The tension in the HQ was palpable, every team member lost in their own thoughts as they pored over files and footage. I.N was the first to notice something odd. His hand trembled as he drew a line through the ages of the victims on the whiteboard.

"Wait," I.N said, his voice breaking the heavy silence. "Look at this."

The others turned their attention to him. He had arranged the victims by their ages, writing them down in neat order:

32 – Farmer
31 – CIA Agent
30 – Doctor

"Why does this feel... deliberate?" Y/N asked, leaning in closer.

"It's not random," Chan murmured, crossing his arms as his sharp eyes scanned the board. "The killer is moving down, targeting victims in descending order of age. First the oldest, now the youngest. And each one..."

"...is an orphan," Seungmin finished grimly.

Han frowned, his gaze flicking between the board and his laptop. "But what's the connection? Why kill them in this specific order? There's nothing tying their careers, lifestyles, or even locations together apart from Busan."

Felix, nursing yet another cup of coffee, added, "And if the schoolboy was 18, then..." He hesitated, the realization dawning on him.

Y/N completed his thought, her voice heavy. "The next victim is 17."

Everyone went still.

"Do we have any leads on who it could be?" Chan asked sharply, his mind already racing to formulate a plan.

Han's fingers flew over his keyboard as he accessed the financial records tied to the anonymous orphan fund.

 After a few tense moments, he found the answer. "Seo Min-jae. Seventeen years old. Lives in Busan. Received a substantial inheritance from the fund last month."

"A kid," Felix muttered, his tone filled with dread. "The killer's targeting a kid."

"It doesn't make sense," Lee Know said, his voice unusually tense. "Why target them at all? Why orphans?"

Silence fell over the room.

Seungmin leaned back, his analytical mind already working. "If they had no family, it means no one to report them missing immediately. No one to push for answers. They'd make easier targets."

"We're missing something," Chan said, as he ran a hand through his hair. "There has to be a deeper meaning behind this pattern. But right now, we don't have time to figure it out. We need to find Seo Min-jae before the killer does."

The room sprang into action. Gear was packed, assignments were given, and every second felt like a race against an invisible clock.

As Y/N secured her weapons, she glanced at Lee Know, who was staring at the whiteboard with a dark expression.

"You okay?" she asked, her voice soft but firm.

Lee Know didn't look at her. "This... feels personal. Whoever's doing this isn't just killing—they're sending a message. And we're not going to like what it says."

Y/N felt a chill run down her spine but didn't reply. Whatever the killer's motive, they were about to find out. And she had a feeling it would be worse than they imagined.

***

The team arrived at a modest apartment complex in Busan, their steps heavy with the weight of uncertainty. Seo Min-jae, the 17-year-old boy, was their only lead now. They weren't sure what they were walking into, but the urgency of the case demanded answers.

Bang Chan knocked on the door, keeping his expression neutral. After a few seconds, it creaked open to reveal a bright-eyed boy. Seo Min-jae's face was unguarded, an air of innocence surrounding him.

"Can I help you?" he asked, tilting his head.

Chan held up his badge. "We're investigators. We'd like to ask you a few questions. Is now a good time?"

Min-jae blinked in surprise but stepped aside, gesturing them in. "Sure, I guess. Is something wrong?"

The room was sparse yet clean, the kind of space someone with limited means would call home. On the table sat an envelope stamped with the orphanage's emblem, half-opened, with a few crisp banknotes visible inside.

"Nice place," Y/N said casually, her eyes scanning the room.

"Thanks," Min-jae replied, scratching the back of his neck. "It's nothing fancy, but it's mine."

As Seo Min-jae went to get them water, the team subtly began scanning the room. It was a typical high schooler's space—chaotic and lived-in. Clothes were strewn over the back of a chair, and textbooks and snacks fought for space on the desk.

Seungmin's sharp eyes caught something on the desk: an envelope, neatly sealed, with a logo in the corner—a simple image of an elephant near a beach. Something about it tugged at his memory, though the exact connection eluded him.

Walking over, he picked it up carefully, holding it between his fingers. "This logo," he muttered to himself, tilting the envelope for a better look. "I've seen this somewhere before."

At that moment, Seo Min-jae returned, holding glasses of water. He froze briefly when he saw Seungmin holding the envelope.

"What's this?" Seungmin asked, raising the envelope slightly as he turned to the boy.

Min-jae hesitated, shifting on his feet. "Uh... it's nothing, really," he said, his voice a little too casual. "Just... something I got from my orphanage."

Chan's gaze sharpened, though his tone stayed light. "From your orphanage? What for?"

Min-jae hesitated again before sighing. "It's my payout. The money they give us when we turn 17. I got it last week, right after my birthday."

"That's fast," Y/N remarked, leaning against the wall with her arms crossed. "Do they usually process it that quickly?"

Min-jae shrugged. "I guess? I wouldn't know how it works for others. They just called me in and gave it to me. I've been saving most of it, though. Didn't want to spend it all at once."

Seungmin exchanged a glance with Chan before looking back at Min-jae. "This logo... is it from the orphanage itself?"

"Yeah," Min-jae confirmed, nodding. "It's their logo. They use it on everything—letters, files, even the sign at the entrance. Why?"

Seungmin didn't answer immediately, but his grip on the envelope tightened slightly. He could feel a piece of the puzzle beginning to slot into place, though the full picture remained elusive.

"Just curious," he finally said, placing the envelope back where he'd found it. "Thanks for explaining."

Min-jae smiled, though he still seemed uneasy. "No problem. Is there anything else you need from me?"

Chan stepped forward, offering his card. "No, not for now. Just make sure you stay safe, okay? If anything seems unusual, or if someone contacts you out of the blue, let us know immediately."

"Will do," Min-jae said, his tone lighter now.

As the team left the apartment and walked down the dimly lit hallway, Seungmin finally spoke up. "That logo—it's from the orphanage, but I've seen it somewhere else. I'm sure of it."

"Think harder," Y/N said, her tone urgent. "If it's connected to the orphanage and the victims, it could be our next lead."

"I will," Seungmin promised. "But that envelope... I can't shake the feeling it's more important than it seems."

Chan nodded grimly. "We'll dig into the orphanage's finances and operations. If this payout is linked to all the victims, it might not be a coincidence. We're running out of time."

The team stepped out into the evening air, their thoughts heavy. The clock was ticking, and the 17-year-old boy might not realize just how much danger he was in.

***

The atmosphere at HQ was thick with tension as the team gathered around the whiteboard. Chan stood at the center, marker in hand, while Seungmin pinned new notes and photographs alongside the existing information. The others were seated, their focus razor-sharp.

"Let's break this down," Chan began, his voice steady but intense. "The victims—fifteen so far—have one major thing in common. They all received their payouts from the orphanage this year."

He wrote 2024 Payouts in bold letters at the top of the board.

"But here's where it gets strange," Y/N added, leaning forward in her chair. "Not all of them just turned 17. In fact, most of them received their payouts years after they were supposed to. Why now?"

Felix, his brow furrowed, flipped through a stack of files. "The farmer, for example—he was 32. His payout was delayed by 15 years. And the CIA agent, 31. Same story. Everyone except the schoolboy, who got his money right after his birthday this year."

"And Seo Min-jae," Seungmin said, glancing at the photo of the 17-year-old pinned on the board. "He just turned 17, so his payout wasn't delayed. But it still fits the pattern."

"What ties them together?" Hyunjin asked, his voice low. "Why would the orphanage suddenly release all these delayed funds this year? And why are they being targeted only after they've received the money?"

A heavy silence fell over the room.

"It's almost like the money is... a trigger," Y/N suggested cautiously. "But why? Is it about the money itself, or something connected to it?"

Seungmin, quiet but visibly deep in thought, sat slightly apart, flipping through his notes. The image of the elephant logo from Min-jae's envelope kept circling in his mind like a ghost refusing to be ignored.

Suddenly, his eyes widened. He bolted upright, a spark of realization lighting up his face.

"I've seen this before," Seungmin blurted, breaking the heavy silence in the room.

Everyone turned to him, startled.

"This logo," he said, pulling out the photo of the envelope he had discreetly taken from Min-jae's house. "The elephant near the beach—it's not just any logo. It belongs to an organization tied to a massive trust fund. Two years ago, I was on a security detail for a high-ranking official at a gala event. That trust fund was the host. They claimed to collect over 100 billion won for charity."

Chan frowned, leaning closer. "A hundred billion? That's no small change. What's the connection to the victims?"

Seungmin pinned the photo of the logo to the whiteboard. "The gala was presented as a way to 'give back' to orphans. But I remember overhearing something strange that night. One of the officials mentioned how the fund had been inactive for years—practically frozen. They were surprised it had suddenly started paying out again, and at such a scale."

"Frozen for years..." Y/N echoed, a chill in her tone.

"And now it's moving," Hyunjin said. "Right when these murders start happening. That can't be a coincidence."

Seungmin nodded. "What's more, the trust fund had an unnamed benefactor. No one knew who they were, but they had absolute control over when and how the funds were released."

"Someone is pulling the strings," Felix said grimly. "And they're using these payouts as bait—or a trigger."

Y/N crossed her arms, her mind racing. "If the killer is tied to this trust fund, it means they have access to the beneficiaries' information. That's how they're selecting their targets. The question is: why? What's the motive?"

"Could it be about the money itself?" Chan asked. "Or something deeper—revenge, maybe?"

"Or a cover-up," Seungmin said quietly. The room fell silent at his words.

"Explain," Y/N urged.

"If the trust fund was frozen for years, and now it's suddenly paying out... what if someone is trying to clean up a mess? The victims might've known—or were about to learn—something they weren't supposed to," Seungmin suggested.

Chan's jaw tightened. "Then Seo Min-jae isn't just the next target. He might be the key to unraveling this entire thing."

Hyunjin tapped his pen nervously on the table. "We're running out of time. If the killer strikes only after the payout, Min-jae could already be in danger."

"Then we protect him," Chan said firmly, glancing around the room. "But we also dig deeper into this trust fund. Seungmin, pull everything you can on that organization and the gala. Felix, track any records of these payouts—who authorized them, when, and why."

"And the benefactor," Y/N added, her voice cold and steady. "We need to find out who they are. They're either the killer—or the reason this is happening."

Seungmin nodded, his determination renewed. "If the answers are in that trust fund, I'll find them. No matter what."

The weight of the case heavy on their shoulders as the pieces began to fall into place—each one more disturbing than the last.

As the team scattered across the HQ, Chan's phone buzzed violently on the table, the harsh tone slicing through the tense air. He glanced at the screen and saw the name: Kwon-ii, the highest official of the Seoul Government Agency—the very person who had put them on this case.

With a sigh, Chan picked up the phone, bracing himself. "This is Chan."

The voice on the other end was sharp and thunderous, echoing through the room even though Chan held the phone to his ear.

"Chan! What the hell is going on over there?" Kwon-ii barked. "It's been weeks since this case was handed to you. WEEKS! And yet, all I see are more bodies piling up while your team chases shadows!"

Chan winced but kept his tone measured. "Director Kwon-ii, we're making progress—"

"Progress?" Kwon-ii cut him off, his voice rising. "Do you think progress is going to bring back the dead? Or stop the next victim from dropping into a morgue? Because that's exactly what's going to happen if you don't get your act together!"

Chan clenched his fist, inhaling deeply. "Sir, we're uncovering new leads that tie the victims to a trust fund. We believe it's connected to the killer's motive, but it's taking time to confirm the details."

"I don't care about your theories or connections," Kwon-ii spat. "The public is panicking, and I've got reporters breathing down my neck, demanding answers. If you can't handle this, I'll find someone who can."

The words stung, but Chan forced himself to remain calm. "With respect, sir, no one knows this case better than we do. Pulling us off now will only set the investigation back."

There was a pause, but it wasn't reassuring. When Kwon-ii spoke again, his tone was cold and clipped. "Fine. You've got 48 hours to show me results, or I'll make the call myself. And Chan—if another body shows up in the meantime, I'll make sure your name is the first one people hear in the press."

The line went dead before Chan could respond.

He lowered the phone slowly, his jaw tight with frustration. Around him, the team had stopped what they were doing, their eyes on him. They didn't need to hear the other side of the conversation to know it had been bad.

"Trouble?" Y/N asked, her voice laced with sarcasm but her gaze serious.

"Trouble," Chan confirmed, tossing the phone onto the table. He ran a hand through his hair, his frustration evident. "We've got 48 hours to show results—or we're out. And if we're out, this case might go cold for good."

Hyunjin leaned back in his chair, his expression grim. "No pressure then."

"We're not losing this case," Chan said firmly, his tone leaving no room for doubt. "Not when we're this close. Seungmin, double down on that trust fund lead. Y/N, I need you and Felix to follow up with the orphanage directly—dig up everything you can about who manages those payouts. Hyunjin, work on the profiles of the previous victims. If there's a common thread beyond the orphanage, I want to know about it."

"And what about Min-jae?" Y/N asked.

Chan's eyes hardened. "We protect him at all costs. If the killer's next move depends on him, we're going to make sure they don't get the chanc-"

The door swung open with a loud creak, breaking the tense silence. In walked Han, Lee Know, Changbin, and I.N., each carrying an absurd number of takeout bags filled with food.

"Delivery!" Han announced, a grin plastered across his face as if they'd just saved the day.

"We figured if we're solving mysteries, we might as well do it on a full stomach," Lee Know added dryly, setting his pile of food down on the nearest table.

Chan blinked at them, momentarily thrown off by the sheer number of takeout covers. "What the—how much food did you buy?"

"Enough to feed an army," Changbin said, pulling out a box of fried chicken. "Which, let's face it, we basically are."

I.N. held up two coffee cups triumphantly. "And these—Felix and I, your caffeine saviors, present you with fresh brews!" He set the cups in front of Felix, who gave a tired but grateful smile, and Y/N, who muttered a quiet "Thanks."

"You guys do realize we're on a deadline, right?" Seungmin said, raising an eyebrow as he motioned to the piles of food now covering a significant portion of the workspace.

"Exactly," Han said, opening a box of dumplings. "And deadlines require fuel. Plus, this will keep us going for the long night ahead."

Hyunjin, who had been quietly observing, grabbed a skewer of tteokbokki without hesitation. "Well, if we're eating, I'm not complaining."

"Seriously, though," Chan said, half-annoyed, half-amused, "this timing is impeccable. Do you have any idea what's happening right now?"

"Only that you all look like you could use a break," Lee Know said, his tone casual but his gaze sharp. "And trust me, better we brought this in than you lot collapsing halfway through."

Chan sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose, but didn't protest further. "Fine. Ten minutes. Then we're back to it. We've got 48 hours, and I'd rather not waste a single second."

"Ten minutes is all we need," Changbin said confidently, digging into his food.

As the team reluctantly grabbed plates and food, the tension in the room eased just slightly. It wasn't much, but even this brief moment of normalcy felt like a lifeline amid the chaos.

But as Chan sipped his coffee, his mind was already spinning again. This break might have given them a moment to breathe, but the clock was still ticking—and the case wasn't going to solve itself.