Han Joo Won did not have mysophobia. He refused to put himself in a box that was so pathetically vulnerable. He was a police officer. He'd seen decayed remains, trudged through muddy fields, but he couldn't handle sharing things at an office? He'd probably never hear the end of it.

Those at the Manyang Substation had teased him about it, and he'd reacted, as if prodded with a hot brand. He would not acknowledge the fear that began to crawl up his throat the minute that mug was offered to him. Nor would he acknowledge the way he felt like a small child all over again when it happened.

Fears like that made him weak, and an easy target. His father had drilled that illogical, irrational fear out of him was a boy. He was not afraid of germs. He just didn't like things that were unclean. Unclean, and impure.

But there were things he could never wash away. Things like the blood that stained his hands. He was in the bathroom, frantically trying to get it off. His breathing was ragged, coming too fast, and it felt like he was choking on the scent of the red staining his hands. He couldn't breathe. Couldn't think.

When arms wrapped around him from behind, he flinched, going to hit his assailant. "Get off me!" He shrugged at the person.