BAI Ch 85

It was an angry voice.

“How dare you touch me!”

Jin Chiwoo quickly bowed his head. But he did not step back.

“I will escort you to the office.”

He saw Kwon Sehyuk tightly clenching his lips. His face looked stubborn and resolute. For the first time, Jin Chiwoo thought that he truly resembled the son of President Kwon Ilhyuk. Until now, he had thought they weren’t alike, largely because Gi Woohee, whom he saw almost daily, bore an unmistakable resemblance to the President.

But Kwon Sehyuk was also the President’s son. Blood doesn’t lie.

Jin Chiwoo swiftly opened the office door. Fortunately, no one was inside. He kept his eyes lowered, waiting for Kwon Sehyuk to enter the office.

He couldn’t tell which organization the two bodyguards belonged to. Judging by their failure to salute him, they were certainly not military personnel. Allowing outsiders into the office made him uneasy, but since they were brought by Kwon Sehyuk, there was no way to stop them.

Closing the office door and turning around, Jin Chiwoo flinched in surprise.

“Prince?”

He had assumed Kwon Sehyuk would take the prime spot on the sofa, but instead, Kwon Sehyuk was seated prominently in Shin Haebeom’s desk chair.

The ceremonial dress being tailored for Jang Seunghee for the Chungyong Festival was extravagant. The outfit, draped over a mannequin crafted to match her height and build, consisted of twelve layers, including the underskirt. And that wasn’t the end. When four staff members brought in the hoop skirt, Shin Haebeom’s jaw dropped.

This contraption, worn to lift the heavy skirt into a voluminous shape, severely restricted the wearer’s movements. Once Jang Seunghee donned this hoop, layered with ten folds of fabric, topped with an embroidered cover and beaded ornaments, she wouldn’t even be able to sit in a chair on her own.

“What do you think?” Jang Seunghee said, approaching Shin Haebeom’s side. She was still wearing sunglasses indoors.

“It’s very splendid… and beautiful, but honestly, it looks uncomfortable.”

“You’re right. Who makes something like this for a person to wear?”

Jang Seunghee whispered softly, but a young staff member, crouching at the mannequin’s feet to smooth out the skirt’s hem, overheard her. Shin Haebeom glanced at the hesitating worker. If you don’t want to get kicked in the face by the lady’s high heels, get out of this room quick.

“Haebeom.”

Shin Haebeom felt Jang Seunghee’s slender arms wrapping around his neck. They were warm and firm.

Even with his eyes closed, he couldn’t imagine it was Jung Ryujin. Everything was different. The scent, the texture, the weight… it was so repulsive it made him want to gag. His stomach was already empty, yet the feeling persisted.

At the breakfast Jang Seunghee had arranged, Shin Haebeom could only manage to eat the first dish, abalone porridge. He barely touched the rest. When Jang Seunghee offered him a piece of grilled eel, saying it must be hard to use chopsticks with his injured hand, Shin Haebeom nearly leaned back to avoid it. It was only thanks to “Treasure No. 2” that he narrowly restrained himself. The thought that enduring this moment would lead to seeing her kept a smile on his face.

“Why do they make us wear such outdated clothes… like straitjackets, for important occasions?”

“To show off, I suppose.”

The tradition and dignity of the Kwon royal family were flaunted to the world, and individual sacrifice was taken for granted. Next to the mannequin was the headpiece Jang Seunghee would wear for the Chungyong Festival, which, including the weight of the false hair and jewels, approached five kilograms.

“I tried it on before it was finished. Felt like my neck would snap.”

“Are the accessories and hairpieces made anew each time?”

“Well…” Jang Seunghee laughed.

“We keep tradition, but we can’t fall behind fashion, can we?”

Jang Seunghee’s hands touched the collar of Shin Haebeom’s shirt. Her slender fingers, adorned with a ruby ring, deftly unbuttoned it. Shin Haebeom lifted the hem of Jang Seunghee’s dress, a form-fitting red dress that reached below the knees but accentuated her figure. As he caressed her pale thigh, Jang Seunghee tilted her head back and let out a sigh.

A thud shook the wall. The antique-style oak table was covered with a soft sheepskin blanket. The table, large enough for a single bed, easily bore the weight of two people, but the noise of it hitting the wall was unavoidable. He could only hope the walls were thick.

Fabric scraps pushed to the edge of the table fell to the floor. Shin Haebeom’s fingers clutched the soft blanket.

Jang Seunghee’s knees lifted upward. Shin Haebeom felt a heaviness in his shoulders as he leaned forward. His belt came undone, and his pants zipper slid down. Their sweat-dampened skin pressed together.

Shin Haebeom raised his head. He looked at the yellow dragon flag hanging on the opposite wall.

It was the same as the flag fluttering at the flagpole in front of the Disciplinary Corps headquarters. A bead of sweat seeped into his eyelid, and Shin Haebeom moved with a furrowed brow. He stared at the gleaming golden flag. Focusing on a single point helped him endure the agonizing time.

As his vision blurred and sharpened repeatedly, a nail protruding next to the flag caught his eye. The spot seemed meant for a frame or decoration but was empty.

The last staff member who remained in the room came to mind. Her hair was tightly braided, not a single strand out of place, hanging down her back like a whip. With chubby cheeks still retaining baby fat, she looked no older than Jung Ryujin. She had been hovering around since Jang Seunghee entered the lobby.

Did she have something to say?

The image of her, with a pincushion full of needles strapped to her wrist, carefully smoothing the silk skirt to prevent it from creasing, lingered in his mind. It was definitely a new face… so why did it feel strangely familiar?

Jang Seunghee’s nails scratched the back of his neck.

“Ugh.”

The sharp pain made him clench his teeth, and in that moment, Shin Haebeom thought of Master Tailor Jo Kwanghyun and his son, who had been shot by Kwon Joohyuk.

He vaguely understood. When he had walked through the doors of the exclusive tailor shop, accessible only to a select few, he had seen a family photo of the Master Tailor hanging right next to a jewel-encrusted frame with President Kwon Ilhyuk’s handwritten signature. Among the four people dressed impeccably in suits, befitting a tailor’s family, a child with an especially bright smile stood out.

He knew little about the late Jo Kwanghyun and his son. When he learned of their deaths, he had merely clicked his tongue at Kwon Joohyuk’s tyranny, feeling little else. At most, he thought it was a pity that a talented person had died.

Now, the reality of Jo Kwanghyun’s death hit him viscerally, partly because he had been released from the military police and could breathe easier, but also because the tailor’s daughter, who had survived the Kwon family’s violence, was around the same age as Jung Ryujin.

Shin Haebeom laughed inwardly. Now, just seeing someone of a similar age made him think of a certain person. His condition was serious.

Jung Ryujin, what do you think is the reason I’ve become like this?

Shin Haebeom’s thigh muscles spasmed. Jang Seunghee, tilting her head back, let out a high-pitched moan.

Kwon Sehyuk’s gaze was unsettling. Jin Chiwoo stared at the brown hair clinging to his forehead.

In the chilly weather, where breath fogged the windows, Kwon Sehyuk was sweating profusely. Jin Chiwoo discreetly turned on the air conditioner.

Kwon Sehyuk was wearing a black leather jacket with a hood. When he pushed back the hood, an unnaturally uneven haircut was revealed, with one side drastically shorter. Jin Chiwoo’s lips parted.

“Prince, your hair…”

It wasn’t just an asymmetrical cut. It looked like someone had deliberately shaved it with clippers. It was as if a tank had carelessly rolled through a dense field of reeds.

“This?” Kwon Sehyuk laughed, rubbing his pale scalp with his palm.

“Thought I could do it myself.”

Jin Chiwoo closed his mouth. Something was off. Kwon Sehyuk’s eyes, voice, expression, and tone—everything felt wrong.

He couldn’t claim to know Kwon Sehyuk well, even as a courtesy, but he had seen him enough. This starkly different demeanor made his heart sink.

There was no smell of alcohol. That made it even more suspicious.

Jin Chiwoo wanted to roll up Kwon Sehyuk’s sleeve. He wanted to check the back of his neck and behind his knees. He wanted to ask the bodyguards if he had done anything suspicious in the car before arriving at the Disciplinary Corps.

There was much he wanted to do, but his body wouldn’t move. His lips wouldn’t part. Kwon Sehyuk, kicking back the chair and stumbling toward Shin Haebeom’s display cabinet, roughly yanked open the door.

“I’ve always wondered. How can someone be so perfect?”

Shin Haebeom never locked the cabinet. He cleaned it often. Even though it seemed perfectly placed, he frequently rearranged it, brushed off dust, and polished it with a dry cloth until it gleamed. Those were items he cherished deeply.

Jin Chiwoo usually avoided lingering near the cabinet. Of course, Shin Haebeom wasn’t the type to throw a fit if a friend touched his things, and even if a glass broke, unless it could be glued back together, he’d calmly accept compensation and move on. But Jin Chiwoo didn’t carelessly handle Shin Haebeom’s collection.

The reason was simple. He knew they were precious to his friend. To others, they might look like outdated junk, but he had seen how happy Shin Haebeom was when handling them.

Kwon Sehyuk opened the cabinet without hesitation and reached for its contents without restraint. He picked up a Tiffany & Co. piece with a blue rim.

“Prince, please come sit over here.”

“No, I like it here.”

Kwon Sehyuk perched on Shin Haebeom’s desk. Wiping sweat from his forehead, he set the Tiffany & Co. plate on the desk and spun it with his finger. Jin Chiwoo’s breath caught in his throat.

“What was I talking about?”

Kwon Sehyuk said, “Oh, right,” and smiled softly.

“I was praising Brigadier Shin Haebeom.”

“……”

“He’s a man of many talents, but what impresses me most is his tact. The boldness to laugh off any offensive remark. I thought it was because he’s a big person.”

“……”

“A magnanimous man. Yeah, that’s the vibe.”

“Be careful. You might hurt your hand.”

“Don’t interrupt. If you cut me off, I can’t remember where I was. Hmm… what was I saying?”

Jin Chiwoo couldn’t take his eyes off the plate Kwon Sehyuk was carelessly spinning. These were Shin Haebeom’s cherished possessions. The guy who used kitchen tools until their coating wore off was willing to splurge on these rare collectibles without a second thought.

“Oh, right. Magnanimous.”

Kwon Sehyuk’s gaunt cheek twitched.

“When I saw Brigadier Shin Haebeom, I thought my uncle’s trust in him wasn’t misplaced. I respected him. To be more honest, I wanted to be like him. The reason, well, you’d know without me saying, right? As a close friend, you’d know even better. I looked it up, and he resembles his late mother.”

Jin Chiwoo’s lips pressed tightly together.

“There’s that saying, isn’t there? A daughter who looks like her father is a beauty, and a son who looks like his mother is handsome.”

“Prince.”

Kwon Sehyuk let out a “heh” sound. It was hard to tell if he was laughing or crying.

“Sorry, Lieutenant Colonel Jin. I didn’t mean to act like this… but coming here got me all worked up.”

The apology didn’t match the menacing tone. Jin Chiwoo quietly clenched his fist. Sweat pooled between his fingers.

“I apologize for causing concern.”

“For what?”

“……”

“Tell me. For what?”

“……”

“You knew, didn’t you? You too, Lieutenant Colonel? About the First Lady and Brigadier Shin Haebeom.”

The Tiffany & Co. piece, with its striking cobalt blue, shattered into unrecognizable fragments.

Jin Chiwoo finally understood why Kwon Sehyuk was acting so differently. No one in the world, upon discovering their mother’s affair and knowing who it was with, could simply say, “I see. Understood. Be happy.”

Jin Chiwoo lowered his head. He stared at the polished tip of his black military boots. A speck of dust clung to the usually immaculate surface. Normally, he wouldn’t have noticed or cared about such a thing, but now it irritated him for reasons he couldn’t fathom.

“Lieutenant Colonel Jin Chiwoo. Can’t you hear me?”

“No, sir.”

“Then why aren’t you answering?”

Kwon Sehyuk’s next victim was a Wedgwood Florentine mug. Jin Chiwoo helplessly watched as the cup struck his shoulder and crashed to the floor. He remembered getting chewed out by Shin Haebeom when he first brought that set, saying he couldn’t tell the difference between it and a cheap plastic mug sold at the market.

“Prince, please stop.”

“Are you giving me orders now?”

“Orders? That’s absurd. You’re already unwell; what if you cut your hand?”

Kwon Sehyuk giggled, mimicking Jin Chiwoo’s words.

“Already unwell.”

“Prince…”

He grinned widely.

“Touching someone else’s things carelessly is bad, isn’t it?”

“Yes, it is.”

“Then why did Shin Haebeom do it?”

A horrific shattering sound shook the office air. Jin Chiwoo saw every piece from the third shelf of the cabinet fly. He watched with wide eyes as they crashed against the wall and shattered into pieces on the floor.

It was clearly intentional. It wasn’t something that could be excused as an accident due to his leg injury or pain.

“Huh? Why did he do it? Don’t you know, Lieutenant Colonel?”

Jin Chiwoo’s eyes widened. The barrel of a revolver, pulled from the inner pocket of Kwon Sehyuk’s leather jacket, was aimed at him.

Ryujin was curled up on the bed. The Ralph Lauren cardigan Shin Haebeom had left under the pillow the previous night still carried his scent.

With his face buried in the cardigan, unmoving, Yoon Taegeum placed a hand on Ryujin’s shoulder.

“Why are you shaking like this?”

“…Don’t touch me.”

Ryujin shook off his hand and turned away. Yoon Taegeum, who had been sitting on the edge of the bed, walked to the window.

“Why’s the room so dark? Feels like a rainy day.”

“Don’t open the window.”

“Why? You a vampire or something? What’s with the gloom?”

“I said don’t do it, so don’t.”

Yoon Taegeum let out a heavy sigh but returned without touching the window. Ryujin clutched the sleeve of Shin Haebeom’s cardigan tightly.

“Hey, check this out.”

Yoon Taegeum nudged one of the two boxes he’d brought, placed on the floor, with his foot.

“I nearly died hauling this up here.”

“You took the elevator, quit whining.”

“My card key only works up to the 11th floor. What choice did I have? I walked up the emergency stairs from there. Why are there so many damn steps? And this stuff’s heavy as hell…”

“You got the door open?”

“I know the access code for the lock. I’m a facility manager, you know.”

“Doesn’t mean you can just barge in.”

“You gonna snitch?”

Yoon Taegeum grinned playfully. Ryujin let out a deep sigh.

“Even if I don’t tell, Shin Haebeom will know. There’s CCTV…”

“Still, if you keep quiet, he’ll let it slide without making a fuss.”

“Unbelievable…”

“I’m doing this for you, and you’re gonna rat me out? No way, right?”

“…I’ll let it go this once.”

Yoon Taegeum grinned. He rummaged through his pocket and thrust a hand toward Ryujin.

“Wanna see? My latest work.”

It was a portable stun gun. The oval-shaped device, ten centimeters across, was so cute it didn’t look like a self-defense weapon at first glance. It fit perfectly in one hand, with a good grip and light weight. It might be a bit bulky for a pants pocket, but it wouldn’t be noticeable in a coat pocket.

Yoon Taegeum explained that while it couldn’t kill or knock someone out, it delivered enough current to startle an attacker, giving the user time to escape. He asked if marketing it to women, the elderly, or children—those vulnerable to crime—wouldn’t rake in money like sweeping it up with a broom.

Ryujin handed the stun gun back and turned away from Yoon Taegeum.

“Not buying.”

“Who said to buy it? Just check it out.”

“What’s the point of making something good if all you care about is money?”

“Then why research if not to make money? You think we’re digging dirt for a living?”

“……”

“It’s about the purpose, and you don’t get it.”

Yoon Taegeum turned on a clock-shaped mood light rolling around on Ryujin’s bed. The time didn’t match his phone, so the clock function was probably dead. Still, the warm orange glow was nice. The dim room brightened up considerably.

“Stop moping and look at this.”

“What now?”

“This is yours, right?”

Ryujin peered into the box Yoon Taegeum held out. Familiar items caught his eye.

“I grabbed what looked like your personal stuff first. Couldn’t fit the issued supplies. Sorry for rummaging through your cabinet.”

When he pulled out the hiking backpack brought from Howollu, a purple cup with petal-like edges appeared. Ryujin’s face lit up.

“Thanks.”

“So, can I take this?”

Yoon Taegeum’s hand reached into the box. Ryujin’s eyes widened at what he pulled out.

It was a Vacheron Constantin box. A gift received as compensation for being toyed with by Kwon Joohyuk. The memory of that day flashed back, and Ryujin squeezed his eyes shut.

The dark room was a blessing. If Yoon Taegeum saw his pained expression, he’d think something was off.

“Take it.”

“For real?”

Not expecting such easy permission, Yoon Taegeum asked several times.

“Really? I can have this?”

“You said you wanted it. Take it.”

“…But do you know what this is?”

Ryujin sighed.

“A super expensive watch. Luxury brand.”

“And you’re giving it to me?”

“You said you wanted it.”

Yoon Taegeum clasped his hands together, looking touched.

“Since when did you care so much about me… you little… your heart’s as pretty as your face!”

“Cut the crap.”

Ryujin fiddled with the cup’s handle and said, “I don’t care if you keep it, wear it, or sell it, but if someone asks where you got it, don’t mention me.”

“Why?”

“Just say you bought it yourself.”

Yoon Taegeum, excitedly opening the box, paused.

“Is it stolen?”

“No.”

“Then… a gift from the Prince or the Brigadier?”

“No.”

Ryujin shook his head, then, annoyed, snatched the box from Yoon Taegeum’s hand.

“If you’re gonna pry, don’t take it.”

“No, no!”

Ryujin stared at Yoon Taegeum, who was humming and trying the watch on his wrist.

“You’re loaded and still so greedy.”

“That’s the nature of capital. The ones who’ve tasted it halfway are the greediest.”

Ryujin didn’t get it. He looked away.

He didn’t need Kwon Joohyuk’s luxury watch. This cup was enough.

Why didn’t he think to grab it sooner? His heart had felt empty, probably because his favorite, frequently used item wasn’t by his side.

Ryujin toyed with the cup. Its surface was smooth and sturdy. Tapping it with his fingertips produced a soft, clear “ting, ting” sound.

Shin Haebeom would never guess. That I’d treasure this cup he bought and tossed aside when he changed his mind.

Then again, I didn’t know I’d end up like this either.

“The car the Prince came in? Our company sent it,” Yoon Taegeum said, looking at his phone, now wearing the Vacheron Constantin.

“What?”

“I’m chatting with Noona. This morning, the VVIP—no, the First Lady—called. Said it was urgent and asked for a car and bodyguards.”

Ryujin’s fingers tightened around the cup. He glared at Yoon Taegeum’s profile, illuminated by the phone’s light.

He knew from hearsay that First Lady Jang Seunghee was an important client of Yoon Geumgang, but he hadn’t realized their relationship extended beyond jewelry transactions to mutual assistance.

Noticing Ryujin’s wariness, Yoon Taegeum quickly said, “I’m not a double agent.”

“……”

Yoon Taegeum’s shoulders slumped. Jung Ryujin’s expression now was identical to Sergeant Seong Jaekyung’s when she dropped him off at the bus stop.

“Seriously, feels like I’m saying this for the tenth time. I came here with conviction, so I don’t play both sides. And Noona and the First Lady? One hundred percent business. Don’t get suspicious for no reason.”

“Who said anything?”

“Think about our position. Just for the Chungyong Festival, how many types of precious metals does the First Lady wear? You know customer service, right? Customer service.”

“I didn’t say anything. Why’re you acting guilty?”

“Noona didn’t know she’d come here either.”

“The early discharge news too?”

“She didn’t hear anything in advance. Said she found out from the car radio…”

Yoon Taegeum was muttering when a loud crash echoed through the walls and door.

“What was that?”

Sensing something was wrong, Ryujin stood from the bed. Three deafening explosions shook the 12th floor of the Disciplinary Corps building in succession.

Kwon Sehyuk remembered his first kill.

It was with Ryujin. To protect their lives. He was shocked and scared by the first-time experience, but since it was clear self-defense, he didn’t feel unbearable guilt. He was certain that if the other party hadn’t attacked first, he wouldn’t have resorted to violence. Back then.

Unlike now.

When the bullet fired, Kwon Sehyuk felt his upper body lurch backward. One of his legs, meant to brace him against the impact, failed to function.

Kwon Sehyuk stumbled, the revolver slipped from his weakened hand, and he collapsed, hitting his shoulder on some edge.

His body tilted sharply to the left. Propping himself up with his elbow, he tried to rise when he saw a fallen figure before him.

It was Jin Chiwoo. Eyes wide, gasping for breath, he clutched his chest with one hand. Dark red blood gushed between his fingers.

“Prince.”

He pushed away the bodyguard’s hand. Kwon Sehyuk shouted not to touch him. He crawled frantically toward Jin Chiwoo. Each time his knees slammed against the floor, his bones ached. Behind him, Cha Moeun laughed.

Kwon Sehyuk shoved the bodyguards trying to pull him back. He pushed them away with all his strength. His throat burned.

A beastly howl escaped his lips. His senses were returning. Only after it was too late to undo.

He had found the revolver in the wardrobe of Jang Seunghee’s private room, in a drawer only reachable by standing on tiptoes for someone under 160 cm. He chuckled a bit when he realized the case’s passcode was his birthdate.

He hadn’t intended to use it. The revolver was just insurance for the worst case. Even as he boarded the elevator to the 12th floor at the Disciplinary Corps, he thought so.

The moment he faced Jin Chiwoo, something inside him snapped. Rage surged uncontrollably. Kwon Sehyuk knew its name. It was anger toward Shin Haebeom.

Shin Haebeom had everything Kwon Sehyuk desperately wanted but could never have. A reliable aide. A lifelong friend. A beloved partner.

But Shin Haebeom wasn’t satisfied with that. His ambition for success took root in fertile soil, stretching branches skyward like a towering tree. Not content with stealing my love, he plundered my family too.

Who’s next?

If Shin Haebeom were here, he’d ask.

What are you going to take from me next?

He went to Shin Haebeom’s seat and sat down. Occupying the black leather chair with wheels didn’t make Shin Haebeom’s things his own.

So he smashed them.

The sound of breaking teacups drowned out Cha Moeun’s laughter. The voice urging him to seize and torment Ryujin was no longer audible.

Kwon Sehyuk felt a sense of freedom. For a fleeting moment, he was at peace. The sensation of floating in a silent world was shattered in an instant. A flash struck his crown. Bang, bang, bang. Lightning struck three times.

Kwon Sehyuk pressed down on the wound Jin Chiwoo’s hand couldn’t cover, trying to stem even a single drop of blood, screaming at the bodyguards pulling him back to get lost.

“Blood. There’s so much blood!”

Jin Chiwoo’s eyes were red. The boundary between the whites and pupils was so blurred it looked bloodshot. Like the taillights of a car fading into the darkness.

“Breathe. Breathe!”

Jin Chiwoo couldn’t speak. From his parted lips came only the labored breathing of an elderly person on a ventilator, struggling to draw air at the end.

Kwon Sehyuk couldn’t tear his gaze from Jin Chiwoo’s red eyes.

The office door opened, and someone rushed in. Footsteps and voices mingled. Screams and cries pierced his eardrums.

Amid the familiar yet strange cacophony, Kwon Sehyuk recognized him. Ryujin, rushing to Jin Chiwoo with bloodshot eyes, shouting for him to stay still, to say nothing, that everything would be okay.

“Hyung.”

It had been a while. He hadn’t changed a bit. No, he’d become even prettier, healthier.

Kwon Sehyuk thought he wanted to lick the tears streaming down Ryujin’s cheeks.

“When you think a crying face looks pretty, you’re done for.”

Cha Moeun, perched on his back, whispered. Kwon Sehyuk realized he had lost. Against a ghost that clung to him, cursing with intent, a mere human’s will was pathetically weak.

Looking back, he was always bleeding when Ryujin loved him.

Kwon Sehyuk covered his face with both hands. He thought of his first kill in Hampung. Back then, Ryujin, heartbroken, had tended to his injured arm.

It was the same in Jangjin. Kwon Sehyuk remembered Ryujin worrying about him dying or his wounds festering.

Back then, Ryujin didn’t scheme to survive alone. Even while pleading with Kang Inwoo or being beaten by Cha Moeun, he never tried to negotiate a deal like handing over the Prince in exchange for his own freedom. They might not have wanted it, but that wasn’t the point. The fact was that Ryujin never even attempted to negotiate.

It wasn’t because Ryujin was foolish. It was because he was strong enough not to grovel before villains. What was strong? His heart.

That incredibly strong Ryujin was now crying out, losing his composure. Kwon Sehyuk was anxious. Not because Jin Chiwoo might die. Because Ryujin might hate him, might not forgive him.

Still… Ryujin said Hyung is strong.

As the shock subsided and the startled heart calmed, if you listened to my story, you might understand me.

Kwon Sehyuk despised himself for thinking this way.

The first shot could be called a mistake. The second was not. From the third onward, there was no excuse whatsoever. The third chamber of the revolver always held a live round. For anyone to pull the trigger three times meant they sincerely intended to bring down the target in front of them.

Kwon Sehyuk raised his head. Blood soaked his hands and smeared across his face.

The air was thick with the smell of gunpowder and blood. When he blinked, a droplet of blood clinging to his eyelashes fell with a plop. It felt as though he were shedding tears of blood.

Kwon Sehyuk sat in the middle of a sea of blood, staring blankly at the back of Ryujin, who was sobbing in despair.

“Hyung.”

Ryujin did not respond. Kwon Sehyuk couldn’t take his eyes off him.

“Hyung…”

Ryujin’s head was bowed, making the bones of his slender neck stand out sharply. His thin shoulders convulsed violently.

Kwon Sehyuk wanted to approach Ryujin. He wanted to pull that fragile, paper-thin body into his arms. He wanted to lick the protruding ridge of his spine. He wanted to slide his blood-soaked hand under the loose uniform shirt. He wanted to stain that pale, soft skin red and enter him.

If Ryujin knew I was thinking these things…

“He’d be scared, wouldn’t he? Isn’t that obvious?”

Cha Moeun sneered. Kwon Sehyuk swung his clenched fist. His blow passed right through Cha Moeun, who existed only as a phantom.

“What are you doing?! Hurry up and escort him!”

Yoon Taegeum shouted. The bodyguards, who had been standing a step back, intimidated by Kwon Sehyuk’s aura, approached.

“Don’t panic, just escort the Prince. Quickly.”

They exchanged glances, trying to grasp the situation. The Prince had been visibly unwell since boarding the van. It was now proven beyond doubt that he was not in his right mind. They had paid an absurdly high price to realize that fact.

Anyone could have been shot. The thought that they could have been the unfortunate one carried out on a stretcher filled them with fear.

Yoon Taegeum extended a hand to Kwon Sehyuk.

“Prince… the gun. Please give me the gun.”

Kwon Sehyuk only then realized. The revolver lay on the cold marble floor. Yoon Taegeum was holding back, afraid of provoking the mad Prince who had just committed murder.

A scoff escaped Kwon Sehyuk’s lips.

“Take it.”

“……”

“I said take it.”

He kept laughing. With a half-crazed expression, he chuckled, giggled, and guffawed. The sound was eerily like a ghost wailing.

Yoon Taegeum grasped the revolver. He tossed it into the second drawer of Shin Haebeom’s desk for a simple reason: it wasn’t locked. Also, the sound of the drawer closing seemed to say, “No more damage will be done.”

In truth, any place would have done, as long as the gun was out of sight.

Yoon Taegeum looked around. The two bodyguards from Gold & Iron were of no real help. They had only propped Kwon Sehyuk up on the sofa and stood there, frozen with stern faces.

There was no helping it. They were meant to follow orders, not to assess a situation and issue commands when something happened. The only person here capable of that role was himself.

Seeing Kwon Sehyuk sitting on the sofa, panting heavily, filled Yoon Taegeum with rage. This wasn’t just an accident. In this damned monarchical nation, where they lived in boundless privilege, there was still a line that shouldn’t be crossed. Jin Chiwoo was the deputy commander of the Disciplinary Corps. He wasn’t someone the powerful could shoot at for amusement or to vent their anger.

…So, does that mean there are people it’s okay to shoot?

Yoon Taegeum clenched his fist. His throat burned near his Adam’s apple. His eyes, glaring at the back of Kwon Sehyuk’s head, blazed with fury.

Why are you making me think like this?

The military doctor who checked Jin Chiwoo’s eyes and pulse had a despairing expression. Still, his face wasn’t covered with a white cloth, so perhaps that was a small mercy. It meant there was at least a sliver of hope to cling to.

Even if it was a faint one.

Yoon Taegeum approached the sobbing Ryujin.

If Kwon Sehyuk was panicking, shocked by what he had done, Ryujin was adrift in the waves of sudden misfortune.

Yoon Taegeum could see it. Jung Ryujin, clinging to an overturned lifeboat, struggling not to be sucked into a black whirlpool. His terrified, wailing face.

It was pitiful and heartbreaking. No matter how desperately you rowed, you couldn’t resist the immense power of nature.

“Ryujin…”

The moment Yoon Taegeum reached out, he was shoved aside by that “immense natural force” and tumbled to the ground.

“Whoa, Prince.”

Kwon Sehyuk, his face smeared with blood, grabbed Ryujin’s arm and pulled him up. Yoon Taegeum watched helplessly.

He couldn’t stop Kwon Sehyuk. The Prince’s menacing aura suggested he wouldn’t tolerate any interference.

Yoon Taegeum stared at the two bodyguards in the office. Could he team up with them to subdue Kwon Sehyuk?

It was a hopeless thought. No matter that they were with Gold & Iron, it was clear how they’d react, knowing Kwon Sehyuk’s status.

Yoon Taegeum mocked himself inwardly. If those guys had the courage to stop Kwon Sehyuk, Jin Chiwoo wouldn’t have been shot in the first place.

“Everyone, get out.”

Kwon Sehyuk, pinning Ryujin’s struggling limbs to the floor, spoke. His strength was astonishing for someone injured.

“If any of you linger, I won’t let it slide.”

“Prince, you can’t do this.”

Yoon Taegeum grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge. He thought a sip of cold water might snap him out of it. But the moment he offered it, the bottle was knocked away.

“Get out!”

The two bodyguards exchanged glances. If they could escape this scene, they looked ready to jump off the 12th floor. Yoon Taegeum instinctively knew he couldn’t stop Kwon Sehyuk. At least, he didn’t have the power to.

If you lack the strength but want to stop what’s happening before your eyes, the only option is to seek help from someone with power as quickly as possible.

“It’s been a while, Hyung.”

Kwon Sehyuk started with a greeting. He thought that was the proper order.

“Sorry for hurting you.”

The next step was an apology. Looking down at the sobbing Ryujin, Kwon Sehyuk said he’d release his arms if he listened.

“Got it? Okay?”

Ryujin didn’t respond. He didn’t nod. He just cried like someone who had lost their mind.

“I didn’t mean for this to happen. I only came to see you.”

His tongue stung as he spoke.

“I want to talk with you, Hyung. Not like this… properly. So, can you promise you won’t run away from me?”

“Get off… move. Sob. Let go…!”

“Promise you won’t run. That you’ll face me and talk properly.”

Tears of blood fell onto Ryujin’s face. Jin Chiwoo’s blood, and Kwon Sehyuk’s own tears.

“Hyung…”

He waited, but Ryujin turned his head to the right and kept crying. Only when Ryujin, exhausted from sobbing, could no longer move a finger did Kwon Sehyuk loosen his grip.

“Hyung…”

Kwon Sehyuk smiled.

“I missed you.”

He pressed his ear to Ryujin’s chest. The thudding heartbeat was palpable.

“It’s warm.”

“Move.”

“Didn’t you miss me, Hyung?”

“Move…”

“I thought of you every day. Never got tired of it. What about you, Hyung? Did you think of me?”

Ryujin closed his eyes. He didn’t want to know the nature of the liquid soaking his back. He didn’t want to smell the metallic, sticky scent of blood. He wished his senses would go numb. If he could feel nothing, tears wouldn’t flow.

Ryujin didn’t stop Kwon Sehyuk’s hands from unbuttoning his shirt.

“Why did you do it?”

He let the blood-stained palms caress his skin.

“Why did you bring a gun?”

Even when sharp teeth bit his collarbone, he didn’t let out a single moan.

“Why did you shoot?”

Hot breath touched his chest. Warm lips covered his nipple. The sensation of it being sucked made his hips twitch.

“Kwon Sehyuk… tell me.”

Ryujin opened his closed eyes. He grabbed Kwon Sehyuk’s shoulders, trying to push him away.

He had forgotten for a moment. That not resisting didn’t mean he could vanish from the world.

The time spent with Shin Haebeom had been a brief respite. That fleeting happiness vanished with the bullet that pierced Jin Chiwoo’s body.

“Do you know what you’ve done?”

“I know.”

Kwon Sehyuk’s haircut was odd. One side was long enough to cover his ear, while the other was shaved to the scalp.

His belt came undone. Ryujin grabbed Kwon Sehyuk’s wrist as it slipped into his pants.

“Don’t. Kwon Sehyuk, don’t do this.”

“I’m cold.”

He whimpered.

“I’m so cold.”

“I’ll hold you.”

Ryujin swallowed his rising sobs and said, “I’ll keep you warm, so don’t do this. I don’t want it.”

“I can’t stop myself.”

The moment he aimed the revolver at Jin Chiwoo, someone had said it wasn’t personal vengeance but an act to make the world fair. Since Shin Haebeom took something from you, shouldn’t you take something from him?

It wasn’t Cha Moeun’s voice.

It was Kwon Sehyuk’s own will. His decision, his action. So he had to take responsibility.

Knowing that made him afraid. Fear brought tears.

Kwon Sehyuk clung to Ryujin’s frail body. Amid the war-like stench piercing his nose, he desperately sought the scent of the one he longed for.

“Hyung… don’t let me go.”

He wanted to touch Ryujin. To feel him. Kwon Sehyuk pressed down on Ryujin’s body as he began to resist faintly. When he applied his weight, Ryujin gasped, unable to breathe properly.

“Don’t abandon me.”

Kwon Sehyuk finally burst into tears.

“Love me.”

I killed someone, but love me.

Cha Moeun laughed loudly. Are you insane?

Maybe, Kwon Sehyuk thought as he cried.

His hands moved freely. He heard Ryujin’s gasping. Ryujin, struggling to protect a single layer of underwear, was pitiful and dear. Lovable.

Kwon Sehyuk embraced Ryujin, who made sounds like a fawn caught in a trap, writhing in pain.

“Is it because of Shin Haebeom? Feel like you’re betraying him?”

If so, there was no need to worry.

“That man is sleeping with my mom.”

Saying it himself didn’t make it understandable. Nor forgivable. No matter who it was.

Kwon Sehyuk wanted to tell Ryujin. Maybe Shin Haebeom’s affection for you isn’t pure love but malice born from jealousy toward me.

Do you still like someone like that?

More than me?

“You’re all I have, Hyung.”

Kwon Sehyuk slipped his hand between Ryujin’s legs. He gripped the trembling thighs and spread them. His gaze fixed on the exposed flesh as the underwear was pulled down.

“How did this happen?”

There was no hair on his lower body. It was as smooth as a child’s.

“Did Shin Haebeom do this?”

“Don’t look. Kwon Sehyuk, don’t…”

“Cute, Hyung.”

He caressed slowly from the hips. He desperately wanted to grab and knead the buttocks but restrained himself. He hadn’t come here to rape Ryujin. He didn’t want to do it that way. He didn’t want to terrify the already frightened Ryujin any further.

At the same time, he wanted to ask. Can you see it, Hyung? The woman riding my back?

She’s strangling my neck. Telling me to hit you, rape you, drag you away, and lock you up somewhere only I know.

But I won’t do that. Because I love you. I’m nothing like that two-timing Shin Haebeom.

Kwon Sehyuk buried his face between Ryujin’s legs. He firmly pinned Ryujin’s resisting wrists beside his hips. The lack of hair brushing his cheeks felt empty, but it was still good. Just sharing body heat made his lower body heavy.

Looking back, Shin Haebeom’s tastes were always refined. Disgustingly so.

Gi Woohee argued with Yu Mihyun over a plain white urn containing Kang Inwoo’s ashes. Yu Mihyun insisted it be delivered to Howollu, while Gi Woohee refused, not wanting to take on the bothersome task. But Yu Mihyun, citing her busy schedule with the upcoming Chungyong Festival, persistently pushed for the delivery.

Gi Woohee sighed. She wasn’t oblivious to Yu Mihyun’s underlying motive in insisting on a personal delivery.

She wanted Gi Woohee to get close to Kang Inhye.

It wasn’t unreasonable to dismiss the claim that she’d be a useful connection in the future. But the approach was all wrong.

Would Kang Inhye want to befriend someone delivering her father’s ashes? A man denied even a funeral for being a felon? Wouldn’t it be more effective to shove a gun barrel in her mouth and demand cooperation?

The reason Gi Woohee lost this absurd argument was singular. Yu Mihyun and Won Seyoung were a team, and their coordination was flawless. Gi Woohee looked down at the urn left in her hands.

She had planned to return immediately, but now she’d be delayed. The feeling of a plan going awry was deeply unpleasant. Had she known, she wouldn’t have stayed until the cremation was complete. It was a mistake to react to Yu Mihyun’s jab that a slight delay wouldn’t bring the 12th-floor building down.

She should have left before the cremation ended. She shouldn’t have sent Seong Jaekyung and Ha Chaekyung ahead. The price for falling for Yu Mihyun’s invitation to have a quick tea was this.

Gi Woohee tucked the urn under her arm and crossed the parking lot. Heading toward the jeep, she rummaged through her pockets. Checking her phone, she saw five missed calls.

Gi Woohee realized her mistake. She had completely forgotten she’d silenced her phone to avoid disrupting the solemn atmosphere of the execution site.

She checked the caller. All five calls were from Yoon Taegeum. Gi Woohee stared at the phone in disbelief. Surely he hadn’t called for personal reasons. Did he toss the radio to cook soup? If he dared excuse himself by claiming he was bad at code, she’d make his tongue reach his navel.

“Major?! Why are you only answering now!”

Before she could ask what was wrong, Yoon Taegeum’s voice burst out, making Gi Woohee resolve to crush his head, not just his tongue. But that resolve vanished with his next report.

“The Lieutenant Colonel has been shot. It’s critical, a vital spot. Captain Choi Yushin, the military doctor, is with him, and they’re headed to Central 5… Major? Are you listening?”

Gi Woohee swallowed dryly.

“Major? Major! Hello! Hello!”

“I’m listening.”

Gi Woohee knew Yoon Taegeum’s frivolous nature. If this was a prank, a hole would appear in his forehead. If it was real, she’d hold him accountable for the chaotic report. He bragged about being an overseas-educated elite, yet didn’t know the first principle of reporting? Was the training in English, so he couldn’t understand?

She climbed into the jeep and started the engine. The surrounding noise, tangled thoughts, and anxiety made it hard to hear Yoon Taegeum. Gi Woohee raised her voice.

“Who shot him!”

That was the critical detail. Yoon Taegeum had omitted the most important fact. Realizing anew that academic smarts and field competence were different, Gi Woohee floored the accelerator.

A sharp pain radiated near her ribcage. It was painful but familiar. Clenching her teeth as she drove, Gi Woohee didn’t think to call Yu Mihyun to explain why she couldn’t go to Howollu.

As a public figure, the options for an enjoyable date were limited. Taking advantage of Jang Seunghee’s slumber, Shin Haebeom slipped out of the Hilton Hotel’s suite. Barefoot, he caught the elevator.

As the elevator doors closed, the strength drained from his arms holding his military boots. It was a relief no one else was in the confined rectangular space.

He set the boots on the floor and slipped them on roughly, but his soles felt uncomfortable. Something rustled. Running his hand over his foot, he checked the contents and burst into a hollow laugh. It was a condom wrapper.

Shin Haebeom clutched the trash and laughed. Nothing else came out. Escaping with his boots in his arms, riding the elevator, and peeling a condom wrapper off his bare sole—what a sight.

It was fortunate he’d grabbed the phone Jang Seunghee had tossed into the backseat. It was also lucky he had enough stamina left to exhaust her into sleep.

Shin Haebeom crossed the lobby briskly. Just then, a group of foreign tourists entered through the glass doors. All wore lanyards around their necks, and some had armbands with their country’s flags.

Shin Haebeom glanced at the group’s guide. The young man in a suit held a yellow dragon flag in one hand. His English pronunciation was as fluent as Yu Mihyun’s. The group was likely foreign journalists invited by Shinryonggwan for the Chungyong Festival.

As Shin Haebeom passed, the group chattered in English, pointing at the chandelier shaped like a dragon on the double-height ceiling. A female journalist at the back, engrossed in her notebook, didn’t watch where she was going. Her arm narrowly brushed Shin Haebeom’s, startling her before she smiled brightly and said, “An… nyeonghaseyo.”

It wasn’t “hello” or “hi.” Though her pronunciation was unclear, it was definitely the local language. Shin Haebeom noticed a phrasebook stuffed into the front pocket of her black leather bag. She must have studied on the plane, eager to greet locals in their tongue.

Shin Haebeom smiled and nodded without speaking. Engaging in conversation risked drawing attention from the group ahead.

Watching the journalist hurry to catch up, her phrasebook in view, Shin Haebeom thought he should teach Jung Ryujin English. Not him, but Yu Mihyun.

Inside the convenience store on the first floor, he saw an ATM through the glass wall. Shin Haebeom darted in, withdrew cash, and was about to leave as swiftly as he’d entered when the array of snacks caught his eye.

Gulp. He couldn’t believe he’d swallowed audibly. Staring blankly at the display, he grabbed a basket as if possessed.

What followed was a blur. When he came to, he was leaving the store with a plastic bag bulging like Santa Claus’s sack.

He was stunned by his own thoughtless actions. He had to walk to a main road to catch a taxi—what was he to do with this? Why had he bought piles of snacks he rarely ate?

Shin Haebeom panted. The plastic bag bumped his shins with each step. The sound of snack bags rustling inside echoed. Despite the chilly weather, sweat beaded on his forehead. Finally, Shin Haebeom gave up on a surprise return. As he turned on his phone to call for help, he was dumbfounded by the flood of missed calls and reply requests.

“They asked me at the military police. Haven’t you returned yet?”

Gi Woohee was speeding. Even braking didn’t stop the jeep quickly. Pedestrians glared at the white jeep blocking half the crosswalk. Some tried to peer through the tinted windows, as if to catch a glimpse of the reckless driver. Gi Woohee muttered a curse under her breath.

“It’s our fault.”

“Not the Commander’s, mine. I’m the driver.”

Gi Woohee pulled a siren from under the seat and mounted it on the roof. The blaring red siren, spinning with a loud bleep, was, by regulation, not for personal vehicles. Gi Woohee shouldn’t have had one. But Shin Haebeom didn’t question it. He didn’t tell her to put it away because it was noisy. He just rummaged through the plastic bag and handed Gi Woohee a sweet chocolate bar.

“What’s this?”

“Saved on taxi fare. Sweet stuff’s good for stress.”

Gi Woohee’s face twisted.

“Don’t you know the situation? Shall I explain again?”

“No, no. I get it. Your expression’s just fun to watch.”

“This isn’t the time for jokes.”

“I know.”

Gi Woohee bit into the chocolate bar and drove. Shin Haebeom had two ways to silence a complaining subordinate: the whip or the carrot. The former was cracking their head with a rifle butt; the latter was stuffing food in their mouth to shut them up.

Shin Haebeom glanced at the jeep’s back seat. The plain white urn tilted sideways, rattling. No name was written, but it was unmistakably Kang Inwoo’s ashes. He didn’t feel like reaching out to set it upright.

“Still, Yu Mihyun was generous.”

It was a fine urn. One might wonder what use a good urn was to the dead, but money spent on a departed soul was for the living. Kang Inhye might find a sliver of will to live knowing her father’s ashes were in fine porcelain, not a plastic container. Just a sliver.

“Why not deliver it to Howollu?”

Gi Woohee, swallowing the chocolate, replied, “No time.”

“Well, the dead are dead, and the living must live.”

“Sorry I can’t take you straight to the hospital.”

“No matter.”

Shin Haebeom’s voice was calm, his demeanor nonchalant. Gi Woohee trusted the siren and sped on. Ignoring all signals, she stole glances at Shin Haebeom in the passenger seat.

He buried his face in the convenience store’s logoed plastic bag, struggling to open a box of individually wrapped sandwich cookies.

“This isn’t easy. My fingers are stiff.”

“Aren’t you worried about the Deputy Commander?”

“Worried, my ass.”

The sandwich cookie crunched between Shin Haebeom’s teeth.

“Is Jin Chiwoo the type to die from a gunshot?”

An intersection loomed ahead. Gi Woohee, focused forward, nearly collided head-on with a taxi emerging on a signal. She slammed the brakes, but the speeding jeep didn’t stop instantly. The tires screeched against the asphalt, a chilling sound. Horns blared from all directions.

Gi Woohee exhaled roughly. Her hands, gripping the wheel, trembled.

“……”

She didn’t believe in God, but in this moment, it felt like divine intervention. She had narrowly avoided a crash. The taxi she almost hit was gone, probably with its driver’s heart pounding.

After staring wide-eyed for a moment, Gi Woohee took a deep breath and calmly turned the wheel. Shin Haebeom, in the passenger seat, said nothing. Not until the jeep pulled over to the shoulder.

That didn’t mean it was okay. Gi Woohee didn’t know that.

“Damn it!”

Don’t loiter in front of a siren-blaring car, she wanted to shout. Shin Haebeom grabbed her arm as she yelled.

“Have you lost it?”

Gi Woohee couldn’t answer. It had been a while since she felt Shin Haebeom’s grip. Her arm felt like it might snap.

“Major, are you in your right mind?”

“…No, sir.”

“We almost boarded the express train to the underworld. Got that?”

“……”

“If you’re going to drive like this, ditch the siren and get out! Stop acting like a thug!”

“……”

“Still not getting it? Is what we do a joke? Is our name that cheap?! Gi Woohee! Right now, the rank of Major is wasted on you!”

Gi Woohee bowed her head. She begged forgiveness from her furious superior. Shin Haebeom was worth groveling to.

Shin Haebeom didn’t scold further. He laughed, saying the cookie he was eating flew to the back seat, where Kang Inwoo’s urn was, when the jeep screeched to a halt. Gi Woohee, of course, couldn’t laugh along.

Finally, they arrived at the Disciplinary Corps headquarters. Shin Haebeom stepped out first. Gi Woohee grabbed the convenience store plastic bag he was carrying.

“I’ll carry it.”

“It’s for our little one.”

Don’t take my gesture, Shin Haebeom said with a smile, his face as usual. Gi Woohee silently withdrew her hand.

“I’m being shameless, but please. No matter what happens next… what you see, what you hear, don’t break.”

“Didn’t know you were so thoughtful, Major.”

His voice was warm.

“Guess you really have to know someone for a long time.”

Shin Haebeom’s back, as he bounded up the stairs, was soaked with sweat. His shirt clung to his body, outlining his muscular shoulders. In weather where he’d catch a cold without a coat, he was like that.

Gi Woohee muttered in a low voice, “No, sir.”

Asking him not to break wasn’t for Shin Haebeom’s sake. It was for herself.

Gi Woohee genuinely hoped Shin Haebeom would hold strong. If the pillar falls, the roof collapses.

Yoon Taegeum leaned against a column. He meant only to rest briefly, but soon slid down and plopped onto the floor.

Whatever. Who cares if it looks pathetic? What do other people’s eyes matter now?

Yoon Taegeum propped up his knees and buried his face in them. His tongue felt rough.

“Need this?”

One of the bodyguards, whose name he still didn’t know, offered a water bottle. His white shirt was stained with blood. It was Jin Chiwoo’s blood, likely from when he tried to pull Kwon Sehyuk away.

Yoon Taegeum forced his eyes away from the bloodstains. The water bottle was ice-cold.

“Thanks.”

He tried to muster an awkward smile, but his facial muscles were so tense he couldn’t.

He downed the 500ml bottle in one go. Only then did Yoon Taegeum realize he was severely dehydrated.

Where was Shin Haebeom now? Surely not still at the military police.

Gi Woohee had promised to bring him. Yoon Taegeum had clearly heard her tell Jung Ryujin that.

He hadn’t peeked through the office door to eavesdrop on their conversation. He was genuinely worried about Ryujin.

Yoon Taegeum sincerely wanted to apologize. I’m sorry for hesitating. I was too scared to face Prince Kwon Sehyuk. And if possible… he wanted to ask if he was okay.

“Ugh.”

He yanked at his hair. He understood now why people pull their hair when in pain.