As the only female detective in your precinct in Seoul, you've been waiting for an opportunity to prove yourself to your Captain. To your delight, he offers you a high profile murder case; but this soon evaporates when he insists you work with notor...
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CHAPTER 1
"they call me new thing."
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As a young girl growing up, you were constantly surrounded by stories of female trailblazers.
You loved these stories. Tales of women who were forging ahead in their areas of specialty, often being the first woman to enter a male-dominated space, and - more often than not - showing that women across the world could do the job just as well, if not better, than men.
From a young age, you looked up to these women. You wanted tobe them, too. Wanted young girls to hear stories of you in the news and think, I want to be like her when I grow up. Wanted them to look at you and realise that being a woman wasn't a burden - it was the best possible thing you could be.
You worked towards that goal for years. Until, finally, you were that woman - and you discovered that it had all been a lie.
Being a woman was, in fact, a huge stinking pile of shit.
The morning that everything changed forever, this is what you were thinking about. How just the mere fact of you having XX chromosomes seemed to warrant the vitriol of nearly every man in Seoul's 7th police precinct - your place of employment for the last five years now. You would think five years would be enough for the male officers in your department to get over themselves and accept the first female police officer in the 7th precinct into their ranks.
Evidently not.
Yesterday afternoon, you had opened your desk drawer to fetch a stapler and had instead discovered a note left there earlier that day. It was anonymous, but the author had made their feelings fairly clear. The note wasn't long; just the word 'SLUT' marked out in huge, red letters.
All because you had been on one date with a guy from the forensic pathology office the week before. You hadn't even kissed him.
You'd tried to rise above it. Had closed the drawer calmly despite your racing heart, ignoring the badly concealed snickers from around the bullpen, and tried to carry on with your work. But your hands were shaking, your eyes threatening to moisten and give you away - and the one thing you refused to do at work was cry.
If you cried, it was all over. Look at her, your colleagues would deride, as the tears rolled down your cheeks. Far too emotional to handle the demands of a police station.
