PAX 15

“Kim Junik, living with his mom next to the market. 27 years old, 169 cm tall, 75 kg. Hair long enough to cover his nape. No dye.”

I carved the information Ahn Yutan recited into my mind.

Soon, the two guards approached.

“Do your best to take care of it, and let’s have another date here at the same time next Wednesday.”

I nodded and turned away. I walked past the two guards toward where I had parked my bike. I heard them muttering to each other behind me, followed by a squeaking sound that drew nearer.

Soon, the couple’s bike passed by me. The white guard was in front, and Ahn Yutan was in the back. The black guard was jogging alongside them, keeping pace like a bodyguard.

“Good work.”

Ahn Yutan, his head leaning against the white guard’s back, waved with a spinning grin. I walked slowly, watching the gun tucked into Ahn Yutan’s waistband pull away.

Since he said he was the same age as Kim Junik, that meant Ahn Yutan was also twenty-seven. To be that old and living like that, playing ‘number one’ and ‘number two.’ Because of a person living like that, I have to do this kind of work.

One week from now.

What kind of accident could happen to Kim Junik within that time?

A very accidental and ordinary accident.

🎈🤍

I looked down at the pond in Suyeong Park. I imagine what this place must have looked like when it was being run properly for its intended purpose as a park. Red and yellow carp swimming around in the pond, people spreading out picnic mats here and there to enjoy their weekends. Perhaps they even tossed coins into this pond and made wishes. Harmonious and peaceful.

And when night comes, someone sneaks in to scrape up every last coin piled at the bottom of the pond. While they’re at it, they might even catch a few carp to boil and eat.

Human society is like that. Beneath what appears peaceful, there are always types busy looking out for their own interests, acting in the shadows.

Just then, Ahn Yutan popped up at the park’s main entrance.

“Hi-hi.”

As soon as he saw me, Ahn Yutan held his hand up high. Ahn Yutan, with no bike and no guards in tow, walked toward me with a brisk stride. Even on a cloudy day, his titanium legs still seemed to flash.

“Sorry about your boyfriend.”

Ahn Yutan, who had come to stand beside me, leaned against the railing.

Last Thursday—that is, two days after he was rushed to the hospital in that unconscious state—Yonghee died. No, they said he died. Mom and Dad came back and said so. They said they thought he was recovering well, but it ended up like that.

They said that according to Pachulso custom, they sent him straight to the crematorium, and no funeral was held. In the evening, Mom and Dad gathered all the family members to explain and have a time of mourning. Gayoung and I cleared out Yonghee’s room together. The younger family members split up his few belongings among themselves.

The door handle of the car that had carried Yonghee was wiped clean. The backseat where they had laid Yonghee was the same. Did they burn the blanket that had wrapped him up at that time, too? I was curious about that. I kept thinking about that. Whether they burned the blanket with him or not—I was obsessed with that. And what happened to the shoes he was wearing.

“What are you going to do? There’s no one to sleep with now. Or is it? I guess it doesn’t matter since you guys just take turns sleeping with each other in the Pachulso?”

It’s rare to meet someone you want to punch in the mouth the moment you see them after a week. I kept my mouth shut tight, just in case my hand decided to move on its own.

“How about your Mom and Dad? Are they in the middle of looking for who beat their kid? Are they coming to catch me now? Are they going to have a parent-teacher consultation with Ahn Juik, too?”

That won’t happen.

While notifying us of Yonghee’s death and the cremation, the story Mom and Dad told was this: The reason Yonghee was so severely injured was that he had been hit by a truck while walking on the national highway. They said Yonghee, who had regained his senses, had told them so himself. He had been wandering and playing alone on a deserted national highway when he was struck and lost consciousness, and when he briefly regained consciousness, he crawled with all his might to the front of the Pachulso before losing consciousness again.

Since it was an incident without cameras or witnesses, they said there was no way to find the hit-and-run truck. Mom and Dad concluded the story by saying that although they had unfairly lost a precious family member, they should be grateful to Yonghee—who, despite that mangled body, had managed to crawl all the way to the front of the Pachulso to help them share a final goodbye—and grateful for the lesson he left them, that no matter how deserted it is, one must never wander on the road with one’s bare body.

With a lump in my throat, I looked at Gayoung, who was sitting next to Mom. Yonghee had clearly looked like someone who had been beaten to a pulp. Gayoung, who had discovered Yonghee first, would know, and Mom and Dad would know, too. There had certainly been no signs of a person dragging themselves along the ground in the vicinity. Moreover, how were they going to explain the fact that he had been stripped of everything except his shoes?

Gayoung kept her eyes lowered throughout Mom and Dad’s speaking, nodding occasionally, remaining silent. Her expression was such that I couldn’t tell what she was thinking.

Perhaps I should have called Gayoung aside afterward to talk. But I didn’t.

It was possible that Mom and Dad were telling the truth. It was possible that Yonghee had actually said that. He might have said it while confused, having developed brain issues from being severely beaten by Ahn Yutan’s gang. Or it could be that Yonghee really was a hit-and-run victim, and Ahn Yutan, having witnessed the scene by chance, was lying by changing it to suit his own tastes.

“Where did you beat him?”

The words popped out, unplanned.

“What?”

“Yonghee.”

“Ah, your boyfriend. Plaza basement.”

The Plaza building is not that far from here.

“The basement there is wide open, you know. I beat him right in the middle. Since it’s spacious, there was nothing in the way, and because it echoes, the sound was good.”

If I went there, there might be some traces left.

But, is it necessary for me to go and look for traces? Yonghee, whom I saw in the Pachulso yard that day, had clearly looked like a beaten mess. Everything points to Ahn Yutan’s words being true.

The person I can trust, and must trust, is not Ahn Yutan, but Mom and Dad. I must believe the hit-and-run truck story told by Mom and Dad.

But right now, I am wavering.

Ignoring my complicated mind, I decided to change the subject.

“Shall we get to the point?”

“Ah, right. Kim Junik.”

Ahn Yutan clapped once.

“You handled it better than I thought?”

Kim Junik died from a fall while hiking. The conclusion was that it happened because he acted carelessly at a spot that could be a bit dangerous for a beginner, while he was consistently hiking recently for his diet.

“Are you going to pay the fee?”

“Hmm.”

Ahn Yutan looked me over while fiddling with his chin. Why pretend to deliberate when he’s not going to pay anyway? And what am I, for asking when I know he won’t pay?

“I have to pay.”

I looked down at what he had pulled from his back pocket and held out. A thick envelope.

Wondering if he had actually put money inside, I accepted it and looked inside, feeling uncertain. It contained real bills, not counterfeits.

I was a bit surprised, but I pretended I wasn’t as I counted the money and put it in my pocket. It seemed like he paid a little more than the usual fees for requests that came into the Pachulso. This was also unexpected.

As I raised my head, I met eyes with Ahn Yutan.

“Good work.”

“So, a farewell?”

This time, I held out my hand to Ahn Yutan.

Ahn Yutan leaned sideways against the railing, looked at my hand, and then only raised his eyes. We stared into each other’s eyes for a while.

“Aren’t you curious about how Ahn Juik reacted to Kim Junik dying?”

I wasn’t curious. Seeing as he paid the fee without protest, it meant he believed it was an accidental death.

“Not really.”

I lowered the hand I had been holding out, as he didn’t seem to have any intention of shaking it.

“I would have been curious if I were you.”

Because I am not you.

“Ask. Ask how Ahn Juik reacted.”

Is he doing this because he’s bored? Because he wants to have a conversation with someone?

With an unpredictable human like this, it’s safer to humor him moderately anyway.

“I am curious about what kind of reaction Director Ahn Juik showed.”

“No reaction.”

“I see.”

“He probably doesn’t even know that Kim Junik died.”

Given that he had supposedly been sending child support without fail all this time, it seems there was no other human-like communication.

“Do you know why?”