13. Liminal Space

After a brief lull, the sky once again unleashed a torrent of rain.

The memorial altar was set up in a secluded hermitage nestled on the mountainside, facing Mount Bukhan.

The members of the Mun-seong organization, who had been cautiously optimistic about Jin-han’s recovery, now wore faces stricken by an unexpected calamity. The sudden deterioration left no time for a second surgery, and Jin-han passed away in a blur of confusion.

An accident born of coincidence and misfortune. But to dismiss it as such felt inadequate to Song-ah, who hadn’t yet tasted all the bitter flavors life had to offer. She couldn’t easily accept or endure this situation.

“It’s an accident. It’s not your fault. There’s a bastard responsible for this mess—don’t wallow in self-pity.”

Kim Jong-seop delivered his conclusion with detached calmness.

Perhaps experience made reason operate more systematically and swiftly. Or perhaps not—she couldn’t tell.

Maybe it was because she was still young, but everything seemed like her fault, and the sense that all this misfortune stemmed from her gnawed at her endlessly. Depression consumed her mind and took hold of her body. Her lips, dry and cracked like fallen autumn leaves, were the least injured part of her.

He had been one of the few people who extended a hand to her out of pure goodwill.

She hadn’t even properly thanked him, carrying only guilt instead, and now, at his final farewell, all she could do was apologize.

Her throat burned with thirst, as though scorched, and her chest felt suffocatingly heavy and hot.

“If you keep clinging to your stubbornness, you’ll crush yourself and drag your precious friend into the fire too. How much will they resent you when they find out? Your family turned to ashes because of the wrong company you kept. Will they forgive you?”

If only she and Jin-han hadn’t run away together—would he still be here now, looking at her with his usual face?

Was it her ill-fated existence that cursed Jin-han, or was it his own cruel fate? No matter how hard she tried to refute Yoon Hyung-woo’s words, she couldn’t muster a convincing counterargument anymore.

In truth, she had simply wanted to live an ordinary life, caught in the same cycles as everyone else.

Now, neither Yoon Hyung-woo nor Lee Sang-heon frightened her. Go ahead, take more if you want. What did she have left to lose? No matter how hard she thought, nothing remained.

She had fought desperately to protect the peace and normalcy she cherished, but it was already shattered. Blaming others and drowning in self-loathing wasn’t her nature, yet things kept spiraling out of control.

In their world, one death wasn’t particularly shocking or extraordinary, yet the faces of the men in black suits entering the funeral hall were clouded with gloom. Kim Jong-seop had returned from Tokyo and immediately boarded a flight back to Seoul.

Standing unsteadily beside Kim Jong-seop, who wore the armband of the chief mourner, she clung to her place. Rushing straight from the hospital, she hadn’t prepared mourning attire and instead wore the black robe provided by the funeral service associated with Mun-seong. She’d asked him to let her stay by his side until the mourning period ended, expecting him to refuse—but he didn’t stop her. Perhaps he figured it was better to keep her close under his watchful eye than to leave her unattended elsewhere.

Kim Jong-seop received condolence visitors with a stoic expression, appearing unfazed. Come to think of it, she had never heard him speak about Jin-han. Not once. Even while Jin-han lay unconscious, Kim Jong-seop had indulged in his usual animalistic sex drives, showing no outward sign of grief.

She knew Jin-han hadn’t hinted at any deep bond between them—they weren’t close, despite being blood relatives. Jin-han had spent years apart from his kin, and it seemed he shared stronger ties of loyalty and camaraderie with men like Cha Geon-ju or Choi Si-baek, who had bled and lived alongside him for far longer. She also knew there was a complicated past between the two men, though the emotions involved defied simple categorization.

Was it love-hate? She didn’t know. Unable to guess his true feelings, she couldn’t expose her own emotions so easily. She was merely suffering through her own turmoil. Like herself—someone who despised Yoon Hyung-woo with every fiber of her being but couldn’t escape his side for nineteen years due to the bonds of blood—perhaps their relationship was equally complex.

The inner workings of a family are difficult for outsiders to grasp.

“The chairman has arrived, hyung-nim.”

At the mention of the chairman, the men in black suits who had been silently guarding the area collectively straightened their jackets and adjusted their appearances. Amidst them, Song-ah stood out like a rose among wildflowers. Instinctively, she moved closer to Jong-seop.

Without a word, Kim Jong-seop grabbed her hand and positioned her beside him. She glanced up at him. His face, usually familiar, now bore an unfamiliar rigidity—a mask of deference. This was a side of Kim Jong-seop reserved for those he held in awe.

Song-ah observed the man before her. Though his presence was imposing, his hair showed no signs of gray. Calm yet formidable, his sturdy frame was overshadowed by his piercing eyes. Like a storm hidden beneath tranquil waters, his exterior betrayed none of the danger lurking within. Touching him might feel cold, but immersing oneself fully would surely lead to destruction.

The man with the intense first impression patted Kim Jong-seop’s shoulder and then shifted his gaze toward her. Each movement deliberate, unhurried.

“I heard Jong-seop’s been distracted lately with romance. Is this the girl?”

There was little room for denial as Kim Jong-seop gave a curt bow without responding.

“…I’m Yoon Song-ah.”

“Young and lovely.”

That single remark served as their introduction. The man placed a single chrysanthemum flower and left the memorial hall. Song-ah, who had been standing quietly, rose alongside Jong-seop as the elder brother entered, according to Geon-ju’s earlier words.

Suddenly, her head spun, and she leaned forward. Kim Jong-seop caught her slender waist with practiced ease. His touch was indifferent yet precise. Even while managing condolence visitors and controlling his subordinates, his attention remained obsessively fixed on her.

Despite the tension gripping her, she couldn’t help but feel exposed. A man whose advances knew no bounds had reduced her to this—reacting instinctively to his touch like a dog in heat. She didn’t think the comparison excessive. What else could explain her panting breaths and trembling reactions to his slightest touch?

Not wanting Jin-han to see her like this, she subtly shook off his grip. Jong-seop’s gaze lingered on her intently. She looked away.

A man and a petite woman entered the memorial hall. The direct subordinates of Kim Jong-seop inside the hermitage rose respectfully, bowing deeply. This was someone Jong-seop served directly.

“My apologies, hyung-nim.”

“Leave the aftermath to Si-baek. You should rest.”

“No, I’ll handle it.”

With a faint sigh, the man turned his head and looked down at her.

“Hello.”

Their eyes met briefly before she lowered hers and bowed slightly. A vaguely familiar face. Where had she seen it before? She rarely encountered people connected to Kim Jong-seop. Gazing up at him with her tear-dried, cracked face, realization struck. Two years ago—that winter. The face stepping out of the backseat of the car Kim Jong-seop drove. And the woman who had been in the car with him.

Beside the man stood a strikingly beautiful woman who appeared both youthful and delicate. Her noticeably swollen belly suggested she was nearing childbirth.

“I told you to rest, but here you are, my sister-in-law.”

Their eyes met. While she carried no particular interest or curiosity toward strangers, the stark contrast between the man and woman intrigued her. How had they met? What kind of love story did they share?

The woman’s gaze shifted from her to Kim Jong-seop, then back. Was she thinking similar thoughts? Though no words were exchanged, a polite bow conveyed mutual respect.

After a wave of condolence visitors passed, a brief silence settled over the hermitage.

She spent the first day in a daze, catching only fitful naps as the cold dawn approached. She must have rested her head on Kim Jong-seop’s shoulder throughout the night. Defying his suggestion to leave was entirely selfish, driven by the hope that staying until Jin-han’s final departure might lighten the crushing weight of her guilt.

On the second night, as the oppressive tension finally eased, she began to notice her surroundings.

She still felt like an alien presence—an island adrift—among them. Every time she shifted her body slightly, their attention flickered toward her. Whether it was subtle or not, their interest in her was palpable. Was it simply because she was a stranger who had appeared alongside Kim Jong-seop, or was there something more? She couldn’t tell for sure.

The men filling the space, dressed in black suits, were all seasoned fighters—men who had long abandoned any semblance of morality, ethics, or humanity. What would they have done if she hadn’t been with Kim Jong-seop? She didn’t know. Whenever that thought crept in, her body instinctively gravitated closer to him. It was natural, after all, for humans to seek comfort in what was familiar rather than what was foreign. Her reliance on Kim Jong-seop in this group might have been inevitable—a perfectly ordinary psychological response. There was nothing strange about it.

The memory of hard cocks pressing against her cheek, Lee Sang-heon’s lust-filled eyes gleaming as he licked her chest, Jin-han collapsing with an empty gaze, and Lee Sang-heon’s rough hands spreading her legs—it all came rushing back. She flinched violently, her entire body trembling.

“Ah,” she gasped, closing her eyes tightly, trying to steady herself.

Her slight movement caught his attention. Even here, at a funeral, her mind wandered into these dark places. Only now did she realize: she too carried wounds—both visible and invisible—that hadn’t healed. These unhealed scars reacted sharply to even the smallest external stimuli. Being here, enduring this, made her want to die, but wishing away the pain wouldn’t make it disappear.

Without realizing it, she clutched the hem of his sleeve like a lifeline, taking deep breaths as though it were a sedative.

“It’s just… I feel a bit suffocated. I’ll go get some air and come back.”

She tried to explain herself, but Kim Jong-seop wasn’t one to take things at face value.

His lowered gaze fixed on her as he spoke.

“Damn bastards can spot beauty even when they’re horny. Fuck off and screw around if you want, but keep your damn seats.”

“W-Wait a minute!”

Before she could protest further, he grabbed her wrist and pulled her outside.

Though his words inside had been crude and out of place for a funeral, once outside, he lit a cigarette and released her, as if letting a caged puppy out for a walk.

The sun had fully set, leaving behind a faint bluish darkness settling over the sky.

Song-ah exhaled deeply, drawing in the cool night air like a sigh.

“You still think it’s your fault, don’t you?” he blurted out suddenly.

Startled, Song-ah stopped walking and turned to look at him. One hand remained tucked into his pocket while the other held the cigarette.

“Do you think picking someone to blame will make you feel better?”

He blew out a cloud of smoke, waiting for her reply, but no words came.

“Whose fault is it, yours? Mine? Does everything need to fit so neatly into cause and effect? Why aren’t you answering?”

“…I don’t know. When someone dies, how can you not feel guilty?”

“Did you bash Jin-han’s head? Did you stab him?”

“Of course not, but still…”

“If not, then why are you looking like you’re about to keel over? Huh?”

Song-ah could only stand there silently, staring at him.

The growing darkness cloaked him in shades of blue, and yet it suited him perfectly. She realized then: regret and gratitude were emotions that needed to be expressed while people were still alive. If missed, the opportunity might never return.

“…I couldn’t save Jin-han, but…”

Tears streamed down her face, blurring her vision, but she swallowed hard and forced herself to continue. She hadn’t expected to say this to this madman, but it was the truth.

“Thank you… for showing up back then. At least for that moment…”

Her voice faltered before she could finish, and she covered her mouth.

She stood there crying, unable to open her eyes, when he suddenly grabbed her wrist.

Not knowing where they were going, she followed him.

Kim Jong-seop led her to a parked car. The difference in their strides forced her to almost jog to keep up, and soon enough, she found herself pushed into the backseat. He slid into the seat beside her, loosening his tie and relaxing. Just as she thought he’d lean back into the seat, he climbed over her instead, pinning her head against the seat in an instant.

“What are you doing?”

“Shut up, bitch. Unless you want the car shaking noticed, shake your ass gently tonight.”

“You crazy bastard! How dare you try this now, huh?!”

She kicked and struggled to push him off, but when their eyes met, she froze. His expression—his eyes—were different from usual. They were complex, layered with emotions too tangled to untangle. For the first time, she understood that someone’s inner turmoil could be read through their face without them saying a word. His silence spoke volumes.

What was he thinking right now?

Why did she suddenly feel the urge to comfort him, even briefly?

Almost unconsciously, she reached out and touched his cheek. His eyes widened in surprise, then softened into a faint, bitter smile. He probably mistook her gesture for pity or sympathy. But was that really what she felt?

If anything, she was in a sorrier state than Kim Jong-seop. It wasn’t pity. Perhaps it was fleeting empathy—or maybe it was the thrill of glimpsing another side of a man who wielded his immense strength like a weapon, using it only for destructive purposes. She couldn’t decide which it was, nor could she fully understand her own feelings.

“Don’t overdo it. Cut the useless pity and do what you’re good at, pretty girl.”

“What am I good at?”

“What, are you asking me now? You know exactly what to do. Soothe me with your body. Your pussy feels so good, ang ang. Shit, watching you lose control makes my dick insane. Got it?”

His words were harsher than usual, but somehow they lacked sincerity. It felt like he was masking his true emotions under layers of vulgarity. Why did it feel like she could see through him just a little? If she mentioned it, he’d probably lash out, calling her presumptuous—but still.

“Don’t make me regret ever feeling grateful to you.”

Perhaps that’s why, despite his nonsense, she didn’t feel angry today.

As their bodies pressed together, both of them sensed the commotion outside almost simultaneously. Men wielding steel pipes swarmed toward the hermitage. They didn’t look like mourners, nor did they resemble members of Moon Sung. Their violent energy radiated menace—they were here to destroy.

“Fucking idiots playing with crayons. Such colorful chaos.”

Kim Jong-seop moved to the driver’s seat, made a quick call, and then surged forward, breaking through the loosened crowd at the entrance. Bodies hit by the car flew off with dull thuds.

“Yeah, Geon-ju. Guests are here. Daemyung bastards. Handle it. And send some guys to Yeonidong.”

His call was brief, efficient—he had said everything he needed to say.

Then, he stepped on the accelerator. The car sped across the road recklessly. She wanted to ask what was happening, but her pounding heart kept her silent.

The car came to a stop in a familiar alley. After parking carelessly, he pulled her out, climbed the stairs, and shoved her inside the apartment. Kim Jong-seop glanced around to check if anyone was inside before speaking in a tone she couldn’t fully grasp.

“Stay put. Lock the door properly.”

“Um….”

Before she could even take off her shoes, he turned to leave after quickly scanning the place.

“I’m busy. I’ll scratch your itch later, pretty girl. You’ll have to handle yourself for now. If it gets unbearable, use the cucumber in the fridge.”

“No….”

“I’ll eat all the cucumbers you’ve soaked in water. Don’t let any other bastard touch them.”

Before she could respond, he was already gone. The door clicked shut behind him, and his footsteps echoed as he descended the stairs.

She didn’t understand what had just happened, but somehow, within moments, she had been transported from the mountain hermitage back to her own home—still dressed in mourning clothes.

This tiny studio apartment, which she had once thought would grant her a sliver of freedom, now felt alien and terrifying. This space, obtained with Jin-han’s help, seemed unbearably unfamiliar. Worse, those who had stood by her side—Jin-han and now Kim Jong-seop—were gone. She was utterly alone.

She had longed for this solitude, hadn’t she? A space where no one would interfere with her freedom. But instead of peace, loneliness surged through her like an overflowing dam, accompanied by an inexplicable, suffocating fear.

She wasn’t ignorant of how freedom and loneliness coexisted, intertwined like two sides of the same coin. Yet here she was, feeling as though she were experiencing loneliness for the first time, her heart hollow and famished.

Song-ah stood there, lost and uncertain, as if stepping into this space for the very first time, unsure of what to do next.