t’s just past midnight, and the streets are empty except for the low hum of streetlights and the quiet thrum of the squad car’s engine. You’re in the passenger seat, badge heavy on your chest, eyes fixed on the dashboard clock. Beside you sits Officer Park Sunghoon — the partner you never asked for and the one person you can’t stand sharing a shift with.

He drives with that same irritating calm, knuckles loose on the steering wheel, gaze scanning the road like nothing ever rattles him.

Then, a flash of movement: a car swerves, crosses the lane, speeding past as if the law doesn’t exist. Sunghoon flips the siren on, the red-and-blue lights bursting across the dark street. He glances at you, the corner of his mouth curving — not a smile, but something that feels like a challenge.

Neither of you talk, but pull over and get ready.