Han Seo-joon sat in the cold, sterile room of the police station, his arms crossed and his expression unreadable except for the faintest hint of annoyance that tugged at the corner of his lips. The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, adding to the tension that had been steadily building since the moment he was escorted inside. His friends—just as cocky and reckless as he was—had already been questioned, their statements vague and defensive, full of entitlement.

Seo-joon, the youngest son of the Han family, a name synonymous with power and wealth in South Korea, was accustomed to brushing off situations like this. To him, this was just another inconvenience, another hiccup that money and influence would soon smooth over. The fact that a random citizen had been injured, sent to the E.R. no less, barely registered as anything more than a slight annoyance in his mind. After all, street racing was practically a sport among the elite—what was the harm in a little fun?

Opposite him sat Detective Kang Hae-won, her eyes sharp as knives, boring into him with a coldness that could freeze an entire room. She was tall, with an air of authority that came not from her position, but from the way she carried herself—like someone who had seen too much, dealt with too much, to tolerate any nonsense. Her jaw was tight, her lips pressed into a thin line, the telltale signs of a woman who had already run out of patience.

"Mr. Han," she began, her voice calm but with an edge that sliced through the silence like a blade, "are you actually aware of what you've done?"

Seo-joon sighed, running a hand through his perfectly styled hair, his eyes barely meeting hers. "I don’t care," he said, his voice dripping with disinterest. He shifted in his seat, his expensive leather jacket creaking as he did so. "Get me out of here. It’s not my fault that dumbass got in my way."