Vol 7 Ch 5

“Why’d you say that.”

Kwon Taeha muttered, looking toward the master bedroom.

“Yeah… guess I’m a bit drunk.”

Blaming Kwon Jaehee for dragging up what they were trying to bury, only for him to look full of regret.

“I even killed time so I’d come in late. At least that helped, right?”

“I’d still do what I had to even if you came in early.”

Kwon Taeha flipped open his Zippo lighter and lit a cigarette. As he drew in deeply, the red ember crackled and burned down the stick.

“Didn’t you quit a while back?”

Since finishing graduate school in England, he had lived almost like a non-smoker.

“No one really quits. You just hold it in.”

Kwon Jaehee borrowed the lighter and lit his own cigarette. Almost as if by agreement, they both turned toward the living room screen. The blackout screen came down in front of the full-length windows that overlooked the Han River view. The user logged into the STA executive-only hub was Kwon Taeha. Without him, Kwon Jaehee couldn’t access the server.

“How many days are you taking off?”

Kwon Jaehee ashed his cigarette, telling him to take a proper rest.

“Just three.”

“That’s still long.”

“On the fourth day I’ll stop by Macau and then head straight back to HQ.”

STA Corporation’s headquarters were in Frankfurt am Main, Hesse, Germany. The Frankfurt HQ handled HR, management, and marketing, while research, development, and production lines were located far away in Hamburg and Rostock.

The mansion where Kwon Taeha and Kwon Jaehee had lived as children was also in Frankfurt am Main, but they rarely visited it after becoming adults. Now the estate belonged to Eva Kwon.

Kwon Jaehee kept a house near the headquarters, while Taeha, though he had his own place, usually stayed in a hotel near the office. If he had to fly abroad the next day, he sometimes stayed in a hotel near the airport.

As for STA Füssen in Macau, it had been built with construction funds that Eva Kwon had deposited in a Hong Kong bank. It was safe to say it was one of STA Corporation’s branches. The casino revenue wasn’t bad, and as of this month, Füssen had surpassed the seven trillion won break-even point. But with China’s anti-corruption crackdown, Macau’s casino sales would gradually decline, and the Philippines was rising as a new casino hub.

Macau’s existing resorts earned more than 90 percent of their revenue from casinos, so declining casino profits would quickly turn into deficits. They were scrambling to introduce new leisure industries.

By contrast, STA Füssen itself was a theme park, a Neuschwanstein Castle of Macau with a shopping mall, theater, and multi-use facilities. Every room was a suite, and guests received a 10 percent discount on Max rides from Tex. Unlike the headquarters, which had suffered setbacks, STA Füssen was considered one of the most successful examples of near-future casino business in Macau.

“So the numbers look like they’ll work out?”

The shipbuilding company had gone bankrupt and been absorbed into Tex, and STA had already reached a verbal agreement with Samho Shipbuilding, represented by Moon Sungtaek, for a new Korean contract.

“Since it’s a route directly produced by HQ, accountability will be clear and the costs aren’t bad either. They just lack experience.”

At Kwon Jaehee’s assessment, Kwon Taeha gave a short grunt of agreement.

“His wife seemed pretty feisty. Ambitious, too.”

“What does she do?”

“She graduated top of her class at Tokyo University of Marine Science. Before the merger with Samho Shipbuilding, her father ran a mid-sized shipyard. When the 2008 global financial crisis hit, they barely held out for two years before declining ship orders forced them to merge. That’s when she married Moon Sungtaek.”

It was a typical business marriage.

“She seems sharper than her husband about the situation.”

“Which is why they tried to pull Joo Hawon in.”

Kwon Jaehee agreed with Taeha’s words.

“Well, Hawon’s not an easy opponent either, so it shouldn’t be a problem.”

“It’s irritating.”

“What?”

Kwon Jaehee coughed out a cloud of smoke.

“They’re already showing their hand.”

“It’s not much of a hand, is it? Just trying to win over Joo Hawon, who has the favor of our CEO—of Kwon Taeha.”

Favor, huh… Taeha furrowed his brow.

“Nothing good comes from being close.”

“Didn’t you pick this place on purpose?”

“You sound just like Hawon.”

He had chosen the building for its reputation as the most secure in the country. Of course, he knew Moon Sungtaek lived there, but after careful thought he hadn’t felt the need to change Hawon’s residence. For a moment, Taeha regretted that choice.

“Because of WikiLeaks?”

Kwon Jaehee shook his head. “Come on, as if Hawon would ever figure that out.”

“There’s no harm in being careful.”

“What, is he some fragile little princess now? If you’re that worried, just move.”

“Moving now would only stir up more noise.”

“That’s true. Guess we’ll just have to trust him. From what I see, Hawon’s smart enough to play circles around the couple on the 13th floor. He’s just a bit ruthless, that’s all.”

Kwon Jaehee squinted, echoing Kwon Taeha’s words back at him.

Taeha ignored his older brother’s playful expression and focused on the screen. The profiles of Yoo Jiho and Moon Sungtaek, along with the ship structures they had worked on, were displayed. He flipped to the next page, carefully reviewing the materials.

The average PowerPoint presentation submitted by an employee to their direct superior was about eleven or twelve slides, but when submitting to vice presidents or higher, it had to be reduced to two pages, with three allowed only in unavoidable cases. The higher the rank, the more documents they had to process, so content had to be minimized.

STA Corporation was no different from other companies in this regard. But the CEO’s hub had the authority to access every single submitted document. Of course, days like today, when he had the time to review them in detail, were rare.

“For now, just sign a short-term contract.”

“Agreed. And the merger process seems a little too clean, doesn’t it? Whoever investigated this might’ve been paid off, so let’s wait and see.”

The brothers shared the same thought.

“Mind if I crash in there?”

Kwon Jaehee stretched, saying he was tired, and pointed toward the guest room opposite the master bedroom.

“Or do you want the three of us to sleep in the same bed?”

“I wouldn’t mind, but then tomorrow morning I might end up as a cold corpse.”

“As if.”

Taeha also logged out of the hub and got up. He noticed the faint light seeping from the master bedroom and brushed his lips with his hand.

Even now, Taeha couldn’t sleep in the dark, and Hawon silently kept the light on as his way of showing care. He wondered why Hawon did things like that, those unasked-for, tender gestures. Whenever he looked at Hawon sleeping under the dim light, an indescribable emotion stirred inside him. Maybe it was fondness.

“But hey.”

As he was heading to the guest room, Jaehee stopped Taeha.

“How long are you going to keep him like that?”

Jaehee was right. They couldn’t keep Hawon locked away forever.

“I just want him to rest for a while.”

Lately, Taeha had begun to see flashes of Hawon’s past self overlapping with the present. The fragile boy crouched on the ground, nibbling at fish cakes in small bites, had vanished, replaced by a Hawon whose inner thoughts were impossible to read. That transformation had been born out of his own neglect. Taeha allowed himself a simple thought.

What if he had been the one carrying a four-hundred-trillion debt?

The interest would pile up by the day, and no matter how much he worked, the principal would never shrink. Hawon had lived that way for over ten years. Even if he told himself it was all the result of Joo Sangkyung’s mistakes, the thought gave him no comfort.

Since pulling Hawon from the dark waters of Macau, Taeha had been reflecting on things he had never considered before. During the two weeks when Hawon hadn’t regained consciousness, all he could do was think. Perhaps that habit had never quite left him.

“Taeha, aren’t you being overprotective just because Hawon’s sick? Or is it just an excuse to keep him from going anywhere?”

“……”

Taeha’s gray-blue eyes flickered strangely.

“If you don’t want anyone else to see him, then you’ll have to stuff and preserve him. Like Mr. Nugu did. But trapping someone until they can’t breathe, it’s not a good thing, you know. Take your brother’s advice seriously.”

“It’s not like that.”

“Then why are you going this far?”

“Because I’m afraid Hawon will hate me.”

Jaehee corrected his earlier thought that his younger brother was purely rational and calculating. There was no man who lost out more than Taeha. After all he had already given, after all he still wanted to give, he worried about being hated? But then, from Hawon’s perspective, hadn’t he nearly been killed because of their father, Kwon Yijae? The irony and complexity of it all made his own head hurt. In the end, Jaehee decided it was fine as long as the two of them were happy with each other. He drew his conclusion simply and went into the guest room.

Taeha pushed open the slightly ajar door of the master bedroom. Under the dim light, Hawon lay so still he looked like a corpse. His face was exactly like it had been when he was barely hauled out of the sea, illuminated by the helicopter and yacht’s lights. For a moment, Taeha’s heart sank. He carefully pulled back the blanket and leaned his cheek against Hawon’s face.

The faintest, ragged breath brushed his skin, then fell away. He lay down beside him and slipped the pillow away, sliding his arm under instead so Hawon could rest on it. Hawon’s brow furrowed as if he might wake, but thankfully, without opening his eyes, he settled comfortably against Taeha’s arm. Taeha wrapped an arm around his waist, pulling him close. It was just to feel his breath a little nearer.

***

Panting breaths rose all the way up to his throat.

After running for a long time through the alleys of Macau, Joo Hawon finally turned back to check if anyone was chasing him.

A black shadow swept past, but it was only a stray cat. Joo Hawon steadied his breath with a long exhale. What a disaster. Somehow, one of the thugs had figured out the card he had hidden in his sleeve and shouted in Mandarin at the top of his lungs, and the men who had lost money lit up with rage and rushed at him. He had jumped into gambling because simple errands and day labor couldn’t cover the swelling loan interest. The first couple of times, he had been lucky enough to win, but after that he lost more often than not. That was when he came up with the idea of palming cards. Many gamblers in Macau cheated, and Joo Hawon had joined in with them. But his poor control of expression and slow hand movements betrayed him sooner than he had expected.

The pounding of his heart when he had hidden the card in his sleeve still seemed to throb inside him.

“Hey!”

At the corner of the alley, a small-framed boy shouted.

“Hey! You, I’m talking to you!”

Ignoring him, Joo Hawon was wondering where to curl up and sleep tonight when the voice called again. He stopped at the sudden sound of Korean.

“You’re Korean, right?”

The boy came closer, his round eyes rolling as he studied Joo Hawon’s reaction.

“You’re not Korean?”

“……Yeah.”

The boy looked about the same age as Joo Hawon, though a bit smaller in build and height. Joo Hawon quickly realized who he was. It was Jahan, the boy who brewed coffee or ran cigarette errands for gamblers at the illegal gambling house. But it was the first time he had heard him speak Korean. His name hadn’t sounded Korean either, so Joo Hawon had assumed he was just some Chinese errand boy.

“They said if you get caught now, you’re dead. They won’t leave you alone.”

“I left all the money behind……”

“Pff, are you stupid? Of course you had to leave it. Otherwise they’d still be chasing you.”

“Why are you following me then?”

Joo Hawon rubbed at his nose, blood still trickling. He had been slapped hard before making his escape.

“Don’t you have parents?”

“……Why?”

“I’ve seen you around sometimes. I even saw you sleeping under Mr. Chang’s shop once.”

Joo Hawon’s face flushed red at being treated like a homeless kid. Stung with humiliation, he tried to walk past, but Jahan grabbed his arm.

“You’ve got nowhere to go, right?”

“……”

“Wanna come to my place?”

“……No.”

“Why? You’ve got nowhere to sleep.”

“There’s no such thing as kindness without a reason.”

Joo Hawon glared at Jahan, suspicious of his intentions.

“Are you dumb? My place is filthy. My mom left a long time ago, and we’re behind on rent.”

“What’s that got to do with me.”

“You’re really annoying, you know that? Fine, go then.”

Jahan let go of his arm and waved him off, spitting on the ground.

Joo Hawon took a step forward but froze again, gripped by returning anxiety. Even if he found somewhere to curl up, if luck went against him and he ran into the gamblers again, he really would be beaten to a pulp this time. He had no money for the hospital, and the loan debt only piled higher and higher……

“You said your place is filthy?”

“Yeah! My place is filthy. You got anything to add to that?”

“I’ll clean your room……”

Joo Hawon pulled out two crumpled 20-pataca notes (about 2,700 won) from the inside pocket of his worn jeans and handed them to Jahan.

“This is all I have. Will you let me stay for just tonight?”

“Hey! You could get 100 pataca just for running a cigarette errand. Forget it, I don’t need that!”

Joo Hawon blinked.

“You get 100 pataca just for a cigarette errand?”

“Of course~ They love me. I don’t need your pocket change.”

Strutting, Jahan linked arms with him.

“You know what? You’re the first Korean my age I’ve ever seen.”

It was the same for Joo Hawon.

Back when his father was alive and he had attended an international school, there had been one or two other Koreans. But once he was thrown onto the streets, the only people he saw were Macanese. The tourist areas were far too expensive to even approach, and the deeper into the backstreets he went, the scarier the adults seemed, as if they were the whole world.

“You know, you’ve got some guts.”

“Me?”

“You thought of cheating there? Those guys are Macau gangsters. Low-level, but still.”

“……I didn’t know.”

He realized the strange smell he’d been noticing came from Jahan, still clinging to his arm. His grimy shirt gave off a musty odor.

“How old are you?”

“Eigh……teen.”

“What! Only a year younger than me! Hey, that’s my place over there.”

Jahan pointed toward a shabby building known as a shantytown even in Macau. They called it a villa, but it was really just rows of tiny wooden rooms cramped together.

Pulling out a key, Jahan shoved it into the knob. The stubborn lock screeched and resisted, and only after much wrestling did it finally give way. Shoes were tossed carelessly outside, and the pair from the next room had even slipped under Jahan’s door. Joo Hawon took off his shoes, then carefully held both ends to bring them inside. Jahan burst out laughing.

“Hey, no one’s gonna steal shoes around here.”

“Just……. I only have the one pair.”

When he flipped on the light, cockroaches scuttled with a scratching sound into dark corners to hide. Empty ramen cups were piled high, and flies had laid eggs so that maggots crawled across the floor. Jahan’s home was nothing short of a battlefield.

“Filthy……”

“You said you’d clean it.”

“Then let me stay a week.”

“Wow~ Now you’re bargaining?!”

“It’ll take all night to clear this mess.”

“You can really clean all this up?”

Jahan had once tried to tidy it but had long given up, defeated by the sheer mountain of trash.

“Go get me some big trash bags.”

“Alright.”

Grabbing the doorknob, Jahan spoke as he stepped out.

“Oh, and by the way, there’s nothing to steal here. Just trash. Heh.”

Embarrassed, he chuckled as if that was something to brag about, and it was oddly endearing.

While Jahan went off to fetch trash bags, Joo Hawon looked around the garbage heap of a room and sighed. At least he had found somewhere to hide and rest. If he offered to pay half the rent, maybe Jahan would let him stay here for a while. The boy seemed to live alone too……

The fact that he was also Korean gave a sense of kinship, and being smaller than him made Jahan feel less threatening. Joo Hawon went to the sink to wash away the dried blood from his nose. It really had been a hard hit, his nose still throbbed with pain. He wanted to check the injury, but the vanity mirror was shattered into pieces.

Resigned, he began stacking the ramen cups one by one. The place had no rice cooker or microwave, just instant noodles and processed food everywhere. Even the old cosmetics on the vanity were sprouting patches of sticky mold. It seemed Jahan’s mother really had been gone a long time. He bundled snack bags together and tossed musty, unwashed clothes into a basket.

Sweat beaded on his skin, yet there wasn’t even the common courtesy of an air conditioner in the room. The fan was useless, one blade broken off. Still, Joo Hawon felt lucky just to have a roof. Having slept mostly in wide, comfortable beds, he did not think he would ever get used to homelessness. Sometimes rats woke him up; sometimes drunken people kicked him. A fresh wave of bitterness rose in his chest and he bit his lip, forcing himself to focus only on cleaning.

He cleaned for more than two hours, and Jahan, who had gone to fetch trash bags, still had not returned. Hawon worried that maybe he had locked him inside and gone to snitch to the gambling house. Rolling his eyes anxiously, Hawon opened the door and found someone standing right outside. His heart skipped a beat.

“Hehe, all done?”

Jahan squatted and looked up at him, a large plastic bag beside him.

“Why aren’t you coming in?”

“If I go in I have to help clean.”

Of course the place was a mess if he hated cleaning, Hawon thought, and snatched the trash bag.

“Come in. It’s nearly done. But…”

“But what?”

Hawon glanced around.

“Is there no bathroom here?”

“There’s a shared bathroom, why?”

“I want to wash up.”

“Wash with me! I need one too.”

Jahan said he hadn’t washed his hair in four days and hadn’t showered in a week. Hawon handed Jahan the bag. Jahan opened it wide and Hawon shoved trash inside.

Five bags the size of them filled tightly still left more garbage to throw away. As the room cleared, cockroaches lost their hiding places and scattered. Jahan even slapped some with his shoe and tossed the flattened ones into the bag.

They piled the remaining trash in one corner and decided to clear it in the morning. They could have gone out for more bags, but both were exhausted, drenched in sweat.

The shared bathroom Jahan led him to was a narrow booth with the toilet attached. Jahan showered first, then Hawon stepped in to wash. He made soap lather and shampooed twice, then washed down from his neck to his legs in order. Jahan, who had hardly any concept of hygiene, watched with a puzzled look. Sure enough, someone waiting behind began pounding on the booth, telling them to hurry. Hawon rinsed the soap off and stepped out.

“Sei bat po!” (死八婆!)

A man spat a curse and shoved Hawon’s shoulder as he entered the shower booth. Hawon was about to say something when Jahan grabbed his arm and shook his head.

“Don’t. That guy’s scary. He beat his wife badly not long ago.”

“What a trash.”

Hawon muttered under his breath. The man would not understand anyway, and Jahan snickered.

They left the bathroom and shook their hair dry with ragged towels. The damp breeze that drifted through the alleys wrapped the shanty and then slipped away. From a half-open room, a thin voice began to sing.

Drawn by the gentle, clear voice, Hawon and Jahan sat on a wooden chair. To dry their hair, they listened to a Chinese woman who said she had come to Macau following her husband. The woman humming along perched on the open doorway and swung her thin legs. Her eyes were bruised black from being hit by her husband as she looked up at the sky. Singing Deng Lijun’s songs, her voice sounded as if she were yearning for home, fragile like the life of a tragic singer who died young.

白天聽鄧大人的, 晩上聽小鄧的.

By day the people listen to Deng Xiaoping, by night they listen to Teresa Teng. In Hong Kong and Macau, under Chinese influence, few did not know Teresa Teng. Her songs had been banned in China’s anti-cultural pollution campaign, yet even the public security officers could not control how many people still listened. The woman’s life looked as precarious as a candle that might blow out any moment.

To the tune of Teresa Teng’s “Yalai Xiang,” a cold north wind stirred.

Macau’s weather would soon grow colder. In winter, when the temperature swung wildly, homeless people sometimes died of hypothermia. Hawon stared at Jahan. Jahan looked at the singing woman with longing. Even though his mother had deserted him and left only debt, he still missed her.

Hawon, listening to the song, thought of his birth mother as well. He roughly shook his head and rose from his seat first. Jahan scampered after him.

When they turned on the light, cockroaches scuttled again, and Hawon vowed to buy strong roach poison first thing in the morning.

Having washed all the bedding, they lay side by side naked. Jahan asked the light be turned off, and Hawon lumbered up to switch it off, then lay back down. His back ached against the hard floor.

Staring at the dark ceiling with his eyes closed, Jahan asked, “Your parents run away?”

“……”

“Hey, already asleep? What’s your name?”

“……Joo Hawon.”

“Hawon. Pretty name. Mine is—”

“I know, Jahan.”

“How did you know?!”

Jahan leapt up and peered at Hawon, but it was too dark to see faces.

“People call you that.”

“Oh, right.”

Curious satisfied, Jahan flopped down on the floor.

“Hawon, your parents really aren’t around?”

“No.”

“Then we’re the same. Hehe.”

Jahan pressed close to Hawon.

“Hawon, did your mom run away too?”

“No.”

He did not want to think about his stepmother.

“Then?”

“She… passed away.”

He thought his tears had all dried up, but Deng Lijun’s song made his chest ache. Tears welled and when he turned aside, they spilled down his face.

“When?”

“A while ago. Don’t ask.”

“Where did you used to live?”

“Korea.”

“Obviously. You didn’t just fall into Macau by yourself.”

“…Zhú Wān Háoyúán.” (竹灣豪園)

Jahan’s mouth dropped open. He stammered and then rolled over, resting his chin on his stacked hands.

“Wow… you were really rich.”

Zhú Wān Háoyúán, overlooking the South China Sea, was the wealthiest neighborhood in Macau that everyone in this area knew.

“Then why homeless?”

Hawon answered Jahan frankly.

“The house went under.”

“Oh… sorry.”

“It’s fine.”

“Will you sleep with me tomorrow too?”

Jahan’s voice was damp.

“Can I?”

“Yes! Tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow, every day?”

Suddenly a chilling scream echoed from somewhere. Thud! Thud! The sound of something being smashed reverberated through the thin walls.

Though it happened daily, Jahan’s shoulders trembled with fear. He worried a man beating his wife might come into their room and start a ruckus.

“Don’t listen.”

Hawon covered Jahan’s ears.

“Okay.”

Jahan covered Hawon’s ears too. If they had power, they would have gone and beaten the man senseless, but at their young age they could only submit to the wrong. They dreamed of someday leaving Macau, of meeting a superhero or someone with superpowers from cartoons, and that innocent imagination gave them a little comfort.

Lying there, covering each other’s ears for hours, they fell asleep at the same time, neither knowing who first surrendered to sleep.