HYDP C7

Chapter 7

Sanhong dropped low without delay. At the same time, Cheonguk hurled a flower vase from inside the room outward. As it smashed against the wall and shards sprayed, Sanhong sprinted in.

Click—

Cheonguk re-cocked the revolver, preparing a second shot, but failed when Sanhong kicked his leg. Sanhong immediately went for Cheonguk’s jaw, thrown off-balance, but before he could land it, Cheonguk blocked his arm.

From the impact, Sanhong’s handgun hit the floor. But he made Cheonguk lose his revolver in the same instant. The field was momentarily even, and Sanhong slipped neatly out of Cheonguk’s grip as he tried to wrench his wrist.

Snatching up a shard of glass, Sanhong slashed for Cheonguk’s neck. But Cheonguk jerked his head, deflecting the strike from the vital spot. Not glass but a fingernail grazed him, leaving a red line on his cheek.

Cheonguk countered.

His knee slammed into the pit of Sanhong’s stomach; a choked sound followed. But Sanhong quickly reset his stance. Clutching the glass shard, he rushed Cheonguk again. Cheonguk punched his flank, and in that opening, Sanhong stabbed true into Cheonguk’s side.

Cheonguk’s breath stopped for a beat. Lucky he’d angled aside—an inch off and it would have been fatal. Feeling the sincerity in that strike, Cheonguk let out a short, bitter laugh.

Sanhong, too, braced against the wall, catching his breath.

It had been a full-on fight for the first time in a while. The opponent was a fresh active operative; he was retired. It was a hard bout. The spot where Cheonguk had landed a hit throbbed; he wondered if a bone had cracked.

Roughly pushing back his bangs, he drew steady breaths. He figured Cheonguk wasn’t in normal shape either and loosened his guard a touch.

Cheonguk wiped the blood trailing down his cheek with the back of his hand. It was time to end it.

In that instant, Sanhong’s face snapped into focus in his vision. And Cheonguk’s world changed.

Jingle… jingle….

From the stabbed flank, a numb ache spread as sensation dulled. Strength was draining so fast that without snapping to, it felt like death could come at once.

Catching his breath a moment, he turned toward the bell ringing through the pawnshop. He’d clearly heard it, yet something was wrong.

A hallucination? It wasn’t a sound from somewhere out there; it was like a tolling from deep inside his head.

The next moment, what entered his sight was Sanhong, leaning against the wall, panting.

A forehead revealed beneath swept-up bangs, well-ordered features, and lips stained red….

The world stopped. Had the world ever been this beautiful? Could something with colors like this exist in this sewage-like reality?

Only then did Cheonguk understand everything.

Why he had sprinted so single-mindedly toward this pawnshop, why he had brushed off even the order to kill like it was nothing. He understood it all, at last.

“You were trying to tie us together….”

What burst out wasn’t a scoff but real laughter.

Madness was mixed in, and rapture followed close behind. Then suddenly, a warning flashed across his mind.

“If you hesitate, you die. The second you see him, kill him. Got it?”

“Fuck… how the hell am I supposed to kill this….”

Cheonguk picked up the revolver from the floor. Then he pressed the muzzle, not to Sanhong, but to his own thigh.

“…What are you—”

Before Sanhong could finish—

Bang!

There was no hesitation. With an ear-splitting gunshot and pain like a red-hot spit ramming through flesh, Cheonguk was certain. A hollow laugh escaped at a pain he’d never felt in his life.

“This isn’t a dream.”

This was already the love style of a Cheonguk who had gone mad.

“……”

At the pull of the trigger, the gunshot cleaved the pawnshop air like it would rip ears apart. The round punched through his thigh, tearing flesh and muscle. The searing pain—like a heated poker stabbing his own thigh—snapped his eyes wide open. It was pain beyond words, proving it was no dream.

“Damn… fuck… it wasn’t a dream?”

“……”

Lucky he’d aimed for his thigh instead of his head; otherwise, it would’ve been instant death—his knees went weak at the thought. Watching blood bead and fall in circles from the wound, dizziness surged. The bell tolling in his head was gone now. His mind was drifting foggier by the second.

Across from him, sitting, mouth slightly open, Sanhong gasped in disbelief. Were young contract killers these days this reckless? Or did they just not value their lives… Either way, he was shocked on multiple counts.

At least it seemed Cheonguk had dropped the intent to kill him. Physically and mentally, he was in a tight spot; that was a relief. But priority was checking the other party, so he hurried over to him.

“…Is he insane.”

More than anything, a corpse turning up here was absolutely unacceptable. This was his space. A place under his control. If a corpse belonging to the bureau turned up, it could mean gutting the entire pawnshop. With that thought, he met Cheonguk’s eyes.

“Those eyes are something.”

They were quintessential contract killer eyes—the gaze that treats human life like a joke. It almost dredged up old memories, but as ever, nothing came clear beyond that. It was a memory problem.

He took the first-aid kit neatly set on a shelf. He had stocked it long ago for contingencies. He had never imagined using it like this.

Half out of his mind, Cheonguk couldn’t judge straight. He could bleed out and die, so first, he hurriedly wrapped the thigh to staunch the bleeding. Hearing the nonsense he was spouting, he grew briefly serious—maybe the blood loss was affecting his brain.

“Hey….”

“Thirty-three, that’s a lie.”

“……”

“You’re younger than me. Why’s a kid doing this job? With a face like that, you’re not ordinary. Do something else. Or are you being blackmailed?”

He even dropped honorifics, pressing him. From his vantage, it was a tantrum from a wet-behind-the-ears brat.

Kids these days had too much energy—their wavelength didn’t match his. A personality like Cheonguk’s, bouncing so hard it practically deep-fried, was the polar opposite of his. He ignored it cleanly and inspected the wound. Then Cheonguk snapped, swatting his hand hard.

“Baby, you don’t know how to do this.”

“…Bullshit….”

“Watch your mouth.”

For the first time in months, he swore.

Otherwise, there was no mental fortitude to endure this situation. He quickly pinched a cotton ball with tweezers and poured saline on it. On close look, the bullet seemed to have glanced off—thankfully not buried in the flesh. Misfortune, yet fortunate.

He moved swiftly treating the wound. Moments ago they had been aiming only for each other’s vitals, trying to kill; now, facing each other like this felt oddly surreal. And the way Cheonguk stared at him—hot—was so oppressive he avoided eye contact as much as possible. For the first time, he realized that being looked at that way could make one’s stomach lurch.

“…Hey. Sanhong.”

“……”

“My dick’s there—clean around it carefully.”

Even his word choice was unfiltered. In the end, as instructed, he disinfected while avoiding that area as much as possible.

“…But seriously, you’re beautiful.”

“……”

“I think I’ve fallen. For real.”

He acted like a man half-bewitched. If he’d been drugged, this would make sense; as it was, it was enough to drive one mad—like someone who’d cracked his head after fighting well alone.

“You’re from the Assassin Supervision Department, aren’t you.”

His voice was quiet but firm.

“Yeah. You know me? What an honor.”

“…I’ll come find you later. So, let’s end this for today.”

He tried to maintain courtesy to the end. It was also because he wanted to draw a hard line. But they weren’t a clan that would accept that smoothly. Cold and ruthless by nature, a request like his would surely be rejected, and brutally at that. And then—

“Okay.”

“…What?”

“Okay. I’ll go. Today.”

Unexpectedly, he nodded and answered meekly. The tone was half play, half sincere.

“I’m not joking.”

“Neither am I.”

Their positions were set in iron.

He was suspicious of how easily Cheonguk agreed. Regardless, Cheonguk poured saline over his thigh.

“I don’t usually react instantly. My standards are really high.”

Somehow, his tone felt different than a moment ago.

“You’re truly beautiful, Sanhong.”

“……”

“I want to give you all my pension.”

It was brazenly straightforward.

“So I’ve got one request—look, I’m not a weirdo.”

“…….”

No one who says that ever turns out fine—only the speaker doesn’t know it.

“Let me suck just one finger? I won’t ask to suck anything else.”

“…….”

“My preference is the index.”

Quietly, he picked up the revolver from the floor. Cheonguk chuckled, telling him to relax.