Flashback #2, 10 Months After the Accident
The detective came the day after his father’s 49th-day memorial service.
His mother, who had lost her beloved youngest son followed by her husband, had barely managed to arrange her husband’s 49th-day memorial through sheer willpower before reluctantly leaving on a short vacation at her sister’s insistence.
While Jiwon hovered between life and death for unknown reasons and recovered slowly in the ICU, his mother had become a mere shell of herself. Even so, until the very last moment before leaving on vacation, she worried about her only remaining family member who would be left alone in the hospital room with just a caregiver.
Yoon Jiwon had barely escaped the wheelchair and was recovering after several genital reconstruction surgeries and elbow surgery. Recovery in name only—like his mother, he was torn to shreds mentally as well as physically. The rehabilitation therapy was terribly grueling, and the pain from his genitals was unspeakable.
Both his self-esteem and confidence had hit rock bottom.
A whole 10 months.
Jiwon never dreamed that he, who had been healthier than anyone, would end up hospitalized for over 10 months.
They said the accident was severe enough for that kid to die instantly, yet Jiwon’s only external injuries were a broken leg and shattered elbow. There was no organ damage, not even the most common traffic accident symptom like cerebral hemorrhage.
Yet he hadn’t woken up for over a month, and even after that, he lingered near death in the ICU for several more months.
The doctor explained that cases like Jiwon’s—not waking up despite having no external injuries—were rare but did occur. He cautiously offered the opinion that it might be due to the shock of witnessing that kid’s death, which Jiwon had no memory of.
Since the attending physician, his mother, and even his late father all said so, he believed it. There was no reason to hide anything, so he never gave it a second thought.
But it wasn’t true. The doctor and his parents had told Jiwon a white lie.
He only learned the truth after meeting the detective.
‘Everything fell apart after that damn detective came by.’
The moment he met him, Jiwon immediately realized that the “damn detective” his mother mentioned was Kim Gyeongseok. That might be why he was even less pleased to see him.
The 44-year-old detective from the Narcotics Investigation Unit under the Seoul Metropolitan Police Agency was smooth-talking. If not for his cauliflower ears, he wouldn’t look like a detective at all—he was quite likeable.
“I understand you were in the ICU until recently. I’m truly glad you recovered so quickly.”
With a deep voice befitting his sturdy build and tall height, he genuinely welcomed Jiwon’s recovery.
‘If he hadn’t known anything, your father wouldn’t have ended up like that.’
His mother resented him as if this detective—the last person his father met before his death—was the cause of all this tragedy.
When Jiwon asked why, she said, ‘You don’t need to know. Just focus on your health,’ and told him nothing.
He had many things he wanted to ask the detective. At the same time, he wanted to know nothing at all.
“I’m truly sorry about your father. Yesterday was my senior’s 49th-day memorial, so I visited the columbarium. Honestly, he was such a healthy person, I never thought it would turn out that way. I’m sorry.”
Contrary to expectations, he frankly admitted his fault.
“However, your father really wanted to know.”
And then he brought up something unexpected.
“What happened to his son, why that young, smart friend had to suffer such cruel treatment and die in agony—he wanted to uncover every detail of the case. He was even prepared to resign from the force, so what could I do? Even if it hadn’t been me, he would’ve eventually found out through someone else.”
Cruel treatment, a case.
Come to think of it, the detective wasn’t from Traffic or Violent Crimes but from the Narcotics Investigation Unit.
Jiwon raised his eyebrows.
“It wasn’t… a traffic accident?”
At Jiwon’s question, Detective Kim Gyeongseok looked puzzled instead, then showed a flustered expression and rubbed his face with his palm.
“Oh no. You don’t know anything. Tsk.”
He clicked his tongue.
“Wasn’t it a traffic accident?”
“Sergeant Yoon, how much do you remember?”
“What?”
The detective rummaged through his jacket pocket and pulled out a cigarette pack.
“I’ll just hold it in my mouth.”
He winked and put the cigarette in his mouth.
Then he sank deep into the chair.
“Sergeant Yoon, from where to where do you remember that day?”
“…If you mean my memory…”
Jiwon furrowed his brow and struggled to recall that day.
Honestly, Jiwon remembered almost nothing. During consultations for genital reconstruction surgery, his attending physician had described Jiwon’s memory loss as a stroke of luck, saying it was rare for an accident victim to have no trauma. Perhaps because of that, every time he tried to recall that day, he failed. Only very fragmentary memories unrelated to the accident remained.
That day—the day of the accident—Jiwon had been drinking. He attended a company dinner with a lighthearted mood for the first time in a while.
His younger brother, whom he’d thought had schizophrenia, seemed to have quickly returned to his original self after receiving his mother’s devoted care, and his mother was convinced of it too. The proof was that the kid, who had particularly refused to meet their father, had gone “home” with their mother and the three of them had a cozy dinner together.
According to his mother, the three of them even had drinks together and spent a pleasant time just like before.
— Hey, looks like you were right. He must’ve felt stifled living only as a model student his whole life.
His mother had laughed.
— Oh, Jisu is dying to see you. Want to come over after work?
“I have a company dinner tonight.”
— Are you drinking?
“Of course.”
— Then I’ll have him pick you up.
“Have who pick me up?”
— Who else? Jisu. It doesn’t even take an hour from home to that area.
“Ah, why would he come pick me up? I’ll come tomorrow.”
— Jisu says he wants to go.
“Are you coming too, Mom?”
— Oh please, why would I go there? Just be there by 11.
“Ugh. I was planning to drink all night.”
Jiwon whined.
The call switched to his younger brother.
“Hey, Yoon Jisu. Drive carefully. Don’t get into an accident.”
— You worry too much. I drive better than you, you know?
“Oh? Are you challenging your hyung now?”
Jisu giggled.
“See you later.”
Jiwon got really drunk for the first time in ages, and when Jisu came to pick him up, he was unconscious.
‘Ugh, you’re heavy.’
He laughed hearing his younger brother grumble as he carried him on his back.
‘Hey, if you can’t even carry this much, you’re not a man.’
He thought he’d said something like that too.
Did his brother take him to the car?
He didn’t remember past that point.
He vaguely thought he’d heard shouting and screaming, but even that wasn’t certain.
Then he woke up feeling excruciating pain. Not realizing it was from injuries, he made the common mistake of thinking it was just a terrible hangover before losing consciousness.
Jiwon believed that was his memory of the traffic accident.
“There was no traffic accident.”
Detective Kim Gyeongseok said regretfully.
“What?”
“It wasn’t a traffic accident.”
Jiwon just blinked, unable to understand what the detective was saying.
“My parents—no, the attending physician definitely said it was a traffic accident.”
“Sergeant Yoon, how much do you know about Yoon Jisu?”
Instead of answering, the detective brought up his younger brother’s name and changed the subject, and Jiwon frowned, unable to follow the conversation.
“What do you mean… it wasn’t a traffic accident?”
Jiwon asked again.
The detective let out a deep sigh and unbuttoned his suit jacket.
“It’s uncomfortable wearing a suit after so long.”
He made small talk. Then he pulled his chair closer toward Jiwon.
“Now, I’m going to tell you exactly what I told Sergeant Yoon’s father. Are you ready?”
Jiwon couldn’t answer readily.
His mother had blamed the detective at every turn, saying the reason his father died was precisely because he’d met the detective right in front of him. On the other hand, the detective confessed that he’d had no choice but to tell him because his father had wanted to know.
Should he listen or not?
If his father hadn’t been a police officer, would they have never known?
If so, would the collapse from shock, the tragedy of his death, never have happened?
Jiwon shook his head.
Even if his father’s profession hadn’t been police, if his son had died—if it had been murder, not a simple accident—he would have been the type to do whatever it took to find out the truth.
That was the father Jiwon had known his entire life.
“Yes. I’m ready.”
Jiwon stared at the detective.
