Chapter 21

Boy 1: “What are we doing in a noraebang? I don’t sing.”

Red: “It’s essential Korean culture. Shut up.”

Boy 1: “And who are these dweebs?”

Red: “Did you just say ‘dweebs’?”

Boy 1: “What would you call the apparently prepubescent youths you insisted on bringing?”

Red: “You keep saying you love these guys.”

Boy 1: “It’s the only English they know.”

Red: “You were speaking to them in Korean.”

Boy 1: “What? You have a monopoly on contradictions?”

Red: “You want to go to a hotel instead?”

Boy 1: “Yes.”

Victoria Han looked around her office. It was exactly what she had imagined as a child — and yet nothing like what she had hoped for.

Rows of identical cubicles stretched across grey vinyl flooring beneath a low, classroom-style ceiling. Each cubicle held an overworked man in a cheap suit, stumbling toward an impossible deadline. Phones rang, printers hummed, tempers flickered. At the far end of the room sat a closed office door, and with it the constant fear that the man behind it might emerge at any moment.

It had all the ingredients of the newsrooms she had grown up watching as a kid— except one. Integrity.

Films and TV would always had one hack: loud, cynical, willing to sacrifice the truth to hit a deadline. Here, that singluar hack was everyone around her. In the movies, the hero would push back — sharp, principled, relentless — and by the end would be vindicated by her editor. A smile, a coffee, a resounding victory for doing the right thing.

Reality offered no such arc here.

There were no allies in this newsroom. No encouraging editor, no bright-eyed photographer, no loyal assistant. The chief was closer to an accountant than a journalist. The photographers were mostly freelancers. Everyone made their own shitty instant coffee.

Sometimes she told herself what her friends told her — that she should be proud. A young female reporter at a major paper. An achievement. But she knew better. She had fallen short of the person she thought she would become.

She had broken the gallery story. But even that hadn’t come to her through any kind of brilliance. It had landed in her lap because she knew Bora. That was the only reason she had been given the follow-up. But it was still a chance. And she wasn’t going to waste it.

She leaned forward as her computer booted, fingers hovering above the keyboard. This would be the best piece she had ever written. She had been right about the alarm — she had seen it in the detective’s face. He hadn’t considered it. She had caught him off guard. That mattered. She would write it properly. Push it further than the others. Make it hers.

Front page.

The thought made her shift in her seat. Her phone vibrated beside her hand. The name surprised her.

Deok-hyun.

She hadn’t seen it in years. They had studied together, crammed for finals. Now he worked in nightclub promotions, or something like that. Why. was he calling her now?

She sighed. She would answer — briefly.

“Deok-hyun. How are you?”