The fishy smell of summer rain drummed against the top of my head. It wasn't a downpour, but a damp, persistent drizzle that soaked the skin unpleasantly. I had already twisted the culprit's limbs and handed them over in handcuffs, but my victory was miserable.

Hey, Han I-jun. Snap out of it. Open your eyes.

The weight of I-jun in my arms was heavier than usual. The fresh blood gushing from the stab wound that pierced his abdomen soaked my clothes. I could feel the blood, which should have been hot, cooling down as it was washed away by the rainwater.

Since that day, color disappeared from my world.

As if someone had forcibly drained the saturation, the world turned into a scene from a black-and-white movie. The streetlights, the blue flag at the police station, and the people passing by all appeared in dull shades of gray. People's voices sounded like an old radio full of static, and I was just an actor moving soullessly, trapped within the frame.

The movie was over, but I felt abandoned alone in a theater where only the ending credits repeated infinitely.

Every night in my dreams, I heard the sound of that summer rain.

When I opened my eyes, the first thing I felt was the cool air from the air conditioner brushing against my cheek. And the familiar, cozy scent of fabric softener tickling the tip of my nose.