BAI Ch 11

He sprang up like a coiled spring. He swung at the head of the first guy charging at him with a chair. The one hit squarely in the temple let out a grunt and collapsed.

Three more came at him from the front, side, and behind simultaneously. Ha Shinsung flipped the entire table over. With a loud crash, dishes and utensils scattered across the floor. An indistinguishable scream pierced the ceiling.

“You.”

Ha Shinsung wiped the sweat beading on his chin. His gaze was fixed on Lee Rohan, who was clutching his face.

“You betrayed me?”

He brandished a broken soju bottle. The man in front leaned back, stepping away. He didn’t seem scared.

“Ha Shinsung, put that down.”

“Who are you guys?”

“Calm down and put it down.”

Their tone, movements, and the calm, trained expressions were unmistakable. Anyone could tell they were plainclothes police or military. All of them were tall and well-built. They seemed accustomed to situations like this. Only the guy who’d been hit in the head hung back, glaring. There were five of them—no, six, including Lee Rohan.

“Sung-ah. Don’t do this.”

“Do what?”

Lee Rohan responded.

“Turn yourself in. It’s the only way to save your life.”

“What did you say?”

“Your friend’s right. It’s not too late. If you turn yourself in now…”

“Shut up!”

“Sung-ah!”

Ha Shinsung wanted to drive a chopstick into Lee Rohan’s eyeball. The fundamental question of why rattled his mind. He knew he shouldn’t think about it, but he couldn’t help it.

Lee Rohan’s distorted expression overlapped with Shin Haebeom’s smirking face. Damn it.

Ha Shinsung kicked the table. The big guy in front shouted.

“You’ll only get hurt if you resist!”

“Bullshit.”

In a cramped space of about five pyeong, seven burly men stood. Even if Lee Rohan didn’t move, the situation was stacked against Ha Shinsung.

He quickly scanned his surroundings. He realized why they’d chosen a corner table, far from the door or windows, and the urge to kill Lee Rohan surged.

There was no sign of life from the kitchen. The owner was in on it too.

Ha Shinsung launched himself off a chair rolling on the floor, leaping toward the ceiling’s fluorescent light. The old fixture couldn’t bear his weight and crashed down, rails and all.

“Ugh.”

A wire slapped his face, knocking off his glasses. It didn’t matter. Ha Shinsung smashed the rail down on the crown of the guy charging at him. Fluorescent tube fragments scattered everywhere.

“That bastard!”

Someone grabbed his nape and yanked him back. He swung his elbow, and the sound of ribs cracking echoed. Seizing the moment as the grip loosened, Ha Shinsung broke free, tossed the rail aside, and bolted for the door. He had to sweep through and escape in a flash.

It was already too late.

“Sung-ah!”

Lee Rohan was aiming a Desert Eagle at the back of his head.

“Don’t go!”

“Go to hell, Lee Rohan.”

“You run, you die. You’ll really die!”

“Is Shin Haebeom that scary?”

His collar was grabbed, and he was slammed against the wall. A loud thud rang out, and cracks spiderwebbed across the plasterboard. The spot where the back of his head hit caved in. Ha Shinsung groaned.

It was the guy who’d been hit in the temple with the chair leg. His forehead was gashed, bleeding. He seized Ha Shinsung’s collar and dragged him up.

“Annoying bastard.”

A fist slammed into his solar plexus. Ha Shinsung lost his balance and pitched forward. A knee drove into the space between his shoulder blades. It felt like his spine was breaking, but Ha Shinsung clenched his teeth and swallowed his groans. He had to get up.

He slammed his fist into the jaw of the guy charging from the left. Stepping over the body that collapsed with wide eyes, he tried to leap forward, but his legs suddenly gave out. Taser darts fired from a stun gun embedded themselves in his back and thigh.

“Ugh…!”

Electricity coursed through his veins. He couldn’t run, let alone stand upright.

Ha Shinsung collapsed on the spot. His cheek pressed against the hard, cold floor. Multiple hands pinned his head, shoulders, arms, and legs, restraining him. His shoulder blades twisted painfully. The metal on his wrists was cold.

Ha Shinsung’s mouth moved slightly. Electricity surged through every capillary in his body. The man who’d been knocked down by a blow to the jaw cursed and gestured to a colleague.

“The syringe. Hurry.”

The sensation of a needle piercing his skin was unfamiliar. In Ha Shinsung’s vision was Lee Rohan’s pale, terrified face. It was a face gripped by fear. As it should be. He’d sold out his friend and the boss’s son—he ought to fear the consequences.

Consciousness faded. His eyelids grew heavy, and his limbs went limp. The sensation that had made every hair on his body stand on end vanished into the distance. When his eyes finally closed completely, Ha Shinsung heard the voice of his old friend piercing his ears.

I’m sorry…

But I had no choice.

As Ha Shinsung, unconscious, was shoved into a black van like luggage, Lee Rohan squeezed his eyes shut.

It was past midnight, on his way home. Lee Rohan was ambushed in an alley by soldiers who subdued him and dragged him to the Disciplinary Training Corps. There, he met that crazy woman.

She was Shin Haebeom’s subordinate. That meant she was out of her mind. The vibe alone was enough to tell. Her face was as cold as ice, and every word dripped with frost. She threatened that if he didn’t reveal Ha Shinsung’s whereabouts, not only the remaining crew members in the country but their entire families would be wiped out. That chilling voice still clung to Lee Rohan’s ears.

Water dripped from his wet hair. A rough hand forced his head up. His eyes met Shin Haebeom’s smiling face. He brought a desk calendar and waved it in front of Ha Shinsung’s face.

“What day is today?”

“What?”

“What day is it today?”

Shin Haebeom’s finger pointed precisely to today’s date. The 25th, a Friday.

“Friday.”

“Wrong. It’s Saturday.”

What kind of insane nonsense was this?

“What…?”

“It’s Saturday.”

Ha Shinsung squinted. What kind of ridiculous thing was he saying? The question was out of nowhere, and his words and actions didn’t match. It seemed Shin Haebeom had finally lost it.

Ha Shinsung looked up at him. At his menacing glare, Shin Haebeom flinched as if scared, but his face was smiling.

“What day is today?”

“What’s this lunatic saying!”

“What day is today?”

“Hey!”

“What day is today?”

Shin Haebeom’s finger tapped the 25th, Friday, on the calendar.

“Friday.”

“No!”

A sudden shout erupted. Ha Shinsung sucked in a breath.

“I said it’s Saturday!”

A fist slammed into his left cheek. With the sound of his neck twisting, two teeth flew out of Ha Shinsung’s mouth. Shin Haebeom sighed and held the calendar in front of his face again.

“What day is today?”

“Crazy bastard.”

“What day is today?”

“You crazy psycho bastard! What the hell is this!”

Shin Haebeom laughed, saying he knew he’d say that. Still laughing, he threw the calendar aside. He took two lightning rods from the back pocket of his uniform pants and drove them into Ha Shinsung’s thighs.

“Argh!”

Fifteen-centimeter spikes pierced his skin and tore through muscle. His jeans quickly stained red. Shin Haebeom’s palms pressed firmly on Ha Shinsung’s trembling knees. He spoke again.

“What day is today, Ha Shinsung?”

“Screw you.”

The pressure on his knees intensified. Ha Shinsung clenched his teeth, enduring the pain. The bleeding worsened. His body trembled more violently. His hands, fixed to the chair’s armrests, convulsed. Watching the sweat roll down Ha Shinsung’s cheek, Shin Haebeom spoke.

“What day is today?”

“It’s… Friday.”

With a long sigh, the lightning rods dug deeper. This time, he couldn’t hold back the scream. A near-shrieked answer burst out.

“Friday! It’s Friday, you damn bastard!”

“I said it’s not!”

Shin Haebeom stood up. Humming, he opened a cabinet. He took out a car battery and placed it on the metal desk. Red and black wires dangled long. The sound of two clamp-like prongs clicking together echoed.

“It’s Saturday.”

“…….”

“Saturday.”

Ha Shinsung swallowed hard. What was the point of this bizarre Q&A? What was this lunatic’s intent with this behavior?

The thought didn’t last long. Electricity surged into Ha Shinsung’s body through the clamps gripping the lightning rods. His screams shook the interrogation room. The smell of burning flesh was acrid.

The damn question came again.

“What day is today?”

His heels, lifted off the ground, trembled like aspen leaves. A hot lump boiled in his throat. Blood from his nose soaked his upper lip. Ha Shinsung bit his lips hard.

“Screw you, you maniac.”

Shin Haebeom laughed. The gauge needle moved.

Electricity burned his skin and burst his veins. Shin Haebeom grabbed Ha Shinsung’s chin, forced his mouth open, and shoved in a wet cloth to prevent him from biting his tongue.

The gauge needle returned to zero.

“What day is today?”

Ha Shinsung mumbled.

“Today… is.”

“Yes. What day do you think it is?”

The whites of his eyes were bloodshot. Shin Haebeom’s lips curved into a smile as he looked into them.

“Ha Shinsung, answer.”

“Friday.”

“Stubborn.”

Shin Haebeom lit a cigarette. Unlike his cool voice, his eyes were smiling.

“Jung Ryujin… he’s here, you know.”

His voice was muffled, but not hard to understand. Shin Haebeom smoked and laughed.

“Jung Ryujin? You’re worried about him now?”

“Did you do this to him too?”

Beatings, waterboarding, and now electric torture. Except for a brief moment when Gi Woohee came in, Shin Haebeom had done it all alone. He hadn’t taken a sip of water or sat to rest. That was Shin Haebeom.

“Do you remember the first time you came here?”

“…….”

“It was a rainy day.”

It was the day he came to retrieve Gwak Hyeonwoo’s body. Back then, they followed the rules. No eye contact, no words exchanged. As Ha Shinsung bagged the body of a subordinate he never liked, he thought about the pain Jung Ryujin would feel. He didn’t care about Shin Haebeom standing behind him.

Shin Haebeom was different. With a dark expression, he smoked and thought about the past. He thought of Shin Haejun, fourteen, forced to accept and acknowledge betrayal. Why couldn’t he do anything back then? If he’d at least dragged someone down with him, maybe he’d feel less wronged…

He dreamed of it every day. The nightmares continued until the day Shin Haejun collapsed and died. Only after that idiot’s death did the pain stop.

If only he’d dragged someone down…

If he hadn’t held Jin Chiwoo’s hand…

Shin Haebeom cursed the Ha family, father and son, for making him think such things.

“You killed him.”

“Gwak Hyeonwoo was killed by you guys.”

“I’m not talking about Gwak Hyeonwoo. It’s Shin Haejun.”

“Still!”

Ha Shinsung shouted.

“You still blame us! You know what the situation was back then!”

“Your father abandoned us. He ditched me and Chiwoo, just fourteen, and ran off with his own kid!”

“How long are you gonna live like that!”

“Until you and your dad are dead!”

Shin Haebeom kicked the desk.

“You and your dad probably never even thought about it. You ran off with my father’s money too!”

The desk toppled, and the heavy battery crashed to the floor. The clamps attached to the lightning rods came loose, tearing the wounds open. Ha Shinsung’s scream soared to the ceiling.

“Your father’s a conman. A swindler, a pig, a liar, a traitor, a thief!”

“Shut up!”

“He planned it from the start, didn’t he?! Your company’s money wasn’t enough to secure your position. So he lured us, with our slush funds, made us trust him, made us believe he was our protector!”

“No! That’s not it! Why would he…!”

Shin Haebeom approached, holding a new lightning rod. His face smiled brightly, his voice gentle.

“Time to pay your debt. Even selling everything in your body wouldn’t cover the principal.”

Shin Haebeom raised both hands. Sharp spikes drove into the backs of Ha Shinsung’s hands.

Today’s broadcast schedule was as a one-day guest on an educational program for middle and high school students nationwide. During a pre-interview with the staff, Kwon Sehyuk was asked if he had read any memorable books during his school days. Since the main audience was students, they added that a popular, easy-to-read book would be ideal.

Kwon Sehyuk mentioned the novel that was the source material for a mystery drama that swept the nation last year. The story, blending a freelance writer and a detective’s exploits with a balance of suspense and romance, was a huge hit among young people and even younger students, so the staff were familiar with it. They responded positively, saying it would appeal to the public with a relatable image.

However, on the day of shooting, the script Kwon Sehyuk received contained a completely different story he hadn’t told. He asked what this was. Im Chanyoung replied that Kwon Sehyuk’s recommended book was deemed unsuitable for the educational broadcast’s purpose and was canceled. By whom? Higher-ups. Kwon Sehyuk pressed for who these higher-ups were. Im Chanyoung dodged the question vaguely, not giving a straight answer. But Kwon Sehyuk had a hunch. It was Kwon Joohyuk, the president’s aide.

Kwon Sehyuk was given a private waiting room separate from the shooting set. News that the prince was a guest drew a crowd of staff. Im Chanyoung sent them away, saying photos and autographs would happen after the shoot. As he was about to close the door, Kwon Sehyuk overheard the voice of a celebrity also appearing on the show.

“He’s so full of himself.”

Im Chanyoung’s shoulders stiffened. The makeup artist, gently brushing powder onto Kwon Sehyuk’s forehead, nose, and cheeks, froze. That’s how loud the voice was.

“Completely shameless.”

Im Chanyoung muttered. Kwon Sehyuk gave a short laugh.

“Let it go. He’s just worried about his livelihood.”

“But, Prince.”

“I said let it go.”

Kwon Sehyuk shrugged. There was a reason a mere celebrity, unrelated to politics, was checking him.

“Getting worked up alone is just a waste of time. I’m not even planning to do variety shows.”

Kwon Sehyuk’s broadcast appearances had a purpose. So far, he’d only appeared on current affairs, debate, and educational programs with clear political leanings. His uncle had said that would continue. But even that had built a solid fanbase, and rumors spread among broadcast staff that they had to book the prince somehow. Especially the producers of major variety shows were eager.

Of course, Kwon Sehyuk had no intention of doing entertainment programs. His uncle wouldn’t allow it, and with enlistment approaching, he had no desire to waste time and energy or take jobs from celebrities.

Still, openly checking him like that was rude.

Five minutes to standby. Guided by Im Chanyoung and the producer, Kwon Sehyuk took his seat. The mocking voice lingered in his ears.

“He’s so full of himself.”

The voice belonged to one of the show’s regular MCs. A seven-year veteran who debuted as a teen idol, five years older than Kwon Sehyuk.

From the start, he seemed intent on sabotaging. Off-script comments and reactions were cute by comparison. When Kwon Sehyuk spoke, he blatantly frowned or looked away, signaling “I’m not interested,” and waved to the audience, drowning Kwon Sehyuk’s voice in their cheers.

The simple back-and-forth talk was interrupted multiple times. Naturally, the shoot dragged on, and the female MC in high heels collapsed, saying her knees hurt too much. The staff sighed heavily. With mics still on, their whispers were audible. He’s out of form, he’s a broadcast newbie…

The MC, hearing the same comments, smiled smugly. Kwon Sehyuk wanted to grab that brazen guy by the collar and slam him to the floor.

Having too much was the problem. Those with much to lose couldn’t act recklessly.

The shoot was eventually halted. The cast was given a thirty-minute break. Kwon Sehyuk returned to his waiting room, suppressing his anger.

“Prince.”

Im Chanyoung’s expression was stiff.

“We should tell the producer. Let’s get that guy fired.”

“I’m not planning to go that far.”

Kwon Sehyuk said that, but the script in his hand was crumpled.

He thought hard. The MC’s smug face flashed before him. How to take him down? Without hearing whines about losing a job over a few jokes to the prince.

“Prince, you have a visitor.”

“What visitor?”

“Well… it’s Shin Haebeom, Commander of the Disciplinary Training Corps.”

Wearing a white T-shirt and jeans, Shin Haebeom looked seven or eight years younger than his actual age. He grinned at Kwon Sehyuk, who widened his eyes in surprise, saying he’d been shooting a pictorial at the studio next door. Kwon Sehyuk’s eyes grew even wider.

“A pictorial?”

“It’s a bit embarrassing.”

Shin Haebeom had been voted the man with the sexiest ankles in a reader poll by a women’s fashion magazine. A slacks ad came up, and though he initially declined, he accepted after an unprecedented offer to schedule around the Disciplinary Training Corps and the news that the designer launching the brand had made their uniforms.

Since the scar on his left ear hadn’t fully healed, the shoot focused on his profile and full body. The staff were satisfied with the results. Shin Haebeom told Kwon Sehyuk he’d gotten permission to observe the program’s shoot briefly.

“You look great on camera. I tend to come off a bit bloated.”

“That’s not the issue.”

Kwon Sehyuk let out a heavy sigh. Im Chanyoung tactfully left the room.

“Something happen?”

“Well…”

He spilled the whole story. Shin Haebeom smiled, as if he understood.

“I went through that too at first.”

“You too, Commander?”

“Of course, I’m a public servant. Not a broadcaster, so there were looks like, why’s he stealing our jobs?”

“Oh…”

“I didn’t expect it to happen to you, Prince.”

Kwon Sehyuk lowered his head. His hands, fiddling with the crumpled script, were weak.

“I don’t know if I’m doing the right thing.”

“Why think that?”

“If my presence here is a burden to someone, if I’m having a bad influence… honestly, maybe I should quit.”

“So you want to quit?”

Kwon Sehyuk shook his head.

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because I’m pissed.”

“What’s pissing you off?”

“Because I was disrespected!”

“Then that’s enough.”

Shin Haebeom said briskly.

“Forget the idea of taking someone else’s share. Don’t you know who the world needs right now? Why the General wants to show you to the public, what it means to stay in people’s minds? You can absolutely be an idol.”

His finger pointed outside.

“Those people out there? If they wanted, they could find replacements anytime. But not you, Prince. You’re the noblest being in this country, the one and only son of the supreme leader. Show that rookie out there, drunk on a cheap sense of victory, the class difference that individual effort can’t overcome.”

Shin Haebeom added immediately.

“Competition isn’t bad. It’s natural. In any species, any era, competition exists. The one who doesn’t get weeded out is strong. In the end, the strong survive, leave records, and are remembered by future generations.”

Shin Haebeom’s hands gripped Kwon Sehyuk’s shoulders.

“You need to get stronger.”

“…….”

“You’re about to enter the Disciplinary Training Corps. Without any sabotage, you’ll naturally fade from the broadcast scene. Yet that rookie is wary of you because your influence on the public is immense. Far beyond the career he’s built over years.”

Shin Haebeom exuded the aura of a successful man. Kwon Sehyuk knew he’d risen from a disadvantaged background to achieve success. There were other reasons he chose Shin Haebeom as a role model, but the decisive one was that he’d made it on his own.

But if that came at the cost of trampling others.

If someone’s life was destroyed or ruined in Shin Haebeom’s climb.

Could that really be called “making it” in the true sense?

Kwon Sehyuk wasn’t sure. Shin Haebeom said again.

“Prince, you need to get stronger. Once you’re looked down on, there’s no stopping it. The world isn’t as beautiful as you think. There’s a reason the General distinguishes class so clearly. People of lower classes… they…”

Shin Haebeom paused, then spat out forcefully.

“They covet, steal, ignore kindness, and the more you give, the more they come to take. Their roots are rotten, you could say.”

“That’s too…”

“I hope you keep your pure heart, Prince.”

But to do that, you must get stronger. Become someone no one dares disrespect, someone they wouldn’t even think to challenge, and reign supreme.

Kwon Sehyuk sat in his seat.

Until Shin Haebeom left and Im Chanyoung came in to announce the shoot was resuming, he sat silently, not making a sound.

✶⋆.˚

The moment the instructor’s lips parted, Ryujin squeezed his eyes shut.

“Pass.”

“Ah!”

His body, tense to the brim, melted limply. Without unbuckling his seatbelt, Ryujin bowed repeatedly toward the passenger seat.

“Thank you. Thank you so much!”

“Is it me who should be thanked? You did well, student.”

Before leaving Howollu, Shin Yena asked if he wanted a calming pill, and Ryujin laughed it off, saying he was fine. But while waiting his turn in the waiting room, his legs trembled, and he regretted it. The practical test was tougher than expected, with candidates failing left and right.

“They say the license test gets harder every year. That’s why my family’s been nagging me to get it quick.”

The girl who sat behind Ryujin in class had said that.

“Why?”

“Because the crime rate among drivers is high. If you get a job as a driver for nobles or rich people, you can come and go in their homes.”

Ryujin sighed heavily. The girl grumbled too.

“Honestly, it’s not hard to understand. They work you twenty-four hours a day and don’t pay enough. If I saw cash lying around, I’d pick it up too.”

“Yeah…”

“In noble houses, even eating a banana off the floor is theft. With so many workers, they don’t hesitate to fire.”

Most of the trainees tasted the bitterness of failure. The girl who spoke to Ryujin failed by two points. When she said she didn’t pass, Ryujin sighed deeply. Even the genius girl who aced the written test failed—could he make it?

Ryujin’s name was called. Walking to the test vehicle, his heart pounded so hard it hurt. His palms, gripping the wheel, were sweaty.

The instructor operated the machine and told him to start. The test began, and it was too late to turn back. Ryujin fastened his seatbelt with vigor.

In the end, Ryujin held a driver’s license in his hand. The genius girl hadn’t left and was waiting. He knew he should keep a straight face, but his lips kept twitching. Spotting him, the girl approached and spoke first.

“Congrats, Oppa.”

“It was so hard. I thought I’d die from nerves.”

“I’ll have to try again.”

“You’ll pass next time.”

“I hope so.”

“Want me to treat you to celebrate?”

Ryujin pointed to the vending machine in the hallway. He rummaged through his pocket and pulled out a crumpled bill.

“It’s okay.”

“No, I’ll get it. It’s nothing big, but… so you’ll pass next time. And you lent me a pen during class, remember?”

“Why do you think I did that?”

“Huh?”

Ryujin turned around. She was a small girl, barely 160 centimeters. But her voice was clear, and her eyes were strong. They stood facing each other for a while, until the sound of someone pressing the vending machine button broke the silence.

“Ah! What do you want to drink?”

“It’s really okay.”

“I already put the money in. Don’t refuse.”

The female student smiled softly.

“Melon soda.”

Shin Yena had said she would pick him up at the time the test ended. Ryujin saw the girl off as she headed to catch a bus and returned to the front of the test center.

But what was waiting for Ryujin wasn’t a gray Ferrari.

It was a black Range Rover.

He approached hesitantly. He hoped until the last moment that it wasn’t true, but the person who appeared from inside the car window was Shin Haebeom.

“Get in.”

“Where’s Noona?”

“I said get in.”

Ryujin’s shoulders slumped. He wanted to tell Shin Yena first about passing his license test…

Shin Haebeom thrust out his palm.

“What?”

“Let me see your license.”

“…….”

“Don’t tell me you failed? Ugh, you dimwit!”

“Who failed? I passed!”

“Then why’s your face like that?”

Ryujin clamped his mouth shut. Shin Haebeom pressed him.

“Aren’t you going to show me the license?”

“No way.”

“Who paid for your training and test fees?”

“How petty, bringing that up…!”

Shin Haebeom’s hand slapped his cheek. The impact made his head reel. Before Ryujin could recover, Shin Haebeom rummaged through his pants pocket and snatched the license.

“Look at this photo.”

“Give it back!”

Ryujin lunged, but Shin Haebeom didn’t budge. He kept chuckling, mocking that the photo didn’t come out well, that Ryujin wasn’t as good-looking as his sister.

“Give it back now that you’ve seen it.”

“No way.”

“Stop messing around! It’s mine!”

“We need it for your employment registration. Or what, do you have a passport or another ID?”

“You never mentioned that.”

“Well, I’m telling you now.”

Ryujin reluctantly gave up the license. He didn’t want to get beaten for being stubborn. Shin Haebeom, seemingly thrilled, tapped the steering wheel with his fingers and hummed a tune.

“Put on your seatbelt.”

As Ryujin fastened the buckle, his eyes fell on the car’s audio system. He cautiously asked.

“Don’t you listen to music?”

“It’s distracting.”

The words It’s better than your humming lingered in his mouth, but Ryujin silently turned his gaze out the window. The bustling downtown in broad daylight was lively. The scenery changed in the blink of an eye.

Shin Haebeom spoke as if doing him a favor.

“Turn it on if you’re bored.”

“I don’t know how.”

“Can’t you read ‘on and off’?”

Ryujin pouted and touched the touchscreen. A radio broadcast came on. It was an older man’s voice. The topic was, of all things, physiognomy. This wasn’t what he wanted, but before he could think, Shin Haebeom sneered.

“Your taste is so refined.”

“How do you change the channel?”

“No idea. As you can see, I’m driving.”

Ryujin glared at Shin Haebeom, sighed, and sank into the seat.

“Let’s just listen. Like you said, it’s cultured and nice.”

“Refined Mr. Ryujin.”

“Yeah, I’m refined. If an ignorant guy like you wants to talk with high-class people, you should listen to this and study.”

“Of course, sir. A guy with a short education like me needs to listen to cultured broadcasts to mingle with the elite.”

“Does it feel good to be so sarcastic?”

“Yeah. It feels damn good. Didn’t I tell you last time? Your reactions…”

Ryujin raised his hand to cut Shin Haebeom off.

“What?”

“Hold on.”

“What?”

“Isn’t this talking about you?”

Shin Haebeom listened to the sound coming from the speakers.

It was a program where a physiognomy expert analyzed the facial features of celebrities and public figures, chatting with the DJ. It wasn’t a particularly original concept, but the person being discussed was none other than Shin Haebeom of the Disciplinary Training Corps.

This individual’s features, well, his bone structure is excellent, but if you look at his photos, his eyes always have a certain strength. That means he has a strong spirit. What does a strong spirit mean? It means being proactive and driven. He enjoys competition, dives into challenges, and is always full of confidence. That’s a quality a leader must have. Of course, he shouldn’t overly pressure those below him.

“Hmm.”

His facial features are well-balanced. Taken individually, they might seem intense or striking, but as a whole, they don’t feel jarring or out of place. The proportions are good.

“Haha.”

I particularly notice his eyebrows—thick and sharply tapered at the ends. We call these “sword eyebrows.” They signify a unique charisma that brings wealth and fame early on. Many successful entrepreneurs and active politicians have such eyebrows.

Ryujin was dumbfounded. It was all just flattery.

“Your face doesn’t look happy, Jung Ryujin.”

“Did you bribe that guy?”

Shin Haebeom snickered.

“Bribe? It’s obvious he’s just spouting nonsense based on someone’s photo.”

“But it’s still praise. I’d feel good…”

“Don’t believe physiognomists, Jung Ryujin. They always claim someone was destined for success after they make it.”

Shin Haebeom pointed at a child crossing the crosswalk.

“Even that kid could make result-based claims.”

“Really?”

“There’s a sister field—graphologists.”

“What’s that?”

“They analyze personality through handwriting.”

“Have you tried it?”

“They said I have the handwriting of a hero destined to conquer the world.”

“That’s hilarious. Heroes are all frozen to death.”

“Want to see?”

Before Ryujin could answer, Shin Haebeom turned the wheel. He stopped in front of a shopping center with a famous coffee shop sign on the first floor.

“Get out.”

“No way. Why would I go to a place like that with you?”

“I’ll buy you cake.”

“Am I a kid?! To fall for that!”

“I’ll buy you a lot.”

Shin Haebeom said this while shaking his fist.

The shop was bustling with people. Ryujin admired the chic interior. The coffee aroma was pleasant. But the noise was overwhelming, and the staff were practically running around taking orders and making drinks.

One wall was filled with a display case full of eye-catching items—branded tumblers, cold cups, and mugs for sale. They were all sleek and pretty.

As Ryujin stared in awe, Shin Haebeom’s hand suddenly reached out.

“This came out this season.”

“You startled me…! Make some noise when you move.”

“How’s this? Would it look good on my desk?”

Shin Haebeom picked up a mug with a gradient of purple and blue floral patterns. Its rim flared out like petals, an unusual design.

Ryujin recalled the massive display case in the 12th-floor office, filled with plates, teacups, saucers, and bowls.

“If you like it, buy it…”

“When someone asks your opinion, at least pretend to care.”

Ryujin muttered under his breath. You’ll hit me if I’m honest.

A uniformed staff member approached. Recognizing Shin Haebeom, they asked for a photo. The employee explained the mug Shin Haebeom was holding, then took his card and membership to the counter.

The employee returned with a shopping bag tied with a purple satin ribbon. They gave directions to the second-floor business room, saying they’d bring coffee and cake. Ryujin was puzzled. Weren’t places like this usually self-service?

“Because I’m special.”

Shin Haebeom was openly smug.

The coffee Shin Haebeom ordered was tasteless. Ryujin took a sip absentmindedly and grimaced. How many shots did they put in this…? He looked at Shin Haebeom, who was savoring the coffee’s flavor with his eyes closed. It was a sight.

“Why’d you stop after one sip?”

“It’s too bitter.”

“Such a kid. Coffee should be like this.”

Shin Haebeom drank the bitter coffee without a change in expression. A cake plate was set in front of Ryujin.

“Eat this.”

“What are you planning if I do…?”

“Don’t eat it then.”

“When did I say that!”

Ryujin stabbed the cake with a fork. Shin Haebeom kicked his shin for eating too fast.

“Eat slowly.”

Then he tossed the shopping bag with the purple ribbon at Ryujin.

“Take it.”

“Why are you giving this to me?”

“A passing gift.”

Ryujin looked like he’d heard a mouse ate an elephant.

“You bought it because you liked it.”

“I did, but I changed my mind.”

“Then get a refund. Don’t waste money.”

“Are you worrying about my wallet now?”

Ryujin silently clutched the shopping bag. Just wait. When I’m your age…

Then what?

Ryujin lowered his eyes. He couldn’t believe he was jealous of Shin Haebeom.

“Jung Ryujin, look here.”

Ryujin looked up at Shin Haebeom’s voice. A notebook was open on the table, one provided free in the business room. Shin Haebeom clicked a pen and said.

“Here. Handwriting.”

“What… read it?”

“Look at the handwriting, you dimwit.”

“Don’t call me that. It pisses me off.”

“Then get smart so you don’t hear it. Grow some sense too. Remember, it’s not just me or MVP you’ll deal with at the Disciplinary Corps.”

Shin Haebeom’s handwriting had bold, upward strokes. The letters were small but widely spaced. Above all, they were as neat as if printed. Ryujin thought of kids in school who got popular during exam season—mostly girls with pretty, tidy handwriting. Was Shin Haebeom that kind of student? Studious, good at note-taking.

“What do you think?”

“You’re… asking me to… evaluate it?”

“Be honest.”

It was awkward. Saying what he felt hurt his pride, but being too sarcastic risked consequences. Ryujin hesitated before speaking.

“It’s well-written.”

Shin Haebeom’s eyebrows furrowed.

“That’s it?”

“What else is there?”

“…….”

“Guess I’m a dimwit like you said.”

“You admit it? Then cluck like a chicken. Cluck cluck.”

It was so childish, Ryujin was speechless. He pitied those who didn’t know Shin Haebeom’s true nature. Shin Haebeom checked the smoking room logo and pulled out a cigarette.

“Kwon Joohyuk was really into graphology.”

“So?”

“MVP might be too, so practice this handwriting.”

“Do I have to go that far?”

“Small habits matter.”

“…….”

“This is the handwriting of the 47th president. You learned modern history even if you’re a middle school dropout, right?”

“I know.”

Ryujin racked his brain, but nothing came up. Seeing him hesitate, Shin Haebeom clicked his tongue.

“What rank were you in class?”

He was never a diligent, high-achieving student. Nor was he a troublemaker giving adults headaches. He was just an ordinary kid who liked playing more than studying, occasionally forgot homework or supplies, and got kicked out of class for talking.

Ryujin clamped his mouth shut and glared at Shin Haebeom.

“How well did you do?”

“I was an honor student.”

“Then who’s the 47th president?”

Shin Haebeom answered instantly.

“Kwon Sookbin.”

“Oh!”

“Don’t pretend you just remembered.”

“I knew it!”

“Kwon Sookbin, the Heavenly Empress of the New Nation. Kwon Ilhyuk’s grandmother. A remarkable woman who held strong royal power and public support. They say Kwon Ilhyuk tried to emulate her when he launched Iron-Blooded Voice, but honestly, it’s embarrassing to compare. Oh, you probably don’t care about this.”

“No, keep going. It’s interesting.”

Kwon Sookbin, whom Kwon Ilhyuk admired, was a monarch historians debated fiercely. Was she a wise ruler who fostered commerce and economic growth, or an incarnation of evil who purged her father and brothers to seize the throne?

Kwon Sookbin wasn’t of the main royal line. She was outside the top ten in succession. She abolished polygamy and reformed the patriarchal system. Historians believed her struggles as an illegitimate child and a princess unlikely to be recognized shaped her deeply.

“It’s in the textbooks. The First Princess’s Rebellion.”

When Kwon Hyebin, second in line, staged a coup, Kwon Sookbin was a nine-year-old child. Kwon Hyebin, refusing a noble marriage, rallied seven thousand private soldiers but failed to seize the throne due to an insider’s betrayal.

Though a traitor, she was a princess of royal blood. Thus, Kwon Hyebin was spared public execution but ordered to hang herself at home.

Kwon Sookbin was raised by Kwon Hyebin. Though they had different mothers, it’s said Kwon Hyebin doted on her half-sister as a fellow princess.

“And ten years later, the Second Princess’s Rebellion. Kwon Sookbin took the lotus, the symbol of Kwon Hyebin’s faction.”

Ryujin racked his memory but had never heard this. He thought the lotus was just the 47th president’s symbol.

“Probably because of textbook revisions.”

Shin Haebeom said.

“Only the victor’s life is recorded for posterity. The loser’s life doesn’t make it to exams.”

“Really…”

“The reason Kwon Hyebin failed was her initial force was too large. Too many heads made security weak.”

Words are like that. Thoughts are like that. Doubts are like that. Once they start, they burn down a house and spread like wildfire.

So Kwon Sookbin’s initial uprising force was tiny. Just five.

“Textbooks say five hundred or seven hundred, but that’s after private soldiers joined. The initial force, including Kwon Sookbin, was five.”

“That’s… impossible.”

“Everyone probably thought like you. What could five do? But to win a war, you strike from a direction the enemy can’t anticipate, in a way they can’t predict.”

“Even so.”

“It’s not impossible if you think about it.”

Shin Haebeom said firmly.

“A coup’s success isn’t about numbers but speed.”

Victory didn’t depend on mobilizing large forces, deposing the king, or crafting grand causes. Causes could come later, and a powerless king was a disposable puppet.

Speed was key. Seizing the core of power—media and military—made replacing the supreme leader possible, even with a small force.

“Kwon Sookbin’s husband was the director of the Taejeong Times. Newspapers may be trivial now, but back then, their influence was huge.”

Kwon Sookbin used the lotus, the symbol of Kwon Hyebin’s faction. This made absorbing her faction seamless.

“How thrilled must those starving strays, leaderless, have been to find a new master? How fiercely loyal?”

Jang Kyungwoon, then a field-grade officer, quickly joined Kwon Sookbin’s faction. For choosing the right side, he secured the position of Minister of State Affairs.

“Who’s that?”

“Jang Kyungwoon is Jang Doohyun’s father. So, MVP’s great-grandfather.”

“Great-great-grandfather?”

“Exactly. The royal in-laws backed Kwon Sookbin.”

At that point, the outcome was all but decided.

Shin Haebeom lit a cigarette. His voice was slightly hoarse.

“But even such a remarkable woman failed at raising her child.”

“…….”

Kwon Sookbin’s son, Kwon Soohyuk, destroyed the nation’s foundation she’d built. Indulging in luxury and reckless New Deal projects, he bankrupted the treasury. The cash-strapped royal family turned to capitalists, paving the way for corporations to enter politics. The previously nominal Republican Party gained nationwide support with three major conglomerates joining.

Kwon Ilhyuk, raised under his grandmother’s absolute monarchy, couldn’t accept the changing times or the natural modernization of the state. He felt his birthright was stolen. His rage, skipping his ancestors’ wrongs, erupted in the wrong direction.

“Even if it meant the country’s ruin…”

Shin Haebeom smiled bitterly.

“He couldn’t bear to disgrace his father.”

Ryujin said.

“That’s strange.”

“I think so too.”

Suddenly, Shin Haebeom reached out and ruffled Ryujin’s hair.

“Stop it.”

Ryujin pushed him away, but Shin Haebeom came back, rougher this time.

“Hey…! I said stop! You’re gonna make me go bald!”

“A kid whose head’s still wet is already worrying about his hair.”

“Be honest. You’re obsessed with my hair because you’re balding, right?”

“Want me to rip out every hair down there too?”

Ryujin gripped his coffee cup. Shin Haebeom let out an impressed “Ooh.”

“Splash it.”

“…….”

“I said do it.”

Ryujin set the cup back down. His temples throbbed.

Shin Haebeom muttered softly.

“I like Kwon Sookbin.”

“What?”

Ryujin doubted his ears. But Shin Haebeom’s voice was serious.

“That’s why <Red Tiger> is five people.”

“For such a trivial reason?”

“Trivial? This is huge.”

“…You’re kinda weird.”

Ryujin licked his dry lips.

“You’re obsessed with weird things.”

“What’s so weird?”

“Your dish-collecting hobby, for one…”

“Don’t diss personal tastes like that.”

“It’s not just that…”

It was well-known that Shin Haebeom was obsessed with the Disciplinary Training Corps building’s “floors” and “square footage.” The place was excessively large for its users, and not just the parking lot.

“What? Say it.”

“Forget it. You’ll just mock me.”

“Lame.”

Suddenly, Shin Haebeom said.

“Have you ever thought about revenge?”

“Dunno.”

Ryujin snapped curtly.

“Life’s shitty enough day to day.”

“No time to think?”

“What, gonna mock me again? Call me a useless idiot?”

“Not an idiot, just too damn nice.”

“Is that bad?”

“In today’s world, being nice is a loss.”

Ryujin lowered his eyes. Shin Yena had said something similar.

“But you’re not completely hopeless.”

“Why?”

“When Gwak Hyeonwoo died, you acted. You didn’t just stop at anger. Not everyone can do that.”

“You call that praise?”

“Yeah, it’s praise.”

Ryujin glared at Shin Haebeom and said clearly.

“I won’t become like you.”

“That stings.”

“What, scared of going to hell?”

“Not scared, but I might be lonely.”

“So you need a buddy?”

“Exactly.”

“Ask Jin Chiwoo to go with you. You’re both bastards, so you’d get along great. Plus, you’re childhood friends, right?”

“You don’t want to?”

“Of course not! Hell’s for sinners like you. Why drag innocent people into your mess?”

Shin Haebeom’s smiling face was obscured by gray smoke, and Ryujin couldn’t read his expression.

✶⋆.˚

Kwon Sehyuk smiled at the camera lens. Acting relaxed, like this was nothing.

Forget the idea of taking someone else’s share. Competition is natural.

And one more thing. He couldn’t stand being disrespected.

Kwon Sehyuk gestured an apology to the female MC. She flinched, then leaned toward him, avoiding the rookie’s gaze, and whispered.

“I’m sorry, that guy’s got a strong personality…”

“It’s fine. It’s my inexperience.”

The standby signal sounded. The rookie’s question came immediately.

“There’s a fundamental clash of values our youth face with their parents. It could be called a difference in perspectives. Regarding the ‘effort gap’ often mentioned in various media lately, what are your thoughts, Prince?”

His tone was polite, but his voice had an edge. A writer among the staff shook their head.

Kwon Sehyuk lifted his chin and looked straight at the camera. He answered in a voice brimming with excitement, as if he found the situation thrilling.

“I think it’s about mindset. No matter how tough things get, even if you feel like the most miserable person in the world at this moment, if you don’t give up and look at reality positively, won’t you get one step closer to your dreams?”

“That’s well said. But our younger generation, especially young teens, aren’t at an age where they can completely separate personal achievements from their environment, are they? To focus solely on studies without worrying about family, friends, appearance, and other issues, don’t they need an environment that supports overcoming those challenges to some extent?”