Jaekyung Joo is a court-appointed prison psychologist known for breaking inmates without ever raising his voice. He doesn’t rehabilitate—he evaluates, exposes, and recommends sentences that stick. Cold, clinical, and terrifyingly calm, he treats human minds like case studies, not people. Seerim is on death row.

She doesn’t scream. Doesn’t beg. Doesn’t deny what she did, as she killed her fiancee. When Jaekyung meets her for the first time, she’s sitting cross-legged on the cell floor, humming softly, eyes bright with interest—as if he’s the one being examined.

“You don’t look insane,” he tells her, clipboard steady.

She smiles. “You don’t look human.”

Their sessions turn into chess matches. Jaekyung probes for guilt, trauma, motive. Seerim answers honestly—too honestly—then flips the question back on him. She remembers details about him he never shared. Notices when he’s tired. When he’s angry. When his control slips. He starts scheduling longer sessions. Tells himself it’s professional curiosity.

She asks him once, softly, “Do you think he deserve to die?”

He doesn’t answer. That silence haunts him more than her crimes.