Three Eight-Chapter 69

While they talked inside the back room, Hongju stayed in the empty hallway. Maybe it was because the place that used to be so noisy had gone quiet, but the wind felt especially cold. Hongju buried his face into his scarf up to his nose and silently stared down at the desk.

"Yeah, yeah. That’s right."

At the sound of the door opening, Hongju slowly turned his head. Yang Siljang passed in front of him, talking loudly on the phone. Instead of heading down the stairs, he loitered by the window. Hongju quietly blinked, his eyes fixed on the expensive shoes that didn’t suit Yang Siljang at all.

"Yeah. I’ll call you when we open, so we gotta pull off a big score."

With a coarse laugh, he ended the call. Yang Siljang didn’t go back inside right away. Instead, he half-sat on the edge of the desk.

"Hey. What happened to your phone?"

"I think it’s too old now. Even if I charge it, the battery dies fast."

Hongju pointed under the desk. Yang Siljang checked the phone plugged into the charger and clicked his tongue briefly. Normally, he would’ve thrown a full-blown tantrum. But with Mu-gyeong around, it seemed he couldn’t act out like that anymore.

"Has President Mu-gyeong asked you to do anything, by any chance?"

"No, nothing like that."

Because he could see Yang Siljang’s thigh when looking down, Hongju kept his chin up stiffly as he answered.

"Ah, fuck, what the hell then."

He made a sucking sound through his teeth and smacked his upper lip. Every time he did that, the gold tooth flashed greedily. Yang Siljang tilted his head again and again like something wasn’t adding up.

"President Mu-gyeong... is he really just some rich guy with too much money?"

He lowered his voice deliberately, as if to be cautious. At Hongju’s question, Yang Siljang rolled his lone eye and met his gaze.

"And what the hell would you do with that information?"

Yang Siljang lifted his eye patch irritably, and his wrinkled eyelid peeled back, his gaze aimed squarely at Hongju.

"It’s just, I remembered you telling me to watch him carefully last time. I’ve been trying to pay attention, but I can’t figure anything out."

Hongju trailed off faintly. It was his way of showing he hadn’t forgotten what they told him—that he was keeping an eye on Mu-gyeong just like they asked. Even if he was physically by Mu-gyeong’s side, he wanted them to think his mind was still tied to the House.

"...What the hell could you do anyway?"

The tone was biting, like before, but Hongju could sense a strange softness in it now.

Yang Siljang had fairly wide connections and a network of informants that was more useful than expected. He might even know more about Mu-gyeong than Hongju, who had stuck by his side for quite a while now. Hongju decided to ask the lightest, least suspicious question.

"His name’s Mu-gyeong. It’s just one syllable, right?"

"Yeah. That’s what I heard."

"How old is he?"

"He didn’t tell you that either?"

As soon as Hongju pretended not to know anything, Yang Siljang’s gaze instantly turned contemptuous. Hongju was used to looks like that, so he ❀ Nоvеlігht ❀ (Don’t copy, read here) simply nodded.

"Thirty, this year."

That didn’t match what Mu-gyeong had told him.

"...Really?"

Hongju narrowed his eyes and looked toward the inner room. If Mu-gyeong had gone so far as to fool a fairly reliable source like Yang Siljang, then he had to be extremely thorough. But why was Mu-gyeong hiding his identity in the first place? Just some rich investor, supposedly. The more he learned, the murkier things got.

"While he’s been staying at the hotel, no one’s come looking for him or anything?"

Yang Siljang still thought Hongju was trailing after Mu-gyeong at the hotel.

"...No. Nothing like that."

"And he’s still staying in that same room, right?"

"That's right."

Hongju replied without the slightest change in his expression, lying smoothly. The man was always so cunning—you never knew what question might be a trap. He straightened his back and stayed on alert.

"Stop eavesdropping and acting like you’re something. If it looks like I’m gonna make a call, send anyone near the couch out."

"...Why?"

He recalled the tiny recorder hidden beneath the table in the reception room. Were they planning to keep recording until the next game of hwatu, hoping to catch something useful?

"Because you’re no fucking help, that’s why! What’s with the questions?"

If they listened to the recording, they’d realize he wasn’t actually staying in that room. Then what—would they start beating him for lying again? And of course, the punishment wouldn’t fall on the actual owner of the room, Mu-gyeong, but on him alone. No need to see it to know how it’d play out. Even so, he just feigned ignorance and nodded.

"Why do I get yelled at even when I try to help? Fine, whatever."

His voice trembled a bit at the end, but at that moment, Yang Siljang stood up, and it drowned out the quiver. Hongju was relieved and watched Yang Siljang’s back for a long time as he headed toward the room with the safe.

It wasn’t until the sunlight faded and the air turned colder that the scheming finally wrapped up. What was so grand about stealing someone else’s money that they had to spend the whole day huddled together like that?

When Guppping handed over his phone, both Yang Siljang and Mu-gyeong looked down at the screen.

"Ah, my blood sugar’s crashing. Must’ve been too long since I last used my brain."

Doksu, utterly worn out, didn’t even seem to care what Guppping was showing him. Groaning, he leaned his body against Hongju. Hongju didn’t dodge, just stood there, nose buried deep in his scarf.

"Hongju-ssi, how about we go suck down a thick chocolate milk together?"

Doksu slung an arm over Hongju’s shoulder, pressing close as if to tease him for being frozen stiff. It wasn’t just the awkwardness of the contact—it was the fact that Doksu was on his left side, and that naturally made Hongju tense up.

"What the hell would he suck down. You think he’s that free?"

The one who cut in was Mu-gyeong. He gave a light smack to the tattooed arm wrapped around Hongju. It wasn’t even that hard, yet Doksu sagged dramatically and dropped his arm.

"My arm’s dislocated! Doesn’t this count as a work injury?"

"You want me to yank it all the way out and process it for you?"

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Even that absurd line got a decent reaction out of Mu-gyeong. Come to think of it, unlike when he talked to the other House staff, there didn’t seem to be any tension in his conversations with Doksu. As their silly banter went on, Hongju subtly stepped away. Mu-gyeong pulled out his gloves from his pocket and gave them a sharp slap against his palm.

"Well, the pay being a few times higher is tempting."

"Then try again if you really want it."

Mu-gyeong held the gloves in one hand and brushed Hongju’s shoulder in passing, like he was flicking off dust.

"Ugh."

With that strange noise from Doksu behind him, Mu-gyeong turned away. Hongju followed without hesitation. Behind them, Guppping and Yang Siljang quickly threw out rushed goodbyes in the middle of their conversation. Of course, none of it was directed at Hongju, and Mu-gyeong didn’t bother responding either.

"Huh?"

Just as Hongju was opening the passenger door with a now-familiar motion, his eyes widened. He spotted a group approaching from a distance—people he recognized. Despite the cold, they wore just socks and slippers, clutching clutch bags under their arms. They used to run errands for the gangsters who frequented the House. What were they doing in this neighborhood?

Hongju scanned the area, puzzled. Other than the temporary House, the only place to go if you kept walking downhill was a motel.

"It’s cold. Get in already."

"Ah, yes."

Hongju quickly shoved himself into the passenger seat after staring at them for a moment longer. The car pulled away from the House with a smooth motion, passing by the gang of wannabes as they got closer. Hongju narrowed his eyes and looked again. The hair color had changed, but the faces were familiar—ones that used to come by often. As Mu-gyeong’s car passed, they let out loud cheers and whistled flamboyantly.

"This neighborhood’s really stuck in the past."

The way Mu-gyeong clicked his tongue was laced with irritation. After they passed the group, Hongju turned to look back. The kids were goofing off, swinging their arms and legs around like they were dancing as they made their way into the House building.

"......."

There hadn’t been any customers lately, and even the gangs had stopped showing up. There was no reason they’d be going to the House now. Did Guppping call them? Why? Hongju tilted his head, staring at the House building that had already disappeared from view. Something was off. He was sure they were up to something.

If he kept going in and out of the House, he might be able to figure out what they were scheming. Would that be okay? He straightened up a bit, planning to ask Mu-gyeong.

"Uh—"

Their eyes met immediately. Like he’d been watching him the whole time. His gaze was thick and unmoving. At some point, the car had stopped.

"Your eyes are always drifting off somewhere."

"I wasn’t spacing out..."

"Those punks—people you know?"

"Yes. They used to come around a lot."

"Kids still wet behind the ears, coming and going from the House. Real great."

Mu-gyeong muttered, stepping on the gas again. The car moved slowly toward the main road. Hongju carefully parted his lips. He didn’t have any proof yet—it was too soon to be certain.

"Will we stop by the House again tomorrow?"

"Who knows. Why?"

"It might be nothing, but... I think Guppping’s up to something again. I might need to drop by for a few days to keep an eye on things."

Mu-gyeong glanced at the side mirror. There was no way the House, now far behind, could still be in sight.

"Gu Madam playing house with a bunch of kids now?"

Guppping was the kind of man who’d do anything if there was profit in it. And right now, he owed Mu-gyeong billions. If Mu-gyeong quietly disappeared, it’d mean Guppping could wash his hands clean of the debt. He’d already lost one chance when the thugs from Gwoleum-dong vanished, but there was no way he’d given up on threatening Mu-gyeong.

"If there’s no reason for you to come, I’ll go by myself."

Mu-gyeong drummed his fingers on the steering wheel, like he was weighing something. Hongju watched the even rhythm of his long fingers, until Mu-gyeong finally opened his mouth.

"If I go, Gu Madam might keep his head down. But if I leave just you behind..."

The car came to a stop at a traffic light. Slowly, Mu-gyeong turned his gaze to Hongju. His dark, deep eyes lingered on the pale skin of Hongju’s cheek and the bridge of his nose.

"Keeping your face in one piece is your job too. Got it?"

Wait—was he actually worrying about Hongju getting hit if he wasn’t around? The way his gaze stayed fixed on his face made it feel almost too warm. Hongju buried his face in his scarf.

"...Okay."

His faint answer was swallowed up by the scarf. The light changed, and the car began to move again. Hongju cast a glance behind them. The House was long gone from view—so far, it didn’t even show up on the horizon.