Three Eight-Chapter 61

He didn’t know where this neighborhood was, but it was clear that they hadn’t taken this road on the way in. Hongju pressed a hand against the tightness in his solar plexus, like he was suffering indigestion, and answered,

"...I don’t know if I should be scared or trust you."

He was trembling and tense, but his voice was calm to the point of absurdity. Ha. Mu-gyeong let out a rare, loud laugh and tapped the steering wheel with his fingers.

"By now, you should trust me."

"......"

"Think about who you’ve trusted to end up like this."

It wasn’t like he’d trusted Guppping or anything. The car jolted hard, and Hongju shut his mouth without responding. His frightened eyes kept darting toward the darkened window. Mu-gyeong, watching the way Hongju shrank in on himself, was busy holding back a laugh.

"See? Isn't it too nice a place to bury someone?"

Mu-gyeong stepped on the brakes and pointed outside. Hongju’s still-terrified eyes carefully scanned the view. A lone house sat in the middle of a wide-open field. The wall around it was fairly tall—it looked just like one of those mansions in the upscale neighborhoods he’d been to for debt collection.

"I have no intention of opening the door for you."

Hongju whipped his head toward the driver’s seat. Mu-gyeong was already out of the car. He gave a jerk of his chin like he was telling Hongju to get moving, then closed the door. Hongju followed and got out of the car, keeping close behind Mu-gyeong’s shadow as he headed for the front gate like he’d done it a hundred times. It was scary, but in this situation, Mu-gyeong was the only one he could rely on.

"Where is this place?"

As soon as they crossed the gate, a large yard came into view.

"My house."

Mu-gyeong replied curtly and crossed the yard. It looked extravagant from the outside, but the inside was even better. Spacious, spotless—so clean it looked like not a single speck of dust existed.

"There’ll be hwatu games at hotels from now on. You’ll be staying {N•o•v•e•l•i•g•h•t} here."

"This is your house, sir?"

"Yeah."

The short reply made Hongju quickly glance around. It lacked warmth, but the neatness oddly suited Mu-gyeong.

"Can’t have collateral running off, so I’ll have to lock it up."

Mu-gyeong said that with a grin. Even from a decent distance, Hongju could’ve sworn he caught a whiff of his scent.

"......"

What Hongju knew of confinement was being locked in basements or shoved into cramped storerooms. Compared to that, this was an incredibly comfortable prison.

"I’ll be out for a bit. Stay put and watch the house."

"Where... where are you going?"

"Would you even understand if I told you?"

He swung open the empty room’s door and turned on the light. Inside was just a bed and a single wardrobe.

"I’ll be back in under an hour. You know better than anyone what happens if you run, right?"

"...I won’t run."

Even if he wanted to, it’s not like he could. He didn’t even know where this place was. The road here had been too dark to keep track of anything—he only knew it was a secluded area with no people. Escape wasn’t even a fantasy.

"You’ll find out later if that was the truth."

It was like he really intended to test him. Wanting to show he had no such intention, Hongju began to take off his outerwear.

Mu-gyeong watched silently, then finally stepped forward. Just as Hongju reached across his body to grab the hem of his hoodie—he passed by him without a word. A moment later, he heard the door close.

"...Hoo."

Hongju exhaled a small breath. His chest felt tight. He couldn’t tell if it was something he’d eaten or just the tension from being around Mu-gyeong.

In this ownerless house, every movement felt like he had to be cautious. In such a clean space, he felt like the only dirty thing. He stayed in the bathroom a long time scrubbing himself clean before coming out—not to the room, but to the living room. He placed the two phones—one Mu-gyeong had slipped him, the other pressed into his hand by Yang Siljang for surveillance—side by side on the table.

"......"

After a moment’s thought, Hongju turned off the worn-out old phone that bore his fingerprints. Mu-gyeong wasn’t here now, and if someone barged in, he’d be in trouble. He knew well by now that hiding under Mu-gyeong’s shadow was the only way to protect himself.

That night, Mu-gyeong didn’t return until dawn, well past the promised hour. Seeing Hongju still in the living room, he curled his lips into a faint smile.

"You really did stay put."

It felt like he’d passed a test. He found himself thinking he should mention it—that he’d turned off the phone on time, so his location wouldn’t be detected.

***

Hongju spent two more days at Mu-gyeong’s house. Mu-gyeong occasionally went out, and sometimes they ate together. Every so often, he turned on his phone to check, but there hadn’t been any contact from the House. On Sunday, he meant to go collect some money. But since he didn’t know the way, going out without Mu-gyeong seemed nearly impossible.

In the span of those two nights, Hongju couldn’t get a proper night’s sleep. Everything he ate seemed to get stuck in his stomach, and every dawn he found himself clutching the toilet, vomiting up his insides. Eyes half-open, mind foggy, he followed Mu-gyeong out.

Even as they arrived at the House, his stomach churned and his eyelids ached. Rubbing his eyes as he stepped into the House building, Hongju stared blankly at Mu-gyeong walking a few steps ahead. Maybe it was because he now knew what Mu-gyeong’s house looked like—but he suddenly felt that this rundown House suited him even less.

They were halfway up the stairs to the first floor when it happened.

"This the place? They moved the House here, right? You gambling fuck, get out here!"

A voice rang out behind them, agitated and angry. Hongju stopped in his tracks and looked down the stairs. A middle-aged man stood at the building’s skeletal entrance. His clothes were disheveled, his eyes slick and wild, a wound visible under one eye. He was gripping a long, tightly rolled-up newspaper. Even without seeing it, it was obvious what was hidden inside.

Hongju turned his body and descended the stairs. The closer he got, the clearer the man’s face became. It felt familiar somehow.

"...Pastor?"

It was the pastor from that small church they’d visited for collection two days ago. He was dressed differently now, but it was definitely him.

"Yeah, this is it, right? You’re that little shit who came last time! What luck, running into you!"

The shine in his crazed eyes flared as soon as he recognized Hongju. Hongju narrowed his brows and came down to about the midpoint of the staircase, keeping his eyes on the man’s hand.

"You bastard, all the congregation's talking! Saying my life’s gone to hell! What about my church, huh?!"

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The man’s shouting echoed through the decaying building. Hongju briefly looked up the stairs toward the upper floors. No sign of shoes. Mu-gyeong had probably already made it to the third floor.

"You think word doesn’t travel in a place like this?! My reputation! My congregation! What the fuck am I supposed to do?!"

What rumors had he supposedly spread? What kind of damage had he supposedly done to the pastor? Even as the man raged, Hongju stayed indifferent. He just couldn’t understand any of it.

"Why come here with that?"

"Wha—what?"

The man’s neck flushed red as he panted furiously. His hand holding the rolled newspaper visibly trembled. Just like when they’d met outside the church, it was clear he couldn’t hide the fact that he was an amateur.

"Because of you, they’re calling me a gambling-addicted pastor! Saying I poured all the offerings into gambling—do you have any idea how much people are whispering?! Do you know how fast word spreads in this place?!"

The man’s voice cracked and bounced off the walls.

He’d planned to collect the remaining money over the weekend. If he stood out front of the church again, the guy would probably cough up the money—even if it meant skimming from the offerings. But since he’d been stuck at Mu-gyeong’s place all weekend, he hadn’t even had the chance to try.

He was used to being falsely accused for things he hadn’t done—but it didn’t stop the irritation.

"Then you shouldn’t have borrowed money in the first place."

"The fuck did you just say, you arrogant little shit?!"

When Hongju replied in his usual flat tone, the man tore away the rolled-up newspaper, revealing the knife handle in his grip. With a sharp swish, he slashed the air.

"What about the remaining balance? Did you bring it?"

Hongju had seen all sorts—guys who started slashing, splashing gasoline, threatening with lighters. At this point, he was worn smooth by the House. This flustered pastor was nothing but laughable.

"You son of a bitch..."

The man seemed stunned by Hongju’s lack of fear. Instead of backing away, Hongju stepped further down the stairs. Now they stood on level ground. The man swallowed dryly and adjusted his grip on the knife.

"Shit, even if I go to hell, I’ll die right here in front of you, you bastard!"

"......"

Was he switching tactics now that threats weren’t working? Or was he just spouting whatever came to mind in a blind frenzy? Hongju didn’t move. He just kept his eyes fixed on the pastor.

"Let’s see how you live after destroying someone’s life! Huh?! Over what, money?! Fucking money!"

It was twisted logic. He was the one who gambled, lost, borrowed money he couldn’t repay—and now he was pushing the guilt onto someone else. Was this how all gamblers justified themselves?

"If you’re gonna die, pay your debt first. What did your wife and kids ever do wrong?"

"......"

The man’s eyes wavered visibly. His hand gripping the knife began to tremble even harder. Hongju took a step forward toward him.

"You dying might be the end of it for you, but it’s not for the people you leave behind. They’ll be stuck paying off a debt they never even used—with interest."

Why were gamblers all so damn irresponsible? Did staring at hwatu cards for days dull your sense of reality? For a moment, the pastor’s face overlapped with the vague memory of his father.

"Shut up!"

The man screamed and swung the knife hard. It passed so close it nearly grazed Hongju’s nose—but Hongju didn’t retreat. From the commotion upstairs, it sounded like someone was finally starting to pay attention to the noise below.

"Aaagh!"

The man stomped his feet, screaming in fury. He looked nothing like the calm, gentle voice that had drifted through the church windows. This had to be his real face.

"Yeah! I’ll slice off that filthy mouth of yours before I go to heaven, just watch!"

Those bloodshot, glinting eyes locked on Hongju. The sharp-edged knife lunged for him without hesitation. But Hongju just stood there, silently watching the point of the blade.

"You fucking bastard!"

Just as the knife cut through the air—

A hand shot out from behind and twisted the man’s wrist.

The trembling tip of the blade stopped barely a hand’s breadth from Hongju’s face.

The man, frozen in shock, looked up—

Staring over Hongju’s head.