HYDP C6

Chapter 6

A few hours later, the Jinx T3 tactical vehicle Cheonguk was driving rolled into Horangyong-dong.

Inside the car, the EDM he’d put on shredded concentration.

With the beat thumping, he worked the wheel with rough hands and glanced out the window. Outside, buildings plastered with “for lease” banners lined the street, most long fallen into ruin.

He lowered the driver’s window. Instantly, the neighborhood’s signature smells—oil, exhaust, cigarettes—seeped in and tangled from every corner of the street.

He’d thought this place felt unusually dark; looking again, most of the buildings were for nightlife businesses, shutters down by day, sleeping quiet like abandoned houses.

“Bigger than it looks.”

He’d written it off as a postage-stamp neighborhood, but from the entry to where Sanhong’s location pinged was a fair distance. Thanks to that, he had a bit more driving to do.

“Ah, fuck. Look at this weather.”

Every time he went out on fieldwork the weather was great, which soured his mood, and he took it out by stomping the brakes.

Screeeech—!

With a gaudy screech, the Jinx stopped in front of a shabby two-story building. The ruckus drew eyes from nearby. Whether they stared or not, he calmly set his earbuds in. At once, he was patched through to HQ.

[You’ve arrived?]

“Yeah. Shouldn’t have come. Suddenly don’t want to do this at all.”

He grumbled for the sake of it. But that was only the start.

“Hey. What do those old-timers at HQ even do? I’m the one doing everything.”

[…Team lead?]

“They sit and gawk at screens like idiots and the money just rolls in, while I’m the only one busting my ass.”

[…This is on speaker. They can all hear you.]

“They heard? Good. Soon as this one’s over, I’m taking leave.”

[Hey! HQ’s supporting you across the board! What’s your problem, huh?]

A familiar voice came in.

He knew the owner of that voice all too well: Baek Cheon-jung, who’d rocketed up the ladder to deputy director.

[Hey, Cheonguk. Don’t screw up. If you dally, you die. The second you see him, kill him. Got it?]

“Got it, so quit overreacting.”

[Does this sound like overreacting? Be careful! If it were easy, would we have sent you?]

“All this bullshit for one retired bastard. How many years are we going to keep suffering for this.”

“That’s why this is the chance. This time, you get him for sure!”

“…Utterly incompetent.”

[What? What did you just say? Say that again, you—!]

He ended the call quietly instead of answering.

With the nagging out of his ear, peace returned. Armed, he strolled into the two-story building. The inside was dingy. Spent cigarette butts piled across the floor; he muttered a low curse at the saliva sprayed everywhere.

Taking the stairs two at a time, he rounded a corner and raised his guard. The long corridor was empty. After a long walk, the words “Caution, Out” came into view.

A sweet scent bled from the pawnshop door seam—a scented candle, probably. He snorted, figuring it for a diffuser; so the guy had feelings to curate, apparently.

Caution or out—pick one. Why post both?

The mismatch of the two words gave him a nasty prickle. Thinking there might be something up, he reached for the pawnshop door and—suddenly the wall split and an ax shot through the gap with a slicing shriek.

“…Fuck. What the hell.”

For a split second, he wondered if the guy was a prankster. Or a cornered last thrash. He ran his hand over the gap the ax had come from. A specially modified wall. The ax moved again and slipped back into the seam.

“This freak isn’t normal either.”

He swore at a man he’d never met. Having come this far making a show of it, he wasn’t about to turn back. Waiting nicely would look pathetic. After a beat of thought, he chose to pick the lock.

He took a small screwdriver from his pocket and inspected the entrance. He slid the tip into the hairline crack.

“That’s it.”

The first thing contract killers learn is how to open doors. Not hard for him. The average person can’t—hence they get their wrists taken. And seeing a fake CCTV put up for show to feign “being watched” made it smell even fishier. And if the location pinged here, that meant he was inside now. Nerves taut, he snugged the earbuds deeper.

Clunk—!

He shoved with his shoulder, but the door barely budged. A double door, maybe—no intention of opening. In the end, he handled it his way.

Bang—!

The suppressor he’d bothered to bring was just decoration. The door handle, punched by a bullet, sagged uselessly. Kicking above it, he pushed straight into the pawnshop.

Inside, unlike the grimy exterior, was immaculate. Not a speck of dust on the floor—he could’ve licked it and lived to tell it.

They’d even cared about palette, with occasional black-and-white accents.

“Doesn’t fit at all.”

The interior design didn’t match a pawnshop’s name in the slightest. What snagged his eye right away was a vivid, pink sofa.

“…That sofa color is loud as hell.”

Ignoring the screaming piece, and despite the “out” sign, he didn’t know where the guy might spring from, so he leveled his gun and strode on. He found the room at the very back.

Rrrrip—

“……”

He opened it to a predictably empty room. Shoes on, he stepped in and scanned around.

The tracker pointed to here. But his gut said this wasn’t the guy’s base.

He scanned what he could see. A skewed picture frame, magazines tossed any which way, condoms stacked carelessly in a corner.

“…Staged for show, huh.”

It was an arranged tableau, as if to perform a scene.

His suspicion deepened. He figured it was prepped in case someone burst in at any moment. A man living under pressure and dread. That was the picture of Sanhong. It made him want to kill him faster. Finish it fast, take the bonus, get the reward leave—perfect plan.

But there was no Sanhong, and alone, he crouched and lit a cigarette. A “No Smoking” sticker stared down from the ceiling. He glanced up and muttered lightly:

“Get bent.”

Having left the kids with Huigang, Sanhong headed straight for Horangyong-dong. The CCTV Cheonguk hadn’t trusted was still working fine. The unfamiliar face on the screen froze him for a second. He’d never seen this man even back at the bureau. Knowing nothing about him forced his nerves tighter. There was no room to relax.

If he died today, he wanted no regrets; he’d prepared for everything long ago.

In case he died—assets, the twins’ future—he’d already planned it all. All of it based on a single premise.

But today the sky was clear and the weather was too fine. A waste to die on a day like this. If anything, maybe because he’d finally loosened his body up after a while, a thrill crept up from his toes.

A small laugh escaped him as he drove. Maybe he really had gone mad. Or maybe the days lived on edge had just surfaced without him realizing.

Entering Horangyong-dong, he did as always and parked at the far end of the paid lot. Without a word, he got out and strode off. Before long, he stood before the old two-story building.

A showy Jinx hogged the alley shamelessly. He slipped into the hardware store next door and took a pair of pliers. Disliking the stiff feel of a new tool, he asked the owner, then dabbed on a little oil.

Pliers in hand, he stepped into the pawnshop. Up the stairs to the second floor, at the end of the hall he saw the pawnshop door smashed in. First, he powered off his phone, then opened the fire hose cabinet in the corner and took out a handgun and magazines. No need for a suppressor. In a noisy neighborhood to begin with, gunshots didn’t raise eyebrows.

He slipped into his turf slowly. The inside bore clear signs of being rummaged through. Footprints marked the room too. It rubbed him wrong. Seeing it, he resolved: if they crossed paths, kill on sight. Kill immediately and sever the bad blood with the bureau for good.

As he held his breath and seated a magazine, the Cheonguk hiding in the room also caught his presence. They hadn’t seen each other yet, but both panted in a tight coil of nerves. The first to show was Cheonguk’s muzzle. It aimed true at him, but as he moved, the bullet veered off in the wrong direction.