(Jail Interrogation — psychological pressure begins)
The room was smaller than it needed to be.
That was intentional.
People talked more in small spaces.
They broke faster.
Seo Hae-in sat across from him.
No files this time.
No distractions.
Just him.
And the silence.
He didn't look at her.
Not immediately.
His hands were clasped together again—
too tight.
Like he was afraid of what they might do if he let go.
"They said you got me more time," he said finally.
His voice was low.
Careful.
"Forty-eight hours," she replied.
A pause.
"That's not enough," he said.
"No," she agreed.
That made him look up.
Because he expected reassurance.
Not truth.
"Then why—" he started.
"Because it's all the court is willing to give you," she said.
Calm.
Precise.
Silence again.
He exhaled slowly.
Shaky.
"I think I did it," he said.
There was no emotion in it.
That was the problem.
Seo Hae-in tilted her head slightly.
Studying him.
"Tell me what you remember," she said.
He swallowed.
"I drank," he said.
"Like always."
"Define always."
He hesitated.
"…a lot."
"How often do you black out?"
"I don't."
That answer came too fast.
Too certain.
Her eyes sharpened.
"Never?" she asked.
He shook his head.
"I always remember," he said.
A pause.
"Even if it's messy… I remember."
She leaned back slightly.
That was the first crack.
"Then this is new," she said.
"Yes."
The word came out quieter this time.
Almost afraid.
She watched him carefully.
"Do you remember going to bed?"
"Yes."
"Alone?"
A pause.
"…yes."
"Locked door?"
"…yes."
"Any noise?"
"No."
Her fingers tapped once against the table.
Controlled.
Measured.
"Then explain something to me," she said.
He didn't respond.
Didn't move.
"How do you go from that…"
She leaned forward slightly.
"…to waking up at a crime scene you don't remember creating?"
Silence.
His breathing changed.
Faster now.
"I don't know," he said.
Not defensive.
Terrified.
"I don't know," he repeated.
His hands tightened again.
Harder.
"I wouldn't—"
He stopped.
Wouldn't what?
Her gaze didn't leave him.
"Wouldn't what?" she asked.
His throat moved.
"…hurt her," he said.
And for the first time—
there was something real in his voice.
Not confusion.
Pain.
Seo Hae-in didn't soften.
But something in her eyes shifted.
Slightly.
"Good," she said.
He blinked.
Confused again.
"Because that means something doesn't align," she continued.
She stood.
Slow.
Deliberate.
"The evidence places you there," she said.
She walked toward the door.
"The scene says you did it."
Her hand rested on the handle.
"But your mind…"
She glanced back at him.
"…doesn't match the crime."
Silence.
"That's not innocence," she added.
A beat.
"It's interference."
The word lingered.
He stared at her.
"What does that mean?" he asked.
She opened the door.
And for the first time—
there was something colder in her voice.
"It means," she said,
"someone needed you to be there."
And then she left.
Leaving him alone—
with something far worse than guilt.
Doubt.