The mood in the athlete's village was sharper than ever. The day before the final, Joon-ho sat stiffly in a small, windowless office deep in the basement of the Olympic facility. The air was stale with the scent of old coffee, paper, and resignation. Two Spanish police detectives sat across from him, their uniforms crisp, faces unreadable behind practiced smiles. A Korean translator hovered between them, polite but already worn down.
"We just have some questions, Mr. Kim," the older detective began, switching between English and Spanish as he looked through a thin folder. "For the record, the Korean Olympic Committee has filed a formal complaint regarding the attack."
Joon-ho nodded, hands folded in his lap. His arm still ached from the bruises, but he kept his face composed.
"Describe what happened," the younger detective prompted, voice neutral.
