CHAPTER 49: CHAPTER 49 - GHOST-6: EXTRACTION 05

[SMPA - Seoul]

It was early morning.

Most of the station still felt half asleep, but Choi was already in his office with the lights off.

Only the monitor lit his face — pale blue light on his face, like he didn’t sleep.

Every camera feed from the subway station was open on the screen. All of them.

He kept moving between them — rewinding, pausing, jumping frames, comparing angles like puzzle pieces.

He played the first clip.

The Underworld Judge — Hyun Woo using Echo Mask — walked down the stairs.

Choi leaned closer.

The figure moved normally... but his face was blurred.

The camera recorded everything except his face — just a clean blur spot over it.

He rewound a few seconds. Played it again.

Still blurred. Same blur every time. Not natural.

Choi switched to the next camera near the ticket gate.

Same thing.

The blur didn’t break once. It followed the exact angle of every lens, like it was glued to the camera movement.

And every time the Judge passed a camera, the exposure dipped for half a heartbeat — a soft dimming that wasn’t in any error manual.

"...that’s not a glitch," Choi said quietly.

He moved to the chase footage — the part where officers were searching based on the Park Joon-Ho description.

Camera after camera...

The face blurred perfectly at every turn.

Not random.

Not accidental.

Someone was controlling how the lens saw him — or didn’t see him.

And then — Choi found the moment.

The final camera before the corner.

Blur... blur... blur...

Then — clear.

The image sharpened.

A full face.

Not Hyun Woo.

Park Joon-ho.

Choi paused the frame.

He zoomed in slow.

The image stayed clean.

No blur around it.

No brightness dip.

A clean, deliberate reveal.

He replayed that second over and over.

"...you wanted that recorded," he whispered.

He clicked to the next camera — one he personally inspected after the chase.

A column with no blind spot behind it.

The Judge slipped behind it — and vanished.

"There’s no gap there," Choi said softly. "I measured that wall myself."

But the camera footage said otherwise.

He kept playing the remaining clips — stairwell, hallway, emergency exit.

Every angle had either: the same intelligent blur or exposure changes timed perfectly with the Judge’s movements.

Finally, he reached the last clip — the one where the Underworld Judge appeared without a blur.

That face was perfectly clear too.

Park Joon-ho again.

Choi stared at the screen for a long moment.

"...so you pick," he murmured.

"You choose when we see your face...

and when we don’t."

He pulled his notebook closer.

He wrote fast, eyes still on the paused frame: The blur reacts to lens angle.

Not natural error → controlled interference.

Brightness distortion = intentional masking.

Clear face only once → deliberate reveal.

He tapped the pen twice.

He clicked his tongue once.

"...What the hell did he use?"

He leaned closer to the screen, eyes narrowing.

"A disguise? No... too clean. Too perfect."

He scratched his jaw, thinking out loud.

"Maybe it’s software messing with the CCTV... some kind of live face-swap?"

He shook his head.

"Or maybe he hacked the camera? Like... rerouted the feed and played a fake face over it. That’s possible, but why switch back to his real face right at the end?"

Another thought hit him.

"Or... some kind of device on him? Something that messes with the lens so it blurs his face in real time. Like those anti-camera jackets but... way better."

He frowned deeper.

"This doesn’t make sense. No criminal’s this precise. He’s doing it on purpose. Showing the blur when he wants, showing Park Joon-ho’s face when he wants."

Choi exhaled slowly.

"...This isn’t normal tech. Someone’s hiding something. And I’m not liking where this is going."

He took a breath, trying to calm himself, and then he stared at the frozen frame again.

"...Blur here. Clear there. Same guy... or two?"

He clicked between the timestamps, jaw tightening.

"No... it feels like one person. Same height... same steps... same damn way of moving."

He rubbed his chin a little.

"When he’s in his real form, the camera can’t catch him. Just turns into that blur."

He clicked to the next part. Park Joon-ho’s face appeared clean on the screen.

"And when he wants to be seen... suddenly he’s Park Joon-ho. Perfect. Like he’s stepping into the spotlight on purpose."

Choi leaned back, thinking hard.

"...Why? What kind of trick has this kind of restriction? Why hide only sometimes? Why show another face only at specific moments?"

He sighed, frustrated.

"This is just my gut talking. No evidence. Nothing solid."

His eyes stayed glued to the monitor anyway.

"But my instincts are screaming the same thing..." He whispered.

"They’re the same person. Two faces... one man."

Before he could rewatch the scene again, his phone buzzed.

[ Internal Dispatch Notice ]

Assignment: Confirmed

Report to: Restricted Basement C

Operation: Ghost-6

Choi read it once.

He closed the notebook without looking down. Turned off the monitor.

The screen went black, but one thing stayed in his mind —

the way the Underworld Judge showed Park Joon-ho’s face only once.

Perfect timing. Perfect angle.

Almost like he only revealed it when he wanted to.

One man. Two faces.

Blur when he’s himself...

Park Joon-ho when he wants the spotlight.

Just enough to make the world chase the wrong man.

Choi walked down the stairs to Basement C.

The place was almost empty.

No cars, no officers — just concrete pillars.

The lights buzzed quietly above, and every step Choi took echoed off the walls.

It looked less like a police floor and more like an area nobody used unless they had to.

One black sedan waited at the end of the basement.

A man in a black suit stood beside it, straight posture, hands behind his back.

Same type as the one in the Chief’s office.

Same posture. Same sunglasses. Same blank face.

As Choi approached, the man lifted his chin.

"Detective Choi Do-hyun?"

His voice was flat. Too flat. A voice trained to hide tone.

Choi stopped in front of him. "Yeah."

The man opened the back door silently.

Choi didn’t get in yet.

He looked at the driver — not staring, just a short glance.

Even that was enough.

The driver’s shoulders tightened for half a second.

Almost nothing.

Most people wouldn’t even catch it.

But Choi did.

A tiny adjustment in posture.

Like someone pretending not to react, hiding something he didn’t want anyone to notice.

The man hadn’t spoken. It was just body language. A habit of someone trained to reveal nothing.