KTC | Chapter 46

Kim Chaewon defiantly grabbed another handful of snacks and shoved them into her mouth, sending more crumbs with the strong scent of mala spices scattering across the car floor.

I’m really going to throw up.

Goo Seungjun considered rolling down the window but decided against it, not wanting to draw unnecessary attention during their stakeout.

If only they could just take one look at someone and know everything like some people can, but unfortunately, their capabilities were limited. They could usually only see recent significant events or people in someone’s memory, and even that didn’t always allow them to recognize faces accurately.
• “Alright, I’ll try it myself before I decide.”

While one rambled raggedly and another suppressed their murderous intent, and yet another suppressed their disgust, the deal inside the gambling den finally concluded. The surveillance target made a call right there, instructing someone to bring the girl.

It didn’t take long for the girl to arrive. As soon as Kim Chaewon saw the face of the girl, who looked pale and walked as if clinging to the gaunt-looking man, she began grinding her teeth again.

“Clear your head. If you can’t control your emotions like Yerin noona, you’re going to screw up the operation.”

Goo Seungjun warned Kim Chaewon while keeping an eye on the man.

“This is the end of the line. We can’t move until we find the agent our guys got taken north.”

“I know, fuck. That’s why I’m sitting still.”

Recently, a National Intelligence Service agent and a North Korean broker, both tasked with safely transporting defectors to South Korea, had gone missing in China one after another. Park Minwoo, who was undercover running an illegal gambling den in Jilin Province, had identified that North Korean agents were involved. The SU team was now on a mission to draw them out and capture them.

“Minwoo’s mental resilience is incredible. I’d have blown my cover by now if I were him.”

“Maybe. But it seems even Minwoo hyung is reaching his limit.”

“Really? What happened?”

“When he heard about the potential abolition of the NIS’s counterintelligence authority, he nearly blew his top. Said he’s sick of this shit.”

The old ghosts of the NIS, who had dedicated their lives to rooting out communists, were in turmoil, but for newcomers like them, it was hardly stirring. Especially for someone like Park Minwoo, who would be able to return to Korea if the counterintelligence authority was indeed abolished—he must be eagerly awaiting it.
• “Why does the kid look so filthy? Don’t you manage your merchandise?”
• “Ah, you’re so damn fussy…”
• “What? Want to be returned?”
• “…No. The kid’s been hiding out, got pretty roughed up. Wash her up, and she’ll look fresh as new. Hahaha.”

Hoping that Park Minwoo would soon signal the operation code, they continued to eavesdrop when the old flip phone tossed near the gear stick blinked with a notification.

Goo Seungjun opened the phone. It was a message from Lee Juhee. He would have ignored it if it were from someone less familiar, but knowing that she was aware they were on an operation made it strange enough to check immediately.

“KU fingerprint confirmed. Goo Seungjun, Hwang Jaeyeop to switch operation immediately upon arrival, return home urgently.”

Normally unflappable, Goo Seungjun nearly had a fit. KU was their internal code for Ghost King.

Fingerprints confirmed?

After a deep thought, he found this highly unusual. Choi Seonwoo, currently holding an identity as an American, would have registered his fingerprints when he got his foreign registration done.

If the NIS had been holding fingerprints of someone suspected to be the Ghost King, they should have recognized his existence long before. How now?

Goo Seungjun immediately called Lee Juhee.

“What does this mean?”

Frantically asking, Goo Seungjun was only considering how to position himself if Choi Seonwoo became a target of the NIS. However, Lee Juhee’s calm voice pierced his thoughts and paralyzed all reasoning.
• “The headquarters had fingerprints stored under suspicion of being the Ghost King, and they’ve just come up.”

“What do you mean, ‘they’ve just come up’?”
• “He’s applied for a national ID. Turns out he was a minor until now.”

Something was terribly wrong.
• “Funny how fate works. It’s Seo Jihan. The kid Father Choi has been taking care of.”

…What’s that supposed to mean? How is all this unfolding?

“Does it taste good…?”

Crouching, Seo Jihan murmured as he watched with twinkling eyes. Angela, who usually ignored treats unless given by Choi Seonwoo, was nibbling on the jerky Seo Jihan had offered.

“Ah! Hey, that hurts!”

Although he only gave a nail-sized piece, perhaps craving more, Angela bit his finger. Unbothered, she slapped Seo Jihan’s hand with her paw. He chuckled and handed her the rest of the jerky.

Angela quickly snatched the jerky and scampered up to the cat tower in the living room. Settling into her favorite high spot, she munched on the treat. Watching her, Seo Jihan moved to the couch.

“Sit up properly. You know Father is working right now.”

Choi Seonwoo, who was lounging on the couch, didn’t even look at Seo Jihan as he disrespectfully sprawled across his lap. Even as Seo Jihan flicked his leg, Choi Seonwoo seemed not to care and closed his eyes.

“I’m just using your thigh as a pillow; don’t be so stingy.”

At Seo Jihan’s shameless retort, Choi Seonwoo looked down under the rolling desk. The morning sun shone fully on Seo Jihan’s face, which was sleeping soundly. His skin, so well-nourished and smooth that a fly would slip off, reflected light.

“How does it feel?”

Catching Choi Seonwoo’s gaze, Seo Jihan suddenly asked.

“How does it feel to see the potted pine you’ve been nurturing blossom so vibrantly within just a few months?”

“You’re romanticizing. I’ve never nurtured anything.”

“I’ve grown up this way; why nitpick?”

“Then, let’s just say you have.”

For a while after, Seo Jihan lay quietly breathing. Choi Seonwoo completed the preparations for the next day’s sermon without any change in Seo Jihan’s posture.

Eventually, noticing that Seo Jihan had drifted into a nap, Choi Seonwoo took out a plain notebook and a pencil from the corner of his pencil case. The old sketching pencil, always lying there waiting for his touch, felt right in his hand.

Choi Seonwoo, who had been recognized for his drawing skills and attended a prestigious arts high school, only started sketching again long after he was adopted. When a momentary lapse of judgment cost him the most precious thing, his soul had bruised, and he had let go of everything.

Fortunately, his adoptive father, Father Samuel Miller, who had been a psychiatrist in Portland until his late thirties before becoming a clergyman, had provided consistent psychological therapy. Gradually, Choi Seonwoo found himself holding a pencil again.

However, unlike before, his drawings lacked aesthetics; they were merely a means to graphically depict memories he wanted to erase and then burn. After doing so, he felt a slight, albeit superficial, mental stability. Although the effect was minimal and fleeting, Choi Seonwoo, who couldn’t participate in group therapy, did not give up and continued to draw and burn.

Until that scant ash piled up enough to completely cover his horrible traumas. Until those ashes solidified like fossils, unshakable by any violent storm.

Scratch. Scratch.

Under the morning sun, Choi Seonwoo carefully drew Seo Jihan’s face, which boasted more three-dimensional features than the average East Asian. The dramatic shadows under the closed eyelids, the straight nose, the lightly pink lips, and the perfect jawline—there was nothing to fault.

After adding the long, thick lashes and softly scattered hair, the lifeless beauty offered by the beautiful subject slowly filled the blank page.

It had been a very long time since he had drawn a picture he didn’t intend to burn. Perhaps the last was when he had adopted Angela, charmed by her cute eyes.

“May the tranquility of this moment always blossom in your future, Brother.”

With blunt letters, Choi Seonwoo etched this wish onto the corner of the notebook, his face blooming into a radiant smile. Then, his pocket vibrated as the old flip phone rang a small bell.