HYDP C29

Chapter 29

Cheonguk, with practiced hands, pressed gauze against his forehead and fixed it in place with medical tape.

Meanwhile, Sanhong lowered his head, fixing his gaze on the floor so their eyes wouldn’t meet. At first, he had only thought Cheonguk was an eccentric, but the way he fussed over him to this degree now felt truly strange — enough to make him a little afraid.

“But you know what? For some reason, I keep catching this weird mix of powder-scent and fruit fragrance coming from you.”

“……”

“Do you… smear bananas on your body or something?”

Now bizarre comments were simply added on as a bonus.

Saying this, Cheonguk handed him a bottle of water. The chill seeped through the plastic. Sanhong indifferently twisted the cap open and gulped it down. During that time, Cheonguk quietly stood and turned toward the door as though to leave, only to stop when he reached it. With his back still facing him, he spoke in a low, subdued voice.

“Next time, I’ll bring back only soft things for you.”

Sanhong gave no answer. Setting the empty bottle on the table, he simply watched Cheonguk’s back with a blank face. A moment of silence passed. Then the doorknob turned, letting in a sliver of cold wind.

“Sanhong. Don’t hate me too much.”

“……”

“I get hurt too.”

When Sanhong caught sight of Cheonguk’s slightly tear-stained face, he held his breath without meaning to. At last, he slowly opened his mouth.

“Don’t act fake.”

“Busted. Our Sanhong, sharp as ever.”

“You’re amazing,” Cheonguk murmured under his breath. Then waving his arm dramatically, he declared he was really leaving this time and swung open the door noisily, disappearing outside.

It felt like a storm had swept through in an instant. Exhaustion washed over him, and Sanhong rubbed furiously at his eyes until they were bloodshot and stinging. Still, since Cheonguk had at least filled his stomach, he wanted to look a little kindly toward him — but the problem was never knowing when he would turn again, making it impossible to lower his guard.

He told himself he had to cut things off now, so as not to drain more of his emotions. Resolving that next time he would absolutely sever it, he sighed bitterly.

From that day onward, not once did Cheonguk miss showing up at the pawnshop.

And it wasn’t a metaphor — he literally had a custom stamp made with the word “Attendance” carved into it, which he shoved into Sanhong’s hand so each morning he could get a stamp on the back of his own hand, spewing nonsense while asking it of him.

The next day, and the day after, and even as a week passed, Cheonguk still visited every morning. After having his “attendance stamp” pressed on him, he would hang around for an hour or two, then vanish off leisurely somewhere. This became his routine.

“…I really do have to cut this off.”

As he had thought before, Sanhong did not want to keep seeing Cheonguk, in case some unforeseeable disaster happened. He was grateful the man hadn’t killed him and had spared him, but that didn’t mean he wanted this continuing.

So he told himself twelve minutes later, when that door would open and Cheonguk walked in, he would say it clearly. Even though some strange guilt pressed down on him, he decided to sever things coldly.

Sure enough, twelve minutes later, at 9:07, the pawnshop door swung open.

“Hey.”

“Sanhong. Lend me 300 million won.”

“……”

“Just 300 million. Please?”

Out of nowhere, Cheonguk was demanding a loan. Once again, beyond imagination.

“Just lend me 300 million. I’ll even pay interest.”

At his words, Sanhong lowered his gaze to the ledger in his hands. His instinct was to ignore him as usual. But strangely, Cheonguk’s voice had a serious note — it didn’t sound like a joke.

“Three hundred million?”

“Yeah. Exactly that. I heard your pawnshop’s the best around, isn’t it?”

Cheonguk smirked, raising one side of his lips. His tone sounded light, yet the words carried a strange gravity.

Those belonging to the Assassin Supervision Bureau rarely worried about money. Their hazard allowances reached astronomical levels, and though they had no retirement age, they factored in their short life spans, so their annual income was double that of most politicians.

There was, however, one exception: retirement.

Retired members had to live under close surveillance — shadowed, wiretapped, tracked constantly. Rather than being guaranteed a life of ease, they lived knowing they could be summoned back to duty at any moment.

Cheonguk was one of the foremost active members, so retirement was likely a thought he never entertained. Of course, given his conduct, it wouldn’t have been strange for his name to crop up often on a disciplinary board’s bulletin.

“I’ll just pretend I didn’t hear that.”

Sanhong spoke firmly, staring across the table, but Cheonguk boldly shoved his phone screen in front of him. His pitiful bank balance stared back.

“Look. I’m actually broke.”

“……”

“There are so many gambling dens around here. Tried it once just out of curiosity, and bam — lost hundreds of millions in a single day. Say, are you good at blackjack?”

“……”

“Isn’t that persuasive enough?”

Sanhong was speechless. He couldn’t tell if the words were sincere or a farce, and that uncertainty terrified him more. And before the shock could fade, Cheonguk moved swiftly to make instant coffee in the corner, then thrust a paper cup at him.

“Nothing beats this kind of crap coffee, right?”

Drinking it down with a slurp, the delighted look on his face was completely unlike someone desperate for three hundred million.

Sanhong could not tell if he was insane or genuinely in urgent need of money.

“Oh right. You said I need collateral, didn’t you?”

Suddenly rummaging his pockets, Cheonguk pulled things out: gum wrappers, receipts, a couple of coins. And finally —

“…This. Seriously?”

“Yeah. This one’s quite precious.”

What he handed over was his Salcheong Supervisory Bureau identification card, edged in gold leaf, glittering with a two-carat natural diamond. Printed clearly beside his name was “Team Leader Cheon Guk.”

Stupefied, Sanhong stared at it.

“You can’t even enter the bureau without this.”

“It’s fine. Who says I have to use the front door?”

At that, Sanhong instinctively straightened in his chair. The way Cheonguk said something so terrifying with such nonchalance was itself a kind of skill.

This wasn’t a simple card. Much like dog tags, it was forged from a special alloy that could never be destroyed. Having once carried one himself in the past, Sanhong knew all too well its value and weight.

“Why are you leaving this with me?”

“Borrowing three hundred million — trust doesn’t come cheap. And since I’ll be here often, think of it as a bribe in advance.”

“Which reminds me — why are you always coming here?”

“Because I want to see you.”

“……”

His throat went dry, leaving him at a loss for words.

“You know this gold trim has cash value too, right? So, shall we write up the contract?”

“…You seriously mean to use this as collateral?”

“Yeah. I’m serious. Just go easy with the interest. I’m dirt poor right now.”

Resigned, Sanhong set his tools down and pulled out a contract. What was this situation? Though it wasn’t his debt, he felt more and more entangled with Cheonguk.

When he’d done a background check before, there had been no debts at all. But since Cheonguk wanted it, he decided to oblige.

“Interest at 18% annually, monthly repayments, double the rate on late payments. How’s that?”

“Wow, no wonder people are scared of you. That’s brutal.”

“If you don’t like it, walk away.”

“Nah, I only said anything ’cause I wondered how your face would look if you got mad.”

Grinning leisurely, Cheonguk picked up the pen.

“You know, your expression while drafting contracts is really sexy.”

“……”

“Especially when you’re setting those steep rates.”

At that, Sanhong let out a derisive laugh.

“You’ll be taking the money in cash, right?”

“Yeah. But you don’t do credit checks?”

“I don’t.”

“That’s why so many shady types come crawling to you, huh.”

“Besides, you don’t strike me as the kind to bolt with the money.”

“Wow. You actually trust me?”

Cheonguk kept smiling as he filled in the blanks, making it impossible not to smirk in return. It was a face both irritating to look at and wearisome to deal with.

“When’s the repayment? Principal and interest both.”

“Minimum a month, maximum half a year.”

“And after that?”

Cheonguk propped his chin, smiling dopily, as though just seeing Sanhong’s face was already enough amusement.

“Then I’ll have to come visit you in person.”

“You’d even show up at my door? And if you still don’t pay?”

“……”

“Would you come find me with that same face?”

“…Well, once trust is broken, collateral never goes back. And since I’d need to recover my money, I’d do what I must.”

“So you’ve had plenty of bastards who borrowed and didn’t pay, huh? Especially the ones who underestimated you because of your looks.”

“Ah.”

His words brought memories flooding back. He remembered going to a debtor’s house once. After a few scares, the man had pulled an envelope of money from a drawer, handed it over, and disappeared quietly from the neighborhood.

“So you know exactly where to hit a man to make him comply.”

“……”

Cheonguk still hadn’t filled all the blanks. As Sanhong stared at him silently, he suddenly reached out and seized his chin.

Before Sanhong could release even a breath, he felt Cheonguk’s lips brush over the skin just below his eye.

“…What the—”

“You kissing gourami. Are you planning to keep messing with my dick, huh? Stop looking at me like that. Makes me want to strip you naked and suck you dry.”

“…You fucking psycho.”

The curse burst from him unbidden. Up until now, he’d held back in order to grant him some shred of respect, but this time he had crossed the line.

Even so, hearing swearing from him only pleased Cheonguk, who kept scribbling calmly onto the contract.