The person who cannot be caught.

There was someone I had wanted to catch for a long time.

Someone who felt close enough to touch if I just reached out, yet was always standing one step ahead.

By the time I found evidence, he had already slipped away, and when I moved in for the arrest, the place was empty.

As if he had never existed from the start.

At first, I thought it was just simple luck. That the timing was just slightly off.

But once, twice, three times. As the same pattern repeated, I realized.

This is no coincidence.

He knew.

When I move, how I investigate, and even how deep I've dug.

He was always first.

The crime scenes were always clean.

All that remained were incomplete clues. Traces that were neither too blatant nor completely hidden.

As if someone had left them there on purpose.

“Try and get this far.”

It felt like he was saying that.

And every time, I followed that temptation.

After that day, I was certain.

I am not chasing him.

I am merely following the path he created, late.

Will I ever be able to catch him?

Or—

Will the day he stops come first?

Or,

Will the day I stand in the same place as him.

One thing was certain.

This is no longer an investigation.

It is a hunt.

And he,

even now, is likely watching me from somewhere.