PAHO 31

Kim Hangyeol, who had been lashing out like a madman, soon sank powerlessly to the floor. Nam Gyeonhwa, who had helped an employee guide Kim Hangyeol to a nearby chair, knelt to meet his eyes.

“Do you remember anyone?”

“I-I don’t know. I don’t know. I was so, so scared, I couldn’t look.”

“Anything at all that comes to mind right before it happened?”

“I don’t, know. I can’t remember anything, I tell you. I don’t, remember a thing.”

Kim Hangyeol, covering his face with both hands, trembled and repeated himself incoherently. The employee, who had brought water and a blanket in the meantime, pulled Nam Gyeonhwa away from Kim Hangyeol, whom he had been holding and questioning, and shook his head.

“I’ll watch this person, so you should go to your brother.”

Nam Gyeonhwa, who had been silently looking down at Kim Hangyeol, obediently stepped back as instructed. The hospital corridor was a mess with the injured people who had just been rushed in. He moved his steps to avoid the footprints scattered messily over the marks where blood had been dragged.

An employee who had been waiting for a guardian saw Nam Gyeonhwa entering the partitioned area where the hospital bed was and made way for him. He nodded in response to the employee’s request to be contacted when he woke up. Thankfully, it seemed Haejin hadn’t heard the commotion, as his face was peaceful with his eyes closed.

Nam Gyeonhwa sat beside him, took the small, limp hand lying on the bed, and gently massaged it. His head felt heavy from the completely unexpected turn of events.

No matter how much the strays were a socially ostracized group, there was no reason to be shot in a public place like a train station. In the first place, was it even plausible for the police to fire on an unarmed civilian, and with live ammunition, not blanks? It might be understandable in places like Yanggang or the Yalu River basin, which were currently classified as martial law zones, but wasn’t this Seoul Station, the very center of the capital?

This meant that getting out of Seoul through the strays was now effectively blocked. Even the implicit bribes were no longer working; it was no wonder the brokers had cut their losses long ago. Trying to sneak onto a train above ground, where surveillance cameras were installed everywhere, was tantamount to turning himself in, and he lacked the money, time, and qualifications to get a formal resident registration.

One after another, his plans were running into snags. As soon as he managed to resolve one thing, another problem would erupt, but he was too anxious to just wait for things to quiet down, not knowing what might happen to Haejin’s condition or when. Even Haejin, who had been enduring without complaint, had recently started whining, asking when he could leave the hospital.

If only I could at least make Haejin comfortable.

“Fuck.”

Nam Gyeonhwa, letting out a small curse, tilted his head back and squeezed his throbbing eyes shut. This was all because of that damn piece of data. He hadn’t even received the tens of millions of won he was promised, yet he had gone through every imaginable hardship, and now he was even a fugitive, unjustly framed.

It was absurd how Samwon, a flagship conglomerate and an indicator of the Republic of Korea’s economy, couldn’t solve a single security issue and was acting like a back-alley thug. He had no interest in what important secret Samwon wanted, but it was so frustrating that if he had it in his hands, he would want to throw it in their faces right this instant.

“Hyung-ah…”

A weak voice suddenly broke the silence. He turned his head toward the bed, and Haejin, who must have woken up at some point, was blinking his eyes narrowly.

“Yes, Haejin, hyung is here.”

At his soothing reply, Haejin, who had been fiddling with the hand holding his, opened his mouth hesitantly.

“…I’m sorry, for always being sick.”

“Don’t say that. I told you, you don’t have to be sorry.”

“It makes me sorry, and sad, that hyung is always, upset because of me.”

“It makes hyung more upset and sad to hear you say you’re sorry than to see you sick.”

Haejin, who had been looking up at Nam Gyeonhwa with an intimidated expression, silently curled his body under the blanket. Hearing the sound of him trying to suppress a dry cough, Nam Gyeonhwa pulled back the bulging blanket and drew the huddled Haejin into an embrace. The small body was easily held in his arms.

“Everything is going to be okay. Hyung will make it so.”

Nam Gyeonhwa closed his eyes, feeling the warmth of the two arms that carefully wrapped around his neck. The Haejin of now knew nothing. If he knew that his family died because of the one he considered his only family, he would not embrace him like this.

Nevertheless, the old guilt was the only hope left by his side, who had let go of everything.

Fifteen days had passed since the enforcement decree for the crackdown was issued. During that time, the internal situation had not changed. No, it would be more accurate to say it had gotten worse. Despite the condemnation from some experts and foreign media reports calling it a lawless and cruel violation of human rights, public opinion among special citizens regarding the intensified crackdown was explosive. Donations poured into hardline conservative groups calling for the expulsion of criminals on this occasion, and the city council, which had been watching the situation, also changed its stance and issued a press release stating it would take the lead in protecting its citizens. Backed by full support, the police zealously conducted inspections as if sorting out impurities, and checkpoints disguised as security measures were set up all over the surface.

Amidst these days that felt like walking on thin ice, the entertainment industry within Nakdo was enjoying a secret boom. The blockade was still in effect, but as rumors began to circulate covertly that some people had occasionally gotten in by paying a hefty toll, citizens began to trickle down one by one as if they had been waiting for it. And so, the quiet underground quickly returned to a street of red and blue.

Nam Gyeonhwa raised his head and looked up at the Wiyoung Center. The tall, magnificent building looked particularly domineering. A hollow, self-deprecating laugh escaped him like a gasp. It was a place he never wanted to set foot in again. He had vowed not to even glance at it until the day he left, but in the end, he had no choice but to come.

“Excuse me, but this area is restricted to authorized personnel. What is your business here?”

As soon as he walked up to the entrance, a security guard blocked his way. Nam Gyeonhwa, who took a deep breath like a person facing an obstacle, finally answered in a firm voice.

“…I would like to see Director Na Taebeom.”

“Do you have a prior appointment with the Director?”

“No.”

“I’m sorry, but a meeting is not possible without a prior appointment.”

The security guard refused his visit without a change in his expression. It was an inevitable procedure, but the current Nam Gyeonhwa was not in an equal position to ask for an appointment and arrange a meeting.

“It will really only take a moment.”

“I’m not in a position to decide that on my own. Please leave now.”

The moment the security guard, who had grabbed his shoulder and pushed him away, turned his back, Nam Gyeonhwa dodged past him and went inside the building. He couldn’t even hear the footsteps or shouts chasing after him.

He got on the elevator, hastily pressed the close button to narrowly escape the guard, and reflexively gripped the handrail at the vibration of its ascent. It was only a faint vibration, but his stomach churned as if he were carsick. Ding dong, after an eternity, an announcement signaled their arrival at the top floor.

“Huh?”

Gwon Jongdae, who he faced as the doors opened, blinked his eyes with a startled expression. Nam Gyeonhwa, straightening his slumped body, pulled Gwon Jongdae into the elevator without a word.

“M-Mr. Nam, Nam Gyeonhwa? Wh-what are you doing?”

“Where is Director Na Taebeom?”

“The-the Director?”

Gwon Jongdae, who asked back with a bewildered face, checked the watch on his wrist.

“Well, it’s, two in the afternoon now, so, he’s probably, working out.”

“Where is that?”

“Uh, well, the Director, doesn’t like to be disturbed, while he’s working out.”

“Just tell me which floor. That’s all I need.”

Gwon Jongdae, who swallowed dryly at his desperate eyes, pressed the bottom-most button with a trembling finger. After confirming that the silently stopped elevator had started moving again, Nam Gyeonhwa finally let go of Gwon Jongdae, whom he had been holding in his arms. Gwon Jongdae, stealthily backing away lest he be grabbed again, cowered in a corner and glanced at Nam Gyeonhwa.

“B-but, Mr. Gyeonhwa, how did you get in here?”

“I trespassed.”

“T-trespassed?”

“Even if I get kicked out later, I won’t say a word about you helping me, so you don’t have to worry.”

There’s no need for that, came a sheepish mumble, but Nam Gyeonhwa did not answer. Before long, the elevator arrived at the destination floor. It was darker than the other floors, but there was only one door in sight, making any fear of getting lost moot. Nam Gyeonhwa deliberately ignored the presence of Gwon Jongdae, who was trailing behind him. The person he needed to focus on was inside the door beyond.

Taking a deep breath in front of the firmly closed door, he pulled the handle with force. The thick steel door opened slowly with a heavy sound. Unlike most indoor buildings in the underground, which were generally cool, the air inside was muggy, and a dull, repetitive sound of thwack, thwack could be heard. Nam Gyeonhwa, who had stepped into the gym, slowly walked further inside.

A sparring match was underway in the ring set up in the center. No, should it be called sparring? Unlike his opponent, who was wearing protective gear from his face down to his knees, Na Taebeom wore only boxing gloves.

Every time Na Taebeom lunged with a shout and threw a punch, his staggering opponent retreated, trying his best not to fall, but Na Taebeom gave him no quarter, sticking to him and swinging his fists. The practice partner, who was being hit from all sides, eventually collapsed as if from exhaustion.

“Get up.”

“D-Director, I-I can’t do it anymore.”

“What do you mean you can’t? It doesn’t hurt at all because of the protective gear.”

“Pl-please spare me. I was, I was wrong. I’ll never, misspeak again.”

“Fuck, stop whining and get up!”

It was at that moment, as Na Taebeom finally grabbed the trembling practice partner and raised his fist high, that he spotted Nam Gyeonhwa standing outside the ring. He lowered his arm and pushed away the opponent, who was looking on apprehensively before him.

“If I hear one more thing that grates on my ears, next time I’ll stuff you in a punching bag.”

“Yes, yes. I’m sor-ry.”

“Shut your mouth, and get the hell out of here.”

The man prostrated himself, banging his forehead on the floor with a thud, and scurried out of the ring like an insect. Na Taebeom, who was wiping his sweat with a towel hanging on the ropes, suddenly looked at Gwon Jongdae.

“Jongdae.”

His voice, deep, was low and grim.

“Did you let him in?”

Gwon Jongdae, who was suddenly singled out, froze and shivered. Unable to even make an excuse, Nam Gyeonhwa stepped forward in his place and said.

“No, I came in without permission.”

“I wasn’t talking to you.”

“I have something to say. No, a favor to ask.”

At those words, Na Taebeom’s eyebrows furrowed slightly. His expression was one of someone who had just witnessed something strange and unfamiliar.

“A favor?”

“Yes, a favor.”

“And what about when you said you’d never see me again?”

“It’ll just take, a moment.”

Na Taebeom burst into a broad smile at his suppressed voice and jumped down from the ring with a thud. Unlike Gwon Jongdae, who flinched and stepped back, Nam Gyeonhwa didn’t even blink and looked up at Na Taebeom. Na Taebeom, who was looking down at him silently, threw the towel he was holding onto the floor.

“What if I don’t want to?”