25th March 2013, Monday

Crisp white sleeves drawn over tanned broad shoulders, cuffs smartly rolled and resting neatly and primly over white wrists. Deft fingers buttoning the smart line of buttons; collar straightened; tie fixed.

60 seconds.

A quick swig of the final drops of Frappuccino in the Styrofoam Starbucks cup just as the bell rings. Books and teaching material neatly tucked under one arm, long legs racing to class.

60 seconds.

A deathly cry for help piercing through the thin morning air. A walking cane clattering to the pavement.Sirens, horns, blue and white police tape.

60 seconds.

***

27th March 2013, Wednesday

The clouds outside are dark and dreary, matching the monochrome grey walls of the office. Jongin sits at his desk, a splitting headache wracking his mind.

A cup of Frappuccino appears on his clattered work desk. He looks up, index fingers still massaging his temple. Junmyeon, the English teacher who teaches the level below his and sits at the desk opposite his, smiles down at him. A sad smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes, but still a smile, nonetheless. Jongin forces a smile at his colleague. He appreciates Junmyeon’s gesture, really. His day has been all but y and a cup of Frappuccino is exactly what he needs right now.

He takes in the warmth fragrance of caffeine and feels it sliding down his throat, deep and tangy. Jongin almost forgets that today is his worst day ever; he had woken up late (stupid alarm clock); the bus was caught in a massive jam; he didn’t even manage to catch his daily dose of caffeine (which explains the frumpiness and seemingly irremovable scowl plastered on his face), and to top it off some class clown thought that it would be funny to douse him with a whole bucket of ice water (“happy early April’s fools, Mr Kim!). Jongin didn’t think it was funny. Not at all.

“Kids these days,” begins a booming voice and Jongin looks up to see Mr Lu, the Chinese teacher leaning against his desk, tongue clicking, newspapers in on hand, “all up to no good.”

Jongin tilts his head confused and Lu Han stretches out his hand, passing the newspapers to him. Doseon High School Students Arrested as Suspects in Gang the headlines scream. 3 students, all 18, are the prime suspects in the gang that left a 15 year old abused and dead, Jongin reads, eyes widening at the grotesque descriptions of the trio’s unearthly crime.

“Better look after our kids. So many murders these days, first the one about the poor 16 year old and now this,” Lu Han says, still clicking his tongue at the news, “thankfully our school has a reputation for producing squeaky-clean, law-abiding students.”

“But still, we’d never know,” Junmyeon suddenly adds in, reappearing by his desk with a sandwich in hand, “those students were apparently the top students in Doseon, prefects and all.”

Jongin doesn’t hear really hear Junmyeon properly, nose too busy wrinkling at disdain at the morbidity of the entire article and its implications on the education system. He does however, catch sight of the sad smile stretched across Junmyeon’s lips. He wonders why Junmyeon always looks so sad.

***

25th^h March 2013, Monday

Kris runs his hand through his hair, breath fogging up the glass. He stares as the trees and concrete buildings whiz past but the only image in his mind was the body. The body was found lying underneath the giant oak tree in the middle of Seoul Park, almost as if he was taking a nap.  Eyes closed, lips twisted upwards into a half smile. Head tilted to the side, arms resting at the sides. It’d seem like someone was just catching some shut-eye in the park, except when your eyes come to rest on the body’s torso. . Bare. A single gash right in the neck where the carotid artery was situated. Dried blood. Crimson. Red. Danger. Alert.

The witness was a 63 year old woman, out for her daily morning walk. “I saw Chanyeol lying underneath the tree and I wanted to wake him up,” she had whispered, voice trembling.

“I walked over, bent down to shake him,” she rasped, fingers clutching onto the sides of the armchair for support, “but then I saw them. Blood. The gash. Chanyeol, he’s, dead. Why would someone do something as horrible as this to him? Park Chanyeol was a sweet boy, carry my grocery for me he would, always cheery, he didn’t deserve to die. Why him? Why?”

Whimpers escaped her trembling throat and Tao had to hurriedly rush to her side just as she slumped into his chest, limp and cold. First aid arrived on the dot, and Lee Eunkyung regained consciousness soon after. But on doctor’s order (“she’s too frail and the trauma of  all this is too much a shock for her”), the questioning had to be postphoned.

Kris shakes his head, trying to clear his thoughts. He clicked his fingers for his junior colleague, Tao to fetch a stack of writing paper over to him. Pen clicking, he quickly scribbled down a few notes on the case.

Victim

Park Chan Yeol

Age: 16

Occupation: student at Pathlight Academy.

Address: 13 Hanseon Street 18254

Relationship to witness Lee Eunkyung: neighbours

Cause of death:

Kris pauses. Sighing, he reaches over to the phone and punches in the numbers for the autopsy department.

“Be quick with it,” he snaps and the call is cut.

He turns back to the piece of paper. The blue pen hovers over the paper before a giant “suspects???” is written and circled.

“Tao,” he calls, beckoning for the younger to come closer. “I want you to do some more research on Park Chanyeol. This Pathlight Academy, I want you to find out more about it. Research on his life, the people he talked to most recently till the time of his death, the places he went. I want it in by tomorrow. And today, we are going to speak to his parents.”

“Now, sir?”

“In five,” Kris orders, straightening his uniform, “get Minseok as well, he needs to be there to deal with the crying and wailing.”

***

27th March 2013, Wednesday

Jongin finishes marking the last question on the last page of the very last test paper. He stretches, satisfied with himself. He yawns before he can stop himself and ignores his red ballpoint pen even as it rolls off the desk and lands on the tiled floor with a dull thud.

Swiveling in his chair and massaging the back of his cramped neck, he checks the wall clock. 7:07 pm. Perfect time to knock off and grab some dinner. He stretches his neck to look past the stack of files and folders to check if Junmyeon is still at his desk. Might as well treat him to dinner to thank him for the Frappuccino(s).

But Junmyeon isn’t there and Jongin figures, oh well, maybe next time and stands up, bag slung over  one shoulder ready to go when there is a sharp knock at the door.

A male student, with his hair neatly parted and uniform smartly tucked in, stands before him, face pale, teeth worrying at his bottom lip.

“Teacher,” he stutters, fingers tugging at the hem of his crisply ironed shirt, “are you free now?”

Jongin smiles at him, subtly trying to slip his bag back down onto his seat.

“Yes, sure, what is it Kyungsoo?” Jongin asks, “why are you in school so late?”

“I,” the student starts, “I need your help, teacher.”

Jongin smiles. Kyungsoo, always the hardworking one. Jongin tries to be as impartial as possible, but every teacher is bound to have favourites and it’s no secret that Jongin absolutely adores Kyungsoo. With his constantly smart attire and earnest demeanor, neat handwriting and prompt homework submissions of superb quality, Jongin thinks that if there were ever to be a national best student award, Kyungsoo would have bagged them all.

“Kyungsoo-ah, you don’t need help at all,” Jongin beams at his A-star student, “don’t tell the rest but I’ve just marked your Math papers and you’ve come in top once again.”

Jongin rummages through his drawers to find the jar of chocolates and candies and retrieves one wrapped treat and hands it over to his student.

“Now run along, and don’t worry too much,” he says and Kyungsoo bites down harder on his bottom lip. He looks at Jongin then at the door and at Jongin again before looking down at the Hershey bar in his hand.

“Teacher,” Kyungsoo starts, before shaking his head.

“Thank you, teacher,” he says, hesitating just a little before bowing and leaving the room.

Jongin thinks that this is a little odd but he brushes it off as exam pressure and when Junmyeon suddenly appears at the door (“had a little stomach upset”) grinning so widely when Jongin offers to treat him to dinner, he doesn’t really think much of the matter anymore.

A/N: dates are extremely important in this story, so please do pay attention to them! Do leave a comment please, thank you. Many love to all of you