PAHO 51

Nam Gyeonhwa, who headed to the back gate as usual, was momentarily flustered when he saw the shuttered door. He’d been told it was a regular closing day, but it seemed the guard at the back gate was also on a full day off, as the lights were off both inside and out.

It was unlikely that Yeo Eunjae didn’t know the entrances were controlled on closing days, so wondering if there was another way in, Nam Gyeonhwa circled back around to the main entrance of the arena, where he saw blue delivery trucks lined up in front of the main hall. Most of them were vehicles from the construction company that had been brought in for the renovation work that had been ongoing for about a month. Unlike the other entrances, the main gate was wide open due to the need for workers to come and go frequently.

The Wiyoung Arena was a circular theater where all four cardinal directions—east, west, south, and north—connected to the central arena, and it had the structure of an infinity symbol (∞) with the east and west halls overlapping. Because the widest central passageway was connected without any corners, the smell of wet earth from water-mixed cement emanated from all directions from the moment one stepped inside the building. As he walked along the plastic sheeting covering the floor, the arena he had previously looked down upon from the office came into view.

The Special Fighting Champion, or SFC for short, held at the Wiyoung Arena every other autumn, was said to be nothing short of the starting gun signaling Nakdo’s peak season. After unification, the South Korean government declared unprecedented deregulation to attract foreign tourism. Using the geographical advantage of being a peninsula, all sorts of alcohol and drugs were secretly distributed, and with the addition of Nakdo’s emergence, the tourism industry, which had hit rock bottom, got back on track in twenty years. It was what they called the New Miracle on the Han River.

What was planned to consistently support this was none other than the SFC. With the addition of enormous investment funds from the chaebols of the newly risen powerhouse, Namdong-guk, and the wealthy from places like Shanghai and Chongqing, as well as secret sponsorships from corporations that had feigned ignorance of Nakdo, it became the driving force behind the increase in tourists visiting Seoul for purposes other than gambling or drugs. For what was called a so-called dog-eat-dog bloody battle happening in the shadows, its scale was remarkably large.

A worker with steel bars on an A-frame carrier was climbing a steep ladder. It was just strange that despite the advent of various innovations like illegal surveillance patrol robots and movies produced without actors, manual labor was still used for high-risk jobs that required a lot of hands-on work.

After barely landing on the floor, he wiped his sweat-soaked face with the back of his gloved hand. Seeing the young face that looked to be in his mid-twenties at a glance, Nam Gyeonhwa was suddenly reminded of days gone by.

For him, who had received neither the few pennies given for resocialization expenses after his release from prison nor even a common certificate, there was no choice but to do manual labor, and he had to do something to at least get a place to sleep for the night. Drifting between inns that cost less than 20,000 won per night, he ripped off men at gambling dens. He threatened men who won big at gambling, and if he failed to extort money, he would suck them off, and sometimes the latter earned him more money. With the money he earned that way, he bought formula and infant nutritional supplements for a newborn who hadn’t even been weaned, and in the winter, he bought and dressed the baby in thermal underwear.

However, his racket targeting inn guests did not last long. After getting beaten up and kicked out by the inn proprietress due to a pathetic love affair, Nam Gyeonhwa turned his sights to a call for day laborers to be put to work on a bridge construction project. The daily wage was absurdly low for the effort, and a moment’s inattention could lead to a fatal fall, but that didn’t matter. With the money he scraped together, he was able to go down to Mangmae, which was said to be Father Nam Gijun’s hometown, without looking back, so that alone was a sufficient reward.

Unlike those harsh times, the construction site before his eyes now had safety nets installed in various places to prevent falls, and the safety gear worn by the workers looked quite sturdy.

“Hey, what are you doing there! Can’t you see this is a restricted area for authorized personnel only?”

The supervisor, who had been shouting orders at the workers with a bullhorn, spotted Nam Gyeonhwa and strode toward him. The man, whose lips twitched like a toad’s, snapped at him fiercely.

“Aren’t you going to answer when someone asks you something? I asked what you’re doing here.”

“I was just passing through.”

“Ah, for fuck’s sake, if you’re just passing through, then pass through quickly. Can’t you see the site is busy right now?”

“I’m sorry. I’ll leave right away.”

At the sound of the gruff shouting, the gazes of the workers resting on the left were drawn to them. Instead of talking back, Nam Gyeonhwa obediently apologized. It was a renovation of an underground building with a total floor area of nearly 40,000 square meters, combining the east and west sections. It was understandable that he would be annoyed, as he was already on edge from overseeing a considerable area, only to have an unfamiliar outsider loitering about. As he was about to turn away, he turned back to the supervisor as if something had suddenly occurred to him.

“Do you happen to do night construction here too?”

“Why are you asking that?”

“I’m asking because I’d like to apply as a day laborer.”

At those words, the supervisor’s eyes rolled up and down. Seeing that a curse-laden refusal didn’t immediately follow, it seemed they needed night construction workers. It was easy enough to guess that they would be short-staffed, as people generally preferred day shifts over night shifts. The supervisor let out a deep sigh, fumbled in his pocket, and then tossed something onto the ground.

“I’m in the position of hiring people every day, so I don’t know the details. Go to the manpower office on that business card and try applying there. The director there will probably decide.”

Getting on the elevator, Nam Gyeonhwa dusted the cement off the business card. The card, which didn’t even have a proper business name and was simply labeled “Manpower Office,” only had a map to find the place and two main phone numbers.

It was a hassle that he had to be connected to a manpower office instead of being put to work on-site at the supervisor’s discretion, but the process of getting a foot in the door at the manpower office beforehand wasn’t so bad in itself. He might continue to live in Nakdo even after his purpose with Na Taebeom was over, and even if that wasn’t the case, money was an absolutely necessary resource. Ever since virtual currency emerged as a new monetary horizon about half a century ago, it was common for places to offer things like electronic gift certificates, which were difficult to use, as an hourly wage. Because of that, a job where he could receive immediate cash payment was very valuable information for Nam Gyeonhwa, for whom even opening a bank account was difficult.

When he reached the top floor of the Wiyoung Arena, the damp smell subsided and the usual, distinctively cold and refreshing scent returned. Until a few weeks ago, he had thought the faintly sweet and cool smell was a remnant of an in-building air freshener or perfume, but after living in a house with an air purifier, he realized it was a kind of after-scent emanating from purified air. In Mangmae, which was surrounded by mountains, there was no need to breathe oxygen that had passed through an air purifier, so of course he would have perceived it as an unfamiliar smell.

Standing in front of the familiar doorway, Nam Gyeonhwa checked to make sure he hadn’t dropped the two types of delivered items he was holding in his arms. The fact that he had to see Na Taebeom’s face even on his first long-awaited day off wasn’t exactly welcome. If it had been Gwon Jongdae, he would have refused flatly, but he couldn’t bring himself to reject the request from Yeo Eunjae, who was busy with six injured people who had poured in all at once and was also suffering from a hangover. Yeo Eunjae had said he would accept payment later for everything from the accumulated medical bills to the medicine, and he had never even mentioned a receipt. While being so indebted to him, how hard and troublesome could it be to deliver some clothes and medicine like this?

“Director Na Taebeom, are you in there?”

Knocking on the office door a couple of times, Nam Gyeonhwa waited for an answer. But even after several minutes, no sound came from inside. It had been nearly 1 p.m. when he left earlier, so it wouldn’t be too strange if he were out for lunch or had gone out somewhere. It’s not food, so wouldn’t it be fine to just leave the clothes and medicine in front of the door? Just as he was about to naturally place the bags next to the door, he thought he heard a presence from inside, and the door swung open. The face that was soon revealed through a finger-width crack in the door belonged to a woman who looked to be around forty.

“Oh my, I thought you were Chief Gwon, but I don’t recognize you.”

Her curious gaze stared intently at his face. Nam Gyeonhwa held up the paper bags he had been about to put down.

“Is Director Na inside?”

“Director Na? He is. Of course.”

“Then could you please give him this for me?”

Instead of taking the clothes he offered with both hands, the woman opened the door. When the woman’s flesh, clad in a slip, became visible due to the relatively bright hallway light, Nam Gyeonhwa turned his head, pretending not to see. The woman, who burst into laughter at his innocent demeanor, turned her back, gathering up the hair she had tossed back.

“Perfect. I have to leave now anyway. If the Director asks for me, please tell him that Ms. Gwon Seong-ah went out for a lunch appointment.”

“…Couldn’t you just, tell him that yourself.”

“I don’t want to disturb him while he’s bathing. I’m busy too. My appointment is at one, and I’m already ten minutes late. Okay?”

She put on an overcoat and grabbed her car keys. Before he had a chance to stop her, Gwon Seong-ah had already left in a flash, and Nam Gyeonhwa, left behind, sighed as he placed the clothes and the medicine bag on the table. He too had left Haejin at the hospital, so he didn’t have the luxury of staying long.

A moment ago, Gwon Seong-ah had said he was bathing, so he must be in the bathroom. I’ll just knock on the bathroom door, briefly explain the situation, and then leave. Nam Gyeonhwa looked around the slightly dim room with the lights turned down and walked in the direction he knew. From the inner room, where a faint light was leaking out, the sound of splashing water and a warm, steamy air mixed with the scent of soap drifted out.

“Director Na.”

Just as he was about to knock on the door while calling his name, the door was thrown open before his hand could even touch it.

“What is it?”