Chapter 7 - Sheriff Davis
Manju, in the end, might have wanted to die.
And Avery granted that wish.
But.
This killing was different from before.
Even though the deed was done, something unsettled him deep inside.
In the past, when he lived as Night King Yeomra, he had been rigorously trained to eliminate emotion.
However—
This time was different.
His first kill in this world.
It stirred an unexpected sensation within him.
At this moment, he was facing a part of himself he had never wanted to confront.
But.
No matter how much he thought about it, nothing would change.
Avery shook off his thoughts and returned to his cold, calculated demeanor.
Now, he had to prepare for what came next.
His first priority was to return to that place.
The Cleaner would surely make a move soon.
It was only a matter of time before this organization discovered Manju's death.
And.
The moment they began their investigation—
would be Avery's perfect chance to extract information.
For a fleeting second, he considered going to Theodore.
But.
Avery immediately dismissed the idea.
Theodore had already seen through his disguise.
And unlike small-time thugs like Manju, he was someone who blended seamlessly into society.
Getting involved with him recklessly would only create bigger problems.
There was no need for that.
What he needed now was to remain unseen.
To quietly observe from the shadows.
To see how they would react.
How They Move, How They 'Handle' Things.
All of it would be clues.
But he couldn't just sit and wait.
He had to prepare his next move.
And.
He already had a powerful weapon in his hands.
The folder he had taken from Manju's hideout.
Inside it—
was everything about the people targeted by this organization.
So then.
What was the most effective way to use it?
An anonymous tip.
Sending it to the sheriff's office.
That alone would be enough to shake things up.
And his hands wouldn't get dirty in the process.
Even if he didn't step in himself—
the game would keep moving.
…
"Damn it."
Emily Davis muttered through clenched teeth.
Willowbrook.
To her, this place felt like a punishment worse than demotion.
Every day, she regretted it.
That one fatal mistake.
Because of one single misstep,
she had lost everything.
If only.
If only she had gathered more evidence.
If only she had tied the suspect down completely and secured a solid conviction.
Then, she wouldn't be here right now.
But reality was different.
In the end, she had been forced to move to this desolate, backwater town.
Emily let out a deep sigh
and kicked a small pebble with the tip of her shoe.
The pebble bounced off the cracked pavement
and disappeared into the darkness.
Willowbrook.
Just hearing the name made it sound like a quiet, peaceful town—
—
Beneath the Surface—
There was a place that kept her awake at night.
Third Street.
Rumor had it,
that place was a breeding ground for crime.
Drug deals, smuggling—
and something even worse.
But.
It wasn't a place she could touch easily.
Emily had already tasted failure once.
In the past,
she had personally led a team,
determined to clean up Third Street.
Her eyes had burned with fire,
her heart overflowing with a sense of justice or promotion.
But.
What had stood in her way—
was the local police.
"Jurisdiction issue."
"Follow procedure."
"You need approval first."
Bureaucracy and red tape.
She could never forget that day
when those walls had blocked her at every turn.
Fists clenched.
The moment her authority was stripped away, leaving her powerless.
"Damn it, damn it, DAMN IT!"
Emily Davis muttered angrily,
pulling a hair tie from her pocket.
With one hand, she swept back her shoulder-length hair
and hastily tied it into a ponytail.
And then—
BANG!
She kicked open the small office door and stormed inside.
"What the hell does it take to get out of this damn town and back to the city?"
She grumbled to herself.
The kinds of cases that came through in Willowbrook?
Petty neighbor disputes.
Drunk driving.
Occasionally, a missing pet.
"Calling This a 'Case' Feels Like a Stretch."
There was nothing but trivial nonsense.
Being a small-town cop meant being overlooked everywhere.
And the frustration was enough to drive her insane.
She let out a deep sigh and threw herself into her chair.
The old swivel chair creaked as it spun slightly.
A dull throb pulsed behind her eyes.
A migraine was creeping in.
"Twig!"
She shouted irritably.
Her voice echoed through the tiny police station.
And after a brief pause—
"Yes, Sheriff!"
A scrawny man hurriedly stumbled in.
Barely 170 centimeters tall.
His frail frame looked like it could be swept away by the wind.
His name was Randall Jenkins.
But around here,
everyone only called him "Twig."
He had heard it so much,
it seemed like he had forgotten his real name.
"Any news?"
Emily asked, half hopeful, half resigned.
Praying for even the slightest lead
to break the monotony of this endlessly dull day.
"Nope! Nothing, Sheriff!
It's as peaceful as ever!"
Twig reported proudly,
as if the town's absolute boredom
was somehow his personal achievement.
Emily let out a long, exhausted sigh.
The disappointment only deepened.
"Figures."
She muttered under her breath.
Then,
she fixed Twig with a glare
sharp enough to wilt flowers.
"Get out."
She waved her hand,
gesturing him toward the door.
Twig Blinked, Stiffening Instantly.
Bright smile → Awkward expression.
"Ah… right! I'll step out now, Sheriff!"
He quickly backpedaled, hurrying toward the door.
But—
Just as he was about to cross the threshold,
"Oh! That's right!"
He suddenly stopped in his tracks and turned back,
his face lighting up as if he had just remembered something important.
"Sheriff! I almost forgot!"
"There was a… 'delivered file' on your desk."
Emily frowned.
"A delivery?"
Only then did her gaze shift toward her desk.
Buried beneath a mess of paperwork,
stained with coffee rings and ink smudges.
Right in the center—
A single folder.
Neatly placed.
Too neatly.
"…Has that been there the whole time?"
Why hadn't she noticed it sooner?
Her fingers instinctively reached out.
As soon as she picked it up,
she felt its unexpected weight.
Heavier than I thought.'
Carefully, she flipped it open.
And what lay before her—
Was a list of profiles.
All from Third Street.
"…What the hell is this?"
Her brows furrowed as she rapidly scanned the pages.
An anonymous tip?
But why?
Why just a list of names with no evidence attached?
As she skimmed through,
she noticed five specific files,
each marked with a red star.
And the moment her eyes landed on one of them—
Her stomach dropped.
—Jimmy Malone.
A.K.A. "Shark."
Emily's eyes widened.
—Jimmy Malone.
She knew this face all too well.
A slippery bastard.
A career criminal she had been tracking for years.
She had followed his illegal dealings right to the edge,
but in the end—
Higher-ups shut her investigation down.
Her jaw tightened.
Then, her gaze drifted back down to the files.
Five names.
Each branded with a red star.
"Why are these five marked as 'Assigned'?"
She muttered to herself,
her fingers tapping the page.
Something was missing.
No matter how much she looked at it, it just didn't make sense.
Her doubts deepened,
but no answers came.
"Damn it."
Frustrated, she snapped the folder shut.
And then,
she raised her voice.
"Twig!"
BANG!
It took mere seconds
for Deputy Jenkins to appear at the door.
As if he had been waiting to be summoned,
he practically bounced on his feet.
"Yes, Sheriff!"
"We're heading out. Right now."
Emily snatched the jacket draped over her chair,
declaring her decision without hesitation.
"Where to, Sheriff?"
Twig's eyes sparkled with curiosity as he asked.
"Third Street."
At those words,
his face stiffened instantly.
"B-but, the local police—"
He hesitantly started to speak,
but—
"Shut up."
Emily cut him off.
She was already walking out the door.
"This town is my responsibility."
"I decide where I go and where I don't."
Her footsteps carried the weight of absolute conviction.
Twig hesitated for a moment—
then straightened his posture and snapped a salute.
"Yes, Sheriff!"
...
Past midnight.
But the lights at the county sheriff's office remained on.
Tonight was different.
Willowbrook's nights were usually dull and quiet.
But tonight—
Tonight was completely different.
Under the dim lighting,
one side of the office was cluttered with towering stacks of documents.
And in front of them,
two shadows leaned over the desk,
sorting through the endless paperwork.
Emily Davis.
The sheriff rubbed her exhausted eyes.
But—
the lead buried deep in her mind refused to let her go.
A rush of adrenaline kept her brain alert,
forcing her eyelids to stay open.
Across from her sat
Deputy Randall Jenkins—Twig.
As usual, his thin frame sank into his chair,
but his expression was more serious than ever.
For hours,
they had been reviewing the profiles from that suspicious folder.
And now,
the puzzle pieces were starting to fall into place.
Five targets, marked with red stars.
Out of those five,
only one could be confirmed as alive.
—Billy Johnson.
A homeless man surviving on Third Street.
As for the other four?
All missing.
Their names stood out vividly on the list.
Tony Romano (36) – A notorious pimp.
Red Jones (42) – A middleman for every kind of illegal trade.
Jimmy Malone (38) – The drug dealer known as "Shark."
Jill Miller (32) – A local prostitute.
"This isn't a coincidence."
Emily tapped her fingers against the desk,
murmuring quietly.
And then,
with a sharp motion, she straightened her back
and raised her voice.
"Twig!"
"Yes, Sheriff!"
Twig stood up so suddenly
that he almost dropped the stack of papers in his hands.
Emily shot him a sharp look and asked,
"Did you find what I asked for?"
"Yes, Sheriff."
Twig carefully placed the documents on the desk.
Then, with a cautious hand, he sorted through the pages and continued.
"I went through the records.
There aren't many cases officially filed from Third Street."
"But..."
He paused briefly,
flipping through the papers until he pulled one out.
"There are three missing persons reports...
from over ten years ago."
"Ten years ago?"
Emily leaned forward, her interest piqued.
"You're saying something similar happened a decade ago?"
"What do we know about these missing people?"
Twig furrowed his brows,
carefully opening the report.
"It's hard to say for sure."
"This is Third Street we're talking about."
"People disappearing wasn't exactly uncommon."
"They might've been trying to escape the criminal life."
"Or maybe they were hiding from loan sharks."
However—
As Emily quickly skimmed through the documents,
her expression darkened with suspicion.
"But the timing... it lines up too perfectly."
She muttered under her breath.
"These disappearances..."
Her thoughts started clicking into place.
—Meanwhile.
Outside Manju's hideout.
A crowd had already started gathering.
Faces filled with morbid curiosity.
Rumors were spreading from mouth to mouth.
"Manju is dead."
Just hours ago,
one of his men had stumbled upon the gruesome scene.
Originally, no one dared to enter Manju's hideout without his permission.
Entering his office
was no different from a suicide mission.
However—
When he failed to show up all day,
one of his men hesitated before finally deciding to check inside.
That was when they found their boss's body,
already cold and lifeless.
It happened precisely at midnight.
And within the crowd.
A single presence had slipped in unnoticed.
—Avery.
He moved quietly,
observing the situation from the shadows.
Perfectly blending into the crowd,
yet keeping all his senses razor-sharp.
He wasn't just here to watch.
His goal was simple.
Information gathering.
Every minor detail mattered.
His gaze swept over the scene,
determined not to miss a single clue.
Especially—
anything related to 'The Cleaner.'
The murmurs in the crowd
brushed against his ears.
"Who the hell killed Manju?"
"That bastard finally got what was coming to him."
"Aren't they calling the cops?"
But—
Manju's men showed no intention of reporting to the police.
With emotionless faces,
they simply loaded their boss's corpse into a vehicle.
Here, murder and death
were nothing more than daily occurrences.
Calling the police
would only bring bigger problems.
They were already used to 'handling things their way.'
...
Then.
Avery's eyes locked onto a man
standing within the crowd.
"…Who's that?"
Something about him was off.
He looked like someone who was trying too hard
to stand out— while pretending not to.
Unlike the weary, hardened expressions
that most people in this district wore,
his face was completely different.
He was deliberately making himself noticeable.
As if he didn't care for the rules of this place.
The man walked leisurely toward Manju's subordinates.
With just a single gesture,
they obeyed without resistance,
lowering Manju's corpse to the ground.
Then,
he quietly pulled back the bloodstained cloth.
His gaze settled on the pen
still lodged in Manju's throat.
There was no emotion on his face.
Just…
a sense of confirmation.
A moment later,
he nodded to himself,
then covered the body once more.
And then—
He slowly rose to his feet,
scanning the crowd.
His gaze, sharp and cold.
At that moment—
his eyes found Avery.
A brief silence.
But Avery didn't waver.
He blended in seamlessly,
moving as naturally as any other bystander.
However—
The man's stare lingered,
as if weighing something in his mind.
A moment of tense stillness.
—And then.
He slowly looked away
and turned on his heel,
his figure retreating into the shadows.
But—
Avery had no intention of letting this chance slip away.
This man was suspicious.
And there was a high chance
that he was connected to 'The Cleaner.'
Instinctively,
Avery lowered his stance.
Merging silently into the darkness—
he began his pursuit.
...
The game had begun.
And—
he would make sure to stay one step ahead.