3:10 a.m., May 28, 2016.
In an apartment building in Gwangalli, Busan, a man in his thirties steps into the elevator, home from work.
An utterly ordinary moment, caught on the building's camera.
It is the last time anyone sees him.
And three and a half hours earlier, the same elevator had carried his wife, a grocery bag in her hand.
That is the last time anyone sees her.
From that night on, the two of them have never been found.
Six months married
The husband, Mr. Jeon, was 34 at the time. He had studied music and played in a band before opening a restaurant.
His wife, Ms. Choi, was 33. She was a stage actress with a theater company.
They married in November 2015. When they vanished, they were six months into the marriage.
In their Gwangalli apartment, they lived with a small dog — a newlywed couple you might find anywhere.
The last night
Around 11 p.m., Friday, May 27, 2016.
Ms. Choi finishes her shopping at the market and steps into the apartment elevator.
An ordinary figure, grocery bag in hand, recorded on the security camera.
The next morning, at 3:10 a.m.
Mr. Jeon comes home from work and rides the same elevator up.
Up to this point, nothing is wrong.
The couple went inside, the lights went out, the night passed.
The problem is that there is nothing after it.
The day they were gone
Saturday, May 28.
Ms. Choi failed to appear at a performance she was scheduled for — no word, no call.
For an actress due on stage, vanishing from a show without a word simply does not happen.
May 29.
From Mr. Jeon's phone, a single text is sent to his business partner.
"There's something I have to take care of. I'll probably be away for a month or two."
Whether the husband truly sent that message has never been confirmed.
May 31.
Worried by the silence from his son and daughter-in-law, the husband's father reports them missing to the police.
More than twenty cameras. Zero frames of them leaving.
Police reviewed every one of the 22 cameras installed around the building.
Nine in the parking garage. Thirteen on the exterior.
Footage of the couple coming home was clearly there.
Footage of them leaving — not a single frame.
The car sat untouched in the garage.
On foot or by car, there is no record of the two of them ever leaving that building.
A police official put it this way:
Slipping out while dodging every camera was not impossible — but it would have taken movement worthy of a spy film.
A newlywed couple. In the dead of night. Why.
A house frozen in place
Inside, the home was strangely calm.
The groceries from the market sat exactly where they'd been left on the table.
The traces of someone preparing tomorrow's breakfast.
Signs they had left their phones and wallets behind. No sign of forced entry. No sign of a struggle. No trace of blood.
And the dog, alone, keeping watch over an empty house.
This is not the home of people who fled. It is the home of people who meant to step out and come right back.
Days later, the phones moved
This is where the case turns genuinely strange.
Around 9 a.m., June 2. The husband's phone leaves its final signal near a bus stop in Gijang-gun, Busan.
Around 10 p.m. that same day. The wife's phone leaves its final signal near Cheonho-dong in Seoul.
Two phones belonging to a couple who were never seen leaving their home —
five days later, in Busan and in Seoul, two cities 400 kilometers apart, rang out and went dark, separately.
Did the two of them travel there?
Or did someone carry their phones for them?
The investigation, and one person
At first, police suspected a voluntary disappearance, but within a week they reclassified it as a violent crime.
Because no newlywed couple simply evaporates — leaving behind their car, their wallets, their dog.
One person came up in the investigation.
A woman known as A — reportedly the husband's first love from his high school years, and a long-standing romantic connection.
A's movements were suspicious.
A few weeks before the couple vanished, she entered Korea quietly, telling not even her family.
Instead of a hotel, she moved between motels and jjimjilbang saunas, paying only in cash.
After the couple disappeared, she left the country two weeks early.
Then she returned to Norway and retained a lawyer.
March 2017: an Interpol Red Notice. A was taken into custody in Norway.
Reaching that point had taken a year.
And then.
The Norwegian court's decision
In 2019, the Norwegian court refused Korea's extradition request.
The reason was a single one.
A lack of direct evidence.
There is no body. There is no crime scene. There is no confession.
In a case where you cannot even prove the couple is dead, a court could not hand a person over.
A was released.
Even now, every year, the police extend the warrant.
Let one thing be clear. A was named as a suspect only; nothing about the crime has ever been proven.
It may be that A too has nothing to do with this case.
And if so — then where did the two of them go?
Before we close this drawer
Nine years have passed since that night in May 2016.
The groceries on the table have been cleared away, the dog has found a new family, and someone else lives in the apartment now.
But not one of the questions has been cleared away.
Two people who went in. Zero who came out. Two phones that moved.
The families still say they only want to know whether the two are living or dead.
If you know anything about this case — however trivial it may seem — please report it to the police.
Somewhere out there, someone knows the answer to that early morning.
They just haven't come forward yet.
