07. Crisis

Cha Geon-ju, who had been drinking heavily and was on his way home, was ambushed.

Some of the thugs who had stormed into the establishment, wrecked everything, and fled were caught and dealt with swiftly, but others had already left the scene by the time the chaos unfolded. Amidst the wreckage of the venue, Jong-seop quickly reviewed the CCTV footage handed over by Si-baek after spotting Chang-sik crawling on the floor with a knife wound.

“Looks like it’s from the Dae-myung faction.”

“Yeah, seems that way.”

“Young-moon hyung...”

Si-baek tossed the tablet over carelessly, and Yoon-do caught it lightly.

Jong-seop poured whiskey onto Chang-sik’s bleeding side wound and pressed a handkerchief from his back pocket against the injury.

“Take Chang-sik to the hospital. And Cha Geon-ju?”

“They said his skull is fractured and he needs surgery. Where do you think you’re going? If you’re planning to go see Geon-ju... are you really going there now? Shouldn’t we figure out what happened first...?”

“Haa.”

“How can you talk about assessing the situation after seeing this mess? Gye-hoon got his face smashed, and Cha Geon-ju’s head is cracked open. Damn it, what more ‘situation assessment’ do we need? What else is there to check? Whether his balls are fried or still intact? You want me to strip him and confirm? Is that it?”

“Haa.”

“Besides, didn’t the boss already give orders? Since when do you get to decide whether we should assess the situation or not, huh? You son of a bitch. After finishing off Cha Geon-ju, we’ll build a coffin and then assess the situation. We can figure things out after Big Brother’s balls have been sliced clean off.”

“Watch your words.”

“Yeah, that was my mistake.”

Though Jong-seop’s mention of the Big Brother was a warning, his point wasn’t entirely wrong. Si-baek had no real rebuttal. It was hard to accept Si-baek’s suggestion to be cautious when their people had been so thoroughly beaten. The circumstances weren’t clear yet, but they at least knew who these bastards were who had trashed their place like a dog kennel.

A call came in saying Cha Geon-ju had been taken into surgery. Si-baek said his head injury wasn’t too severe, but the situation was worse than expected. They mentioned that his left arm was shattered beyond repair and needed reconstructive surgery. Jong-seop regretted not leaving Yoon-do behind, but regrets don’t turn back time. So he let it go.

In a crisis, emotions like regret, despair, and discouragement only hinder progress. It’s better to discard them.

The men got out of the car, broke down the locked office door, and descended the long staircase.

From behind the group taking down attackers one by one, Jong-seop carefully observed the faces of the men popping up.

He spotted a familiar face. Jong-seop approached the man Yoon-do had crippled, grabbing him by the hair.

“You were the one who slashed Chang-sik’s stomach, weren’t you? I’ve memorized every face on that CCTV footage, you bastard.”

With the sashimi knife passed to him, he swiftly slit the man’s throat. Blood spurted out like a heavy rainstorm, spraying warm droplets onto Jong-seop’s neck. He casually turned his head to avoid the splatter and absentmindedly looked up at the CCTV camera, which had already been disabled earlier.

Click. Yoon-do, guarding the door, locked it to block any escape routes.

The guy who stabbed Chang-sik, the one who disfigured Gye-hoon, the bastard who cracked open Geon-ju’s skull.

Two more assholes remained for Jong-seop to deal with personally.

Gripping the mangled head once more, he plunged the tip of the sashimi knife into the man’s face and mercilessly slashed to the right.

Blood dripped rhythmically from the cold blade as Jong-seop flicked it away and stepped inside.

His eyes moved slowly, searching for the face he had seen on the CCTV footage. The visage from the black box recording was hiding among the dark beasts—like a hyena. Cunning but fragile, it lurked within the pack, thinking it couldn’t be touched. Jong-seop approached the hidden puzzle piece amidst the carnage.

Drip, drip. He wiped the blood flowing down his chin absentmindedly as he struck down the moths flying toward him, one by one. The butcher finally found the bastard who had cracked Cha Geon-ju’s skull.

“You goddamn son of a bitch, did you really think you could get away with this?”

Seeing the man charge at him with a kitchen knife, Jong-seop swung his sashimi knife in one fluid motion, slicing through the Achilles tendon. Precision was key; cutting all the way through would’ve been boring. With two-thirds of the ankle severed, the man writhed on the ground. Blood sprayed like holy water as Jong-seop grabbed the man’s skull and aimed a single blow to his forehead. He discarded the shattered skull and stomped on the exposed brain matter as he walked.

Crushing the twitching man’s hand under his shoe, Jong-seop muttered in a relieved tone, “You must’ve known what you were getting into when you decided to smash Cha Geon-ju’s head. Did you think I’d come to suck your balls or something? Stop whining like a bitch. Yoon-do, take this and finish him off.”

Jong-seop retrieved the discarded skull cap from the corner and tossed it to Yoon-do before moving on to find his next target.

One last bastard remained for him to handle personally.

The fucker who ruined our Gye-hoon. Ah, so it’s you. Holding the bloody sashimi knife, Jong-seop pointed its sharp edge at the trembling man whose testicles quivered visibly.

“You’re the one who tore apart Yoo Gye-hoon’s jaw, aren’t you?”

Pulling the shaking man closer by his Achilles tendon, Jong-seop sneered, “I knew you’d end up like this.”

Si-baek knocked down approaching men with a steel pipe and stepped closer to Jong-seop.

“If you’re not planning to castrate everyone tonight, stop this nonsense and head to the hospital. The boss is looking for you.”

Si-baek sliced through the Achilles tendon of the man in Jong-seop’s grip and looked up at him.

“I understand your rage, but let’s go, Kim Jong-seop.”

Holding the hair of the man whose ankle tendons were shredded and who now crawled helplessly on the floor, Jong-seop jammed his thumbs into both eye sockets.

“Fine. Clean up the mess yourself.”

Smirking, he wiped the blood from his face as Si-baek sighed deeply. He had been sent by Boss Kwon-seok to rein in Jong-seop before he caused even more damage tonight.

True enough, the floor was drenched in blood, evidence of Kim Jong-seop’s rampage.

“Yoon-do, make sure you grind them fine. Wouldn’t want anything stuck in your throat later.”

Jong-seop pulled up the heads of the fallen men and stared at their gaping mouths, speaking in a cruel baritone as if feeding them directly.

________________________________________

New appliances were brought into the house. Even when living with Yoon Hyung-woo, the washing machine had always been essential.

Without it, life would’ve been inconvenient, but thanks to Kim Jong-seop, the inconvenience felt multiplied tenfold. Washing clothes daily was exhausting, and lugging them to the laundromat reeked of debauchery, so she decided to bring one in sooner than planned.

In the unnervingly quiet room, Song-ah paused her scribbling with a mechanical pencil and looked up.

She had assumed he would come straight home after visiting the shop and spread her legs for her.

She knew he was following her. Bracing herself for whatever outrageous behavior he might subject her to, she walked steadily, trying to steady her nerves—but the car trailing her suddenly sped past, leaving her behind.

The silence was pleasant, almost too comfortable, but an unsettling feeling lingered.

It was like forgetting a dental appointment and realizing hours had passed. Not going to the dentist felt good, but it wasn’t quite relief either—it was an indescribable unease.

Stuck on the last problem, Song-ah tapped the blank space where the answer should go with the tip of her pencil, reading and rereading the same question.

“...Whatever.”

Shaking her head to clear her thoughts, she refocused on solving the problem.

As she turned the page after completing the final question, the doorbell rang. Was it Kim Jong-seop?

If she didn’t open the door, he’d probably break it down anyway. It was less costly—and mentally taxing—to just let him in. Sighing softly, she approached the entrance.

“Who is it?”

“It’s me, Song-ah.”

Jin-han’s voice. Her stiffened shoulders relaxed slightly at the sound.

Opening the door, she saw Jin-han holding a paper bag labeled with the name of a nearby dessert shop.

“I was debating whether to come this late, but I’m glad I did. I thought you might want a late-night snack since you’re probably still awake.”

It was well past midnight. His hesitation was evident as he glanced at her nervously, aware of how rude it was to visit so late.

“You said you stay up until dawn. I figured you might be awake.”

Perhaps it was because of their lunch conversation the day before. He remembered her casual remark that she preferred studying late at night and catching up on sleep during the day. Such trivial details, fleeting and almost forgotten, but he was surprisingly attentive. Though his actions often seemed playful, he possessed a sensitivity she lacked. Unsure how to respond, one thing was certain: she needed to give him closure.

“Do you want to share some dessert? I also have something to say.”

Deep down, she had known since her first encounter with Kim Jong-seop that she couldn’t pursue anything serious with Jin-han. She thought it best to tell him sooner rather than later.

Though he had helped her in countless ways, introducing her to this apartment and supporting her studies, gratitude couldn’t translate into personal feelings. “I’m sorry, but I still can’t reciprocate your feelings,” she thought. Normally, she’d cut ties cleanly, but for some reason, she felt guilty.

That’s why, when he confessed for the ninth time, she couldn’t dismiss it as easily as before.

It wasn’t just anyone—it was the tangled connection between his uncle and herself that left her with an odd, lingering sense of guilt. Like a wriggling seed, it had lodged itself deep in her chest, waiting to sprout at any moment. It was only a matter of time before it would bloom. As time passed and her encounters with Kim Jong-seop accumulated, so too would her guilt. Wounds were never one-sided; they always cut both ways. Jin-han would inevitably bear as much pain as she did.

It was better to sort things out now, before it went any further.

Accepting his kindness was becoming increasingly uncomfortable. She had no real reason—or right—to continue receiving such warmth from him. While part of her didn’t want to hurt him, another part didn’t want to be hurt either.

Jin-han stepped inside and glanced around the kitchen as if he were visiting for the first time.

“Do you eat well? Your kitchen’s so clean.”

She remembered staying at his place for a few days before moving into this apartment. His kitchen had been a mess back then—chicken bones scattered everywhere, leftover spicy sauce smeared across surfaces, and overcooked tteokbokki stuck to the bottom of pots. Yet somehow, despite his sloppiness, he always managed to look impeccable in neatly pressed clothes.

“Oh, you installed a CCTV system. Smart move. Looks good.”

He admired the tablet displaying the security footage set up in the living room. After bringing out some tea, he looked around the living room before heading toward the kitchen.

“It’s caffeine-free, so I thought it’d be a nice substitute for coffee.”

Unsure if coffee might be too heavy for late-night consumption, she prepared two cups of buckwheat tea and sat across from him at the table.

“Try this. It’s an orange tart. Supposedly really good.”

“Uh, Jin-han Oppa...”

“Hmm?”

“That thing I mentioned earlier... I’ll give you an answer now. I—”

“Whoa, hold on. Let me mentally prepare first. Why are you rushing so much?”

Before she could even finish her sentence, Jin-han chuckled bitterly. She had rejected him eight times already—what were the odds she’d accept his confession on the ninth try? Knowing how hard he must’ve worked calculating probabilities while neglecting his studies made her feel worse. He spent all day staring at her instead of focusing on mock exams, which only confirmed what she already knew.

“For your tenth confession, maybe try someone else—a friend who deserves it more.”

“Hey, there are still plenty of practice tests left. Can we at least think about it until then?”

“I just don’t want to keep you waiting unnecessarily when nothing will change anyway.”

“You’re so cold-hearted, seriously.”

“I’m sorry. I’m not great at sugarcoating things. Would you feel better if I lied and beat around the bush?”

“It’s fine. It’s not like I expected anything serious from you in the first place.”

“Are you mad?”

“Do I get angry because you reject my confession? Not exactly…”

For once, Jin-han seemed to filter his words carefully, lost in thought for a long moment.

“Let’s leave it for today. We can talk again later.”

Though nothing would change by postponing the conversation, she couldn’t bring herself to remain firm after hearing his request to revisit the topic.

“Will those people… stop coming?”

“...Yes.”

“Can I ask who they are? If it’s awkward, never mind.”

In the past, she would have ignored his feelings and said whatever came to mind without hesitation. But now, something felt different. Whether she wanted to admit it or not, she owed him for the help he’d given her multiple times. Turning him away harshly while he stood there holding dessert felt cruel.

After hesitating for a while, she realized he probably understood that pressing further wouldn’t yield an answer.

“Eat up. I’m leaving.”

He gestured toward the untouched snack box and stood up. Watching him leave through the double-locked door, Song-ah returned to the empty space, poured out the untouched tea, and wiped down the table. That’s when she noticed a Zippo lighter sitting next to the tart box—oddly out of place among her belongings.

It didn’t seem like something Jin-han would own.

“...”

A flash of realization hit her. It was Kim Jong-seop’s lighter. She had seen him chain-smoking endlessly, so she recognized it immediately after looking at it dozens of times.

Had he been staring at this lighter the entire time?

What difference did it make if Jin-han found out she slept with Kim Jong-seop? They weren’t close enough for it to matter. Her sour mood likely stemmed from lingering pride rather than anything else. There was no point telling anyone how pathetic and filthy her situation had become thanks to Yoon Hyung-woo.

The fact that blood ties had dragged her into this mess—and the kind of person tied to those bloodlines—made everything unbearable.

She glared at the lighter, feeling irritated, when suddenly three loud knocks echoed through the door.

Thinking he might have forgotten something, she headed toward the entrance, but before she could reach it, the knocking resumed.

“Did you forget something?”

No response came from the other side. Hesitating to open the door due to memories of the last incident, she waited for an answer.

Her heart pounded violently against her chest, matching the rhythm of the knocks.

As she moved to check the CCTV footage on the tablet, a voice called out from beyond the door.

“Open the door.”

It was Kim Jong-seop’s voice.

If the lighter truly belonged to Jong-seop, should she go back and ask? Meanwhile, Jin-han remained frozen outside his own front door, unable to take a single step forward. His thoughts swirled chaotically, leaving him dazed.

If his memory served him correctly, the only interaction they’d shared since that incident was a brief meal together—the three of them. The idea of his uncle’s lighter ending up in her home seemed impossible.

Yet doubt lingered like gravel underfoot, crunching persistently.

His uncle was a man surrounded by women, indulging in debauchery almost daily. Jin-han didn’t mean to belittle him, but he certainly wasn’t the kind of man who treated women well—especially not the woman he cared about most.

Even though he tried convincing himself otherwise, anxiety gnawed at him bit by bit.

Time passed, yet Jin-han still hadn’t removed his shoes, standing rooted in place.

Why he felt compelled to confront her directly eluded him, but he sensed he needed answers. At least, with Song-ah, he believed she wouldn’t evade questions—even if she wouldn’t volunteer information upfront.

Better to face rejection head-on than endure ambiguity. That honesty was what drew him to her. Her straightforwardness captivated him, and even though she didn’t reciprocate his feelings, her occasional unexpected remarks sent his heart racing. How could someone like her exist—someone who brought laughter into his life despite dealing blows?

Attraction to honesty, even when it inflicted pain, was perplexing.

His love was layered with complexity.

Jin-han opened the gate and climbed upstairs. Halfway up, he paused and saw a tall silhouette standing in front of Song-ah’s door.

Through the slightly ajar doorway, his uncle slipped inside.

________________________________________

One Year Ago

Jin-han recalled that day vividly.

Crossing the schoolyard beneath an orange sunset, he spotted Song-ah sitting quietly on a bench, eyes closed, cheek resting on her knees.

Why did she linger here every day instead of going straight home? He wondered but never asked. Her expression suggested she wouldn’t answer easily anyway. That reluctance intrigued him—it reminded him of himself.

Song-ah appeared tough on the surface but was warm-hearted underneath. Someone who deserved care yet rarely received it, always hiding behind layers of protection.

She reminded him of himself—scarred inside yet outwardly composed. Could someone like him, flawed and imperfect, find kinship with someone so beautiful? Though he’d met others similar to her, none captured his attention quite like Song-ah did. He found himself drawn to her repeatedly, yearning to know her better.

Silently, he took a seat beside her and gazed at the setting sun until she finally opened her eyes.

Their gazes met—her moistened eyes reflecting sorrow but also depth.

He understood why he couldn’t look away.

Her melancholic gaze carried weight; nothing about her was frivolous. She didn’t dismiss words lightly or mock others. Somehow, he instinctively knew she wouldn’t ridicule his past or judge how he lived.

Even if Jong-seop showed interest in her, it would stem from the same reasons. His uncle wasn’t oblivious—he wouldn’t fail to recognize the rarity and warmth Song-ah possessed.

“Why?”

“Want to grab dinner? Or will you reject me again?”

Her resistance to giving her heart away freely only made her more precious. If she ever allowed him in, he knew it would mean something extraordinary.

Jin-han watched silently as Song-ah closed her eyes once more, lost in thought.