14. Suppressant

Not long after Kim Jong-seop left, unfamiliar men began standing guard outside her apartment. The dark-suited figures on the CCTV screen were unmistakably sent by him. Though she didn’t try to confirm it, she was certain of it.

She wasn’t the type to wander outside much anyway. Occasionally, she’d go out for academy classes or part-time work, but otherwise, she preferred staying indoors. It might be more accurate to say she enjoyed solitude and quietness. Being alone suited her better than mingling in noisy crowds. But now, things felt profoundly different.

She couldn’t go to the academy or her part-time job anymore. She had likely been fired ages ago from the latter, and as for the academy…

“I need to eat… I need to eat something.”

Without even realizing what she was putting into her mouth, she mechanically filled her empty stomach like an instinct-driven animal.

To avoid unwanted thoughts, she sat at her desk and opened a book. Maintaining focus was crucial. Solving problems every single day without fail was key. How many days had she missed already? Instead of dwelling on regrets, she set a goal to solve just one more problem.

For two days straight, Song-ah stayed cooped up in her room, moving only between the kitchen, her desk, and the mattress. She studied relentlessly, almost to the point of overexertion.

Kim Jong-seop—was he safe? She had no reason or need to worry about him.

Whenever thoughts of him crossed her mind, she switched subjects to distract herself.

Then, reminded of the vacant apartment below hers, she flipped through her books again.

Relying on others wasn’t the life she had pursued.

She wanted to stand on her own, elegantly independent. Her first hurdle toward that goal had been university entrance. Though her initial plan had crumbled spectacularly this time, next year would be different. A misaligned buttonhole could always be rethreaded, and she intended to start anew—completely fresh, as if nothing had ever happened.

As she scribbled notes with her pen, Jin-han’s face suddenly surfaced in her mind, staring at her intently.

“Kids who study well even have pretty handwriting. What can’t you do? Tell me.”

His chuckling voice, those eyes that looked only at her.

“Huh… hng.”

Song-ah burst into uncontrollable tears, clutching her pen tightly.

Trying to move forward alone after losing Jin-han caused the guilt she had barely suppressed deep within her chest to erupt. Waves of emotion overwhelmed her, too vast to contain with her hands.

In truth, her relationship with Jin-han hadn’t been particularly close. They had graduated from the same school, and by chance, he learned of her situation when she turned twenty and helped her rent a room in his building. Objectively speaking, that was all there was to it. And perhaps that’s why she felt even guiltier. He had shown unconditional affection despite their ambiguous connection. He had reached out when she had nowhere else to go, freely expressing his fondness for her.

In that sudden crisis, the person who should have died was her.

He had essentially died in her place.

If only she had surrendered her body to Lee Sang-heon from the start, none of this would have happened.

No, if only she hadn’t followed Jin-han out of the house. But deep down, she knew this wasn’t the ultimate cause.

It wasn’t just Lee Sang-heon. Even without him, Jin-han would have suffered because of her. From all the men who had clung to her, from all of Yoon Hyung-woo’s lovers—he had tried to protect her.

The freedom she had so desperately sought was born from someone else’s sacrifice.

That’s why she felt so sorry.

Song-ah buried her face between her knees and stifled her sobs until dawn.

On the fifth day of being alone, her refrigerator was finally empty.

There wasn’t even a single egg left to boil for soup. After tossing the towel she’d used to dry her hair into the washing machine and throwing on a simple dress, Song-ah grabbed her wallet and opened the door. It had been five days.

The men guarding her door turned to look at her.

“I’m going grocery shopping. Surely you’re not going to stop me?”

When they silently let her go, she headed toward the neighborhood’s largest mart, with them trailing behind. The air was already humid, carrying the scent of summer. Spring had grown shorter, and before she knew it, an early summer had arrived.

Fanning herself against the heat, she picked out necessities by eye. She wasn’t the type to enjoy cooking, so she chose items that required minimal effort—things she could eat with just a bit of seasoning.

To anyone watching, it must have looked strange for her to shop with two men in black suits tailing her. Pretending they weren’t there while knowing full well they were following wasn’t easy.

At the hot dog stand outside the mart, Song-ah bought two hot dogs and offered them to the men.

“Take these, hurry.”

“…”

“Your arms will fall off. It’s not free—I’ll make sure your boss reimburses you, so just eat. You’re making me nervous. If you were smaller, maybe I wouldn’t care.”

“…”

Their lack of response only prompted them to urge her to hurry along. Perhaps they were afraid of being scolded by their boss. Or maybe they were worried about losing face, just as Yang Chul-woo had drilled into them.

Giving up, Song-ah carried her grocery bag in one hand and took a bite of her hot dog as she walked.

One of the men silently took the bag from her. Rude yet somehow considerate—a difficult balance to achieve. He reminded her of someone. Of course—typical of Kim Jong-seop’s underlings.

If they didn’t want to eat, fine—it was their loss.

Lately, she’d been feeling hungrier than usual. This hunger stemmed from her sense of loss. To fill the void in her heart, she took another bite of the hot dog. Sweet ketchup and sugar melted on her tongue. She hadn’t cared much for such flavors before, but now, remembering Chul-woo’s words about how sweets eased stress during exams, it made some sense.

Chul-woo had always kept chocolate close during exam periods. But no matter how many hot dogs she ate, the unease remained, thick and sticky like burnt caramel stuck to the bottom of a pan. It felt like it would never come off unless she scraped it clean.

Kim Jong-seop.

Five days had passed without any contact from the man who used to visit her daily. An unsettling anxiety lingered in her chest. To test her feelings, she repeated his name in her mind. She didn’t miss him—that was absolutely not it. Nor did she worry about him.

Song-ah drew a clear line in her heart regarding him. Once she did, thoughts of him began to flow more freely. Was he hurt somewhere? Had those men with steel pipes injured him? Given his size and personality, it seemed unlikely.

If he had lost interest in her, he wouldn’t have left those men trailing behind her like soldiers.

His mysterious absence unsettled her. If he were unharmed, he wouldn’t have disappeared entirely. If he had truly lost interest, he wouldn’t have left traces of himself attached to her.

Something about it all felt strange and unsettling.

From the beginning, Kim Jong-seop had been that kind of presence—someone whose unpredictability made her anxious.

Was he still alive? Well, that was enough, wasn’t it? Song-ah bit into the last hot dog, chewing thoughtfully. The caramel she had tried to scrape away felt thicker and heavier than ever.

Just as she approached her building, a strange sedan she hadn’t seen in the neighborhood was parked outside.

Could it be Kim Jong-seop?

Song-ah handed the remaining hot dog to the man behind her and cautiously approached. A man stepped out of the driver’s seat—long legs, white shirt, a vibe similar to Kim Jong-seop, but it wasn’t him.

“Where have you been? And what’s with that disgusting thing in your hand?”

Cha Geon-ju frowned disapprovingly at the hot dog she held.

“The bag was heavy, so they helped me carry it. I don’t know why they’ve been following me around, though.”

“Give the damn hot dog to Sung-gwang. Come on, let’s go somewhere.”

“Me? Why?”

Her defensive attitude toward anyone and everyone was one of the symptoms she needed to work on—an ingrained sense of victimhood that made her tense and wary, always expecting harm. It stemmed from Yoon Hyung-woo’s endless parade of men he’d brought into her life. But hearing Cha Geon-ju mention a name sent an unexpected chill down her throat.

“Kim Jong-seop might be done for.”

“What? What do you mean, ‘done for’?”

She hadn’t expected to suddenly hear news about him when she’d been obsessing over his whereabouts just moments ago. Unconsciously, she clutched the hem of her tacky pink dress. She had thought it didn’t matter as long as he was alive. Even if he were injured, what did it matter as long as he woke up eventually? That’s what she had told herself while walking here minutes earlier.

But now, faced with the reality of his potential danger, her heart raced. She didn’t fully understand her own emotions. This man—this man who had barged into her home uninvited, subjected her to violent sex, and exhibited no remotely normal behavior—had shattered the peace she had so desperately sought. Because of him, her carefully built world had cracked and crumbled. Logically, his life or death shouldn’t concern her.

So why did her heart race at the mention of his name? Why did news of his injury make her so uneasy?

“The bastard got stabbed. You think his guts are still intact after that? The fact that he’s even alive is surprising. Anyway, he’s useless right now.”

What could she possibly do? He wasn’t someone she could control or change. Her will alone couldn’t alter anything about him.

“How bad is it? How badly was he hurt…?”

Her trembling body and wobbling legs acted independently of her mind. Why was she shaking like this?

Faced with this unresolved puzzle, she felt stuck. She couldn’t decipher the color of her emotions or confirm if her assumptions were correct. That uncertainty paralyzed her, leaving her unsure how to act or what was right. Yet, she knew she couldn’t just stand there idly. Whether her feelings were pink or black, she was certain of one thing:

If she could just confirm he was alive, that would be enough. No one could blame her for trying.

Drawn by some invisible force, Song-ah climbed into the car. And with that, the car began to move.

She didn’t know where they were headed, but she kept glancing out the window nervously. Strangely, Cha Geon-ju remained quiet, driving at a leisurely pace. Perhaps her own anxiety made his calm demeanor feel excruciatingly slow.

“Want me to speed up a bit?”

Their eyes met in the rearview mirror as Geon-ju smirked. How could anyone—even a thug—smile while talking about a comrade on the verge of death? She found their world incomprehensible and had no desire to understand it.

Assuming they were going to a hospital, she was surprised when the car entered the parking lot of a familiar building.

“Why are we here?”

“That crazy bastard refused to go to the hospital and collapsed at home. Said he wouldn’t go because it was ‘just a stab wound.’ Now he’s passed out, acting all tough. Go talk some sense into him.”

That stubborn idiot, Song-ah thought bitterly, slamming the car door shut with irritation. What was he thinking, refusing medical treatment? What was so important about saving face? Was his pride worth risking his life? Without hesitation, she stormed toward the front door, ready to ring the bell, but Geon-ju casually entered the door code.

“Do you really think a guy who got stabbed is gonna come open the door?”

Geon-ju’s soothing voice contrasted with his firm grip on her trembling shoulder as he pushed the door open for her.

Song-ah rushed inside, forgetting she was still wearing the same simple pink dress she’d thrown on to go shopping. The bedroom was empty. Had he collapsed while using the bathroom? A foreboding feeling surged through her, growing monstrous in an instant. Her chest churned as Jin-han’s collapsed, dilated-eyed image flashed in her mind like a tattoo etched into her brain. What if history repeated itself?

She bolted to the bathroom and flung the door open, only to be greeted by a wave of humid steam. Inside, she found Kim Jong-seop standing under the cascading shower. Their eyes met. Oblivious to the water soaking her clothes, she stepped closer and examined his body.

Bruises dotted the tattoos covering his upper torso.

“What are you doing?”

But no matter how closely she looked, there was no sign of a stab wound. His tightly packed muscles bore only old scars, healed and faded.

“What’s going on? Didn’t you say he was dying?”

He turned off the shower, removing the noise barrier between them. Left in silence, Song-ah confronted him again.

“Why are you fine?”

“What the hell are you talking about? How did you even get in here?”

“They said you were dying from a stab wound!”

Her voice rose accusingly, but her anger wasn’t directed at him—it was aimed inward. She was furious at herself for worrying about such a man, for secretly hoping he was unharmed. She was bewildered by her own foolishness for rushing here out of concern for him.

“Oh, so I’m supposed to be dead already? Guess I should’ve died, huh?”

It was then that his furrowed brows softened slightly, revealing a faint, mocking smirk.

“Were you so worried you ran over here, dripping wet? Did you play with cucumbers while thinking of me? Shit, did you use them so much they rotted?”

His cruel, taunting smile infuriated her. Worrying about this man—this vile, arrogant pervert—felt absurd.

“If you’re fine, that’s all that matters.”

She tried to leave, but he grabbed her arm. His upper body, marked with scars like graffiti, was terrifyingly solid.

“Let go of me. I must be insane for coming here.”

Just as she prepared to unleash a torrent of insults, Kim Jong-seop did something unexpected: he simply smiled faintly and gazed down at her.

“Were you that worried? What did you do all alone? Did you really play with cucumbers day and night? I heard you didn’t go out.”

“When did you tell me to stay put and behave?”

“Lately, you’ve been cooped up in your place like a horny little rabbit. Since we’re here, how about we move in together, pretty girl? Wanna live with me? Lately, I’ve been jerking off so much thinking about you, my dick’s about to dry up. Damn, just looking at your face makes me hard.”

“Is this supposed to be a confession?”

“You wish.”

His hand suddenly slipped under her dress, groping her firm behind before sneaking into her panties. Song-ah shoved him away forcefully.

Storming out of the bathroom, she strode toward the entrance. If she ever worried about someone like him again, she’d deserve to lose her humanity.

But just as she reached the door, his hand caught hers once more. He stood there, ambiguously draped in a bathrobe, blocking her path.

“Yoon Hyung-woo.”

Even without issuing commands, he knew exactly how to stop her in her tracks.

“I’ll never let him near you again.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’ll protect you. Just stay by my side—that’s all you need to do. Trust me, it’ll be enough to drive me wild.”

Was it a demand? A request? Or a plea? Nothing about him was clear.

For a fleeting moment, a shadow of darkness crossed his face. Though he showed no outward signs, she sensed he felt some responsibility—a burden he couldn’t ignore. He might not feel guilt, but responsibility was something else entirely.

The weight of his emotions might differ from the guilt she carried for Jin-han, but she suspected he too harbored complex, indefinable feelings about Jin-han’s death. At least, that’s how he had seemed at the funeral.

As his hand slid toward her hip, Song-ah grabbed it urgently. Coming here had been her choice, but leaving now depended entirely on his will.

“You want an answer? Then please, for once, try having a normal conversation first. Normal people start with dialogue—that’s what’s considered sane.”

“If someone saw us, they’d think we’re the type who only shut up when fucking. A woman who moans ‘shit’ every time a dick goes in.”

“I’m not talking about sexual stuff. I mean casual conversation. And stop swearing so much. Please.”

“Fuck, dating you is such a pain in the ass.”

He had said he wanted to date her—to engage in a relationship based on love.

Suddenly, the thought struck her: all those outrageous, violent acts he’d committed toward her—could they have been his way of courting her? It was absurd. Here was a man who had slept around recklessly with countless women, yet now, faced with someone he genuinely liked, he struggled to express himself properly. In any normal situation, one would confess their feelings to the person they cared about. Her logic wasn’t wrong.

Surprisingly, it was clear that he harbored feelings for her. But this was a man who barely understood the difference between a sex partner and a lover. Expecting love from him might be nothing short of ridiculous. Unsure of how to respond or whether he’d even comprehend her answer, she found herself at a loss. After staring at him silently for a while, his proud nose twitched slightly.

Unexpectedly, he calmly tied his bathrobe, released her arm, and headed to the kitchen.

Pouring a glass of strong whiskey—no ice—he downed it in one gulp as if trying to drown something inside him. His insides must have been burning. Whose insides were burning, though?

“Why? Shouldn’t you be dating Jin-han instead of me? Does being with me make you feel like shit?”

“...Jin-han oppa… That has nothing to do with Jin-han anymore. Not anymore…”

Even hearing his name was unbearable. She instinctively took a step back, wanting to avoid facing it, but his expression darkened. He strode toward her, his cold eyes narrowing.

“Don’t talk about Jin-han anymore.”

“Why? Did you do something wrong to him?”

“You know exactly what I mean.”

“What do I know?”

“Please, just stop talking about it…”

It hurt. Song-ah squeezed her eyes shut tightly. She didn’t want to hear it.

“Pull yourself together.”

“What did you say? Is that really something you can say to me right now?”

“How long are you going to keep digging holes and burying your head in the ground?”

“What are you even talking about?”

“You think you orchestrated this? You almost got violated too. Do you think they would’ve just fucked you gently? They would’ve turned you into a human hamburger, shoving dicks into every hole until you died alongside Jin-han. You weren’t just gang-raped; it could’ve been attempted murder. You don’t have the right to wallow in guilt like this, idiot.”

“...I know. I know.”

“Tsk, if you know, then why are you still acting like a sick chicken with its head buried in the sand? How long are you going to act like someone waiting for death? You say it’s not your fault, so why the hell are you drowning in this useless guilt and acting stupid? Didn’t you used to be smart? Why are you torturing yourself like this, damn it?”

He was a strange man. Insulting and comforting her simultaneously. An unpredictable stimulant and suppressant for her emotions.

She knew. Deep down, she knew it wasn’t her fault.

But no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t shake off the deep-rooted victim mentality and self-blame that had festered within her. Her mind understood it wasn’t her fault, but convincing her heart was another matter entirely—a task far too difficult for her.

She hated Yoon Hyung-woo for making her this way.

Always living in fear, crammed into a tiny room like a caged chick, she had blamed everything on herself. “If only you hadn’t existed,” “If only you had listened better,” “You dirty slut, lusting after old men.” Yoon Hyung-woo had always looked at her with contemptuous eyes, blaming her for everything.

“So what am I supposed to do? Everyone says it’s all my fault, that it’s all my responsibility.”

“Damn, you finally heard something right. You know exactly what I’m talking about. Your brain gets it, but your heart refuses to accept it. Do I have to chew the food for you after spoon-feeding it into your mouth?”

Kim Jong-seop spoke. It wasn’t her fault—it was Yoon Hyung-woo, Lee Sang-heon, and that godforsaken cage that were to blame. Perhaps she was overinterpreting, but his words sounded like that to her. Maybe she desperately wanted to hear them, so she interpreted them in her favor. He wasn’t the kind of man to comfort her with tender words, but honestly, she didn’t care.

It felt as if she’d finally found an answer after being locked in a prison cell for twenty years.

Her eyes watered, on the verge of tears.

It was like wandering through a labyrinth with no visible exit, only to finally find herself standing before an emergency door.

He surely noticed her trembling eyelids. As he pulled her waist closer, she hastily parted her dry lips.

“I’m hungry. I want to eat. Someone dragged me here after I went grocery shopping.”

Afraid she might burst into tears in front of him, Song-ah cleared her throat and gestured vaguely toward the kitchen.

“You walked here on your own two feet, so don’t make excuses. Like Cha Geon-ju would drag you here willingly.”

Perhaps something even more terrifying awaited beyond this door. But she didn’t want to run anymore. She didn’t want to keep cramming herself into that chicken coop out of fear of some shapeless threat. Though it was a difficult vow to make, she had already climbed one big step. Having taken the first step, she believed she could climb the next one too. Slowly, she could learn to ascend the staircase.

The man who offered to walk beside her—no matter her choice, she couldn’t escape him. He was a man who would claim her by any means necessary.

The outcome was the same. When Kim Jong-seop asked her to live with him, it was about the process. Whether she was forcibly dragged to him or chose to stand by his side voluntarily, his question seemed to offer her a choice, but in reality, it was a notification disguised as a query. Cruel, yes, but undeniably characteristic of Kim Jong-seop.

“Anyway, it’s your fault I’m here because of your scam.”

“Are you going to sue me for kidnapping under some bullshit health law next?”

“If I could’ve, I would’ve done it already. I didn’t because it would only ruin me.”

She wasn’t foolish enough to waste energy on a losing battle.

“So, will you answer or not?”

Back to square one, he asked again. Remaining silent, she simply stared at him. Acting as if he’d received an answer, he picked up the phone lying on the table and made a call.

“Buy some random food. I don’t feel like calling anyone this late, so just grab something. Instant food works too.”

His gaze remained fixed on her, so the mention of instant food likely referred to her. Come to think of it, when they were at her place, they mostly ordered delivery since she didn’t know how to cook. Still, she couldn’t starve.

“One more swear word and I’ll throw you in the Han River.”

From the sound of it, the person on the other end was asking questions about the menu, which seemed to irritate him. The call ended abruptly.

She suspected it was one of the men who followed him around like a shadow.

“Wanna tag along?”

“I hate water.”

Not even five minutes passed before sushi, salad, and various snacks appeared on the table. Ignoring everything else, she immediately dug into the spicy tteokbokki. Across from her, he sipped his whiskey, looking oddly pleased.

He was never this simple, but given how sensitive she’d been lately, the spiciness momentarily eased her stress. Whether it was the food improving her mood or the psychological relief of knowing Kim Jong-seop was fine, she didn’t know. Either way, her mental capacity had reached its limit.

Defining emotions neatly wouldn’t change her situation. Regardless, she would remain seated beside him. Whether much would change by her will, she didn’t know. At this point, she wanted to let go and let things flow as they may.

When had her struggles ever changed anything?

“By the way, why were you missing for five days?”

The question slipped out before she could stop it. She’d been curious but hesitant to ask. Technically, he hadn’t disappeared—he just hadn’t come to her. Immediately regretting it, she saw him smirk.

“Curious about what your husband was doing while neglecting you? Did you miss getting fucked?”

She glared at him while chewing her tteokbokki.

“Cute little thing, aren’t you? I came back worried you might die.”

“What do you mean? What are you talking about?”

“Just eat.”

She hadn’t expected an answer anyway.

After gulping down more whiskey, he stood up and returned within a minute. Placing a small box on the table, its shape hinted at a ring inside. But with him, there was no telling what shock he might deliver next. Approaching him with ordinary assumptions was like inviting a bolt of lightning.

Could it be that he had placed poison inside, meant to kill her once she consumed it?

Abandoning the expectation of finding a ring in the ring box, she opened it. Normalcy was never part of the equation when dealing with him.

“Look at how delicate you are. Give me your hand. Who wears a couple’s ring on their right hand? That’s the hand you use to fondle my balls while sucking my dick.”

“...”

“What, afraid I’ll cut off your finger?”

She reluctantly extended her hand, and he snatched it abruptly.

There she sat, ridiculously dressed in her shabby house dress, perched on a chair at his dining table.

The expensive ring now adorning her finger clashed absurdly with her attire.

She had long since given up trying to make sense of this bizarre combination.

If she were still the person she used to be before meeting him, she would never have done something like this, not even under threat of death.

If she refused to accept the ring and tried to return it, she might end up permanently confined in this house.

Perhaps she’d become pregnant here, give birth in the living room, and continue having children in the master bedroom—stuck in an endless relay marathon. This ring symbolized both obsession and freedom, two irreconcilable qualities coexisting within it.

Her fractured daily life was slowly consuming her, seeping into her like spilled ink.

“What, does the design not suit your taste?”

The ring was simple yet exquisitely designed, far too beautiful to reflect his usual style. Then again, judging by how he dressed and chose his shoes, he clearly had a refined eye for these things.

When she didn’t respond quickly enough, his frustration boiled over into a string of curses.

“Fuck, how am I supposed to know what women like when choosing rings?”

On his own hand, she noticed a few simple rings—ones he’d worn since the day they first met.

“...It’s pretty, I guess.”

“Don’t women like flashy rings covered in gemstones?”

“Maybe the women you dated before liked that kind of thing.”

“Fuck, this is my first time buying a woman’s ring. And you’ve been yapping endlessly about it.”

She stared at the ring for a long moment, feeling its weight as a manifestation of his desire and possessiveness—a declaration that there would be no escape for her, ever.

If she hesitated or rejected it, who knew what ordeal awaited her tonight? The thought alone made her head spin.

“I’ll protect you and our future kids forever. If anyone tries to take my head, they’ll have to go through me first. So stop worrying.”

Perhaps. He was a man who stood at the top of the food chain.

“Hmm? Still not answering, pretty girl?”

“It’s always ‘pretty girl’ with you.”

In his mind, their imaginary child already seemed around fifteen years old.

“I tell you all the time how beautiful you are, damn it. What else do you want? Go ahead, tell me. I’ll confess however you like. Option one: mildly horny version. Option two: very horny version. Option three: extremely fucking horny version.”

“That’s enough. What if I get too turned on here, Kim Jong-seop?”

“I’m talking about you, not me. My dick gets hard just looking at you 24/7, damn it. What’s there to worry about? Sometimes I think I might die from constantly being erect.”

“If that were true, you’d have exploded by early evening.”

“True, I’ve probably gotten hard more times than I’ve picked up a spoon. Anyway, like I said earlier, there aren’t many conditions this time. I’ll protect you unconditionally, and all you need to do is stay by my side. Easy, right? Isn’t this practically free labor? It doesn’t add up.”

“Not really. Staying by your side is the hardest part.”

“Are you mocking me?”

Song-ah silently chewed as she watched him refill her empty glass with a drink.

He pushed forward containers of sushi, opening lids of miso soup and pickled radishes in turn.

Despite his crude words, he meticulously ensured nothing was missed during the meal. Switching from cigarettes to whiskey mid-meal, he carried on eating as if it were nothing significant. She reminded herself how tacky it was to assign meaning to every action or word in relationships—but still, she couldn’t help but notice.

She simply ate in silence.

Occasionally glancing at the man who had so deeply insinuated himself into her life.

________________________________________

Jong-seop was busy. After the incident, he had unfinished business with Daemyung, Yoon Hyung-woo to deal with, a ring to buy, and loose ends to tie up from his rushed business trip.

Fortunately, Kwon-seok had kindly excused him from the latest business trip, citing the funeral as reason enough to let him rest.

With everything finally settled, he planned to give her the ring.

Jong-seop entered the warehouse, dragging a metal pipe behind him. Yoon Hyung-woo, gagged with a balled-up running shirt, glared up at him with bloodshot eyes.

“Hello, old man. You look terrible. Have you been neglecting yourself? Didn’t those young dicks give you enough vitality while sucking you dry?”

Jong-seop patted Hyung-woo’s shoulder mockingly. For a fleeting moment, Song-ah crossed his mind. Though the two were vastly different, they shared similarities—dark, weary atmospheres paired with fiercely burning eyes, like molten lava floating in icy water.

“I never intended to kill you, old man, but things got out of hand. Remember your lover, Lee Sang-heon? Or maybe not—you’ve had so many. How does an old fart like you still manage to attract young men eager to fuck your ass? Is it your tight hole that drives them wild? Are you multitasking?”

“These days, good medicine can make even a ninety-year-old hard. They say it can even impregnate, hyung-nim.”

“Bravo, bravo. So you’re popping pills to keep your cockstand going, while others line up to service you.”

Jong-seop chuckled openly, his mockery laced with shame and humiliation. Hyung-woo’s glare grew sharper.

“Look at those eyes. Damn. You should’ve kept better tabs on your lovers. Thanks to your boyfriend’s antics, trouble’s come knocking at your door. Life should be peaceful in your twilight years, but here you are, heading to hell before you even need diapers.”

As Yoon Do arrived with a drum of thick, bloody liquid, Jong-seop lit a cigarette. Pouring the viscous fluid generously, he removed the gag from Hyung-woo’s mouth.

“Do you know what this is, old man?”

“...You bastard.”

“Curious, huh? It’s simple—eat your own shit. Fair and clean, isn’t it? I ground up that huge head of Lee Sang-heon’s so it wouldn’t choke you. Special treatment, just for you.”

“Why are you doing this?”

“You deaf, old man? Heard nothing I said? Shit clogging your ears?”

As Yoon Do shoved a funnel into Hyung-woo’s mouth and poured in the pulped remains, Hyung-woo thrashed violently, limbs twisting. Men held him down as chunks of gore spilled over him. Pathetic whining from someone who’d sucked countless dicks daily.

“Eat it all before digestion kicks in—I’ll send you off soon. No worries about bursting; you’ve got a strong stomach, right? Though considering the freshness level, I should’ve blended it sooner to avoid maggots.”

Jong-seop exhaled smoke leisurely, savoring the man’s desperate screams like fine classical music. A wave of pleasure washed over him, and a smirk escaped his lips.