A local thief and outcasted police detective, Park Seonghwa, become unlikely partners in crime to solve a string of murders.
START: 3.31.2020
FINISH: 2.20.2021
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record 15...JULY 30
1:36 PM
LEVI IS CONSIDERING MAKING A RUN FOR IT. She has vaulted over that waist-height chain link fence before, surely she could do it once more. Her gaze moves to the man in the yard. He blinks at her impatiently.
Seonghwa is really beginning to piss her off. His arms are crossed and his eyebrows are raised in a silent taunt where he leans against a tall tree. He is in the shade while she suffers in the blistering heat. Sweat sticks tendrils of her hair to her forehead and plasters her t-shirt to her back.
At this point, she has half a mind to give up, turn her back on everything, and burrow herself in her bed sheets for a long nap. If she was lucky, maybe she would wake up to find that everything had been a dream–her childhood town not ravaged by grisly murders, her sister still breathing and wearing that shit-eating, gap-toothed grin that she misses so much. But that is just wishful thinking.
So instead, she pushes a damp stand of hair behind her ears, straightening her posture and swallowing a wave of indignation.
"Again," Seonghwa says boredly, shaking his head. Dark locks of hair hang before cold eyes. Just when she thought they were getting somewhere–a ceasefire, a place of mutual tolerance– he is back to being strict and austere.
She huffs, squaring her shoulders. Her fists are balled in front of her torso, feet staggered on the uneven grassy terrain. When she finally feels comfortable in her stance, he clicks his tongue.
"Wrong." He regards her with a stern frown, a look of disappointment. Angry swears dissolve on her tongue as he lifts his own arms, hands outstretched in fists. "Don't put your thumbs inside your fist. You can break your fingers that way." He moves his thumbs as an example. "Have them placed outside like this."
Seonghwa's posture is refined from years of experience and training. In comparison to him, Levi looks like a clumsy toddler learning how to walk. Actually, worse. At least toddlers eventually learn.
She mirrors his movement and he nods, a sign to resume. He drops his arms as she launches her fist forward.
"Wrong."
Her hands fly into the air in exasperation, a tick in her jaw. "Damn it! What's wrong now?"
They had been out in his yard for at least thirty minutes and she could not even figure out how to throw a basic punch. She is unsure of how important it is. She had gotten into a few tussles here and there in the past, unfairly attacked by school bullies or the girl Jarrod had cheated on her with. Each time she came out just fine, not necessarily uninjured but fine nevertheless, without all of the fancy training.
"Truthfully? Everything. But let's break it down piece by piece." He stretches out a toned arm, brows knit in concentration. "You need to keep your fist straight in a line with the rest of your forearm. Like this."
