The night was dense, heavy with a silence that amplified the chaos unfolding outside the Yang residence. Police sirens blared, their red and blue lights dancing across the shattered windows, illuminating the gruesome scene within. Blood smeared the walls in chaotic streaks, furniture lay in disarray, and an eerie stillness cloaked the house despite the commotion outside.

Yang Seungbin sat slumped on the front steps, his hands trembling as they clutched his face. Blood stained his fingers, dried in patches that cracked with every shudder. His sobs filled the air, a desperate symphony of guilt and confusion.

"I did it," he whispered, barely audible over the noise. His eyes, bloodshot and hollow, darted around wildly.

"I killed them... but—" His voice cracked, rising in a sudden shout.

"No! It wasn't me! I... I don't remember!"

His cries grew louder, attracting uneasy glances from the officers around him. None approached. Some stood frozen, others whispered in low tones, their discomfort palpable.

Daon arrived in the midst of the chaos, he moved with purpose through the throng of onlookers and yellow tape. His sharp gaze took in the crime scene in seconds—the shattered glass, the bloodied walls, the hollow-eyed officers.

His jaw tightened.

When his eyes landed on Seungbin, who was now rocking back and forth on the steps, he strode forward with unrelenting focus. The officer in charge moved to intercept him, but Daon brushed past, his tone curt.

"Report."

The officer hesitated, his voice faltering under Daon's intensity.

"The wife and two kids... they're gone. Multiple stab wounds. The weapon was found next to him, along with a smashed phone. He confessed—sort of."

Daon frowned, his gaze sharpening. "Sort of?"

"He's not... consistent," the officer admitted, lowering his voice.

"One moment, he's crying and swearing he didn't do it. The next, he's someone else entirely. Angry. Defiant. And then there's this... other side. He talks like a kid."

Daon's frown deepened as he turned to look at Seungbin. The man's erratic muttering and vacant stares stirred an unease in him that he hadn't felt in years. This wasn't just trauma or guilt—this was something fractured, something unnatural.

Hours later, Seungbin sat in the precinct's interrogation room, his wrists bound to the table. The stark light overhead cast harsh shadows across his gaunt features.

His demeanor shifted like quicksand, slipping between personas.

"I didn't mean to!" he wailed, his voice high-pitched and childlike. His hands clenched the table's edge as he rocked in his chair.

"Dowan told me to! I swear!"

Then, without warning, his posture straightened, and his voice dropped to a cold, menacing register.

"Don't listen to him," he growled.

"He's weak. I'm Koo Dowan, and they deserved it. Every. Single. One."

The officer in the room froze, his pen hovering mid-air as Seungbin leaned forward, his lips curling into a sneer.

"What are you going to do? Arrest me again?"

From behind the glass, Daon watched intently, his arms crossed. Each shift in Seungbin's personality brought a new layer of complexity to the case, and his mind raced to connect the dots.

"Notice his hand," Daon said quietly to the officer beside him.

The younger officer squinted. "His hand?"

Daon pointed subtly through the glass. Seungbin's fingers twitched against the table, tracing a pattern in the air that seemed deliberate. It was erratic, but there was a rhythm to it—a pattern that whispered of a plea for help or something more sinister.

"What is he trying to say?" the officer murmured.

"I don't know," Daon replied, his voice low and edged with frustration.

"But we need to find out."

Miles away, Bitna sat at her desk, her phone in one hand and a cold cup of coffee in the other. She swiped through headlines with disinterest, her patience for mundane cases long since worn thin.

Her assistant, Mando, burst through the door without knocking, clutching a thick folder.

"Bitna, this just came in. You'll want to see it."

Bitna didn't look up, her voice laced with boredom. "If it's another shoplifting case, spare me."

"It's a double homicide," Mando snapped, slamming the file onto her desk.

"Wife and kids. Suspect's claiming he didn't do it. Except..." He hesitated, lowering his voice.

"He's got more personalities than we have suspects."

Bitna's interest sparked instantly. She snatched the file, flipping through its contents with growing intrigue. By the time she reached the crime scene photos, a slow smirk spread across her face.

"This," she said, tossing the file aside, "is the kind of case I've been waiting for."

She didn't waste time. A quick phone call to Assemblyman Jeong secured her the case, along with a prime seat at the trial.

The courtroom buzzed with anticipation the next morning. Reporters lined the back, their cameras poised to capture the spectacle as Yang Seungbin was led in. His disheveled appearance—hollow cheeks, trembling hands, darting eyes—only added to the media frenzy.

Bitna sat, her sharp eyes never leaving Seungbin. She'd seen defendants break under pressure before, but this was different. This wasn't a man unraveling—it was a puzzle unraveling itself.

As the defense lawyer argued for temporary insanity, the prosecutor countered with demands for a psychiatric evaluation. The tension in the room thickened with every exchange.

Seungbin, seated at the defendant's table, began muttering under his breath. The voices—plural—rumbled low at first, then grew louder until they overlapped in a dissonant symphony.

The judge banged her gavel. "Mr. Yang, control yourself, or I'll have you removed!"

Seungbin shot to his feet, his demeanor shifting mid-sentence. "Seoyul, shut up!" he barked, his tone dark and commanding.

Then his eyes softened, and his voice dropped into a childlike whimper.

"I didn't mean to... Dowan made me do it."

Chaos erupted. Reporters whispered furiously into their mics, and the courtroom devolved into a cacophony of voices.

Bitna leaned back in her chair, her smirk fading into a contemplative frown. This isn't just a mental break, she thought.

This is something darker.

Late that night, Daon made his way to the hospital where Seungbin was being held under observation. The halls were eerily quiet, the faint hum of fluorescent lights the only sound.

He paused outside Seungbin's room, his instincts prickling. Through the small glass window, he spotted a figure moving inside.

Quietly, he slipped into the shadows of the room, his hand resting on the hilt of his concealed blade.

The figure was a woman dressed in a nurse's uniform, her movements sharp and deliberate. She disabled the guards with practiced ease before turning toward Seungbin's bed.

Her eyes glowed faintly purple as she conjured a blade from thin air, the weapon shimmering ominously in the dim light.

Daon's grip tightened. He stepped out of the shadows, his voice cold and cutting.

"Going somewhere, Judge Kang?"

The woman froze, her glowing eyes narrowing as she turned to face him.

"You should've stayed out of this, Daon," she hissed, her voice dripping with venom.

The room darkened, the air thickening as their standoff began. Daon's hand hovered over his blade, his every muscle coiled in readiness.

"What are you trying to hide?" he demanded.

Her smile was cold, predatory. "You don't want to know."

The tension in the room was electric, a fragile thread stretched taut, ready to snap.