The next morning, the atmosphere at the precinct was as taut as a violin string about to snap. The moment I stepped into the lobby, the frantic whispers of my colleagues crashed against me.
"Have you heard? That Jung Jimyung girl... she's dead."
I froze, the files in my hand nearly slipping to the floor. Another warden shook his head, his face pale with horror:
"It wasn't just death; it was a 'slaughter.' They found her body carved up in a grotesque, bizarre fashion—like some morbid piece of art. What's worse, the cameras in that sector suffered abnormal interference at the exact time. Not a single trace of the killer was captured."
My heart hammered against my ribs. A brutal murder inside the city's most secure prison? I struggled to keep my hands from trembling, my mind immediately flashing to Simon. Had he struck to silence her?
Amidst the panicked crowd, Mike appeared. He was in full uniform, his fiery red hair standing out under the fluorescent lights. His face was disturbingly nonchalant; he held a steaming cup of coffee, strolling toward me as if nothing had happened.
"Good morning, Ms. Hime. You look a bit pale. Did you lose sleep last night?"
He offered a faint smile, his deep black eyes devoid of even a ripple of guilt. Mike's absolute composure ensured that not a soul suspected the model junior. But I felt a chill trace my spine as I looked at those long, slender fingers gripping the coffee cup—the same hands that had violently rescued me from the alley last night.
Mike took a slow sip of his coffee, his gaze sweeping over the frantic crowd before settling on me with piercing intent. He leaned in, dropping his voice just low enough for my ears only.
"Who do you think did it? Simon? The man is a lunatic, after all. It's likely he slipped in to clean up the mess he started. And the camera interference... he has enough money to buy this entire system twice over."
Mike's words were seamless and persuasive, effortlessly tilting my suspicion in a new direction. It made sense; Simon had a motive, and he had just threatened me last night. Mike tilted his head, his fiery red locks brushing against my forehead as he flashed a mesmerizing, yet predatory smile.
"But... instead of worrying about that corpse, why don't you worry about yourself? That wound on your neck... I want to be the only one allowed to leave a mark on you, Hime."
He reached out, intent on touching the bandage on my neck, his eyes burning with a deranged possessiveness. A shiver ran through me. I coldly brushed his hand away and took a sharp step back.
"Cut the nonsense, Mike. This is a workplace, and I have no interest in your cheap flirtations."
I watched Mike's smug expression, a growing sense of confusion gnawing at me. Simon was no small fry; with the financial might of his conglomerate, he could make anyone in this prison vanish with a single phone call. Yet, strangely, despite Mike openly declaring war and snapping his wrist last night, he was here, strolling through the halls without a single notice of suspension or dismissal.
"I don't get it... Simon has enough influence to have you kicked out in a heartbeat. Why are you still here?"
I mused, my gaze searching for an answer. Mike let out a mocking private laugh, leaning against the wall with his long legs crossed in a display of pure arrogance.
"Are you worried about me? How precious."
He stepped closer, his face playful yet his pitch-black eyes flashed with a razor-sharp intensity.
"Simon's money can buy officials, but it can't buy his own life. Perhaps he realizes that if I'm fired, I'll have much more free time to... 'visit' him at his private residence. He's rich, but he isn't stupid. He fears me more than he fears death itself."
Mike reached out to tuck a strand of my hair behind my ear, his voice turning haunting and suggestive:
"Besides, I'm not bored of playing warden just yet. Especially when the 'prize' is still here."
I brushed his hand away irritably, the confusion within me deepening. Who exactly was Mike, that even a man as power-hungry as Simon felt compelled to tread so carefully around him?
The moment I stepped into the office, the Warden slammed the files onto his desk, the thunderous crack echoing through the confined space. He lunged to his feet, his face flushed with a furious crimson, every wrinkle etched with vitriol.
"How do you explain this, Hime? You were directly responsible for Jung Jimyung's sector! An heiress slaughtered right under your nose—do you have any idea how catastrophic the fallout will be?"
He surged forward, pointing a trembling finger at my face, his insults becoming irrational and cruel. He was desperate to pin the entire blame on me to protect his own position.
"This is all your incompetence! Perhaps you should strip off that uniform and vanish before I throw you into a cell to take that girl's place!"
I bit my lip, preparing to retalliate, but suddenly, a wave of frigid air—as cold as the grave—swept through the room. The closed office door rattled violently. Mike was leaning against the frame, his pitch-black eyes now bleeding into a haunting red. The killing intent radiating from him was so thick that the Warden choked on his words, his breath becoming ragged with primal fear.
Mike didn't utter a word; he simply stepped inside. Each footfall against the hardwood floor sounded like a tolling death knell. He moved to stand directly behind me, his large hands resting lightly on my shoulders, while his eyes remained locked onto the Warden as if he were ready to tear him apart.
"Sir... your voice is getting a bit too high."
Mike's voice dropped, raspy and laden with threat. The oxygen in the room seemed to vanish. The Warden trembled uncontrollably, cold sweat pouring down his temples. He had just realized he was stepping on the tail of a demon.
I stood there in a daze, my shoulders trembling slightly under the weight of Mike's hands. Confusion swirled within me—a mix of relief at being defended and pure terror at the way Mike had transformed in a split second. The killing intent radiating from him was so potent it felt like thousands of needles pricking my skin.
Mike tilted his head, leaning close to my ear, yet his gaze never wavered from the pale Warden. He curled his lips into a smirk, his voice as sharp as a razor:
"Sir, do you know what makes a 'work of art' truly perfect? It's when a coward tries to pin his failures on someone else, only to find himself becoming the next piece of raw material to be carved."
Mike took a predatory step forward, pinning the Warden against the corner of his desk. His glowing red eyes bored into the man's dilated pupils.
"Ms. Jung looked quite stunning on that floor, didn't she? Every incision was... meticulous. If you dare use that filthy mouth to insult Ms. Hime one more time, I won't hesitate to turn you into a 'masterpiece' even more exquisite than her. Care to find out what it feels like to have your flesh peeled away while you're still wide awake?"
The Warden stammered, his lips quivering without a sound. He knew Mike wasn't bluffing. Those demonic words were like a noose tightening around his throat, leaving him with nothing but a desperate, frantic nod.
Mike retracted his aura, though his grip on my shoulder remained firm—an unspoken declaration of absolute possession. He turned to me, the crimson fading from his eyes as his hauntingly nonchalant mask returned.
"Let's go, Hime. The stench of cowardice is too thick in here; I don't want you breathing it in any longer."
I walked like a ghost through the endless corridor, the heat of Mike's hand still searing my shoulder. His threat to the Warden hadn't sounded like an exaggeration—it was detailed, cold, and filled with a sense of relish, much like the "artwork" Jung Jimyung had become.
"Mike..." I stopped, turning to face him. My heart hammered as suspicion began to strangle my logic. "What you said back there... about the meticulous incisions... How do you know so much about that scene? Even I haven't seen the autopsy photos yet."
Mike didn't flinch. He took a long stride forward, pinning me against the cold corridor wall. He braced his arms on either side of me, trapping me in a narrow space reeking of cigarette smoke and a sharp, metallic scent—a scent I only now realized was blood.
"Are you suspecting me, Hime?"
He leaned in low, his pitch-black eyes boring into my pupils with an intense dominance that forced me to hold his gaze. Mike traced his thumb lightly over my lips, then slid it down to the bandage on my neck, pressing just hard enough to make me let out a soft wince of pain.
"I told you, I'll do anything to make you happy. If that Simon bastard worries you, I'll erase everything connected to him. If that old man makes you cry, I'll turn him into dust. You don't need to know who did it; you only need to know..."
He whispered into my ear, his hot breath sending a numbing shiver down my spine.
"You are the only safe person in this mad world, as long as you belong to me. Don't go looking for the truth; it will only make you fear me more. And I... I don't want to see you afraid while you're in my arms."
His eyes flickered with a faint crimson under the dim lights once more, a diabolical hypnosis that left my mind hazy. I knew I should push him away, but my body felt frozen, utterly consumed by his presence...
I felt suffocated within Mike's shadow, so the moment I escaped his grasp, I quietly headed to the records room and poked around with the senior guards. This curiosity was no longer just a whim; it was a survival instinct.
"Asking about that kid Mike, huh?" An old warden took a long drag of his cigarette, his face etched with wariness. "The boy's a freak. Entrance exams, physicals, psych evals... he scored perfect marks on everything. A flawless 100, down to the last decimal. He got in here like it was a walk in the park."
I furrowed my brow, flipping through the sparse files provided by the department.
"But he wasn't always... like this, was he?"
"Exactly," the man nodded. "When he first started, he was chillingly indifferent. He looked at us like we were walking corpses, never said more than two words. It was only after he became your junior that he started... 'playing' that playful younger brother role. Honestly, seeing him laugh and joke with you gives us the creeps."
I went numb, my chest tightening. Another piece of information caught my eye: the three wardens who had brutally bullied and suppressed me last year had all passed away. The records stated "sudden cardiac arrest." But looking at those names, a shiver ran down my spine. Heart failure? Three healthy men dying of the same cause within months, right after Mike joined?
"They all died looking peaceful, as if their hearts just stopped without a fight," the colleague whispered, glancing around nervously. "The police found no signs of foul play, so they ruled it natural. But you know... in this place, anything is possible."
I snapped the file shut, my heart heavy. Mike wasn't just a genius; he was a patient predator. The playfulness, the smiles, the care... they were all a mask tailored specifically for me.