HYDP C34

Chapter 34

It was infuriating enough to make it feel like Mr. Park had taken advantage of leniency and acted carelessly, mistaking what was usually let slide for weakness. Because of that, Sanhong resolved that no matter what, he would get the money from Mr. Park.

Pushing through the greasy air unique to gambling dens, Sanhong walked without expression. His not-so-great sense of smell was assaulted by the harsh reek of cheap air freshener. He was just about to slip past the char-blackened wallpaper under a burned-out fluorescent light.

A table choked with smoke caught his eye to one side. Then the back of a man sitting casually with his back turned came into view.

Broad shoulders and back, and a narrow waist by contrast—his eyes were pulled there without thinking. Beside him sat an empty bottle of liquor.

The sight made Sanhong’s steps pause ever so slightly.

“…Cheonguk?”

Murmuring softly enough for only himself to hear, Sanhong narrowed his eyes and traced the nape of the man he assumed was Cheonguk.

It was a very familiar back. Before long, that back slipped quietly into the private room.

The private room was where high-stakes bets were placed, so it wouldn’t be Cheonguk. Telling himself he’d been mistaken, Sanhong let out a hollow laugh.

“…That’s impossible.”

There was no way the always-busy Cheonguk would be here.

“Now I’m seeing things.”

Muttering to himself like a small incantation, Sanhong left the gambling den.

Only after Sanhong exited did the identity of the man—whom one would have thought went into the private room—reveal itself.

“Hey, man. What’re you doing there? Someone inside?”

“Ah. Sanhong.”

Lifting his eyes slowly to the man, Cheonguk raised one corner of his mouth. It was a strange look—lips smiling with no trace of laughter in the eyes—but his face made one forget the oddity.

“Ah, Sanhong! Pretty, right? His face makes people second-guess themselves.”

“Yes.”

“Heh. But don’t like anything too pretty too much. That Yeon Sanhong’s not only pretty, he’s even an omega—how do you think he’s still walking around this shitty neighborhood in one piece?”

“Well, probably ‘cause he’s pretty as hell.”

“He talks all calm, but he’s got a hell of a temper. Hell!”

One of the men in the group, perhaps feeling a flicker of rapport, kept explaining things to Cheonguk. Arms folded, Cheonguk quietly listened.

He learned when Sanhong showed up in the neighborhood, what he does, even things he hadn’t known about how he handled his heat cycles.

“He calls other guys in to get him through his heat?”

“I’m telling you. The guts on that guy are no joke. I even heard he pays tens, even hundreds in bonus per session sometimes.”

“Ah—”

“Thanks to that, everyone here’s got their eyes blazing, just waiting for those days.”

Nodding along, a thin smile curled on Cheonguk’s lips.

“So, mister—ever screw with Sanhong?”

Step by step, as he approached, there was something oddly giddy in Cheonguk’s face.

The man, suddenly finding him so close, stammered in surprise. But under the relentless prodding, he finally gave in.

“No. I haven’t… Some of the guys playing poker there have.”

That should have been answer enough, but Cheonguk stepped in even closer. It was an uncomfortably tight distance.

“Not even rubbed lips?”

“…I’m telling you, he’s not someone you can push around. I said it—he looks gentle, but he’s a loan shark. A real loan shark.”

“Ah—loan shark.”

“Right! So don’t ever borrow from him. Word is… if you don’t pay back, you vanish without a trace.”

Even as he watched for Cheonguk’s reaction, the man said everything he wanted to say. Cheonguk mulled it over quietly, tasting the words, then finally spoke.

“Already borrowed.”

“…What? From Sanhong? H-how much?”

“Three hundred million.”

“……”

Even the guys listening nearby stared at him, aghast. As if their looks amused him, Cheonguk arched a brow, arms still folded.

“So, do all the ones who don’t pay back end up dead?”

“…Not certain, but a few who never paid back to the end… one day, they just vanished.”

“……”

“I also heard if you pay up after a warning, they’ll let you go if you leave this neighborhood under conditions.”

“…Then not paying seems more profitable.”

“Huh? What’d you say?”

“Anyway, today was fun. Tell me more next time.”

“Leaving already?”

“Yes. Keeps losing, so it’s no fun.”

As the easy mark stood up, a trace of regret flickered in the men’s eyes.

Buoyed by the new tidbits about Sanhong, Cheonguk felt peculiarly elated. Leaving Golden Illusion, he checked the mountain of missed calls and dialed back immediately.

[Hey. You bastard. You really not gonna get it together? There’s something important today—]

“I’m coming now.”

Click—

Even as Cheonjung muttered about that rude bastard after the call was cut short, Cheonguk only tapped the back of his earbud twice with an index finger, as if everything bored him, and sauntered off. In his head, he thought of nothing but Sanhong.

Before long, Cheonguk’s Jinx came to a stop at the edge of a garment factory. With a rumble—like thunder—the engine cut off, and silence settled over everything.

The heavy stomp of rugged boots kicked the ground with a thud, rattling the night air.

“Hey. Boss, over here.”

The team, already on standby and fully prepared, received him. Cheonguk immediately opened the back door to change. Slipping into a tight black turtleneck, he checked his firearm and rounds with practiced ease. He drew the balisong strapped to his ankle band—shring—the keen sound sliced through the night.

“Name’s Jo Mun-hyeon. Been ‘retired’ three years, but the five corpses found in Dong-gu recently are all our style. No knives—severs arteries with fishing line.”

It was the same thing the Deputy Director had drummed into their ears the day before, but the team ratcheted up their focus again.

Suho scrolled through the briefing screen showing a man in a gray suit, with photos and crime records. He snorted.

“That’s not retirement—that’s a talent sabbatical.”

“Shut it. Location?”

“Only works nights at the factory. He’s inside now.”

“Perfect. Quick in and out, then straight home.”

“Got it.”

Skimming the report with a cursory glance, Cheonguk nodded, tossed it onto the back seat, and shut the door. The scattered team clustered up, each biting down on a cigarette. It was a ritual unique to their unit before deployment.

Only Suho slipped farther away.

Months into a hard-won quit, Suho had cut tobacco with sheer stubbornness. Every time, Cheonguk would say:

“That bastard’s got insane grit.”

“Seriously. How’d he quit?”

“Even with a knife at my throat, I couldn’t.”

“…One day, depending on the situation, you might.”

At Suho’s pushback, Cheonguk only sneered.

“Yeah, right. Like a dog giving up crap.”

“You’re the ultimate dog of a bastard, so it’ll be fine.”

Afraid an axe might come flying, Suho darted away after dropping the line.

On a normal day, someone would’ve been buried alive by now, but instead, Cheonguk snuffed his cigarette and drifted toward the garment factory where Jo Mun-hyeon was.

“If it feels like you’re going to die?”

“Let go clean.”

“Move.”

It was a heartless motto, but the team followed with familiar satisfaction. Then Cheonguk tossed out:

“Hey. What should we eat after?”

“Gopchang.”

“Samgyeopsal.”

“Beer.”

Even ambushed with the question, each replied casually.

“Eat it all.”

“For real?”

“If I’m alive.”

Suho glared at the back of his head with a face full of disgust. Chuckling, Cheonguk reached back a hand; Suho placed a small syringe in it.

It was a special narcotic sedative approved for their unit. Designed to neutralize targets swiftly in a short span. Carefully, Cheonguk pocketed it.

The night air was damp, heavy as if rain might fall.

Moisture soaked into his clothes, clinging to his skin. In the clammy air, he exhaled a low breath and crooked a faint smile.

The garment factory sat in darkness. The old sign still flickered dimly, and a gaunt curtain fluttered between open windows.

“Wait here.”

“Please bring him out fast. When I think about how many nights we’ve pulled overtime because of Jo Mun-hyeon, I swear I could die from the injustice.”

“Shut your trap. Noisy.”

“…Touchy, aren’t we.”

Suho grumbled, but Cheonguk wasn’t about to indulge him.

Absentmindedly rechecking his gear, Cheonguk scanned the factory. Just as he moved to open the main door, the rusty edge came into view. Open it as-is, and it’d scream like a banshee.

Deciding this wasn’t the way in, he circled around.

He let his heels float like air between sole and floor, making not a whisper of sound. As he slid his body through the vent beside the machine room, a steel pipe leaning against the wall grazed his pant leg. Before it could clatter to the floor, he snatched it deftly from the air.