CHAPTER 43: CHAPTER 43 - GHOST CASE TASK FORCE

Choi pulled the first file closer to him.

It was thick, maybe fifteen pages, papers clipped together in one tight bundle.

He didn’t sit flipping pages one by one like others do.

He just placed his thumb on the edge and flicked the whole thing open in one clean motion, the papers fluttering fast, almost like someone spreading cards in a hurry.

His eyes moved fast, almost too fast.

Not scanning random lines — he went straight to the parts he knew mattered like he already knew where the important parts would be — evaluations, field reports, disciplinary notes.

He barely took a second, then he closed the file and set it aside.

The Chief blinked at him, like he wasn’t sure what he had just watched.

The man in the black suit behind him didn’t say anything, but his shoulder moved a little, barely noticeable, like the sight caught him off guard even if his face didn’t show it.

Choi did notice, even without looking up.

The small shift in the man’s posture told him enough — not a rookie, but not a real veteran either. Someone trained, but still easy to rattle.

Choi didn’t think about him again. He just picked up the second file.

Same thing — one smooth flick of his thumb, pages flashing past, his eyes following every line like he was scanning a familiar story.

It didn’t take him two seconds before he closed it too.

Then the third.

Then the fourth.

Then the rest.

Ten files in total.

Each around fifteen pages.

About a hundred fifty pages altogether.

And somehow, his mind handled it all on its own.

His eyes only needed to pass over the lines once — the rest happened in the back of his head, like a quiet machine running in the background, sorting every detail and storing it without him consciously trying.

To anyone else, it looked like he was pretending.

Like he just skimmed it for show.

But the Chief had seen that expression on Choi’s face before — the way his eyes would pause for half a heartbeat whenever he found something worth noting.

That was how Choi’s memory worked.

Not training, not a trick — just something he was born with.

One look was enough.

His mind caught everything and stored it before he even realized it.

When he finished the last one, he stacked them all neatly, took a quiet breath, and pushed five folders forward.

The Chief stared at the files, then at Choi. "You... already decided?"

Choi exhaled softly and tapped the five folders. "These ones... they’ve been in real messes before."

A small pause. "They read things quick. They don’t freeze. They don’t wait for orders."

Another pause, eyes steady. "For a normal criminal, clean records are fine."

He pushed the untouched folders away with one hand. "But for the Underworld Judge? We need hunters, not office workers."

The man in the black suit finally spoke for the first time.

His voice was flat, not emotional, but it still carried disbelief. "You actually read everything?"

Choi lifted his eyes slowly, like he was just coming out of a quiet thought.

"Yeah," he said, simple as that. "It wasn’t that long."

The room went silent for a moment.

The Chief breathed out slow, like he was tired, not sure if he should feel relieved they had someone like Choi...

or worried what kind of man they were putting in charge of the hunt for the Underworld Judge.

Choi leaned back a little, looking calm like he always did.

"These five," he said softly. "I’ll work with them."

Choi pulled the first file closer and opened it halfway.

"Kim Tae-sung," he said.

The Chief waited, but Choi didn’t explain further.

He didn’t need to. He already knew the type.

Twenty-seven. Cyber Division.

A quiet analyst buried in servers and cables.

Never talked unless someone forced him.

Never mixed with the others.

Never joined team dinners.

Supervisors always wrote the same line about him:

"Excellent at work, terrible at communication."

But Choi knew why people hated working with him —

Tae-sung solved problems faster than the people above him.

That annoyed them.

"He’s fast," Choi said, closing the file.

"He’ll do."

He reached for the next one.

"Yoon Ha-rin."

She had sharp eyes even in the photo, short hair tucked behind one ear.

Even in a still picture, she looked like someone who watched everything around her.

"Surveillance and disguise," Choi said.

"She bounced through a few departments."

Transferred four times.

Not because she was bad — but because she made everyone uncomfortable.

She slipped into roles too easily.

Sometimes even her own team didn’t know when she was acting.

Superiors didn’t like people they couldn’t read.

"She’s useful," Choi said, closing that file too.

Next.

"Lee Dong-wook."

One look told the story — square shoulders, solid build.

The type who didn’t back off in a fight even when he should.

Two suspensions, both for "excessive force."

Choi had seen this type in training camps — strong, stubborn, and hated by their instructors because they couldn’t be controlled.

"Close-combat," Choi murmured.

"Doesn’t freeze."

He pushed it aside.

Then he opened the fourth.

"Ryu Min-seo."

Her face was blank even in the photo.

Eyes steady. No expression.

People in the unit called her "stone face."

"Forensics," Choi said.

"She catches small things."

He read the notes — detailed observations, clean reports, zero emotional reaction in high-stress cases.

Colleagues said she felt "cold."

Supervisors said she didn’t know how to talk properly in meetings.

Choi didn’t need her to talk.

He needed her to see.

Last file.

"Seo Jun-ho."

Mid-thirties.

Ex-military operative.

No social media. No online stuff. The file had nothing extra about him.

Just the official records and a few blank pages where the classified missions should have been.

"Tactical," Choi said softly.

"He doesn’t panic."

Rumors said he clashed with a superior during an operation and walked out after saving a hostage without permission.

The army didn’t like soldiers who questioned orders.

So they pushed him out quietly.

Choi closed the file and pushed all five forward.

"These five," he said.

"They work on their own. And they don’t fall apart when things shift."

The Chief stared at the choices, still processing how fast Choi picked them.

Behind him, the man in the black suit twitched a little, his posture shifting for a second, like he wasn’t expecting Choi to move that fast.

Choi caught it.

He didn’t react.

Just leaned back a little.

"They’ll keep up," he said.