Three Eight-Chapter 30

"Mu-gyeong boss asked for a beer. I'll just drop it off and come back."

"Oh, I'll go with you. Lead the way."

Carrying two cans of beer that no one had asked for, Hongju headed to the room at the end of the hallway. Yang Siljang, who had insistently followed, stopped just outside the point where he wouldn’t be seen from inside the room and shoved Hongju forward.

"Go in."

His chapped lips silently ordered. Hongju hesitated, his worn-out sneakers pausing at the threshold. Inside, Mu-gyeong was massaging the back of his neck as if it was stiff. As soon as he sensed movement, his eyes flicked up and locked onto Hongju, then drifted to the cans in his hands.

"Two cans should be enough, right?"

Before Mu-gyeong could say anything, Hongju preemptively answered and subtly shifted his gaze to the side. Mu-gyeong, who had been leaning back against his chair, straightened up slightly and curved his lips into a faint smirk.

"One can is enough. What, are you trying to get me drunk and pull something again?"

It was nonsense, but a sharp-witted counter. As Hongju placed the beer on the table, he slipped his phone out of his front pocket. Mu-gyeong's gaze moved from the phone to Hongju.

"Then I'll leave just one can and go."

Mu-gyeong dragged both cans toward himself and looked up at Hongju.

"You have a bad habit, you know? Giving something and then taking it back."

Hongju swallowed dryly instead of answering. He had heard the same words yesterday, and for some reason, his face grew hot.

"I have errands to run, so I'll be going now."

Trying to hide his flustered expression, he quickly turned around. Behind him, Mu-gyeong's quiet chuckling trailed after him. As he stepped out of the room, Yang Siljang, who had been eavesdropping, scanned him with a suspicious look.

"I'm going to collect payments."

"Hurry up and go."

Leaving the nagging behind, Hongju exited the house.

***

[Boss, they're scheming behind your back. Looks like they're pulling in some friendly gangsters.]

Only after putting some distance between himself and the house was Hongju able to send a text to Mu-gyeong. His battery was fully charged, thanks to Mu-gyeong having taken care of it earlier. That small detail let him check his screen as many times as he needed without worry.

But there was no reply.

Even when a troublesome guest showed up in the middle of the night, beat him half to death, and threw money at him before leaving.

"He must've seen the message."

Stopping by an ATM near the temporary house, he deposited the three hundred thousand won he had collected into Yang Siljang’s account. By the time he stepped outside again, the sky had deepened into a dark blue. Dawn was breaking.

Checking his screen once more, still without a single response, Hongju pressed the keypad again.

[It’s really dangerous if gangsters get involved. You shouldn’t come for a while.]

After sending the message, he absently glanced down at his padded jacket. The dried mud on his calves had settled into the fabric. He slapped at the dust with his cold, numbed palm. It was expensive, noticeably different from what he used to wear. Warm enough to make him sweat, cushioned enough that falling or getting hit didn’t hurt as much. That made him more careful with it.

Before, he wouldn’t have cared if cigarette burns marked it or if it got stiff with sweat. But now, he did.

"I should wash it off with water."

Hongju picked up his pace toward a familiar alley. It took less than five minutes to reach the house. Mu-gyeong’s car was still parked in the same spot.

"He’s still here."

He thought he might as well ask if Mu-gyeong had seen his messages. With that in mind, he stepped into the building. Yang Siljang was standing in the hallway with his arms crossed, staring ahead.

"I collected the money and made the deposit."

"Hey, why the fuck didn’t you pick up your phone?"

Yang Siljang shot him a sharp glare. Hongju pulled his phone from his opposite pocket.

"Huh?"

A stack of missed calls filled the screen. Normally, his phone was on vibrate—he never missed calls. He barely touched his phone in the first place, so he should have noticed it vibrating. But why was it on silent?

As Hongju tilted his head in confusion, Yang Siljang suddenly yanked the hood of his jacket.

"You dumb fuck, didn’t I tell you to answer quickly?! Get in there and say it was your idea!"

"Huh?"

Before he could even grasp the situation, he was roughly dragged along.

"Say you wanted to go collect the money. Say you volunteered to lower the debt. Got it?"

Yang Siljang repeated himself several times, pushing the words into him like a drill before shoving Hongju into the room at the end of the hall.

Inside, Guppping and Mu-gyeong were sitting across from each other.

"Oh, you’re here. Hongju! You look like shit—"

Hongju instinctively glanced down at himself. His padded jacket was a little dirty, but nothing unusual. His face, swollen and bruised with reopened wounds, was the same as always.

"What’s the point of me pouring money into you when you end up looking like this?"

"Ah, that... See, Gu Hongju! I told you, you didn’t have to go collect! Why the hell did you?!"

Guppping, who had been perching on the edge of his chair, slammed his foot against the floor. They always used Hongju as a shield.

"You said you wanted to go?"

Mu-gyeong flicked his foot slightly, raising the end of his sentence like a question.

How was he supposed to answer? In his peripheral vision, he could feel Guppping's sharp, oppressive stare.

"...Yes."

It was easier to just take the bullet.

Hongju lowered his gaze. The sound of a beer can opening reached his ears. There was a soft rustling, the ➤ NоvеⅠight ➤ (Read more on our source) quiet motion of someone wiping the can’s mouth.

"Gu Hongju must have a thing for getting beaten up. Did Gu Madam train you like that?"

Mu-gyeong drank his beer while keeping his gaze fixed on Guppping. The movement of his throat as he swallowed stood out unnervingly. Guppping let out an awkward chuckle, his face stiff as a board.

“...Ha-ha.”

"I'm just asking, Gu Madam. Why are you so tense?"

His tone was indifferent, but Guppping only wiped the cold sweat from his forehead. Mu-gyeong sipped his beer in silence, while Guppping swallowed dryly. Whatever conversation had taken place before Hongju arrived, the air had frozen over completely. The oppressive atmosphere left him unable to open his mouth.

Mu-gyeong finished his beer and slammed the empty can onto the table with a loud thud. Then, gripping it with one hand, he crushed the aluminum effortlessly. A few drops of beer clung to his fingers, and with a casual flick, he shook them off.

"If the debt hasn’t even been settled yet, and you go touching the collateral without my permission, then what's the point of collateral in the first place?"

He nudged the flattened can with his fingertips, sending it tumbling onto Guppping’s thigh. A damp trail of beer streaked across the table.

"Don't fucking do things your own way. I’m telling you because it seems like you don’t know how to handle collateral properly."

"...I see."

Guppping forced a reply, but his flushed face betrayed his humiliation. He fanned himself, clearly struggling to keep his temper in check.

"Gu Hongju, did you understand that too?"

The sharp words turned toward Hongju, who had been standing still. He nodded. Every time he tilted his head down, his neck ached.

"If you don’t get it, learn by watching. If you don’t learn, you’ll end up like Gu Madam—working while everyone else sleeps. Got it?"

Hongju glanced at Guppping. His murky eyes were already burning with resentment.

"Mu-gyeong boss, you’re being a little harsh—"

"Answer?"

Mu-gyeong cut him off mercilessly, raising an eyebrow. Hongju hesitated, trying to nod subtly, but the pain in his shoulders forced him to open his mouth instead.

"...Yes."

"Get out."

Mu-gyeong lazily waved his hand as if shooing away a nuisance. Hongju turned his body without a word. He had just stepped over the threshold when Mu-gyeong's voice stopped him.

"Gu Madam, can you call me a driver?"

"Oh, uh, yeah. Hold on."

He had always been the type to give orders rather than carry them out himself. He’d probably struggle with it. But instead of offering unnecessary help, Hongju left the room.

Yang Siljang, waiting outside, scanned his bruises with an irritated look.

"Fuck, what a pain in the ass. Go buy some medicine and slap it on."

He pulled out a couple of ten-thousand-won bills from his wallet and threw them against Hongju’s chest before stalking down the hall. The bills fluttered weakly to the ground. Behind him, Guppping was fumbling with his phone, calling for a driver.

Hongju bent his sore knees and picked up the money.

"......."

In fifteen years at the house, it was the first time anyone had given him something. Whether it was money or a half-hearted suggestion to take care of himself.

If they had done this just a little earlier, if they had treated him even slightly more like a person, maybe he wouldn’t be carrying around the phone Mu-gyeong had given him like a lifeline.

The taste of blood in his mouth was unbearably bitter.

Mu-gyeong didn’t leave the house until after sunrise. The usual rowdy atmosphere had quieted down. Hongju left work with the gangsters and Doksu, but Guppping and Yang Siljang stayed behind to talk. Even without hearing it, he could guess what the conversation was about.

After that day, Mu-gyeong stopped coming to the house.

"Today too?"

"Yeah, still hasn’t shown up. Have you heard from him?"

Doksu stretched his arms with a loud yawn. Guppping sat down, sipping from a takeout coffee cup.

"Nah. We were supposed to check out the construction together soon, but now who knows what’s going on."

"Maybe he’s just busy with something else?"

"He doesn’t even have a business. What the hell is he busy with?"

In front of Mu-gyeong, he never said a word. But the moment he stopped coming around, Guppping couldn’t stop grumbling about him.

Hongju had no interest in listening. He absently touched his earlobe, thinking only about getting out of there.

"Any collections to do?"

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"Shut the fuck up. No collections, no nothing. Just sit still and stay the fuck out of my way for a while!"

His coarse voice echoed through the hallway. Even with only one functional ear, it was unbearably loud. How much worse was it for the others?

"Fuck, I’d stomp you out if I wasn’t holding back."

The only reason Guppping held back was simple—because Mu-gyeong had told him not to touch the collateral.

Hongju got up from his chair and grabbed a broom. Instead of lingering, he went to clean the empty rooms. Avoiding Guppping was the best way to avoid getting under his skin.

"What’s up with Guppping these days?"

"No idea."

Even the gangsters, usually oblivious, were starting to notice that something was off. While Hongju was speaking quietly with them, Doksu sauntered over with his usual lazy swagger.

"Hongju, did you put any medicine on those bruises?"

"Oh, yeah."

Of course, it was a lie. The ointment Doksu had given him last time was still sitting untouched in his desk drawer.

"This bastard never puts on medicine. No matter how much I tell him he'll get scars, he doesn't listen. Stubborn as hell for a kid."

"Seriously. At least try to avoid scarring."

The concern in their voices felt alien. It made Hongju’s ears burn. He stammered through the conversation, then just walked away.

What difference would it make if there were no scars? Just because you couldn’t see the bruises didn’t mean they never happened.

It was all pointless.