With the regular personnel reshuffle looming just before the Lunar New Year, the atmosphere at the National Police Agency headquarters was restless.

　　The losers of the strategic mind games known as office politics would be exiled to provincial agencies or local stations. Meanwhile, the higher-ups who had been “right back then” but were “standing in the wrong line now” would be forced to dejectedly step down from their positions.

　　The empty desks they left behind would be filled by officers coming up from various provincial agencies and stations, all harboring lofty ambitions.

　　If the constant turnover in an organization were compared to the changing cells of a body, it would be like undergoing a painful physical transformation every single year. This year, too, they were slated to go through the wringer with a massive changing of the guard right after the holidays.

　　“Didn’t Director Kim get ousted because he fought Baek Haegyeon’s transfer to the bitter end?”

　　At Chief Han Jongmu’s hollow tone, his junior, Yun Seongsik, leaned in. This trivial gossip, shared briefly over a cup of coffee, would surely help him grasp the mood among the higher-ups.

　　“The Director of the Narcotics and Organized Crime Division? Does a director even have a say in personnel changes?”

　　The attention of the officers in the Criminal Investigation Bureau of the National Investigation Headquarters—the only headquarters under the Korean National Police Agency—was undoubtedly focused on the man named Baek Haegyeon.

　　As always during reshuffle season, gossip floated around like grease droplets in a barbecue joint. Invisible, yet thick in the air.

　　The most prominent rumor was that Baek Haegyeon from the Seoul Metropolitan Police Agency would be specially promoted to the rank of Superintendent and brought up to the main headquarters.

　　“Kid. What kind of division do you think the Narcotics and Organized Crime Investigation Division is?”

　　“It’s where we catch drug offenders and… gangsters.”

　　“But Baek Haegyeon’s background is… no. Since he was born into a syndicate, ‘gangster-born’ would be the right word.”

　　“Gangster-born?”

　　As the conversation took an unexpected turn, Seongsik stared at his senior with a dumbfounded expression.

　　“I was just asking around to see what the field officers thought of that Baek Haegyeon guy. Not that it matters—he’ll just stomp on anyone who messes with him, tsk.”

　　Perhaps finding it awkward to give a clear answer, Chief Han glossed over it by referring to him as ‘that guy.’

　　“Wait, Hyungnim^[1]. He’s really gangster-born? Is that even allowed?”

　　“Did you know Baek Haegyeon was the youngest person to ever pass the bar exam?”

　　“What?”

　　Seongsik’s eyes widened. Since Baek had made captain in his twenties, Seongsik had guessed he was a bar exam recruit, but he had no idea he was the youngest to pass.

　　“You really don’t know anything. Usually, when someone passes the bar as the youngest, they do interviews and write essays about their success. They take pictures of their face and splash them all over the newspapers that the law students read.”

　　“Right. They do.”

　　“But he didn’t do any of that. Why? Because his old man is a gangster.”

　　“Holy shit. How did he even study in a family like that?”

　　“Not just any gangster, either. An executive of the Hwando Gang.”

　　“Hwando? The Hwando?”

　　A flash of contempt appeared in Seongsik’s wide eyes as his jaw dropped.

　　“Yeah, that Hwando.”

　　“Huh… But why did he join the police? After passing such a difficult exam?”

　　This wasn’t just the level of some neighborhood thug, an executive of the Hwando Gang was enough to make any police officer shudder in disgust. That went for Chief Han as well.

　　In the past, Hwando was one of the organizations “managed” by the police.

　　A “managed organization” was one that maintained a moderate level of power within a district to prevent petty thugs and lowlifes from running wild, cooperating with the police in its own way.

　　The core of this management was to prevent the organization from expanding its power and keep it at an appropriate size. Ultimately, however, the police failed to manage Hwando.

　　Hwando used the police’s cover to absorb neighboring gangs and expand its territory, eventually wielding immense power.

　　What used to be a gang that extorted money from merchants under the pretext of maintaining order in alleyway commercial districts had now become the largest syndicate in Seoul and the greater metropolitan area.

　　It had reached the point where it was a massive burden for the police to even touch it.

　　“His background is too sketchy for him to be a judge or a prosecutor. But to be a lawyer…”

　　Seongsik replied to Chief Han’s muttering.

　　“Wouldn’t there be plenty of gangsters to defend? He’s got the connections, so if he opened his own practice, he’d be raking in the cash.”

　　Chief Han, who had been listening quietly, clicked his tongue in disapproval.

　　“Tsk, I guess he didn’t have the temperament for the family business.”

　　“Even so, why be a cop? I swear, everyone thinks the police are an easy target.”

　　Seongsik grumbled loudly, unable to hide his agitation.

　　“He’s just quick at calculations. That greenhorn started as a captain and now he’s coming to the main headquarters.”

　　“Already wearing the Senior Superintendent badge, no less.”

　　“Damn… Some people can’t even make Superintendent after working for thirty years.”

　　Chief Han smacked his lips bitterly. His hand was damp with condensation from the iced Americano cup he was holding.

　　“But now, Hyungnim, you’re…”

　　“What, kid.”

　　When his Police University junior tried to say something but trailed off awkwardly, Chief Han snapped back sharply.

　　“No, it’s just that you’ll be running into him often from now on. It must be a bit uncomfortable for you.”

　　“Do you think I do police work worrying about crap like that?”

　　In truth, there was no way Han Jongmu was pleased with this situation. Being in the same department with the same rank meant they were rivals.

　　It was ridiculous to be competing with a kid twenty years his junior. At the same time, the sheer youth of his opponent, who had a bright future ahead, was burdensome. That was exactly why Chief Han had looked into Baek Haegyeon.

　　The stories surrounding Baek Haegyeon had already spread so widely internally that if you grabbed anyone at the Seoul Metropolitan Agency and asked, the rumors would spill out in endless streams.

　　Should I consider myself lucky I don’t have to serve him as my superior?

　　“Hey, you want to take a look at this?”

　　They happened to be in front of the steel cabinets in the fourth-floor hallway. Chief Han handed his cup, now filled only with ice, to his junior and pulled a file from the cabinet.

　　The document his thick hand passed over was a publicly issued report from the Ministry of Environment.

　　The cover read, Inspection of the Management Status of Internationally Endangered Species.

　　“Out of nowhere? This is from the Ministry of Environment, isn’t it?”

　　Seongsik flipped through the document, which was only a few pages long. Chief Han let out a lukewarm sigh and asked,

　　“Do you see anything strange?”

　　It was a question, but his voice held no expectations.

　　“Hmm… I’m not sure yet. It just looks like a normal inspection report.”

　　“I’m sure it does.”

　　“Yes.”

　　“Yes, my ass.”

　　A deep frown carved into the center of the Chief’s unimpressed face. Seongsik shrewdly changed his tune. He happened to spot an entry that caught his eye.

　　Import (Colombia) | The One Inter / XX-XX Hongwon-ri, Poseung-eup, Pyeongtaek-si, Gyeonggi-do / ‘2X.XX.XX / Burmese Python 15 Z (For Zoo Use)

　　※ Note: Adults over fifteen feet in length. All perished due to poor management during warehouse storage

　　“Hmm, but here. There is a slightly strange part.”

　　“Right. Read it.”

　　“Um, fifteen imported adult Burmese Pythons perished due to poor management while stored in The One Inter’s warehouse.”

　　“Mhm.”

　　Chief Han, who had taken the cup back from Seongsik’s hand, slurped the remaining coffee and waved his hand a couple of times to signal him to continue.

　　“It’s obvious there was animal abuse or negligence in management, but it seems the problem is that it was just closed without an internal investigation into this part?”

　　“Bull. Shit.”

　　“Ah, what now? Can’t you just tell me?”

　　“They say he figured it out from looking at that.”

　　“Figured… what out?”

　　“That Baek Haegyeon confiscated sixty-six pounds of cocaine after seeing that.”

　　“What? Why would this… Ah, that!”

　　Finally realizing the full story of the case, Seongsik let out a short gasp.

　　It was the so-called “Pill-Swallowing Snake” case from three months ago. The public had been in an absolute uproar over it.

　　At the time, Baek Haegyeon, the captain of team 2 of the Seoul Metropolitan Police Agency’s Narcotics Investigation Unit, collaborated with the special judicial police of the Incheon Airport Quarantine Headquarters to identify and confiscate a large live snake at the airport, which was being used as a drug transport vessel.

　　On the airport’s quarantine X-ray, the round shapes inside the snake’s stomach looked like eggs. To the naked eye, there was no visible trauma, such as signs of the stomach being stitched up.

　　However, when they cut open the animal’s stomach on an operating table at a nearby veterinary department, a pile of special balloons spilled out. Everyone was unable to hide their shock upon seeing them filled with white powder.

　　The amount of cocaine hidden in the stomach totaled seven pounds, and an additional sixty pounds were discovered in the importing company’s warehouse.

　　It was a volume of cocaine with a street value of seventy-five million dollars, enough for 1.5 million people to use simultaneously. It wasn’t a case of being caught while transshipping through Korea to launder its origin; it was the largest scale ever recorded for domestic use. The rumor that Baek Haegyeon was receiving a special promotion and coming to the main headquarters was entirely thanks to that case.

　　“Wait, how did he catch on just by looking at this? Just from them perishing…”

　　Seongsik carefully examined the document again.

　　“If you think it’s ‘just that,’ then it’s just that. But if you start by questioning why they imported fifteen massive pythons that belong in a zoo, everything looks strange. Including the fact that they were all adults over fourteen feet long.”

　　“That’s true.”

　　“The strangest part is that the importing country is Colombia.”

　　At his senior’s words, Seongsik scratched the back of his neck.

　　“You’d have to know the exact habitat of that snake to know if it’s strange… Aren’t there a lot of snakes in Colombia too?”

　　“Can’t you read? It’s written right there. It says Burmese Python. Why the hell is something that should come from Burma coming from Colombia, halfway across the world? Out of nowhere.”

　　“Ah.”

　　Hearing it, it was completely obvious. Even looking at the exact same document, Baek found every single oddity and narrowed it down to one possibility… Should this be called bold reasoning, or narrow-minded delusion? Either way, a cop digging through Ministry of Environment documents wasn’t normal to begin with.

　　“He’s a different breed, alright.”

　　As Seongsik crumpled the innocent document, he offered words that sounded like consolation.

　　“No matter how great he is on his own, isn’t our police force a bit conservative? Even if he makes inspector at a young age, won’t it just mean he’ll have to retire sooner?”

　　He said as he handed the file back. His naturally pouty lips were sticking out even further.

　　“Do you think the higher-ups would just let a talent like this go to waste? They won’t leave him alone…”

　　Chief Han muttered, casting his gaze far down the drab hallway. Having entered middle age, the wrinkles around his eyes were soft. Yet even the faintly drooping line of his stubborn mouth held a certain firmness.

　　“I guess they’ll just tell the smart guy to fulfill his given mission and grind himself down to the bone.”

　　“I don’t mean they’ll just make him work a lot.”

　　“Then what?”

　　Didn’t ‘not leaving him alone’ mean they were going to work him to death?

　　“We’ve been chatting too long. You finished your coffee, right?”

　　“Yes, sir.”

　　Just as the interesting part of the conversation was about to begin, Chief Han changed the subject. Seongsik took the empty plastic cup he held out.

　　“Let’s head back in. Give the court’s warrant division a call.”

　　“Yep. Understood.”

　　Replying amiably, Seongsik scratched the back of his head.

　　There’s definitely something more, but Chief Han isn’t giving it to me straight. Could it be…

　　Just as he was putting his disappointment aside, the Bureau Chief’s voice from last night’s team dinner popped into his head.

　　“Us former cops need to start wearing assemblyman badges too.”

　　He had spoken passionately, shouting, “That’s the only way we’ll have some power! We’re always getting beaten up left and right! We can’t even put up a fight!” while thumping his liquor-soaked chest.

　　No way. Are the higher-ups planning a royal road to the National Assembly for Baek Haegyeon?

　　It seemed that Chief Han’s meaningful look and words meant exactly this.

　　Talent, my ass.

　　If the higher-ups moved as one to manufacture a star cop, there was nothing they couldn’t do. But did a gangster-born cop even make sense in the first place?

　　Seongsik threw the trash his senior had naturally handed off to him into the recycling bin and entered the office, pulling his gray windbreaker tight. Following the directive to save on electricity, the office temperature was inhumanely chilly.

　　Civil servants are just pushovers. This is why we chug iced Americanos even in the dead of winter—because we’re burning up with frustration. Ugh, it’s freezing.

　　Seongsik grumbled fiercely, but only in his head.

　　The sound of him pulling out his chair echoed loudly through the office.

Translator’s Note

[1] Hyung / Hyungnim: Hyung is a term used by a man for an older male (or an older brother) and Hyungnim is more deferential and, in this context, carries a distinctly hierarchical or gangster-like force.