Crossfire Hearts

Crossfire

The thud of the gavel echoed in the room, punctuated by a heavy silence. Senior Officer Ji Changwook stood at attention, his expression stoic. He’d seen the blow coming long before it landed; arresting the minister’s son on drug charges had sealed his fate. They had warned him. But Changwook had been a cop long enough to know that bending to power wasn’t in his nature.

The precinct chief sat behind his desk, his voice cool and without empathy. “You’ve put this station in hot water, Ji Changwook. The minister is out for blood. You know the drill—disciplinary action.”

Changwook didn’t flinch. He knew what was coming next.

“We’re reassigning you. Your new partner is Recruit Song Kang. Effective immediately.”

The words landed like a sucker punch. Changwook’s eyes narrowed. Song Kang was the cocky new recruit, full of energy and self-assuredness, with barely enough experience to handle paperwork, let alone serious cases. But this was punishment, and punishment didn’t mean fairness.

The chief raised a brow. “You’re dismissed, Officer.”

Changwook nodded curtly, turning on his heel. His jaw clenched as he made his way through the precinct, dreading the inevitable encounter with his new partner.

Sure enough, Song Kang was waiting for him by the station exit. The 25-year-old’s hair was tousled, his uniform fresh and perfectly pressed, a sharp contrast to Changwook’s worn, seasoned appearance. Kang’s smirk was the first thing Changwook noticed.

“So, senior officer,” Song Kang drawled, barely hiding his amusement, “I hear we’re partners now. This is going to be fun.”

Changwook sighed inwardly. Fun was the last thing on his mind.

---

Their first few days together were nothing short of grating. The cases they were assigned were mind-numbingly mundane—missing pets, noisy neighbors, petty thefts that barely warranted the presence of two officers, let alone the department’s finest. Changwook suspected it was the chief’s way of humiliating him further.

The problem was, Song Kang seemed to revel in the mediocrity. His energy was boundless, bouncing from one small case to the next as if each one were the prelude to something bigger. He cracked jokes, often at Changwook’s expense, his enthusiasm grating on the senior officer’s nerves.

“You know,” Song Kang said one afternoon as they stood on the street corner, having just resolved a dispute over a stolen bicycle, “you could try smiling once in a while. Might even make the paperwork less miserable.”

Changwook barely acknowledged him. “I’ll pass.”

Kang shook his head, eyes dancing with mock exasperation. “Man, you’re a real buzzkill. What happened to you? Get old too fast or just born that way?”

Changwook stopped in his tracks, turning to face him. “You want to make it through this partnership without me filing for reassignment? Then cut the chatter.”

Song Kang raised his hands in mock surrender, though his grin remained intact. “Whatever you say, senior.”

The banter was constant, the bickering relentless. They were oil and water, colliding at every turn. And yet, despite the friction, there was a strange rhythm to their dynamic. Changwook had to admit—though only to himself—that Kang had a knack for seeing things differently. On more than one occasion, the rookie’s offhand comments had led them to small breakthroughs in the cases they worked, however petty they seemed.

Still, the tension between them simmered.

---

That tension came to a head one hot afternoon when a call came in from a local farm on the outskirts of town. The farmer’s voice on the radio was strained, panicked. “There’s a body—someone’s dead. It’s in the field by the barn.”