The red chili oil bubbled furiously in the hotpot, filling the air with an intoxicating aroma. Chopsticks clashed mid-air, fighting over tender slices of beef and lamb, crunchy tripe, and lotus root slices.
Across the table, Ma Sido sat wide-eyed, his small eyes round with disbelief as he watched a group of foreigners wielding chopsticks with expert precision, snatching food at lightning speed.
"You guys... are you sure this is your first time in Korea?" He looked skeptical. "Have you been to China or Japan before?"
Jubal blew on a hot lotus root slice, cooling it down before answering, "This is our first official mission abroad. I've been to the Philippines before. Jack and JJ went to Singapore. Clay's traveled the most, but... well, classified."
Across the table, Aubrey was drenched in sweat, frantically chugging an ice-cold beer.
"Jack actually made this for us before," Aubrey gasped between gulps, his face red from the spice. "His version was even better.
Best damn cook I've ever seen—he can cook anything from any country.
Only problem is, he doesn't make this often. Says stir-frying chili oil gets complaints, and getting fresh ingredients in New York is a nightmare. Most of this stuff has to be flown in from LA or Austin, and if it's not handled properly, it spoils fast."
Ma Sido narrowed his beady eyes, counting on his thick fingers.
"Okay, let me get this straight—
Jack's got the best shooting skills.
Jack's the best detective.
Jack's the best chef.
Hey, Special Forces guy—" He pointed his carrot-thick finger at Clay. "Can Jack fight better than you too?"
The entire team paused for a split second—then smirked at the same time.
Clay took his time wiping his mouth, then said, "Jack can fight any of us to a draw.
Even Alice."
Ma Sido blinked, confused. "Wait... what does that mean?"
Clay grinned.
"It means—in training, he makes sure every match is a perfect fight.
He lets us go all out while keeping himself from getting hurt... and making sure we don't get hurt either."
Ma Sido's thick eyebrows furrowed.
"Wait, wait, wait—you saying he holds back every time?! Is this guy Superman or something?!"
Jack sighed, taking a sip of beer.
"Just a little talent, that's all."
He casually clinked bottles with Ma Sido, smoothly changing the subject.
"Anyway—about the drinks. We can only have beer for now. But once we close this case, we'll drink properly."
Ma Sido waved him off. "Bah! I don't even know if I can help yet. Besides, you're guests—why should you pay?
This one's on me."
—
The hotpot feast ended on a high note.
But just as everyone settled into much-needed rest, Jack's phone blared.
3:45 AM.
It was Prosecutor Kim Jun-ho.
—
By the time they reached Itaewon, the sky was still pitch-black.
A narrow alleyway had been cordoned off, bathed in the flashing red and blue of police lights. Dozens of people—some in glamorous nightclub outfits, others in streetwear—gathered near the scene, whispering among themselves.
Jack spotted Kim Jun-ho near the crime scene tape, his expression grim.
He was already scowling before they even got close.
"I swear," Aubrey muttered, watching Kim dismiss two officers mid-report, "if this guy's attitude doesn't change, we should request a new liaison."
Jubal sighed. "Forget it. He's got pressure from above. At least he's doing his job."
"That pressure is about to hit us next," JJ murmured.
Three victims, three different countries. That meant international pressure on the Korean authorities—and now that the FBI was involved, they'd start looking for someone to blame.
"Not our problem," Jubal shrugged. "We've only been here two days. No one's dumping this mess on us—yet."
—
Jack pulled on gloves, carefully lifting the plastic sheet covering the latest victim.
Elsa Bäckvist, 23, Stockholm, Sweden.
Her blonde hair was matted with blood. Her pale face was covered in knife wounds—just like the previous two victims.
Jack exhaled sharply.
"The killer has a type."
Kim Jun-ho nodded toward an elderly man speaking to an officer.
"That's the convenience store clerk.
He said the cart wasn't there when he arrived for his shift at 11 PM.
But by 2 AM, when he stepped outside for a smoke break, it was already here."
Jack glanced at the elderly clerk, his hunched figure almost frail.
Hannah frowned.
"He's still working night shifts... at his age?"
JJ sighed quietly.
"In Korea, a quarter of people over 70 still have to work—their pensions aren't enough.
43.4% of seniors live in poverty. The national pension only pays around $220 a month."
Jack nodded, barely surprised.
He'd seen elderly couriers rushing through subway stations, taking advantage of free rides to deliver same-day packages—sprinting through Seoul's underground maze just to make ends meet.
—
But before they could dwell on that thought, Kim Jun-ho turned to Jubal—scowling.
"This is your fault!"
Jubal blinked. "Excuse me?"
Kim snapped his notebook shut.
"You told us this was a serial killer—but then your people let that American go!
Now, what do we have? Another dead girl!"
Jack stepped in immediately, cutting Kim off before Jubal could respond.
"Grayson Faber was ruled out because he was out of the country when the first victim was killed.
Besides—he's on a plane back to the U.S. right now."
Kim's face darkened. He stood silent for a long moment—then let out a sharp huff, turning away to bark orders at the officers.
Aubrey muttered, "Seriously—why are we still dealing with this guy?"
Jubal sighed again. "Let it go.
He's frustrated, but he's doing his job."
Jack smirked. "Besides—if he wasn't here, you'd have nothing to complain about."
Aubrey rolled his eyes.
—
"Now, the real question is—
How does the killer pick his victims?"
Jubal leaned forward.
"They're all young, blonde, foreign women—but is there anything else?"
Did they have the same routine?
Did they frequent the same places?
Did they—somehow—know the killer?
"JJ, head back and work with Alice to compare all three victims.
Daily routines.
Social circles.
Any connection to the suspect pool."
Jack turned to the others.
"Clay, Aubrey—you're with me.
We're going with the body.
I want firsthand results on the autopsy."
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