PAHO 8

Nam Gyeonhwa parked the motorcycle on the shoulder of the road, flipped up his helmet visor, and took a long, deep breath. It was indeed a light motorcycle that could be ridden without a two-wheeler license, so its performance was worse than a toy, but after breaking it in for a few hours, it was manageable enough.

Kim Hangyeol, who had followed him around so persistently it was cumbersome, stopped following him after guiding him to a used motorcycle shop. Just in case, Nam Gyeonhwa checked behind him from time to time while driving on the road, but there was no sign of anyone tailing him by the time he reached his destination. It was a relief for Nam Gyeonhwa, who had wanted to avoid the unsettling company.

Following the sound of thunderous cheers, his eyes fell upon a building hung with floodlights that one would expect to see at a stadium. It was the underground fighting ring of Nakdo, which he had only heard about. The official name of the fighting ring, built between Myeong-dong and Jongno, the so-called prime locations, was ‘Wiyeonggwan (Hall of Majestic Shadows)’, and it was classified as a cultural facility even on the city map.

For three days, while subsisting on sandwiches as dry as a sponge, Nam Gyeonhwa diligently read the daily newspapers and gathered general information about Nakdo. The underground fighting ring’s significant influence was the reason Nakdo remained in a gray area as a special autonomous district in the process of cracking down on various illegal activities such as gambling, prostitution, and drugs.

From the Colosseum of ancient Rome to modern boxing, watching fights has been an indispensable form of entertainment in human history, but the popularity of the fighting ring, witnessed firsthand, was truly immense. Under the electronic billboard announcing today’s match, various sponsors were packed so tightly there was no empty space, and in front of the entrance, there were not only foreign tour groups but also a fair number of civilians who appeared to be citizens from the surface level.

Originally, it was a pointless fighting ground where unemployed thugs would compete for rank. It was all about fistfights, but at some point, money was wagered, and the scale grew at once. About five years ago, an investor strongly pushed for its commercialization, leading to its current state. The city government, violating its official stance that the underground special district and the Seoul Metropolitan Government had no connection whatsoever, went so far as to actively promote match tours, including accommodation, to Chinese and Japanese tourists.

The person who led this entire process was Na Taebeom.

During his stay in Nakdo, Nam Gyeonhwa could easily see and hear Na Taebeom’s name wherever he went and whatever he did. The champion of the underground fighting ring, the owner of Wiyeonggwan, a monarch, a dictator. He was a man who truly fit the word “omnipotent,” and it would not be strange to assert that he was the most prominent figure in Nakdo.

Staring blankly at the banner displaying highlights from the matches, Nam Gyeonhwa suddenly recalled Na Taebeom from the television. The face that looked at the camera with an arrogant smile. He was as arrogant as his flamboyant appearance, and he wielded that arrogance like a sense of intimidation.

Whew, a sharp whistle pierced his ears. Nam Gyeonhwa’s body flinched reflexively at the unpleasant metallic sound, and he let out a sigh after confirming it was a signal from a parking attendant organizing the lot across the street. With an important moment just ahead, this was no time for idle thoughts.

Hiding the motorcycle a little farther away, Nam Gyeonhwa circled the fighting ring once. The fighting ring was not just crowded with a large floating population; it was almost no different from the surface, except for the artificial lighting that mimicked sunlight. The entrance, along with a tiered parking lot likely built for the convenience of tourists, was surrounded by ornamental trees and flowerbeds as if a small botanical garden had been set up. Moreover, surveillance cameras and security drones, which were said to be useless in the underground special district, were installed in various places. It seemed they were thorough about their own security.

From a spectator’s perspective, it was an excellent facility fully prepared for maintaining order and safety, but Nam Gyeonhwa could not let his guard down for a moment. To begin with, if one wanted to avoid the public eye, there were plenty of much better blind spots in the underground, so to choose the underground fighting ring of all places—he could not fathom the contact person’s intentions. In the first place, what did the location matter when he didn’t even know the identity of the item he had to retrieve? But it was a choice that was quite contrary to the cautious movements he had maintained so far.

At this point, he even grew curious about the item. If it was enough to mobilize the security team of a major corporate affiliate, could it be a biochemical weapon that hadn’t been disclosed to the public? Or perhaps a bomb powerful enough to collapse a building in one go?

Then again, what did it matter whether it was a bomb or a biochemical weapon? To Nam Gyeonhwa, all that was important was to meet with someone whose face he didn’t even know and safely receive the item. The requested task specified in the contract only stated the act of receiving and bringing the item; no other details were written. Therefore, there was no need to add unnecessary curiosity.

Thanks to deliberately coming over to the fighting ring late, it didn’t take long for the match to end. Nam Gyeonhwa, who had been impassively watching the crowd pour out, pulled the baseball cap he had brought down low, put wireless earphones in his ears, and nonchalantly blended into the crowd. None of the security guards, busy dealing with the VIP guests who had paid up to several million won, stopped the illicit intrusion.

About 100 years ago, it was a public newspaper company founded to praise a dictator. Decades ago, it became a museum, and was then rebuilt as a fighting ring. The corridor inside this building with a long and storied history had a solemn atmosphere like a cathedral. It was truly an unfathomable state of affairs that a brutal dogfight would take place under the pointed arches that seemed to inspire reverence just by standing there.

Since it was right after the final match had been held, most of the spectators had left, so the lobby was not very crowded, and even then, half of them were officials from the fighting ring’s operational headquarters.

Nam Gyeonhwa turned towards the restroom to appear like a remaining spectator, while keenly observing the officials out of the corner of his eye. He suspected that the contact person who would hand over the item might be among them, but he couldn’t find any particular signal.

Could Min Chanyoung be putting him through the wringer? He wanted to call and ask again, but he couldn’t make a call from his end, so he had no choice but to watch the situation and wait. It would have been much easier if he had at least shared a general description, but Min Chanyoung hadn’t even provided that simple piece of information.

“What the hell am I supposed to do?”

Nam Gyeonhwa muttered like a sigh, turning on the water full blast at a sink in the empty restroom. There was still some time before closing, but wandering around inside for too long posed a high risk of being caught on the surveillance cameras. The fact that he was led to the underground fighting ring late at night suggested that the contact was an official, but it was not easy to find him within a limited radius.

Having lightly rinsed his hands, Nam Gyeonhwa turned to find a disposable towel to wipe off the remaining water, just as someone entering the restroom bumped into him. When he turned his head, a middle-aged man in a navy-blue work uniform was standing there, holding a garbage bag and tongs.

“Ah, I’m sorry.”

Nam Gyeonhwa, stepping back slightly so as not to block the way, nodded his head and offered an apology. The janitor, blinking his wrinkled eyes, looked at Nam Gyeonhwa for a while before slowly walking towards the storage room in the hallway, clutching his cleaning tools.

What was that just now? Nam Gyeonhwa, looking in the direction the janitor had gone, narrowed his eyes. It was an unnaturally blatant stare. He had deliberately entered the restroom because it was the only area without surveillance cameras, but it seemed he shouldn’t stay for too long.

Then where would be a good place to go? As Nam Gyeonhwa started to walk, someone appeared in a hurry and blocked his path. It was the janitor who had left the restroom a moment ago, standing there with a grim expression.

“…What do you want?”

Frowning, Nam Gyeonhwa asked back stiffly. He had thought the janitor’s behavior as he turned back was strange. Was he mistaking him for a tourist who had come to the arena without a companion and trying to extort money from him?

The janitor, who had been staring intently at Nam Gyeonhwa for a while, gulped down his dry saliva.

“Lo-lo-lost and found…”

“Lost and found?”

Before Nam Gyeonhwa could even repeat the question, the janitor held out his hand. On his palm, clad in a work glove, lay a data chip the size of a finger joint.

“Th-this is it.”

There was no need to ask what it was. The data chip in the janitor’s hand was clearly the ‘item’ Min Chanyoung had requested. As he reached out to receive the data chip, the janitor suddenly grabbed Nam Gyeonhwa’s hand tightly.

“Y-you’re from Samwon, right? P-please, deliver a message for me. Tell them I did as agreed, so as promised, p-p-pardon, please grant my son a pardon from deportation.”

“Deportation?”

“I-I did my best. You have no idea how, how anxious I was, bringing this out. So, as promised, please tell them the dismissal must be nullified. Please?

Nam Gyeonhwa couldn’t answer, caught by a grip as strong as the desperate plea. He was in no position to pity the man’s difficult circumstances, as he himself was in a predicament just the same. But what was so difficult about delivering a single message?

“…I will deliver that message.”

“R-really?”

“Of course, sir.”

While soothing the janitor who was trembling with fear and anxiety, Nam Gyeonhwa calmly twisted his hand free and stepped aside to leave. He glanced back, but the janitor was still standing in the same spot, not moving an inch.

Looking up at the ceiling, Nam Gyeonhwa moved to a spot slightly out of the surveillance camera’s line of sight. Now that he had received the requested item, all that was left for a perfect finish was to catch the train to Daejong from Seoul Station without delay.

He was heading for the exit, fiddling with the data chip in his hand, when he heard the sound of combat boots and looked up. A group of men in black uniforms was approaching from the opposite end of the corridor. Protective vests and helmets. Their attire didn’t look like that of simple arena security.

They passed Nam Gyeonhwa and went straight into the restroom. Sensing a foreboding sign, Nam Gyeonhwa put the data chip in his hand into his inner pocket and walked briskly, almost running, toward the arena exit. If he could just get out of the arena safely, he could run to the Seoul surface station. But for some reason, in that short time, the exit had been sealed with a shutter. It was strange for them to close the exit without even checking if there were still people inside, even if the matches had ended.

No, it wasn’t just strange; things had gone seriously wrong.

“You there, by the door!”

At the voice from behind, Nam Gyeonhwa swallowed the curse that rose to his throat. The sound of approaching combat boots was heavy and calm.

“Excuse me, but could you please cooperate for a moment?”

An intention to subtly intimidate could be felt in the polite tone. Nam Gyeonhwa turned his body slightly and looked at the name tag on the man in front of him. Below the name tag that read ‘Gil Useong’, a captain’s rank insignia was attached. Belying his robust appearance, he had a scar running vertically from his cheek to his lip.

“…What is the matter?”

Nam Gyeonhwa lifted his chin slightly and answered plainly. The voice he squeezed out to sound calm was a little low and husky. Gil Useong replied.

“We have been dispatched from the Underground Special District’s special security team. We are currently investigating a report of suspicious conduct in this vicinity a little while ago. This may be somewhat inconvenient, but we will need to check your ID and your match ticket.”