I ignored the customers in the restaurant and walked step by step toward the kitchen.
I could already see the man in the white chef's uniform. It wasn't snowy white; it was blotched with stains that wouldn't come out, making it look disgusting.
The man stared at me in surprise. Just like everyone else, he seemed not to have expected anyone to barge in like this.
The brief silence in the restaurant was broken again, but quite a few people still watched me quietly, their curiosity plain.
I heard movement and voices behind me and knew the traffic cop had come in.
Fewer people were eating now. Some watched me; others looked past me.
The man I was staring at no longer looked surprised. His facial muscles relaxed, leaving him expressionless as he quietly watched me. He set down what he was holding and stood up straight, as if waiting for me to approach.
The other people in the kitchen did the same.
Those who had their backs to me turned around.
My steps faltered, and my regret deepened.
The television crackled. The news broadcast switched to another male voice, another familiar newsreader, who suddenly said, "...This is the second body discovered in recent days. The police are currently investigating..."
Gasps came from around me.
I could imagine the images playing on the television.
"...The deceased worked as a food delivery rider..."
"Ah! Isn't that—this is—"
Someone behind me cried out, followed by the sound of tables and chairs, bowls and chopsticks being knocked over.
I had already opened the kitchen door and stepped inside.
The chefs turned their heads, their eyes following me.
The moment I saw the minced meat on the counter, a nerve in my brain throbbed with pain.
"Where is he?" I asked.
Nobody in the