The frost-laden roads of Hannam-dong glimmered faintly under the dim streetlights as Minjun tightened his scarf, glaring at his breath fogging up the cold night air. Inside the cramped minivan, he adjusted his gloves and nudged the heater dial higher. Siwoo, bundled in layers, cradled a thermos between his gloved hands.
“Don’t let the camera cool down, Siwoo,” Minjun muttered, his voice hushed but firm. “If it freezes up, it won’t be ready when we need it.”
Siwoo sighed, leaning back against the seat. “I know. But it’s so cold I can’t sleep. My fingers are already numb.”
They’d been parked here for hours, stationed near President Yoon Seok-yeol’s official residence, their agency demanding round-the-clock coverage. With an arrest warrant looming over the president and allegations of rebellion fueling the national crisis, the tension was palpable. The duo had no choice but to brave the biting cold, waiting for the slightest hint of movement from within the guarded compound.
Siwoo peered out the frosted window. “What if nothing happens tonight? We’re freezing out here for—”
His words were cut short as a figure emerged from the shadows, walking toward their vehicle. The man wore a black coat, his hands buried in his pockets.
“Another cockroach,” Siwoo grumbled, sitting up straight.
The man stopped next to the minivan, his breath visible in the chill. He knocked on the window with two fingers, his face calm and unreadable.
“Driver’s license and registration,” he said with a faint smile.
Minjun rolled down the window just enough to speak. “We’re press, sir. You already know that.”
The security officer tilted his head slightly. “Thank you for your hard work in this cold weather,” he said, his tone unexpectedly cordial.
Minjun and Siwoo exchanged puzzled glances. This wasn’t the usual harassment they’d come to expect from the Presidential Security Service.
“There’s a better spot for your interviews about 200 meters down the road,” the officer continued, gesturing behind him. “The other reporters are there, too.”
“Wait,” Minjun said, leaning closer. “Why aren’t you interrogating us? What’s going on?”
The officer hesitated for a moment, his eyes flicking toward the residence behind him. “Not tonight,” he said simply. “But we’d appreciate it if the media keeps a close watch on the president.”
Siwoo frowned. “Why?”
The officer’s smile faded. “Because we want to prevent him from doing anything rash. Suicide. Escape. You understand.”
The weight of his words settled heavily in the air. Minjun’s journalistic instincts flared to life, but his heart sank at the same time. The layers of this crisis were deeper than he’d imagined.
Before they could ask more, the officer straightened his coat and nodded. “Stay warm out here,” he said, turning to walk back into the darkness.
Minjun stared at the retreating figure, his thoughts racing.
“This isn’t just about politics anymore,” he muttered. “This is survival.”
Siwoo unscrewed the thermos cap and took a shaky sip. “Yeah, well, it’s not just his survival we’re talking about.”
The two reporters sat in silence, their vigil stretching into the frozen night, as the shadows of South Korea’s political storm loomed larger than ever.
All names of people and organizations appearing in this story are pseudonyms.
South Korean Court issues arrest warrant for suspended president Yoon Suk-Yeol
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