BAI Ch 15

Shin Haebeom reserved a round table where they could sit face-to-face and share drinks. However, Jang Seunghee strode confidently toward a table commonly called a couple’s seat, positioned side by side with a view of the scenery. Fortunately, the table was empty, and the manager was quick-witted. He gave Shin Haebeom a knowing glance and swiftly removed the reservation flag from the round table.

They opened the menu and immediately began ordering. Decisions were made not based on personal taste but on the prices listed on the right. Shin Haebeom pretended not to notice the subtle glances Jang Seunghee cast his way. His eyes were fixed on her hands, fidgeting with the edge of the menu. There was no wedding ring.

When the food arrived, Jang Seunghee took off her sunglasses, but she kept on the wide-brimmed hat that half-covered her face. A thin knit dress accentuated the curves of her figure. Her only accessory was a single pearl earring snug against her ear, and her makeup was light, contributing to an understated, refined aura.

It was a style that appeared effortless yet meticulously curated. Luxurious without ostentation, sophisticated and elegant. Jang Seunghee embodied the ideal of “the virtuous woman of our society” championed by the Iron Blood Unity. From head to toe, she exuded grace.

Cutting a small piece from the edge of her tenderloin steak, Jang Seunghee spoke.

“My youngest is a worry. He doesn’t know how to get along with kids his age. Back in our hometown, he was at least cheerful, but he’s struggling to adjust to city life, or something like that. On top of that, my older son dotes on him so much that it’s become a habit.”

Kwon Muhyuk was the youngest of the president’s seven sons and four daughters. Though the youngest in age, he was Jang Seunghee’s second son and Kwon Sehyuk’s younger brother, placing him second in the line of succession. In the unlikely event that Kwon Sehyuk fell out of the successor race, he would become the focus of political attention.

However, Kwon Muhyuk was only nine years old, frail by nature, and emotionally dependent on his older brother. While he might change as he grew, his personality was fundamentally different from Kwon Sehyuk’s. Shin Haebeom recalled the boy who used to cling to his much larger brother’s neck with both arms.

“I was often sick as a child too.”

“Were you?”

“They say kids who are sickly grow up to be healthy. And with you caring for him so devotedly, the little prince will surely be healthy soon.”

“I hope so.”

Jang Seunghee set down her fork and knife and looked intently at Shin Haebeom.

“How long are you going to keep calling me that?”

The skin beneath Shin Haebeom’s eyes twitched.

“What would you like me to call you?”

“Are you asking because you don’t know, or are you pretending not to know?”

“As I’ve said before, I…”

It felt like the piece of meat he’d just swallowed was lodged in his throat. Shin Haebeom forced a smile. He moistened his throat with wine.

“To be honest, I find you intimidating.”

Jang Seunghee’s face stiffened. A clear, unflinching voice followed.

“As you know, my origins are insignificant. Someone born flawed, no matter how much they refine or strive, has limits. But you’re different. To me, you—no, you—are someone beyond the boundary.”

Almost as if pleading.

“In front of you, I feel small.”

Like a child desperate for a mother’s attention.

“Everything I’ve pursued feels meaningless.”

It wasn’t an exaggeration. Jang Seunghee was the president’s wife, Jang Duhyun’s daughter, and the mother of MVP Kwon Sehyuk. Even the purge empress Yu Mihyun yielded to her, and Shin Haebeom couldn’t compete. Sometimes, it was crucial to assess reality coldly.

He’d thought about it constantly. Ever since Jang Seunghee showed subtle interest using Kwon Sehyuk as a pretext. How to handle someone of higher status, older, and capable of causing irreversible disaster with a single misstep. How to charm her, extract what he could, and then discard her.

The conclusion was simple. He never had the option to refuse.

Shin Haebeom realized that a trial similar to what Kwon Joohyuk had endured had now come for him. Kwon Joohyuk was impotent. He had bared his shame to the world to get what he wanted. Watching that process up close and learning nothing would make him less than human—a chicken brain.

“I…”

Shin Haebeom gazed at Jang Seunghee.

“I’m afraid of you. Afraid I won’t meet your expectations. Afraid you’ll abandon me.”

“Haebeom.”

“I know the weight of things I’ve gained and lost. It took a long time to overcome that loss and stand again. In that process, I had to sacrifice many people and commit countless unforgivable acts. To go through that… again, I don’t have the confidence… I’m still scared.”

Shin Haebeom grasped Jang Seunghee’s slender hand, which covered the back of his own.

Everything in this moment was perfect. The atmosphere, the timing, the voice, even the wounded man’s gaze that could make anyone believe these words were sincere.

“If you can’t take me all the way.”

It was a gamble.

“Don’t even start.”

Above the one who strives is the one who enjoys. Above the one who enjoys is the one who soars. And above that is the chariot of ambition, burning everything to reach the ultimate goal.

He spent the night attending to Jang Seunghee. The fantastic collaboration of emotional and physical labor left his mouth agape. Only after fastening her bra hook was Shin Haebeom finally free. The noble lady was satisfied and left in good spirits.

While he soaked in a hot bath at home, savoring the ecstasy, Shin Haebeom had to face round two against a raging Kwon Joohyuk, who was demanding that a suppression team be sent to Lake Park immediately.

The national library established in Kwon Sehyuk’s name received high praise in a survey of Kwangseong citizens and was even nominated for the “Most Beautiful Architecture in Our Country” award. Emboldened, Kwon Joohyuk purchased a large, scenic plot opposite the library, adjacent to Lake Park, to build a national children’s science museum.

Thanks to the library project’s success, Yu Mihyun couldn’t openly oppose it. Kwon Joohyuk promptly began acquiring the land. Under the grandiose banner of “national enterprise,” he secured the 100,000-pyeong plot he’d personally coveted at a price far below market value. He also bought up all the surrounding scraps of land, citing the need for transportation and amenities. This process sparked controversy.

Conflicts arose with residents who weren’t adequately compensated during the demolition of existing structures. Voices grew louder, decrying the unfair eviction of low-income residents from the outskirts to create a luxurious environment for the elite. The <Children’s Rights Protection Alliance>, led by educators and university students, issued a statement opposing the science museum’s construction. Quick-witted and sharp, Yu Mihyun swiftly released a statement supporting the alliance, putting a check on Kwon Joohyuk.

From that moment, a physical clash was all but inevitable.

Shinryonggwan’s “Big Brother” was not one to stand by and watch the “purge empress,” who had ousted him from the finance ministry, champion justice for the weak. Already seething, a breaking news report finally snapped Kwon Joohyuk’s patience.

<Children’s Rights Group Opposes National Children’s Science Museum — Immediate Eviction Without Grace Period, Joint Police and Private Security Demolition?>

Considering that the Disciplinary Training Corps was often derisively called Kwon Joohyuk’s private security, this was tantamount to a challenge against the president’s chief of staff.

Kwon Joohyuk raged, foaming at the mouth. A volcano erupted, with pyroclastic flows soaring skyward. Shin Haebeom was engulfed in that fiery torrent.

It was 4:30 a.m., just after leaving the hotel. The furious old man had no need for sleep. Nor did he have any conscience or shame. Calling at the crack of dawn, he unleashed a thirty-minute tirade of insults against Yu Mihyun and the human rights groups she led. It was verbal abuse no sane person could endure.

Shin Haebeom pulled over to the roadside. He set the phone to speaker, placed it on the holder, and began mimicking a conductor to the rhythm of Kwon Joohyuk’s voice spilling out. With pitch and tempo, he moved spiritedly.

The louder Kwon Joohyuk’s voice grew, the faster and more vigorous Shin Haebeom’s gestures became. He laughed at his ridiculous reflection in the rearview mirror. It was a pathetic state he couldn’t bear without laughing.

— Don’t hold back or worry about consequences. Go wild like you always do. This is the chance to crush Yu Mihyun’s nose, that woman who struts around fearless of the royal family. It’s perfect, perfect! I’ve been itching for this since the Hwachun district development.

Shin Haebeom swallowed a sigh. It was no longer about the rights of low-income residents or underprivileged children. It was a battle of pride between Kwon Joohyuk and Yu Mihyun. The ones dying or getting hurt in this game were the protesters and the Disciplinary Training Corps’ cannon fodder.

Shin Haebeom responded into the phone.

“Understood.”

Kwon Joohyuk rambled on. Since Kwon Sehyuk was still young and unaccustomed to such situations, it was best to keep him in the dark.

The intent was transparent. I set the stage, you do the grunt work, and he gets the trophy.

— While you’re at it, tear down all the watchtowers. They’re throwing Molotov cocktails from up there; one military policeman got his head smashed. Those young brats, learning only the worst things… worthless parasites. Acting all high and mighty with crumbling buildings.

Shin Haebeom marveled inwardly. How does this old geezer not have dementia?

“I’ll discuss the use of force with their commander.”

— Already done. Haebeom, don’t bother with the hassle, just focus on crushing those bastards and Chiwoo.

Do as you’re told. Don’t question like a hunting dog. Shin Haebeom gritted his teeth and answered.

“Yes.”

He slammed the accelerator. The dawn roads were quiet. The wind blowing through the half-open window scratched his face.

Shin Haebeom pictured Kwon Joohyuk’s snake-like eyes.

Kwon Joohyuk had planned this from the start. Shin Haebeom had sensed it when he first demanded a suppression team. From the moment an obstacle arose, he intended to crush it with force. It was the quickest, most immediate way to silence the public’s voice and the method Kwon Joohyuk was most confident in.

✶⋆.˚

“When public authority acts like that, people take matters into their own hands.”

Shin Yena said this while putting a cigarette in her mouth. Shin Haebeom lit it for her.

“Whether it’s Kwon Joohyuk or Yu Mihyun, it won’t end until one of them dies.”

Shin Haebeom shook his head with a laugh.

“Those two would keep fighting, pulling hair even in the afterlife.”

“Did you meet Jeong Seonghyeon?”

“I did.”

“Are you really not going to tell Ryujin?”

“Not until the time is right.”

He wouldn’t open his mouth until everything was certain. Shin Yena looked steadily at Shin Haebeom, who stubbornly kept his lips sealed.

“Don’t drag it out halfheartedly. Either bury it or expose it all. And know I have zero interest in stealing Ryu Yeonbi’s inheritance.”

“Don’t come crawling back if you change your mind.”

“What do you take me for!”

Shin Haebeom chuckled.

“There’s no money from Ryu Yeonbi anyway. Corporate thugs took it all. What I’m after is proof that Kwon Joohyuk was behind them.”

Shin Haebeom stared at the cigarette smoke Shin Yena exhaled. How nice it would be if this crushing fatigue could dissipate into the air like that.

“Jung Ryujin. Is he asleep?”

“Don’t wake him. He tossed for an hour before finally falling asleep.”

“Aren’t you pushing him too hard?”

Her sharp glance stung.

“What?”

“Oppa, really…”

“Is something wrong with Jung Ryujin?”

“You’re asking because you don’t know?”

“I don’t.”

“To anyone watching, they’d think Ryujin’s slaving away at a construction site.”

Shin Haebeom frowned.

“What’s that mean?”

“The smell of pain patches reeks from a kid barely twenty-one.”

Her red-painted lips were firm. Shin Haebeom ignored her words and sluggishly got up.

“I said don’t wake him!”

“I need to give him something.”

“Give it to me. I’ll pass it on later.”

Shin Yena snatched the small envelope from Shin Haebeom’s hand. But he didn’t stop heading toward the Camellia Room.

“I’m just going to see his face.”

A jab hit the back of his head.

“Yeah, right!”

The door opened and closed silently. Shin Haebeom strode into the room.

He habitually felt along the wall but didn’t turn on the light. Leaning against the door, he waited for his eyes to adjust to the dark.

The room was as sparse as ever. Still, it felt more lived-in than before.

Shin Haebeom picked up Ryujin’s notebook from the desk. A vocabulary note tucked between the pages fell out.

“Ah.”

He bent down absentmindedly. As he picked up the paper from the floor, his lowered gaze caught Ryujin’s face, curled up asleep.

“…….”

Two thoughts crossed his mind in succession. Isn’t he suffocating with the blanket pulled up to his nose? Is he even breathing?

Before he knew it, Shin Haebeom was right by Ryujin’s face.

“…….”

He swallowed dryly. He pulled down the thick cotton blanket covering half his face.

A small face was revealed. Shin Haebeom placed a finger under Ryujin’s nose. Then, like last time, he felt relieved. He’s breathing.

Shin Haebeom stared out the window.

It was morning, heralding a new day, but the overcast sky, threatening rain, was dreary.

Shin Haebeom frowned. He thought of his subordinates who’d have to face protesters in the pouring rain. It couldn’t be helped. In a hierarchical society, a beta could only survive by obeying the alpha and acting like a tongue in their mouth.

In that regard, Jung Ryujin was a failing student. A complete zero. That striking appearance must’ve been gained in exchange for learning ability. Otherwise, he couldn’t have the same mindset as his unjustly deceased noona.

“I won’t become like you.”

That resolute voice came to mind, making him laugh. This pair of siblings, identical in face and personality, differing only in tone, with voices and inflections like carbon copies, were like stumbling blocks that had suddenly appeared in Shin Haebeom’s life.

“You don’t fit with us.”

Cocky girl.

“Even if the goal is the same, different methods cause trouble. What you’re talking about is something that person and I would never do. It seems we should each go our own way.”

She must’ve thought she was superior. Thought she was strong. Thought everyone in the world loved her!

Shin Haebeom wondered. Was his way wrong? If so, why? If there was a reason, could he fix it? Ryu Yeonbi had responded coldly to that question.

“People aren’t meant to be fixed.”

Damn it!

His hand gripping the windowsill tightened. Shin Haebeom exhaled a suppressed breath. Thinking of that beautiful, arrogant face made his insides twist and knot.

Dark clouds rolled in. The sky, no longer just dreary but gray, began to shed raindrops. The drizzle quickly thickened. A downpour swept the world.

Shin Haebeom turned his head. He sat by the head of the soundly sleeping Ryujin. Looking down at the boy’s face, so faint it was hard to tell if he was asleep or dead, he observed.

Disheveled bangs.

A vivid scar on his temple.

Long eyelash shadows. Pink lips beneath a sharp nose.

A picture-perfect boy.

Shin Haebeom looked at his hand. He was still holding Ryujin’s notebook. In a fit of anger, he’d crumpled it. He set it on the floor and pressed it flat with his palm. Still, it didn’t return to its original shape.

Shin Haebeom flipped through the notebook.

“What handwriting…”

The front pages were densely packed with terms from the driver’s license written exam. At some point, they stopped, replaced by code words used by the Disciplinary Training Corps. He seemed to memorize by writing, as several pages were filled with black ink. Shin Haebeom’s hand paused as he carelessly flipped through.

<Life Plan>

Below the grandiose title, five items were listed. Shin Haebeom frowned and began reading.

Get compensation from Shin Haebeom.

Divide it into thirds.

In parentheses, it noted giving portions to his aunt’s family and Hyeonwoo’s family. It was absurd.

“Is this guy crazy?”

He considered slapping him awake but stopped. It was too early to be shocked. Shin Haebeom quickly moved to item three.

Get a passport and book a plane ticket.

Go to Shenzhen, China.

Item five was blank. Only the number was written, with no content. He was still thinking about it, it seemed.

Shin Haebeom’s face soured. From start to finish, it was a shoddily crafted <Life Plan>. First, item one was impossible. Item two was like advertising he was a pushover. Worrying about others when his own nose was three feet long.

From item three, his head throbbed. First, getting a passport was tricky, especially for someone with Jung Ryujin’s background. More importantly, Shenzhen was Ha Sungrok’s turf. The Ha Sungrok family, who’d betrayed Shin Haebeom and fled, had taken root there. He’d sold his country’s technology to China for profit, used that money to fund a revolutionary army, and even formed his own group. Returning with power, he became a beacon of hope for the oppressed under the dictator’s tyranny…

Ha Sungrok’s dream didn’t come true. This country was as unkind to him then as it is now.

Shin Haebeom opened his closed eyes. He tore out the page he’d been staring at. With rough hands, the paper ripped limply, and he crumpled it, stuffing it into his pocket.

Shin Haebeom sneered at the sleeping Ryujin.

Life plan, my ass. Life never goes according to plan, you idiot.

“…….”

He looked at the hand on the pillow. The thin skin revealed faint veins, and calluses stood out on the delicate palm. Entranced, Shin Haebeom slipped his fingers between Ryujin’s.

Ryujin didn’t wake.

Shin Haebeom lay on the floor. The hard surface pressed against his shoulders and back, but it was fine. He didn’t let go of their interlaced hands. The exhaustion from staying up all night mingled with the sound of rain outside, bringing a wave of drowsiness.

But Shin Haebeom didn’t close his eyes. He couldn’t sleep peacefully. It felt like if he fell asleep, he’d never wake again. Staring at Ryujin’s lifeless face, he moved his lips silently.

Get up.

Come with me.

✶⋆.˚

Kwon Sehyuk was in a good mood. At least until last night.

He’d picked out clothes with his younger brother and lay in bed, thinking about the musical he’d researched. He fell asleep, restless with excitement. But when he woke in the morning, Kwon Sehyuk faced news as gloomy as the pouring rain.

The alarm jolted him out of bed. He stretched and went downstairs to the first-floor living room. Jang Seunghee was watching a massive TV screen. Wearing a long dress that reached her ankles, she smelled of roses, as if fresh from a bath.

“What’re you doing, Mom?”

Kwon Sehyuk entered the kitchen, poured sparkling water into a cup, and came out.

“Mom? What’re you watching so early?”

Jang Seunghee didn’t answer. She just gestured with her chin toward the large screen.

Breaking news. Two groups faced off in a chaotic park. Soldiers in tactical gear and shields blocked the path. Protesters, with headbands and handmade flags, linked arms and advanced step by step.

Kwon Sehyuk sat on the sofa, holding his cup.

“What’s that?”

“Must be what your uncle mentioned.”

“What? Mom, do you know about this? Is this because of Uncle?”

“The science museum being built in your name.”

“What?”

Kwon Sehyuk had never heard of it.

“I didn’t hear anything about that!”

“Didn’t you? Maybe he planned to tell you after it was finished.”

Kwon Sehyuk shouted.

“What’s that supposed to mean! It’s in my name! You knew, so why didn’t I?”

“Quiet down. You’re giving me a headache.”

“Mom!”

Jang Seunghee turned up the TV volume. The reporter’s urgent voice echoed through the living room. An unsanctioned protest had occupied Lake Park, blocking streets and roads, and riot police were demanding dispersal. The reporter’s voice, mixed with the loud rain, sounded even more frantic.

Jang Seunghee pressed her temples with her thumbs.

“They’re still at it.”

“…….”

“How many years pass, and this country’s still…”

Kwon Sehyuk narrowed his eyes. The cameramen covering the scene were all clustered on the police side. They filmed in risky, crouched positions. Kwon Sehyuk frowned as he watched.

“That’s dangerous.”

They couldn’t escape quickly if objects were thrown. The awkward posture and camera weight didn’t help.

“Mom, those people…”

“How many are out there? Over five hundred?”

“Oh…”

He got it. Why the cameramen were so focused on angles. Kwon Sehyuk thought of Hollywood action films, especially disaster movies with giant monsters. When filming a subject running outward, shooting from below made it look larger and more threatening.

“Don’t worry. They’re calm now, but once orders come, it’ll be over in thirty minutes.”

“How do you know that, Mom?”

“Seen it once or twice?”

Kwon Sehyuk set down his cup. He wiped his wet palm on his pants.

“Won’t people get hurt? It looks like an accident waiting to happen.”

“You worry too much.”

Jang Seunghee was genuinely unbothered.

“Your uncle will handle it.”

His throat burned. Sweat pooled in the palm gripping his knee. Kwon Sehyuk watched an interview with a citizen complaining about public transport being halted during rush hour in the rain. The vinyl umbrella he clutched shook in the strong wind.

“Oh, didn’t you say you had plans tonight?”

“Yeah.”

“Cancel them. Going out on a day like this, you’ll get in an accident in the rain.”

“No way. It’s important.”

Kwon Sehyuk stood from the sofa. He had a bad feeling. Sure enough, Jang Seunghee’s sharp voice flew at him.

“You’re not meeting those friends, are you?”

“No! I don’t hang out with them anymore.”

“Then who? Give me their number.”

“What…! Am I a kid?”

“Are you a kid or an adult?”

Kwon Sehyuk stomped his foot hard.

“You tell me to act like an adult, then call me a kid? Stop flipping back and forth to suit you!”

Kwon Sehyuk fled up the stairs. He nearly tripped on a step but barely caught his balance.

His hand gripped the railing tightly.

The rain outside roared. Kwon Sehyuk sighed.

Kwon Muhyuk stood there, clutching a Rubik’s cube with both hands.

“Hyung…”

Kwon Sehyuk forced a smile.

“Up early, huh?”

“You fought with Mom?”

“You heard?”

Kwon Sehyuk’s shoulders slumped as he spoke.

“It wasn’t a fight.”

“You yelled at Mom.”

“Muhyuk. I’m really sorry, but…”

Kwon Sehyuk, like Jang Seunghee, pressed his temples with his thumb.

“Hyung’s a bit tired right now. Gonna sleep more?”

“…….”

“Sorry. I’ll make time later…”

The door closed. Kwon Sehyuk glared at his brother’s door for a while, then returned to his room and slammed the door shut. The bang was loud enough to startle Jang Seunghee downstairs, making her glare upward.

“…….”

Kwon Sehyuk leaned against the door, covering his face with both hands. He felt strange. Strangely angry.

It was the first time he’d felt this way toward his brother.

Kwon Sehyuk was startled by his reflection in the opposite mirror. His face looked like he was ready to kill someone.

✶⋆.˚

Shin Yena handed Ryujin two shopping bags. Ryujin’s eyes widened as he looked inside.

“Don’t feel pressured. They’re not that expensive.”

Ryujin seemed to hesitate, wondering whether to accept or not. But he soon smiled and answered.

“Thank you.”

Shin Yena watched with a fluttering heart as Ryujin took out the clothes. Beige slacks and a light purple shirt. She’d always thought bright colors would suit Ryujin’s fair skin.

“Like them?”

“Yeah.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. This is my favorite color.”

“Really? That’s a relief.”

She sighed in relief. Ryujin tried on the light purple shirt on the spot. Shin Yena looked at him, smiling, genuinely pleased. It suited him even better than she’d imagined.

“What time’s the MVP coming?”

“He’s almost here, he said. But…”

Ryujin looked at his phone.

“He says the rain’s slowing him down.”

“Yeah, the weather’s bad today. Tell him to be careful.”

“He’s already nervous, he says.”

Ryujin showed her the phone screen with his chat with Kwon Sehyuk. Shin Yena’s jaw dropped. It was a flurry of emoticons, special characters, and stickers.

Ryujin laughed, saying he could barely keep up with Kwon Sehyuk’s messaging speed.

“We’re only a year apart, but I feel so old.”

“If you feel like that, imagine how I feel.”

“Oh, give me your number too, Noona.”

Ryujin’s phone was the latest model, but it was still set to its default settings. Shin Yena entered her and Shin Haebeom’s flip phone numbers into it.

“Here.”

Ryujin burst out laughing when he saw that Shin Haebeom’s number was registered as “Trouble.”

“You can’t do that. If he finds out, I’ll get beaten again.”

“Just say I changed it on my own.”

Looking out the window, Shin Yena spoke.

“Is that the car?”

Kwon Sehyuk’s Rolls-Royce stood in the pouring rain. Ryujin quickly grabbed an umbrella and dashed out.

“I’ll be back.”

“Be careful, don’t slip.”

Shin Yena regretted her choices. Beige slacks, white sneakers—none of it was suitable for a rainy day. At least it was a relief he had a car.

She watched Ryujin’s retreating figure. He didn’t look bad now, but… it would be better if he gained a bit more weight.

Ryujin flung open the passenger door. Kwon Sehyuk, fumbling with a three-tier umbrella, gave an awkward smile.

“I was going to open the door for you.”

“Forget it, man. Just drive well.”

Kwon Sehyuk complimented how well the light purple shirt suited him.

“You too.”

“Huh?”

“You look good too. That outfit.”

Like tea leaves placed on hot water, a smile spread across Kwon Sehyuk’s face.

“I picked it out with my little brother yesterday.”

“Does your brother look like you?”

“Muhyuk? Nah.”

Kwon Sehyuk shook his head.

“He’s a bit timid.”

That was unexpected. From what Ryujin had observed from afar, Kwon Muhyuk seemed bright, innocent, and full of charm. He’d assumed he was surely the beloved youngest at home.

“We’re not really alike. Not in personality or looks.”

“Really?”

“He was cheerful back in our hometown, but lately… he’s different. He’s struggling to adjust to life here.”

“How old is your brother?”

“Nine.”

Ryujin was inwardly surprised. He’d thought he was even younger. He was so small.

“I guess I grew up enough for both of us.”

Kwon Sehyuk said it with a laugh, but somehow it didn’t sound like a joke.

“What about you, hyung? Do you look like your noona?”

A soft ballad played in the car. It was in English, so Ryujin couldn’t understand the lyrics, but the lyrical melody suited the rainy day.

Looking out the window, Ryujin said.

“A lot.”

“Really? She must be stunning.”

“…….”

“I wouldn’t know.”

“What?”

Ryujin turned his head. The car was stopped at a signal, and Kwon Sehyuk had been staring at him for a while.

He said again.

“I don’t know who your noona is.”

His breath caught. His chest tightened. Ryujin couldn’t say a word.

“…….”

“But I know she must be stunning. Like you.”

He wanted to ask when. When had he figured it out? But his lips wouldn’t move.

“Kwon Sehyuk. You…”

“Not from the first time we met.”

Back then, Ryujin’s face was covered in scars, and he wore a hat to hide it.

But as time passed, the scars healed, and the swelling subsided. He no longer covered his face with a hat. Kwon Sehyuk knew of Ryu Yeonbi’s songs and her existence. Though she was already gone and not a celebrity of his generation, she was a public figure who had defined an era, for better or worse.

“Oh, the signal changed.”

Kwon Sehyuk pressed the accelerator. The wheels rolled, splashing rainwater. Ryujin glared at the wipers swinging like a pendulum.

“When…”

“Let’s grab some food. The musical’s over two hours. It’s not quite mealtime, but we should eat something before going in, right? Unless you want to watch the show starving.”

When faced with a problem they can’t solve, people split into two types. They either grit their teeth and confront it head-on, or they push it out of sight and pretend it doesn’t exist.

Shin Haebeom was firmly the former. He couldn’t tolerate things happening beyond his knowledge or control. “Make it work if it doesn’t” was a phrase that suited him perfectly.

But Kwon Sehyuk chose the opposite. He knew Jung Ryujin was Ryu Yeonbi’s brother but closed his eyes to it. He didn’t ignore it, but he didn’t press Ryujin about it either.

Because he was too naive to suspect?

No, because he couldn’t imagine Ryu Yeonbi’s brother seeking revenge against him.

Kwon Sehyuk believed Ryu Yeonbi had died for crimes she deserved to die for. To him, the actions of his uncle and father were the just punishment of the state.

Ryujin couldn’t look Kwon Sehyuk in the face.

“Anything you want to eat?”

“…….”

“Hyung?”

Ryujin answered softly.

“Anything’s fine. I’m not picky.”

Kwon Sehyuk’s voice brightened.

“Good. Then…”

Ryujin thought of the bills in his new clothes’ pocket, and Kwon Sehyuk peered through the rain pelting the window. They spoke almost simultaneously.

“Let’s just grab some burgers.”

“Do you like Mexican food?”

An unexpected silence, followed by laughter. Kwon Sehyuk pulled up to a fast-food place and turned on the blinker. Ryujin, unbuckling his seatbelt, quickly hopped out.

“I’ll get it.”

“Come with me!”

“Stay inside. Your clothes’ll get wet.”

As he said it, Ryujin’s shoulders were getting soaked. Kwon Sehyuk fumbled for his card, but the passenger door was already closed. He lowered the window, heedless of the rain pouring in, and watched Ryujin dash toward the fast-food place.

Running with an umbrella, he looked as cute as a bird.

“Wonder what he’ll bring back…”

Kwon Sehyuk rested his arms on the steering wheel and propped his chin. The soft ballad in the car mingled with the sound of rain.

Blinking, Kwon Sehyuk recalled Ryujin’s voice.

“When…”

He hadn’t known at first. He couldn’t have imagined. As their meetings continued, the thought that he’d seen that uniquely beautiful face somewhere hit him, and he was already tapping on his laptop.

Kwon Sehyuk had never cared about Ryu Yeonbi’s personal life. He thought delving into that would be endless. He focused only on her musical talent, her soul-stirring voice, not her private affairs. He did it on purpose. There was no point in digging up bad stories.

As a young fan who discovered Ryu Yeonbi late, and as a public figure in a similar position, it was a matter of loyalty. Others might laugh, but that’s how it was for him.

But this was unavoidable. A kind of force majeure. There wasn’t much information about Ryu Yeonbi online, but finding out about her brother wasn’t hard. The media heavily censored Ryu Yeonbi, but they couldn’t control stories about her surviving brother after her death. They might’ve left it alone on purpose, to show how miserably a criminal’s family lived.

Kwon Sehyuk calculated the age gap between Ryu Yeonbi and her brother. Adjusting for the current year, the answer was clear. The name was different, but given the brother’s situation back then, it would’ve been odd if he hadn’t changed it. Above all, their faces were identical. No matter how beautiful, no lunatic would get surgery to look like the nation’s infamous adulteress, so the answer was obvious.

After learning the name Ryu Yeonwoo, Kwon Sehyuk stopped there.

He didn’t want to keep digging into someone’s life from his room, bypassing the internet. The growing curiosity as he learned more scared him. He thought he might actually end up asking Im Chanyoung for help.

Ryujin returned with plastic bags in both hands. Kwon Sehyuk quickly opened the passenger door and took the bags.

“Why’d you buy so much?”

“So you can eat a lot.”

“Oh, this is my favorite.”

Kwon Sehyuk smiled, holding a burger with shrimp and potato patties.

“Can I eat this?”

Instead of answering, Ryujin handed him a cola with a straw.

For a while, they ate burgers, fries, and drinks in silence. The quiet during the meal wasn’t awkward. One was trained in strict dining etiquette, while the other was too busy eating to care about anything else.

As the cola ran low, Kwon Sehyuk cautiously spoke.

“Hyung. I just want to say one thing.”

“What.”

“I didn’t investigate you.”

Kwon Sehyuk wanted to be honest.

“I thought about it briefly, but friends shouldn’t do that. We’re not just friends… we’re supposed to trust each other, and it felt really wrong. So.”

His voice grew quieter. He felt like a sinner.

He expected Ryujin to get angry. But he was silent. Ryujin ate his burger quietly, eyes downcast. Finally, crumpling the empty wrapper and putting it in the bag, he replied.

“Got it.”

“Sorry.”

Ryujin smiled.

“Why apologize for something like that?”

“I’m sorry for even thinking about investigating you.”

“Come on… making a fuss over nothing.”

“Really okay? You’re not bothered? Can you trust me going forward, hyung?”

“What about you?”

The meaningful tone pierced Kwon Sehyuk’s heart.

“Do you trust me?”

The song ended. There was a brief pause before the next one. The sound of rain hitting the window faded from consciousness.

Starting the car, Kwon Sehyuk answered.

“Yeah.”

“…….”

“Because we’re friends.”

Ryujin lowered his eyes. The burger he’d just eaten felt stuck in his chest. He wanted to smack Kwon Sehyuk’s collarbone, tell him to snap out of it, ask how he could survive this harsh world with that mindset, how he could not suspect him even knowing who he was. He hated himself for being too scared to do it.

“Kwon Sehyuk, if I were…”

“Hey!”

Ryujin’s voice was drowned out by Kwon Sehyuk’s horn.

“What’s that?!”

It wasn’t Kwon Sehyuk’s fault. He’d been driving below the speed limit from the start. The distance from the car ahead was safe. The problem was the car in front slamming its brakes and a pedestrian darting between them. Kwon Sehyuk hit the brakes, but the heavy car skidded on the wet road. Ryujin squeezed his eyes shut.

“Hyung!”

“…….”

“Hyung, open your eyes. We’re okay.”

Ryujin let out a held breath. He looked at Kwon Sehyuk’s tense face.

“We didn’t hit anyone, right?”

“No. But that jerk ran off. Ugh! If you want to die, do it at home, why…!”

“What’s with the car in front?”

“No idea. Looks like the road’s blocked.”

“Here? It was fine, why’s it suddenly blocked?”

“Yeah, weird. Maybe an accident…”

It was noisy outside. The relentless rain made it hard to see. Ryujin fumbled for his umbrella.

“Hyung, where you going?”

“Just stepping out to check.”

“Don’t get out. Something’s off.”

“We need to know why to decide whether to detour. We’ll miss the show at this rate.”

“Just stay for a sec.”

Kwon Sehyuk grabbed Ryujin’s arm and wouldn’t let go. Ryujin tried to shake him off, but his grip was as strong as Shin Haebeom’s.

“Don’t go, hyung. The vibe’s really bad.”

“Vibe? You scared?”

“That’s not it…!”

As Ryujin reached for the lock, a loud roar erupted, and a crowd surged onto the road.

The car shook. It felt like being swept by a hurricane. Ryujin squeezed his eyes shut, covering his ears. Screams, shouts, and wails, drowning out the rain, shook the world.

A man, shaking the door handle and yelling to open it, was grabbed by the neck and dragged away by a soldier. Countless people clung to stopped cars, begging for help. Some cars opened their doors, but most didn’t budge. A van driver, letting people into his vehicle, was kicked in the stomach by a soldier’s boot and rolled on the ground.

It was a scene from hell.

Kwon Sehyuk shifted gears and floored the accelerator. Blasting the horn, he struggled to escape the road. There weren’t many cars, but the surging crowd was the problem.

Kwon Sehyuk panicked, flailing. Ryujin was hardly calm. In the chaos, a man slammed onto the windshield. The impact rocked the Rolls-Royce.

A soldier, face obscured by gear, swung a baton. Blood splattered on the glass. Kwon Sehyuk lowered the window and shouted.

“What are you doing?!”

The soldier ignored him. He dragged the man, stunned from a head blow, off the hood and stomped on him. Kwon Sehyuk yelled.

“Hey! Stop! I said stop!”

Kwon Sehyuk tried to jump out. Ryujin grabbed his collar with both hands.

“Don’t go!”

“I have to stop him! He’ll kill someone!”

“You’ll die, idiot! You think they know who you are?!”

As they struggled, the man was dragged away. He clung to the front grille until the end but collapsed under the soldier’s relentless kicks. Ryujin’s eyes widened. Through the soldier’s visor, he thought he locked eyes with those dark, frenzied pupils.

“Hyung!”

Kwon Sehyuk’s piercing voice snapped him back. But Ryujin didn’t let go. He couldn’t.

“Don’t go.”

“People are getting hurt!”

“I know!”

Ryujin’s grip tightened. He knew what was happening. He knew, but there was nothing he could do. All he could do was take comfort in the sturdy car, lock the doors, close his eyes, cover his ears, and pray for the storm to pass.

“Hyung, you’re really doing this?! People are getting beaten, and you’re just gonna watch? Are you insane?!”

“Stop acting like a naive kid!”

He couldn’t hold back anymore. There was a limit to tolerating Kwon Sehyuk’s innocence.

“You don’t know what this situation is!”

“What don’t I know! You’re the one who knows nothing, you hypocrite…!”

Kwon Sehyuk’s head snapped back. Ryujin’s fist hit his jaw. He slammed his head against the window and raised his fist at Ryujin.

“You hit me?!”

The Iron Blood Unity’s blood boiled in his veins, urging him to return tenfold for one blow. But Kwon Sehyuk couldn’t swing at Ryujin’s face.

“…….”

His fist trembled in the air.

“You don’t know.”

Ryujin said.

“You think you can do something because you don’t know.”

“What about you? What do you know so well? Did you see the news this morning? Do you know how the world works? Damn it, I didn’t want to bring this up, but right now my uncle…!”

“It’s always been this kind of world.”

His tone implied, Why make a fuss now?

“It’s been this kind of world since we were kids.”

A jolt hit the passenger side where Ryujin sat. He instinctively looked out. It was the same situation as before. Except this time, instead of an adult man leaving blood on the windshield, it was a student in a school uniform.

Fire blazed in Kwon Sehyuk’s eyes.

“That bastard!”

Kwon Sehyuk flung open the driver’s door and rushed out. Ryujin had no time to stop him. Kwon Sehyuk, in his fancy suit, charged at the soldier barehanded, knocking him down, filling Ryujin’s vision.

Kwon Sehyuk tried to grab the soldier’s weapon first. He wasn’t lacking in height or build. But the soldier was trained, while Kwon Sehyuk was, at best, an amateur athlete.

The soldier, startled by the surprise attack, quickly regained his stance and swung his baton. Hit square in the chest, Kwon Sehyuk dropped to his knees, doubling over. A boot slammed into his hunched back.

The student, half her face bloodied, screamed.

“Mister…!”

Her voice was almost girlish. A kid who hadn’t even hit puberty.

“What are you doing! Run!”

“H-Help… please help!”

“Run, I said! Hey!”

Kwon Sehyuk clung to the soldier’s legs. The girl was terrified, already in a panic. She sat on the ground, scooting backward, unable to stand, crawling on the asphalt. Kwon Sehyuk kept yelling for her to run, but she couldn’t.

Ryujin gripped his umbrella.

“You damn bastard!”

An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth.

A weapon for a weapon.

He struck from behind, aiming precisely for the back of the head.

The soldier’s visor flew into the air. Kwon Sehyuk didn’t miss the moment the soldier groaned and doubled over. He kneed his abdomen and sprang up. He slid his arm under the trembling student’s armpit, lifting her. Ryujin opened the back door. Kwon Sehyuk, holding the girl, dove inside.

Laying her in the back seat and climbing into the driver’s seat, Kwon Sehyuk shouted.

“Hyung, hurry!”

As Ryujin moved to get in, a soldier’s arm shot through the passenger door, grabbing his ankle. Ryujin was dragged down limply. It happened so fast he couldn’t even scream.

With curses, a baton struck his lower back.

“You bastard!”

“Argh!”

The pain sapped his strength. Ryujin’s fist hit the soldier’s neck, but the frenzied, wild-eyed man didn’t flinch.

The soldier’s exposed face, his dark eyes gleaming with madness, pinned Ryujin down and raised the baton.

Kwon Sehyuk, who’d climbed into the driver’s seat, leaped out. This time, not empty-handed. He swung the three-tier umbrella, striking the soldier’s head with resolve.

“Hyung! Hyung!”

Kwon Sehyuk kicked the fallen soldier’s side and pulled Ryujin out from under him. Ryujin’s face was deathly pale.

“Hyung! It’s me. Snap out of it!”

Kwon Sehyuk hugged Ryujin tightly. A faint tremble ran through him. Ryujin buried his face in Kwon Sehyuk’s shoulder and mumbled.

“I’m okay.”

The heavy rain was a blessing. It diluted his frightened voice.

“I’m okay.”

“Sorry. I’m sorry!”

“Apologize later.”

It was pandemonium. If this wasn’t hell, what was? As they got into the car, the student groaning in the back seat spoke. Her voice was thin, as if it might fade any moment.

“Thank you… for saving me.”

Ryujin looked at Kwon Sehyuk.

“This car’s sturdy, right?”

“Of course.”

“Don’t hit anyone.”

“I’ll try.”

Kwon Sehyuk shifted gears, clenching his jaw. He wanted to plow through them all. The ones wielding violence in the name of the state.

The navigation pointed to the Fifth Central Hospital, the closest one.

Ryujin reclined the passenger seat and climbed to the back. Holding the student’s head to his chest, he felt her limbs, asking if anything was broken, if she was short of breath, or if her head hurt.

“I’m… okay… what about you?”

“Hey, you called me mister!”

The student laughed. Ryujin, who’d been worried, and Kwon Sehyuk, speeding along the sidewalk to escape the chaos, chuckled too.

“I’m younger than that hyung, kid!”

The bloodstain on the windshield was vivid. Ryujin asked him not to use the wipers. The blood could smear and block their view.

“Got it.”

Kwon Sehyuk replied. Ryujin kept asking the panting student questions.

“How old are you?”

“Fifteen…”

Ryujin’s face crumpled. On closer look, her uniform had a middle school badge. The green name tag read Kang Woojung. Ryujin silently mouthed her name. Woojung…

“Where do you live? Your parents?”

She named a neighborhood neither Ryujin nor Kwon Sehyuk knew. Her parents were both working, and if they knew she was here, they’d shave her head and lock her in a temple. They were devout Buddhists, she said. People who overcame hard times through faith.

Kang Woojung gripped Ryujin’s hand, wincing.

“What’s wrong? Where does it hurt?”

“My head hurts.”

Kwon Sehyuk was trying his best. On an unfamiliar route, in pouring rain, the Rolls-Royce was too big to weave through sidewalks, roads, and alleys. The floodwater made the wheels spin uselessly at times.

Ryujin reached forward. He grabbed the shoulder of Kwon Sehyuk, who was sweating coldly.

“Sehyuk.”

“Yeah?!”

“It’s okay.”

Ryujin’s eyes, reflected in the rearview mirror, were calm.

“We’ll be fine. Drive steady.”

The entrance to the Fifth Central Hospital’s emergency room was like a battlefield hospital hit by a bomb. Injured protesters, innocent bystanders, and overworked paramedics and medical staff moved through the pouring rain.

The overflowing capacity was clear from the ambulances and cars tangled chaotically outside. Medics and paramedics knocked on car doors, checked patients’ conditions, and sent them to other hospitals, while critical patients were loaded onto stretchers or mobile beds however possible.

Holding Kang Woojung, Ryujin prayed she’d be in the former group, stable enough for transfer to a distant hospital.

But the doctor, checking her pupils, shouted urgently.

“Get a stretcher!”

Kwon Sehyuk grabbed the doctor, asking if she was in bad shape, if it was dangerous, if they should call her parents since they weren’t her guardians. The doctor ignored all questions and asked if they knew her name. Ryujin answered.

“Kang Woojung. Her parents are both working, but we don’t have their contact info.”

“You rescued her?”

A wave of grief surged.

“We… this student…”

“Yes, we saved her.”

Kwon Sehyuk shouted, following the stretcher.

“Hyung, come on!”

Ryujin wanted to follow. But his feet felt glued to the ground. Kwon Sehyuk’s words pierced his heart and lodged somewhere inside.

We saved this student.

“You okay?”

Kwon Sehyuk came over, wrapping an arm around his shoulder. Ryujin staggered, leaning into him. Hoping the girl named Woojung wouldn’t lose her life, he swallowed his rising sobs and took one step, then another, with all his strength.