Three Eight-Chapter 63

Once the sound of the engine faded and Mu-gyeong’s car completely left the building, Guppping crept toward the window like a rat. After confirming that Mu-gyeong was really gone, he spun around and marched toward Yang Siljang in a near-jog.

"You said he wasn’t the type to get his hands dirty! He’s no different from those Gweoleum-dong thugs!"

"I’m just checking if we missed anything. He was supposed to be some pampered kid from a rich family."

Yang Siljang tilted his head and drew a breath through his teeth. Doksu, sitting half-asleep on the stairs to the fourth floor, muttered in a disinterested voice.

"So what? Rich kids can’t throw punches?"

It wasn’t wrong, but to people like Guppping and Yang Siljang, who’d lived surrounded by bottom-feeders all their lives, it hit different. Even Hongju had been shocked the first time he saw Mu-gyeong get violent.

"Yeah. These days, even gangster punks clean up their records once they make a bit of money. Wouldn’t be surprising if he had some kind of family behind him."

"But then what the hell is he doing here? There are a million high-end Houses out there. Why would someone like that hang around a shitty neighborhood like this, wasting his investment money?"

Hongju silently agreed. Leaving behind a good house to stay in a hotel, pouring money into this dump to {N•o•v•e•l•i•g•h•t} cover both the investment and even his own debts—why? If he wasn’t a boss, or a gangster, then what was Mu-gyeong’s real identity?

"Shit, still no word from the Gweoleum-dong crew?"

"Nothing. It’s not like they all skipped town. What the hell could’ve made them all cut contact overnight?"

"You sure you didn’t miss something, Yang Siljang?"

"Miss something? You little shit, are you joking with me? My intel’s never been wrong. You think you know something, huh?"

At this point, the relationship between Doksu and Yang Siljang was beyond repair. Every time they looked at each other, they were ready to bite. It was impossible now to even keep the two in the same room without sparks flying.

"Maybe your precious intel’s been rotting for the last thirty years and finally fell apart. Try checking again."

Guppping sided with Doksu whenever things flared up like this. Yang Siljang, face flushed with anger, just clenched his jaw and fell silent. The look in his eyes, having lost his footing, burned with hostility.

"Whatever Mu-gyeong’s background is, we need to focus on the mark he brought in. That’s what matters most right now."

Their eyes gleamed with greed. They huddled together, plotting how to butter up the sucker Mu-gyeong had brought in. Hongju kept his gaze fixed on the bare floor. Everyone acted like the earlier knife incident had already vanished from memory—but Hongju still remembered the pastor’s bloodshot eyes.

"Gu Hongju, come here for a second?"

His name snapped him back into focus. Guppping had already turned toward the back room, and Hongju sluggishly followed after. Since he’d been singled out, he could already guess what this was going to be about.

"Why the fuck was your phone off? Where the hell were you?"

"Hotel... sir. The battery was dead, so I’m charging it now."

"Hotel?" Guppping sneered in disbelief, then immediately scrunched his face.

"Look at you, getting a taste of some dick and losing your goddamn mind."

"......."

"Even if you’re busy getting fucked, you pick up when I call, you piece of shit!"

He raised his hand on instinct, like he always did, but stopped mid-motion. He seemed to think it over for a moment, then quietly lowered his arm.

"Hey, come here a sec."

Lowering his voice, Guppping moved in like he was going to whisper. Hongju narrowed his brows and leaned away.

"You really don’t have a clue what kind of work Mu-gyeong does? You’ve been around him—don’t you see anything?"

"He just comes and goes from the House. I’ve never even seen him make a call."

"Hmm. And those guys he had tailing me last time? You see them again after that?"

"No. That was the first time I saw him use anyone like that."

Guppping rubbed his chin and narrowed his eyes at Hongju, like he was trying to sniff out anything he could squeeze out of him.

"...What?"

"Hey. You’re not seriously falling for the guy, are you? Wake up. Sure, he’s paying off your debt now in exchange for some pussy, but it’s temporary. Guys with money—sometimes they just wanna taste junk food for the thrill."

"......."

As if he didn’t already know that. He understood well enough that Mu-gyeong was only approaching him out of boredom. That messing with him was just a distraction from keeping tabs on Guppping. All he had was his body—so whatever Mu-gyeong took, he’d be paying for it one way or another.

When Hongju didn’t respond, Guppping’s hand crawled up his skinny thigh toward his knee. It was disgusting—like a snake slithering across his skin. Hongju jerked his leg back and glared sharply at him.

"What do you think’s gonna happen to you when he tosses you aside? You think you’re strong? You got brains? All you’ve got is debt and that body—so what else are you gonna sell?"

"......."

"If you don’t want that, your only option is to come back here. We’ve got history. We’ll take you in again. So pick your damn path wisely."

If Mu-gyeong didn’t exist, Hongju might’ve cowered under that familiar forked tongue again. After all, he’d been brainwashed since he was young—lived with Guppping like he was family. Maybe he would’ve believed he had no choice but to obey.

But not anymore. Now, Hongju understood exactly where his survival lay.

"Let me ask again, Hongju. What does Mu-gyeong really do?"

"......."

Hongju’s lips, already faded and scabbed, moved faintly a few times. Guppping, perhaps mistaking it for hesitation, scooted to the edge of the sofa and whispered again.

"I’ll act like I didn’t hear anything from you. Digging up dirt on people is my and Yang Siljang’s job anyway. You really don’t have even a clue—"

"You know too, Guppping."

"Huh? Know what?"

Guppping’s eyes lit up. There was a glimmer of anticipation behind that leering gaze. Hongju tapped at his own chest, where the weight of anxiety still sat.

"I... I haven’t done anything but that kind of work, so I really don’t know. Honestly."

It wasn’t a lie—and he, too, was suspicious about Mu-gyeong’s real identity. Guppping clicked his tongue at Hongju’s muttered words, his gaze averted. Just moments ago he’d been whispering sweetly about “taking him back,” acting all sentimental. And now he was spitting curses again, calling him useless.

"Maybe I should drug you or something. Those bastards were all cocky—now what, suddenly vanished?"

Guppping glanced at the four fingers rubbing his chin, then turned his head.

"If you manage to get even the tiniest bit of info, pass it straight to me. You remember you still owe some debt, right? I’ll knock a bit off."

"Got it."

Even though there was no way he ever would, Hongju nodded half-heartedly and rubbed his cheek. It used to sting with even the lightest brush—back when it was covered in cuts. Now, most of them had healed. The body that once ached constantly from relentless beatings was finally getting time to recover. Maybe that meant he was on the right track, after all.

He would never, ever tell Guppping anything about Mu-gyeong. That trust might one day drag him down again—but still, Hongju swore silently to himself.

***

When the time Mu-gyeong had mentioned arrived, Guppping, Doksu, and Yang Siljang headed up to the room. Hongju waited in front of the hotel, ready to go up only if someone needed something. He thought about waiting in the lobby to escape the cold, but the neatly dressed staff kept throwing glances, so he ended up stepping back outside. As the night grew deeper, fewer people passed by, and the wind became even colder. His body was freezing, but it felt better than being mentally uncomfortable.

[Three iced coffees. Two hot.]

A text came from Yang Siljang. It was nearly midnight. Hongju turned his steps toward a 24-hour café. The one he usually went to was too far from here, so it made more sense to find one nearby. After walking along the road for a while, he spotted a café.

Once again, both hands were full with carriers, and his fingertips felt like blocks of ice, but he didn’t stop walking.

Knock knock. Standing in front of the now-familiar room, Hongju set down the coffee carrier and knocked. No response came from inside. He knocked a few more times, and only then did the door open.

"Come in."

Doksu quickly took the coffee from him. As their hands brushed, he opened his eyes wide and grabbed Hongju’s hand.

"Why are your hands this cold? You should wear gloves."

"I’m fine."

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"Sit down for a bit, warm up."

He’d only meant to hand over the coffee and leave. But Doksu’s insistent pull made Hongju hesitate as he stepped inside.

"Hongju, sit here."

The people in the middle of a game all looked up at him. Among the gamblers, there was a familiar face. That man raised his brows when he saw Hongju, pushing his glasses up his nose.

"......"

Where had he seen him before? Hongju searched his memory, then opened his mouth slightly and took a better look.

It was the man from the first night Mu-gyeong’s deal had gone through. The one they’d sent him to retrieve a cigarette box from. Back then he’d looked pretty sharp, but now his shirt was unbuttoned, his face flushed. He looked just like someone who’d just gotten hooked on gambling. Blinking his bloodshot eyes, he asked Guppping,

"Who’s he?"

"Oh, that’s the kid who runs errands. Played a few games with us, but he’s got no talent, so we just bring him along. He’s real handy, though."

"Ahh. Anyway, I just won that round, so give me one card each, yeah?"

He didn’t recognize him? The man looked away without any sign of recognition. Mu-gyeong, catching Hongju’s eye, actually winked. It was clear he’d realized Hongju recognized the man. Hongju gave a slight nod and settled by the island bar.

"Stop! One more hand and I’m gonna lose everything."

"Alright, alright. Let’s all take a shot in honor of the boss’s first three-go win."

Doksu passed around the coffee cups and sat down. This round belonged to the man. The way he gathered up his winnings was giddy with excitement.

"Man, at this rate I’m gonna become a real gambling shark."

His tone was bubbling with thrill. Yang Siljang and Guppping ruffled their own hair in mock-frustration but couldn’t suppress their smirks. Watching them, Mu-gyeong casually tossed down his hwatu cards.

"I’m sitting out next round."

"Damn, you really suck at this. How are you worse than a guy playing for the first time?"

Maybe because it wasn’t said with any real bite, Mu-gyeong just shrugged and smirked. As the man gathered the scattered cards, Mu-gyeong brushed off his hands and stood up.

"Win as much as you want."

The man eagerly shuffled the cards again. Whether from nervousness or excitement, he kept dropping or misplacing the cards, needing to rearrange them several times.

"Choi Bon really picked the perfect day."

No one got annoyed at his clumsy, slow hands. As Hongju quietly watched, a large shadow fell across his face. Mu-gyeong had deliberately stepped in front of him, blocking his view, and reached with his long arm toward the island bar. His movements were unhurried, so Hongju’s gaze naturally landed on his chest. Mu-gyeong picked up a bottle of water and slowly stepped back.

"Cold out there?"

The room-temperature plastic bottle felt hot against his cheek. He’d been outside for so long that even something lukewarm felt heated to the touch.