4: (SANGWOO NEVER DIES)

The Streets Were Empty.

Darkness swallowed the narrow alleyways, the only light coming from flickering streetlamps and the neon glow of convenience store signs. The city was asleep, but Seungbae wasn't.

His car rumbled beneath him as he gripped the wheel, his jaw clenched tight.

He had spent hours digging through old files—chasing leads that barely made sense. Oh Junwoo. The name felt like a ghost, haunting the edges of the case, never fully revealing itself.

And yet—he was out there.

That man in the blackbox footage.

That face.

That expression.

Seungbae shook his head, trying to push down the unease twisting in his stomach.

He needed answers.

And he was going to get them.

His phone buzzed.

He grabbed it, glancing at the screen.

UNKNOWN NUMBER.

His gut tightened.

Slowly, he answered.

"…Detective Yang Seungbae."

Silence.

Then—

A low chuckle.

A voice he hadn't heard in years.

"Oh… Seungbae."

His blood ran cold.

His grip on the phone tightened.

That voice—it couldn't be.

"…Sangwoo is dead." His voice was firm, but his hands had gone cold.

Another chuckle.

"And yet, you're chasing my shadow."

Seungbae's breathing was shallow, his mind racing.

This isn't real.

But then—

A scream.

A familiar, terrified scream.

Bum.

Seungbae's eyes widened.

The call ended.

And suddenly, everything snapped into focus.

He slammed his foot on the gas, tires screeching against the pavement.

He had made a mistake.

He had left Bum alone.

And now—

Sangwoo's ghost had come back to take him.

ー

Seungbae's Apartment

The door was open.

The dim glow of the hallway lights flickered over the threshold, casting long shadows inside.

Seungbae's pulse pounded in his ears.

Gun drawn, he stepped inside.

The apartment was a mess.

The takeout container was spilled across the floor, the chair overturned, the faint scent of blood hanging in the air.

And then—

A sound.

A ragged breath.

A whimper.

Seungbae moved fast, rounding the corner—

And froze.

Bum was on the floor.

His body trembled, hands clawing at his throat as he choked on nothing. His eyes were wide, glazed, unseeing. Sweat drenched his skin, his mouth moving soundlessly.

Like he was trapped in a nightmare.

Like he was seeing something that wasn't there.

Seungbae dropped to his knees, grabbing his shoulders.

"Bum."

No response.

His chest rose and fell too fast, his fingers twitching against the floor.

Seungbae's grip tightened.

"Bum! Look at me!"

Bum jerked, gasping raggedly—like he had been drowning, and only now breaking through the surface.

His eyes locked onto Seungbae's.

And then—

He screamed.

Seungbae held on, shaking him slightly.

"Bum! It's me! Snap out of it!"

Bum's breath was shallow, frantic, broken.

"I—I saw him," he choked out. "He was here—he was right here, Seungbae—he—"

His body convulsed with shudders, his nails digging into Seungbae's wrist.

Seungbae stared at him, his own heart hammering.

This wasn't just trauma.

This wasn't just fear.

Something was happening.

Something real.

And Sangwoo's ghost—whatever it was—wasn't done yet.

ー

Seungbae hadn't slept in over 24 hours.

His body was running on caffeine and pure instinct as he walked down the quiet street, hands buried in his pockets, his mind replaying everything over and over.

The phone call. The scream. Bum, collapsed on the floor, lost in something Seungbae couldn't see.

He needed to clear his head.

He needed to figure out what the hell was going on.

As he turned a corner, his sharp eyes caught movement ahead—a man stepping out of a bar, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

A familiar man.

Seungbae's steps slowed.

The driver.

The bastard who hit Bum.

The man had been released on bail after his initial interrogation. The authorities were still gathering evidence on his illegal activities, but for now, he was free.

Seungbae's jaw tightened.

The man hadn't seen him yet. He was lighting a cigarette, his fingers shaking slightly as he exhaled into the cold night air.

Seungbae took a step closer.

"You look nervous."

The man froze.

His grip on the cigarette twitched before he turned, his face twisting into something mocking.

"Well, well. If it isn't Detective Yang." He grinned, exhaling smoke. "Didn't expect to see you out here."

Seungbae didn't respond. His sharp gaze scanned the man's face, noting the dark circles, the restless shifting of his stance.

This man was scared.

Something was eating at him.

Good.

Seungbae took another step forward.

"Did you think I wouldn't notice?" His voice was low. "You weren't just some reckless driver."

The man's smirk faltered just slightly.

"Don't know what you're talking about."

Seungbae tilted his head. "You've been looking over your shoulder all night. What are you so afraid of?"

The man scoffed, flicking the cigarette to the ground. "Tch. You think I'm scared of you?"

"No." Seungbae's voice was cold. "I think you saw something."

The man stiffened.

For a brief second, something flickered behind his eyes. Panic.

Seungbae didn't miss it.

"You saw him too, didn't you?"

The man took a step back.

"Shut up."

Seungbae stepped forward.

"He was there when you hit Bum, wasn't he?"

"I said shut the hell up!"

The man lunged.

Seungbae dodged easily, twisting his body as he grabbed the man's wrist and slammed him against the alley wall.

The man grunted, struggling. "Damn cop—always sticking your nose where it doesn't belong—"

Seungbae shoved his arm deeper into the man's back, pinning him in place.

"You saw something that night," Seungbae said coldly. "And now you're running from it."

The man stilled.

His breath was ragged.

Then, in a voice barely above a whisper, he said:

"…He looked right at me."

Seungbae's blood ran cold.

The man swallowed hard. "I don't know what the hell I saw, alright? But when that kid ran into the street—when I looked up—"

He turned his head slightly, meeting Seungbae's gaze.

"Oh Sangwoo was standing right there."

Seungbae's breath hitched.

No.

No, it couldn't be.

The man's eyes darkened.

"…And he smiled."

Seungbae hadn't let go. His grip on the man's wrist was tight—too tight—his nails digging into the rough leather of the man's coat.

His mind was racing.

The blackbox footage. The flickering streetlights. That face.

Oh Sangwoo was dead. Oh Sangwoo was dead.

But this bastard—this low-life criminal—was looking at him with bloodshot eyes, swearing on his own miserable life that he had seen Sangwoo standing there.

Smiling.

Seungbae's breath came slow and even. He had learned long ago how to control his emotions, how to keep his hands steady, his heart unreadable.

But right now—

He could feel the fear creeping in.

The man grunted, twisting against the pressure on his arm.

"Damn it—let go, you bastard—"

Seungbae slammed him back against the wall, ignoring the pained grunt.

"You think I'm playing with you?" Seungbae's voice was calm, but his grip never loosened. "Tell me exactly what you saw."

The man gritted his teeth. "I already told you."

"Then tell me again."

Silence stretched between them, the only sounds the distant hum of traffic and the buzzing streetlight above.

The man swallowed.

"…It was when I was turning the corner. The kid—" His voice wavered slightly. "—he ran across the road like a damn lunatic. I barely had time to react."

Seungbae stayed silent, listening.

"But just before I hit him—I swear—" The man exhaled shakily. "There was someone standing there. Right on the sidewalk. Like he was watching everything."

Seungbae felt the hairs on his neck stand up.

"And you're saying it was him?"

The man nodded, his throat bobbing. "I don't know how. I don't know what the hell I saw, but it was him." His voice dropped lower. "Oh Sangwoo. Same face. Same goddamn eyes."

Seungbae's stomach twisted.

It couldn't be.

It couldn't be.

Sangwoo was dead.

Seungbae had seen the ashes himself.

And yet—

"Did anyone else see him?" Seungbae demanded.

The man let out a dry, humorless chuckle. "You think I stuck around to ask?"

Seungbae finally let go, stepping back. His hands were ice cold.

The man rolled his shoulder with a wince, shaking his head. "Tch. You should be asking yourself something else, Detective."

Seungbae looked at him. "And what's that?"

The man smirked, eyes glinting under the neon glow.

"If I saw him."

His voice was low, like a whisper in the dark.

"…Then who's to say he's not watching you too?"

A cold chill ran through Seungbae's spine.

He didn't respond.

He turned sharply, walking away, his pulse pounding in his ears.

The city lights blurred around him.

Something was wrong.

Something was very, very wrong.

ー

A Dangerous Game

Seungbae exhaled slowly, his fingers still tingling with the lingering tension of holding that bastard down.

The man rolled his shoulders, rubbing at his wrist where Seungbae had gripped too tight. Then, with a lazy smirk, he tilted his head, his eyes gleaming with something close to amusement.

"Tch. You're really wound up, huh, Detective?" His voice was low, teasing. "Something got you spooked?"

Seungbae didn't answer.

"Ohhh…" The man grinned wider, stepping closer, his confidence growing now that Seungbae had let go. "Don't tell me you actually believe me?"

Seungbae's jaw clenched.

That bastard was playing games.

The man chuckled, licking his teeth like he was enjoying the taste of Seungbae's discomfort.

"The great Detective Yang Seungbae, scared of a ghost? I gotta say, that's pretty damn funny."

Seungbae's eyes flicked up, sharp and dangerous, but the man only grinned wider.

He took another slow step forward, lowering his voice.

"Or maybe… you're just scared because he's watching you too."

Seungbae's breath hitched—just barely—but the man caught it.

His smirk deepened.

"Ahhh, I see." He clicked his tongue. "You've seen him too, haven't you?"

Seungbae didn't answer. He wouldn't give this bastard the satisfaction.

But the man wasn't letting up.

He tilted his head, his voice dropping into something almost conspiratorial.

"You saw him in the blackbox footage, didn't you?" His grin was slow, stretching like a shadow. "That moment where he turned his head and looked right at the camera."

Seungbae's stomach twisted.

The man leaned in slightly, whispering like he was sharing a secret.

"It's almost like he knew you'd be watching."

Seungbae's breath stilled.

He clenched his fists, his nails biting into his palms.

This bastard.

He was pushing him.

Testing him.

Waiting to see if he'd break.

Seungbae forced himself to stay still, his expression unreadable. But the man only chuckled again, his breath warm in the cold night air.

"You're pale, Detective." He clicked his tongue. "Looks like you really are scared."

Seungbae exhaled sharply through his nose. Then, without warning, he grabbed the man's collar and yanked him forward.

The grin finally wavered.

"You think this is funny?" Seungbae's voice was low, deadly.

The man swallowed, but his smirk didn't fade completely.

"I think it's interesting," he murmured. "Watching you squirm like this."

Seungbae's grip tightened.

The man let out a breathless laugh, his voice husky. "Ahh… rough hands. Didn't think you'd be the type, Detective."

Seungbae's expression darkened.

Enough.

He shoved the man back, making him stumble slightly.

The bastard only laughed.

"Careful, Detective." His eyes gleamed with amusement. "Push too hard, and people might think you've got a personal grudge."

Seungbae gave him a cold look. "I don't have time to waste on idiots like you."

The man tilted his head, smirking.

"Then why are you still here?"

Seungbae didn't answer.

He turned on his heel, walking away without another word.

But as he moved, the man's voice called after him, slow and taunting.

"Don't look too hard into this, Detective."

Seungbae didn't stop.

But the next words made his shoulders go rigid.

"Or he might just start looking back."

A shiver ran down Seungbae's spine.

He didn't turn around.

He didn't dare.

Seungbae had spent years chasing criminals. Murderers, smugglers, gangsters.

But Oh Sangwoo was different.

Even in death, he left behind a stain that wouldn't wash away.

And now, against all logic, against all reason—

Seungbae was starting to think he was alive.

—

It started with the blackbox footage.

That face. Those eyes.

The way the man in the footage turned to the camera—acknowledging it.

It didn't make sense. Sangwoo was dead. Dead.

Seungbae had seen the ashes himself.

So how was he walking the streets like nothing had happened?

—

Seungbae pushed harder.

He ran background checks, pulled street cam footage, interrogated Sangwoo's old neighbors.

But there was nothing.

No records of someone matching Sangwoo's face.

No unexplained footprints in the dust of his burned-down house. Not even a whispered rumor.

Yet the more Seungbae searched, the more things started to go wrong.

—

The first time was in his own apartment.

At exactly 3:15 AM, his laptop screen flickered on.

A video file.

Untitled. No sender.

When he clicked it, his own security camera footage played.

The grainy screen showed Seungbae sleeping—and a figure standing at the edge of his bed.

Not moving.

Just watching.

And though the figure's face was blurred, Seungbae knew.

His blood ran cold.

—

The second time was at the station.

He was reviewing a case file when his phone buzzed.

Unknown Number.

A single message:

"Wrong turn, Detective."

And then—

His screen glitched.

For half a second, a photo flashed across the screen.

A mirror selfie.

Someone standing in Seungbae's bathroom.

Wearing his clothes. Holding up his badge.

Smiling.

And in the mirror behind them—

A shadow just out of frame.

—

Seungbae lost sleep.

He changed his locks. Scanned his apartment. Checked the police station's surveillance.

Nothing.

No signs of forced entry. No proof anyone had been inside. No records of the texts.

The messages kept coming.

Each time from a different number.

Each time with a warning.

—

It wasn't until he received the USB drive that he knew he had lost.

No sender. No label.

Inside was a single folder.

[CHOI EUNSEO - CASE #132]

His breath caught.

Choi Eunseo.

One of Sangwoo's first victims.

A case that had gone unsolved for years— A case that had made Seungbae suspect Sangwoo in the first place.

He clicked the file.

Inside were photos.

Dozens of crime scene images. Some the police had.

And some they didn't.

Angles the police never captured. Details no one but the killer would know.

A confession.

Evidence of Oh Sangwoo's crimes.

Everything Seungbae had spent years trying to prove— Handed to him on a silver platter.

And at the very bottom, a single message.

"Let it go. Or I take everything from you."

No signature. No name.

But Seungbae didn't need one.

He knew exactly who had sent it.

—

Oh Sangwoo was dead.

But the game wasn't over.

It had just begun.

ー

Seungbae's hands clenched so tightly around the USB drive that his knuckles turned white.

He could feel his heartbeat pounding in his ears, rage boiling in his chest like molten metal.

This wasn't just a taunt.

This was control.

Oh Sangwoo was controlling him from beyond the grave—just like he had controlled his victims.

Seungbae gritted his teeth, his breath coming in short, sharp exhales.

How? How?

He had burned. He had died.

So how was he still playing games?

Seungbae shot up from his chair, sending papers scattering onto the floor.

He didn't care.

Didn't care about the mess. Didn't care about the curious glances from officers nearby. Didn't care that his nails had started digging into his palms so hard they might draw blood.

All he could see was red.

The messages. The security footage. The mirror selfie in his own apartment.

It wasn't possible.

Unless—

Unless someone was helping Sangwoo.

—

Seungbae slammed the USB into his laptop, fingers flying across the keyboard as he copied the files.

If someone thought they could manipulate him, they were wrong.

He wasn't a rookie.

He had spent years playing cat and mouse with the worst kinds of criminals.

Sangwoo thought he was clever?

Seungbae would show him what real hunting looked like.

—

He barely noticed when his desk phone started ringing.

Didn't even blink when it went to voicemail.

Didn't even breathe until he was deep in the digital guts of the USB drive, tracing metadata, timestamps, any clue that would tell him who the hell had sent it.

But then—

His screen went black.

—

"What the—"

Static.

A low hum, distorted audio crackling through his laptop speakers.

Then—

A video.

Blurry at first, then sharpening into focus.

A room.

Small. Dusty.

And in the center—

A chair.

With someone tied to it.

Yoonbum.

Seungbae's blood ran cold.

—

The camera zoomed in slowly, like someone adjusting the lens by hand.

Yoonbum's head was slumped forward, his breathing ragged.

His arms were bound to the chair, legs tied at the ankles.

Bruises bloomed on his wrists where the rope dug into his skin.

And then—

A voice.

Low. Amused. Familiar.

"You're looking in the wrong place, Detective."

Seungbae's entire body locked up.

His breath stopped.

Because it wasn't just any voice.

It was his.

Oh Sangwoo's voice.

—

A shadow moved in the corner of the screen.

A figure stepping forward—half in the light, half in the dark.

And then—

That grin.

Those eyes.

Mocking. Playful.

Dead.

But alive.

Seungbae's chair scraped against the floor as he shot up, his pulse hammering in his skull.

"Impossible," he whispered.

Sangwoo couldn't be alive.

And yet—

There he was.

Standing over Yoonbum like a predator.

Watching him. Watching Seungbae.

And then—

The screen glitched.

The video cut.

And the last thing Seungbae saw—

Was Sangwoo's face.

Leaning close to the camera, lips curling into a smirk.

"You lose, Detective."

—

The screen went black.

Seungbae's laptop shut off completely.

His hands were shaking.

His veins were on fire.

A loud crack echoed through the office as his fist slammed against the desk, papers flying.

Heads turned. Officers flinched.

But he didn't care.

Didn't care about the stares. Didn't care about the ache in his knuckles. Didn't care that his vision was blurring at the edges from sheer, unfiltered rage.

All he cared about—

Was killing Oh Sangwoo.

For good.