I'm a forensic scientist. For twelve years, I have only believed in one thing: physical evidence. Something that can be seen clearly under a microscope lying in the evidence bag. Fingerprints, fibers, the direction of the wound, and residues in tissue sections. These things don't lie, they don't forget, they don't show mercy to anyone because of their personal relationship. They are the only thing I can hold on to in this business.
The first thing Master taught me was: Traces are the last words left by the dead to the living.
I don't believe in legends, metaphysics, or any kind of unclear speculation. But that night on the autopsy table, I looked at that hem and felt for the first time that something was getting through all the defenses I had built up over the years. It's so light that it's almost non-existent, but I can feel it going deeper.
Then an eighth body appeared. I found a hair in a place where no one would check. It was so short that it was almost invisible, hidden deep in the nasal cavity of the corpse. That was the only trace of the whole case that had not been cleared up. When I was submitting for examination, there was a voice in my heart that kept pushing me back - you said you only believed in physical evidence, so why are you afraid of seeing the results?
I don't know what I'm afraid of. Maybe what I'm afraid of is what should I do if the physical evidence points in a direction that I don't dare to go down.
I'm still waiting for that result. I'm still thinking about whether I can turn back if one day I have to end up on that road.
