Three Eight-Chapter 35

Even then, Mu-gyeong was still standing in the same spot. Hongju approached him slowly, checking him over. He looked perfectly fine at a glance, but still—just in case.

"Are you alright?"

A short nod answered him. The collar of his coat was a little askew, but nothing visible seemed wrong. Mu-gyeong glanced down at Hongju, who was carefully inspecting him, and let out a quiet chuckle.

"Get me a drink. The most expensive one."

He swept his coat behind him and walked across the hall. They had just smoked together, yet as Mu-gyeong passed by, all Hongju caught was that clean, subtle scent.

"..."

Maybe it was the lingering questions that hadn’t been answered yet—his eyes stayed fixed on Mu-gyeong’s retreating back.

He left the clean-up to the staff, grabbed an ice glass and some whiskey, then crossed the now-settled hallway to the last room. Mu-gyeong sat with his legs crossed and arms folded, one polished shoe rhythmically bouncing. Even as Hongju walked over with the whiskey, Mu-gyeong’s eyes stayed fixed on the table. He could’ve just dropped it off and left, but Hongju ended up explaining anyway.

"It’s the same one you drank last time."

The same whiskey Mu-gyeong had poured down his throat the first time he came to the temporary House. Back then, Hongju had been scared of him. Not that much had changed—but there was something different now. Now, he found a strange sense of relief in his presence.

Just earlier, he'd felt that. The way he’d hidden behind Mu-gyeong’s shadow and felt safe. That was a feeling he’d never once experienced during his time at the House—a completely foreign emotion.

"Ah, the one you guzzled down all by yourself?"

The words came out half like a jab, but his lips curled smoothly into a smile. Hongju’s eyes flicked to the corner of that mouth. Mu-gyeong seemed not to notice and focused on pouring his drink.

"..."

Should he thank him for stepping in earlier? Did he really block him for that reason? What if he said thanks and got mocked again—accused of trying to seduce him or some shit? The thought made Hongju chew the inside of his cheek, conflicted.

Mu-gyeong sipped the amber-colored liquor, then looked up at Hongju, who was still just standing there.

"You got something left to do?"

"...Why do you always wear gloves?"

He wasn’t actually curious, but the way Mu-gyeong looked at him made him blurt out anything to fill the silence. Mu-gyeong spun the glass in his hand a few times, then downed the rest in one go. His lips didn’t part again until a while later.

"Don’t want to get my hands dirty."

"Oh."

So that’s why he always wore gloves inside. He had them on the first time they met too. The cold leather pressing hard against his cheek—Hongju remembered that. He nodded slowly, memories flickering in the back of his mind.

‘Did he talk like that even in front of Gu Madam?’

‘With that kind of face, people would definitely think he got beaten up.’

But... hadn’t he been barehanded when he touched his face? No matter how hard he tried to remember, there was no sensation of cold leather. Just the heat and firmness of skin.

"..."

Right. If he really thought Hongju was filthy, he wouldn’t have kissed him. The memory of his breath brushing against his lips returned. While Hongju quietly tried to swallow the whirlwind of confusion, Mu-gyeong’s gaze was fixed openly on the pale column of his neck.

"Hongju. Chief Yang is asking for you."

The voice that cut through the tension came from a gangster, his head poking just barely through the doorway.

"Okay, I’ll go."

Hongju wiped his damp hands against his padded jacket and turned to leave—only for Mu-gyeong to grab his wrist, just barely peeking out from under his sleeve. The grip was firm enough to jolt {N•o•v•e•l•i•g•h•t} his body back.

"What?"

"Settle the bill before you go."

Was he really talking about the bill? Or just looking for another excuse to throw him off? Hongju glanced at the gangster still standing at the threshold. In that moment, Mu-gyeong pulled a few checks from his wallet. Without even counting the amount, he shoved them into Hongju’s pocket. It was clearly more than the whiskey cost—Hongju reached in to pull a few bills out.

"This is too much."

"What? You watering it down or something?"

"Water..."

Maybe they did. He wouldn’t know—he’d never mixed it himself. Hongju only opened and closed his mouth silently. Mu-gyeong swallowed what little was left in his cup.

"Keep the rest as a tip."

Then, as if he had no more interest, he turned his gaze elsewhere. Hongju looked down at the crumpled money stuffed in his pocket, then slowly turned to go.

"You and President Mu-gyeong really got something going on? Since when... you into guys?"

The gangster asked quietly, cautiously. Even though Hongju shot him a look like he couldn’t believe what he’d just heard, the guy’s face still showed nothing but curiosity.

"What the hell are you talking about."

He brushed past with a sharp reply, but the gangster waddled after him.

"No, I mean—seriously. Is it like that between you two?"

"And what if it is? Or if it’s not?"

He wanted to explain—say they weren’t like that, that he was just keeping an eye on Guppping for him, and they only acted close to avoid suspicion. But he knew too well how loose the guy’s mouth was, so he kept it in.

"What do you mean, ‘what if’? That means you hit the jackpot! They say President Mu-gyeong’s loaded. Ask him to clear your debt, yeah? Maybe even pull you outta this place!"

"...There’s no one in or out of the House you can trust."

That, at least, was the truth. Even if someone could wipe out his debt with a flick of the wrist, even if they shared secrets—he still couldn’t fully trust them.

Was “Mu-gyeong” even his real name? Was he really a chaebol like Chief Yang said? Why stay in a hotel and not a house? If he really doubted Guppping, he could’ve just stayed away—so why invest in a place like this and put Hongju on surveillance duty?

"Tch, maybe you’re right."

The gangster scratched his short hair. Hongju, tangled in that endless thread of questions, stopped walking and turned around. His eyes lingered on the quiet, out-of-place room at the end of the noisy gambling hall.

And the final question, the one that came to him last, was—

Why did he kiss me?

***

After the commotion passed, the House returned to its usual rhythm. People borrowed stakes, filled out ledgers and loan agreements, confirmed repayments on the spot. Nobody trusted anyone, so they kept switching to fresh decks, and games were unfolding in every corner. The drunk who’d made a scene and Guppping, who’d stepped out for a while, returned with their masks back on—Guppping making the rounds, laughing it up as if nothing had happened.

"He was sipping on whiskey, huh? Did you wring him dry with that bill?"

That was the first thing Guppping asked when he emerged from the room at the end of the hallway. Hongju pulled out the checks he had hidden in the drawer and handed them over. The rest were still in his pocket—he planned to return those to Mu-gyeong. If it had come from any other guest, he wouldn’t have hesitated. But not from Mu-gyeong—not after he’d already paid off an astronomical portion of his debt.

"He nearly finished the whole bottle, so what’s with the delay? Hey, get this cashed."

"Yes, sir."

The staff moved off without hesitation to cash the check. Now it was just Guppping and Hongju left in the now-quiet hallway. Hongju kept his eyes fixed on the corridor, acting like Guppping wasn’t even there. But the man clearly had a lot to say.

"You really latched on to a sucker, huh? Your debt’s dropping by the day. At this rate, you’ll be building a fucking house, huh?"

"..."

Just like Mu-gyeong said on the way here—he’d knocked another fifty million off. Hongju thought it was just talk, but when he saw Guppping coming out of the back room with the ledger and IOU forms, he realized he’d meant it.

"This little shit knows exactly who to spread his legs for, huh? So how much does he slip you every time you fuck? A million? Then you must’ve gone five rounds earlier!"

Whore. Guppping kept spewing filth, even though Hongju didn’t respond. Hongju stubbornly kept his back to him. No matter what he said, he’d piss Guppping off—and that always led to violence.

"What’s this, huh? Been to a hospital? Or did he sweetly patch you up himself?"

Skkk. Guppping ripped off the gauze stuck to his dry cheek with a rough tug. The skin underneath was red and marked where the bandage had been. Bruised, torn. Even seeing that, Guppping just sneered.

"The fuck’s this? Making a fuss over nothing, fucking hell."

A hot, sharp rage surged up from deep inside. Even President Mu-gyeong, a man who didn’t know him at all, looked at his injuries with something close to pity. But this bastard—this fucker who’d known him for fifteen years—only ever looked for ways to use or break him. It was disgusting enough to make his skin crawl.

"What, he some rich little heir? Just throwing money into trash? He should be investing that money in the House instead."

"Do you know where we went today?"

The words came out on impulse. Hongju cut off Guppping’s jeering mid-sentence. Guppping looked at him with a face that said, the fuck are you saying now, but Hongju kept going, answering a question no one had asked.

"We went to see the guy who ran off with President Mu-gyeong’s investment money."

"...What?"

As soon as he said it, Guppping’s expression visibly shifted.

"He’s been hiding for a long time, but they finally found him. President Mu-gyeong said finding someone like that is easy—because he has money."

"..."

"He tried to hold out today too, said he didn’t have money. But do you know how we got it in the end? President Mu-gyeong..."

Hongju trailed off, breath catching. He was making it all up. Maybe that’s why his heart was pounding so violently and his fingertips trembled. You're easy to read when you lie. Mu-gyeong had said that once. That memory hit him mid-sentence, and Hongju avoided Guppping’s eyes, focusing on the room at the end of the hall.

"What? What about him? Why stop there?"

"He cut off his finger."

"...What?"

Guppping, who’d been pressing with more and more insistence, blinked blankly at the answer. Hongju quietly turned his gaze to the desk where Guppping’s right hand rested. Specifically, the pinky finger that ended just a bit too short.

"His right pinky. Cut it clean off. No mercy."

"..."

Guppping’s chapped lips moved wordlessly for a long moment. Pathetic or not, the fact that he’d used Mu-gyeong’s presence to shut Guppping up gave Hongju a strange, electric satisfaction.

This content is taken from freёnovelkiss.com.