this suspect."
She relaxed slightly. "Thank you. Really."
"It's my job," he said simply. "But if anything feels off—anything at all—you call us immediately. Don't hesitate."
She nodded again, more firmly this time.
Minchol escorted her outside, did one last perimeter check, then sealed the slipper evidence bag and placed it carefully on the passenger seat of his patrol car.
As he pulled away from Yongdu-dong, streetlights streaking across the windshield, he felt that familiar shift in his gut—intuition sharpening into certainty.
This wasn't random.
And the man in slippers wasn't done.
Minchol turned onto the main road, the evidence bag glinting faintly under the dash light.
Let's see who you are.
He pressed the accelerator a little harder as the Soule Police Headquarters came into view.
Chapter 1, Part 9 — Evidence Intake
The Soule Police Headquarters loomed against the night sky, its glass panels reflecting the city lights. Minchol parked in the underground lot reserved for officers, grabbed the sealed evidence bag, and headed inside with brisk, practiced steps.
The lobby was quiet at this hour—just a late-shift clerk behind the security desk and the hum of fluorescent lights. Minchol scanned his badge and took the elevator up to the Forensic Analysis Wing on the 22nd floor.
The doors slid open with a soft chime.
Inside, the lab was alive with muted activity—centrifuges humming, technicians in white coats moving carefully between stations, the scent of disinfectant and machine oil hanging in the air.
A familiar voice called out.
"Back early from your shift, Deputy Raines?"
Minchol turned. Forensics Specialist Jihu Park, mid-40s, sharp-eyed and perpetually overworked, was leaning over a microscope. Her hair was tucked under a lab cap, and she wore the same expression she always did when interrupted: annoyance softened by curiosity.
"Not early," Minchol replied, lifting the evidence bag. "Just bringing you something unexpected."
Jihu straightened. "Unexpected usually means annoying. Let me see."
He handed her the sealed bag. She held it up to the light, squinting.
"A single slipper," she deadpanned. "Left foot. Gray cotton. Medium wear. Smells like cheap detergent and bad decisions."
"That's about right," Minchol said with a faint smile.
She set it on the intake tray, snapping on fresh gloves. "Where was it found?"
"Yongdu-dong. House of a young engineer—came home to signs of intrusion. No forced entry, but this was under her living room table near an opened window. Suspect seen leaving earlier—man in slippers. I think this one fell off when he ran."
Jihu let out a short, humorless laugh. "Criminals these days. Can't even keep their shoes on."
She inspected the slipper's sole, her brow narrowing.
"These grooves… looks like he walks with his weight slightly inward. Maybe favors the right leg. Could help later."
Minchol nodded. "Doable for prints?"
"Maybe. Fabric isn't ideal, but I'll try. DNA odds are better. Skin cells, sweat, maybe hair caught in the lining." She lifted the slipper closer. "There's also some particulate debris… dirt fragments. I'll analyze it. Might tell us where he was before the break-in."
Minchol folded his arms, thinking.
"Third false alarm tonight," he said. "Except this one wasn't false. I'm starting to think someone's testing neighborhoods. Maybe scoping for targets."
Jihu glanced at him, expression briefly serious. "You've got instincts for this kind of pattern. I'll prioritize the sample. If this guy keeps leaving pieces of his wardrobe behind, we'll catch him before he escalates."
"Appreciate it."
She sealed the slipper into a labeled evidence locker tray. "Give me until tomorrow afternoon. I'll send results directly to your desk."
Minchol turned to leave, but she called out again.
"And Minchol?"
He paused.
"Try to get some sleep. You look like you're running on vending machine coffee and pessimism."
He smirked. "That's the standard police diet."
Jihu rolled her eyes and went back to her microscope.
Minchol walked out of the lab, the door whispering shut behind him. In the hallway, he pulled out his notebook and added a line under the growing case notes:
Slipper suspect: forensics pending. Not random. Return to Yongdu-dong tomorrow.
He tucked the notebook away and headed for the elevator.
Tomorrow was going to be a long day.
Chapter 1, Part 10 — Homebound
Minchol exhaled slowly as he stepped out into the cool night air. The weight of the shift lingered on his shoulders, but the moment he reached his Mitsubishi in the underground lot—his own car, not the patrol cruiser—his mind began to ease.
He slid into the driver's seat, the interior smelling faintly of pine air freshener and old English-language cassette tapes he never threw away. As he pulled onto Route 60, he switched the radio from police chatter to an English soft rock station.
The guitar intro of an old Cariforna band flowed through the speakers.
His shoulders loosened.
His jaw unclenched.
By the time he passed the roadside rest stop lights, he was humming under his breath.
Hongcheon's outskirts came into view—darker, quieter, the sprawl of Soule fading behind him. The general store's dim exterior lamp glowed like a tiny beacon on the side of the road, marking the entrance to his neighborhood.
He parked beside his small Korean-style house, the wooden eaves catching the porch light.
As he stepped up to the door, it opened before he touched the handle.
"Tadaima," he said softly.
His wife, Tana Ai-duyen, smiled warmly, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear.
"Welcome home, Minchol," she said. "You're late today."
Her voice carried none of the hardness of his workday—just warmth and familiarity.
"Long shift. Reports and a weird case," he replied, his tone already gentler than it had been for hours.
Tana reached out and brushed some lint off his uniform sleeve. "Dinner's almost ready. Go change—it's your turn to pick the movie tonight."
He chuckled, the serious deputy melting away.
"Alright, alright. Let me switch out of my 'intimidating officer mode' first."
He hung his cap neatly on the wall hook and stepped into the bedroom. The uniform came off piece by piece—badge, belt, vest, shirt—until he stood in soft house clothes: a clean T-shirt and loose cotton pants.
He breathed easier instantly.
When he returned to the small kitchen, the table was already set: two plates, steam rising from a fresh pizza—their once-a-week comfort dinner. The familiar scent filled the house.
"You got the pepperoni half for me," he said appreciatively.
"And the mushroom half for me," she replied with a grin. "Balance."
They sat together, the glow of the single overhead light warm and steady. No dispatch radios. No crime scenes. Just the quiet of home.
Minchol took a bite of his slice, leaning back.
"Tomorrow might be busy," he admitted. "Strange night in Yongdu-dong. False alarms… except one wasn't."
Tana frowned lightly, but her voice stayed calm. "Be careful, okay? And get some rest after dinner."
He smiled, reaching across the table to squeeze her hand.
"I will. Promise."
Outside, the world was dark and silent.
Inside, everything was soft, safe, and steady.
It was the part of his life he protected most fiercely.
Chapter 1, Part 11 — Quiet Hours
After they finished the last slices of pizza, Tana set the plates in the sink and wiped her hands on a towel.
"Alright," she said, turning to him with an expectant smile. "What movie are you choosing tonight? Something in English, I'm guessing?"
"You know me too well," Minchol replied.
He walked over to the small shelf beside the TV, scanning their collection of DVDs and digital codes. His hand paused on his favorite—Slightly Cops—but he let it slide past.
"Maybe something calm," he murmured. "It's been a long night."
He chose a light Cariforna comedy instead, one they'd watched a dozen times but never got tired of. Tana settled onto the couch first, curling her legs beneath a blanket. Minchol sank down beside her, the cushions dipping slightly under his weight.
As the opening music played, she rested her head on his shoulder.
"You're quieter than usual," she said softly.
He wrapped an arm around her. "Just thinking."
"About the case?"
He nodded. "Something felt off tonight. The false alarms… the slipper man… I don't know. Maybe it's nothing."
There was a small pause.
"Just keeping my guard up."
She squeezed his hand gently. "I trust your instincts. But try to let yourself relax, at least a little."
He breathed out, letting the warm, dim room ease the tightness in his chest. For most of the film, they watched in comfortable silence—laughing at familiar jokes, sharing glances at scenes they knew by heart.
By the time the credits rolled, the clock near the kitchen read 11:47 p.m.
Tana stretched with a soft yawn. "We should get to bed. You have an early morning."
They moved through the small home with practiced ease—turning off lights, locking doors, tidying small things without needing words. Inside the bedroom, Tana changed into her soft cotton pajamas while Minchol lingered by the wardrobe.
He looked down at his house clothes—the same comfortable shirt and pants he'd put on after work.
Normally, he would switch into pajamas too.
But tonight…
His instincts tugged at him.
Not fear—just caution.
A professional habit he could never quite turn off.
"You're not changing?" Tana asked gently, noticing.
Minchol shook his head. "I think I'll stay like this tonight. Just in case something happens."
He managed a light smile. "It's probably nothing. But I'll sleep better this way."
She didn't question him further. She simply stepped forward and pulled him into a soft, reassuring hug.
"Alright. Just rest. I'm right here."
They slipped into bed, the blankets warm and familiar. Tana fell asleep quickly—her breathing steady, peaceful. Minchol stayed awake longer, staring at the faint glow of the streetlamp filtering through the curtains.
He listened.
To the hum of the heater.
To distant cars along Route 60.
To the clean, quiet stillness of their home.
No footsteps.
No unusual noises.
No sign that anyone from Yongdu-dong—or anywhere else—had followed him.
Minutes stretched into nearly an hour.
Eventually, the tension in his body loosened, and his thoughts grew soft and slow.
His eyes drifted shut.
And finally, calm and untroubled, he slipped into sleep.
Author's Note
Hi everyone!
Before you continue reading, I want to clarify something important about the world of this story.
Minchol Raines is not related to Jonathan Raines.
They happen to share the same last name, but that's purely a coincidence within the multiverse. In this slice-of-life series, Minchol's story is completely separate, grounded in the Baegung Republic, a version of Korea, with no magic, supernatural elements, or cross-story family connections.
So please don't expect references to Jonathan, his bloodline, or any shared lore.
Minchol's journey stands entirely on its own, separate from most, but not all protagonists ;)
Thank you for reading, and I hope you enjoy following Minchol through his everyday life, his work, and the small moments that define him.