TFN C5

Chapter 5

Upon stepping inside, the middle-aged man who had been staring at the ceiling near the desk turned his gaze.

“Good day.”

Cheongmun offered a slight nod.

“You’re here?”

They had said the precinct in charge was Mapo, and indeed a familiar face to Cheongmun was on scene.

In cases involving the Special Agency, jurisdiction often shifted to the Agency’s investigators. Because of the hassle, the police frequently assigned matters to the local substation instead of the main precinct, but unexpectedly, the Mapo Detective Division Chief had come in person.

He held a higher rank than expected, and, as sloppily easygoing as he looked, he also possessed flexibility and competence, so there was little chance of needless bluster.

He wasn’t the type to pick a fight poking at what he couldn’t handle, either.

Still, it warranted a bit of checking.

“It’s been a while since crossing paths at a scene. Is this big enough to bring the division chief out?”

At Cheongmun’s question, the division chief delayed his answer, flicking a glance up at the ceiling he’d been watching.

“They said the suspect’s identity isn’t ordinary, so I came to take a look. There’s the broadcast issue, too. Did you review the footage before coming?”

At the chief’s words, Cheongmun nodded.

“I did. But it looks like the body sustained further damage after the stream cut—correct?”

The division chief wore a wry smile.

“When the first calls came in, viewers seem to have mass-reported the stream themselves. The auto-block triggered due to the report pileup, so thankfully it stopped there.”

In a world full of lunatics, that was as much luck as one could hope for.

Saying so, the division chief looked toward the victim’s body.

Cheongmun turned his gaze the same way.

He’d thought the removal of the victim’s entire head was the extent, but below the neck the top was slashed as if by a sharp weapon, and blood had poured from stab wounds, congealing into a sticky mass.

The fishy stench of blood rapidly oxidized by contact with air numbed the nose.

While forensics collected traces left on the body, the Special Agency staff switched equipment.

They swept the area with devices resembling metal detectors, but no mana reaction seemed to ping anywhere; the team members’ expressions grew grave.

“That’s a recent model, isn’t it?”

Going fancy, huh.

At the division chief’s roundabout question—whether the Agency was done—Cheongmun waited a beat.

If all the machines failed to analyze, the final step was verification by skill.

It wasn’t psychometry-level glimpsing of the past; rather, a team member with a sort of lie-detection skill, nicknamed “Three Questions,” used it to prompt a system window like an AI chat box.

The number of questions was limited, so it wasn’t used often, but it was a system-certified shot in the dark.

Deputy Manager Lee Gangsan, who owned the skill, prepared the questionnaire and activated the skill.

“Was a skill directly used to kill this person?”

Answers came only in “Yes” or “No,” so the staffer was clearly trying to narrow the scope to a human perpetrator first.

If a skill had been used, the next subject would be those who entered and left the building.

“…It says no.”

Which was tantamount to the system saying a human didn’t do it.

“Then ask if it was a rift.”

If not a human, then a monster next; better to confirm. Video analyst Geungsik offered the option.

Gangsan threw the question immediately, then shook his head.

“Not a monster.”

“If it’s not a monster, shouldn’t it be a person? But it also says no skill?”

No one could reconcile it; unable to guess who killed with what, they hesitated to land on a final question.

“This is a long shot, but shouldn’t we just ask if a human did it?”

At the cyber-investigation junior Deputy Manager Nam Jahyeon’s suggestion, several people sucked in a breath.

“If a human did it, then there’s an unidentified suspect; if not…”

Nam let his words trail off, unwilling to articulate the alternative.

Deputy Manager Lee narrowed his eyes.

“If not a human, then what? Are we saying it was really a ghost?”

At the word “ghost,” murmurs spread.

“They did say not a monster. It could be a ghost.”

Grumbling, Nam made Lee mull it over again before he cautiously spoke.

“Was this done by a human?”

Everyone fell quiet, awaiting the answer.

Lee squeezed his eyes shut, opened them, and checked the status window.

He swallowed and delivered the response to the last question.

“It says… no.”

The commotion swelled in an instant.

“Seriously? Not a human? And not a rift?”

“Could it be an effect attached to an item?”

“When an item is used, it’s logged under skill activation and recognized as a ‘skill,’ so the answer would reflect that.”

As Lee fielded questions from all sides, the police started conferring quickly among themselves.

“Then is this our case?”

“No. The victim’s a hunter, so it falls under the Agency.”

Leaving the debate over jurisdiction behind, Cheongmun stepped forward.

He examined the stab wounds left on the body.

The most severe injury—the severed head—would mean instant death; even so, the culprit had left other marks on the corpse.

If it were a monster, it would be violence without intent; the remaining stab wounds did not look unintentional.

“Judging by the wounds alone, it looks like a grudge killing.”

“Agreed.”

The division chief standing beside him concurred.

“Not sexual—purely vindictive. Look at the hands.”

The hands were among the most wounded areas.

“You’re reading torture marks?”

The division chief dipped his chin.

“When they go for the hands, it’s often because they want a specific answer. And yet the system concludes it wasn’t a person?”

Since the system guaranteed the answer, yes.

Cheongmun looked at the victim’s head, now gently placed inside a body bag after trace collection.

“Will you be taking the case?”

“What’s your intention?”

Clicking his tongue, the division chief shot the question back.

With a cool gaze slightly creased, Cheongmun gave the conventional answer.

“The victim is a hunter; it’s appropriate that we take it.”

“I thought your side primarily handled cases where the perpetrator is a hunter.”

The division chief stared at the ceiling again, then, as if resolved, met Cheongmun’s eyes.

“Whoever takes it, can we call in someone we know for investigative consultation?”

At the word “consultation,” Cheongmun tilted his head.

“Who… exactly?”

If neither human nor monster had done it, what expert could he mean?

Even the Special Agency staff cocked their heads at “consultation.”

Under their questioning looks, the division chief kept silent, as if it wasn’t easy to answer readily.

“A video expert or a profiler?”

At the team’s forensic video analyst Kim’s question, the division chief waved a hand.

“No, not that. If we could see the perp, we’d analyze the footage or profile. The person I want to call is… a shaman.”

“Excuse me?”

Baffled, Deputy Manager Kim asked again.

With a faint, unreadable expression—half-smile, half-not—the division chief looked to Cheongmun.

“When the reports came in, didn’t the callers say it was a ghost killing?”

“Isn’t that just speculation about a ghost-type monster…?”

Kim interjected before Cheongmun could answer, but the division chief’s face turned firm.

“I’m asking the team leader for approval. In the Agency, does the deputy speak for the team leader’s decisions?”

At that brief glare, Kim recoiled.

Sighing, the division chief continued,

“In any case, since that claim was made, I wanted to verify it; that’s why I’m proposing this.”

This time, it was Cheongmun who fell silent.

Though human life was cheaper than in the past, this might not be a death classed as a disaster like a monster attack; that made this case significant.

At last, Cheongmun spoke.

“Is this person an awakener?”

No way he intended to bring in a charlatan with nothing but a shingle that said “shaman.”

Catching his meaning, the division chief nodded.

“Not a hunter, but you’ll understand when you see.”

“Chief Park, shall we call that friend? Team Leader, let’s do it. For this kind of thing, that friend is fast.”

When the forensic unit chief, who had just finished the first round of evidence photography, added his voice, the division chief looked steadily at Cheongmun as if to say, let’s proceed.

“Will you call them?”

Kim addressed Cheongmun, his expression telegraphing utter incomprehension.

Awakener but not a hunter meant production or support type—but a shaman?

Whether they had awakened as a shaman, or a shaman who later awakened to another ability, who could say; either way, odd skills or items used on scene could tangle mana readings.

They themselves were using skills only within bounds that wouldn’t affect the scene.

As the Special Agency members all showed negative reactions, the division chief sighed and shrugged.

“Look, awakeners have a thousand kinds of skills. The person I’m calling is one of those cases. Oh—and they’re the one who made the ‘talisman’ from that stream.”

At his attempt to persuade them, the word “talisman” shifted the air.

“Talisman? What’s that supposed to be?”

At the forensic chief’s question, the previously skeptical Agency staff reacted as if to say: you don’t know that?

Stepping back, Geungsik summoned the problematic broadcast with a skill.

Footnotes:

• “Three Questions” system skill: A limited-use verification ability returning system-certified Yes/No answers, often used like a constrained lie detector during investigations.