BAI Ch 28

Startled awake by the sound of thunder.

Shin Haebeom opened his eyes on the sofa. Torrential rain was pounding loudly against the glass windows. He realized he had fallen asleep still wearing his uniform. Intending to rest his eyes for just a moment, he had ended up sleeping deeply. Checking the clock, Shin Haebeom let out a sigh. It was four thirty in the morning.

Shin Haebeom looked around. The blanket that had slid to the floor was likely placed over him by Jin Chiwoo before he left.

When he had pulled out the file in question, when he had held up the photos of Ham Youngjae and Han Dahee before their eyes, he had seen Ryujin’s expression. The trembling gaze and the helplessly parted lips were so endearing that he nearly pulled Ryujin into a tight embrace right then and there. The only reason he had let Kwon Sehyuk take that role was not merely for some Romeo and Juliet game. Kwon Sehyuk was the perfect shield to put forward in front of the public after turning Hampung 2-do upside down.

The farther a region was from the metropolitan city, the stronger the influence of local powers. He had told Kwon Sehyuk it was due to the Republican Party’s push for local autonomous organizations, but the truth was different.

The reason why local aristocrats who exploited their communities remained intact despite Leader Kwon Ilhyuk’s “Iron Blood Unity” policy, which concentrated power in the central capital.

Tracing the connections of these local aristocratic families always led to a prominent politician whose name anyone would recognize at least once. The larger the faction, the more families they controlled. It was a blatantly obvious symbiotic relationship. Politicians needed local aristocrats to financially support them, and local aristocrats, ignorant of the metropolitan city’s affairs, needed informants.

Hampung 2-do’s case was particularly egregious, as the Ham family that dominated the area was backed by former Chief of Political Affairs Choi Seokjun.

During his tenure as Chief of Political Affairs, Choi Seokjun had the audacity to send Shinryonggwan’s confidential schedules to Hampung 2-do via official correspondence. It was a signal to prepare in advance for audits by the military police or visits from the Red Forest Department. This was precisely why Empress Dowager Yu Mihyun could cut Choi Seokjun down in one stroke. Even as Leader Kwon Joohyuk’s aide, leaking Shinryonggwan’s confidential schedules to outsiders was something that could not be overlooked.

However, Yu Mihyun’s power stopped there. Shin Haebeom felt disillusioned knowing that Choi Seokjun and his family, protected by Kwon Joohyuk, still maintained the same level of economic power as during his time as Chief of Political Affairs. It was because their financial lifeline hadn’t been severed. That was the limitation of Yu Mihyun, who didn’t understand the affairs outside the metropolitan city and had never truly rolled in the mud.

Choi Seokjun was still thriving. Still wielding influence in politics as a close associate of Leader Kwon Joohyuk’s aide. Shin Haebeom knew that Yu Mihyun was targeting him and the Disciplinary Corps this time, aiming to sever Kwon Joohyuk’s limbs. Kang Inwoo had entered this place with that mission.

But there was something Yu Mihyun needed to understand clearly. Choosing <White Lion> as her ally was a fatal mistake that could completely destroy her political career.

Bringing in an external enemy to win a civil war?

Good heavens, to commit such a foolish act.

Shin Haebeom thought as he dropped tea leaves into hot water. Yu Mihyun seemed more cornered than he had thought. Well, with Kwon Joohyuk pushing the Hwacheon District development plan like a bulldozer, it was understandable that she’d be anxious.

He poured the brewed tea into a cup. Shin Haebeom chuckled, savoring the fragrant aroma of the tea. No matter how anxious she was, <White Lion> was too much. She seemed to believe that Ha Seongrok was once the son-in-law of Yuseong Foods, but the era of solidarity among businessmen ended when the Republican Party collapsed.

Shin Haebeom wanted to tell Yu Mihyun clearly. Ha Seongrok is the kind of man who betrayed his Republican Party comrades and fled. If you don’t want to end up like me, change your mind now. Think about why Gi Woohee, whom you so desperately want to win over, follows me.

Shin Haebeom picked up the teacup and walked to the floor-to-ceiling glass window. He listened to the pouring rain and the sound of thunder.

If Kwon Sehyuk used the Disciplinary Corps’ power to strike Hampung 2-do, Choi Seokjun would panic and report it to Kwon Joohyuk, and upon receiving the report, Kwon Joohyuk would fly into a rage. Realizing he’d been betrayed by his cherished nephew, he’d likely clutch the back of his neck and collapse.

Imagining that scene brought a smile to his face. Shin Haebeom laughed, his shoulders shaking, heedless of the hot tea spilling over.

Before he died, Kwon Joohyuk needed to know. The feeling of being betrayed by someone he thought was on his side. That sense of betrayal. The wound.

The moment the strong connection between Kwon Joohyuk and Kwon Sehyuk wavered.

Imagining that thrilling moment sent shivers down his spine.

Kwon Joohyuk wouldn’t even be able to take it out on the Disciplinary Corps. He might throw a tantrum like an old man, but Shin Haebeom was merely following Kwon Sehyuk’s orders. Before military rank came social status. If Hampung 2-do didn’t follow the prince’s orders, that would be treason.

If the situation turned unfavorable for the Disciplinary Corps, Shin Haebeom even planned to use Jang Seunghee.

He jumped in place, striking a vigorous fighting pose. Tea spilled onto the clean floor, but he didn’t care.

Kwon Sehyuk’s expression was genuine. He was already an ignorant Romeo, blinded by love. Every time Ryujin made a pitiful expression, Shin Haebeom felt his stomach twist, but those tear-filled eyes were quite to his liking. He was like a fawn trembling in a trap.

Kwon Sehyuk looked down at the sleeping Ryujin, who seemed to have passed out.

He pulled the blanket up to his neck to cover him. He couldn’t catch a cold because of the air conditioning.

Kwon Sehyuk got out of bed and went to the window. It was raining. Five in the morning, a time when the boundary between dawn and morning was ambiguous.

He leaned his forehead against the window and sighed.

If he had his way, he’d rush to Hampung 2-do right now. He wanted to tie up Ham Youngjae and his gang with ropes, drag them to the metropolitan city, make them feel the ultimate fear and pain a human could experience, and tear them apart in a way that would deny them peace even in death.

Kwon Sehyuk repeatedly clenched and unclenched his fists, breathing heavily. It was no surprise he couldn’t sleep. It would be stranger if he could sleep knowing what had happened to Ryujin.

Kwon Sehyuk instinctively realized. Until he crushed those bastards, until he heard Ryujin say it was enough, he wouldn’t be able to sleep with both legs stretched out.

He rummaged through the Boston bag on the desk. As he searched for his e-cigarette, something caught his fingers. Between Kwon Sehyuk’s fingers was a small ziplock bag.

“Oh…”

Kwon Sehyuk looked at Ryujin, sleeping in the bed.

If he used this, he could sleep peacefully.

A calming effect incomparable to ordinary painkillers like Tylenol. The drug Ryujin needed was right in front of him, but he hadn’t thought of it. Kwon Sehyuk clicked his tongue and put the ziplock bag back into the bag’s inner pocket.

He took out the e-cigarette, his original goal, and zipped the bag shut. He didn’t notice that his hands were trembling.

✶⋆.˚

Kang Inwoo didn’t use the underground parking lot for officers. Even in the outdoor parking lot, he chose only the inconspicuous corner spots. It wasn’t because he was embarrassed about his old convertible. Kang Inwoo had options even at higher levels. But he found his colleagues who changed cars every quarter, believing it symbolized elite success, pathetic.

He was on his way home after finishing his duty shift. Given the time, the roads were quiet. Of course, whether the roads were clear or congested, whether the weather was sunny or rainy, Kang Inwoo always drove at the regulated speed. So he rarely answered calls while driving. But the name on his phone was R.U. Short for Reporter Uhm Seungwon.

Kang Inwoo carefully pulled over to the shoulder, ensuring his old tires didn’t slip on the wet road.

“Yes.”

— Captain? Can you talk?

“Go ahead.”

— I have something to report to Chief Yu. I’d like to meet briefly before work. I’m near the Disciplinary Corps right now.

Kang Inwoo frowned but answered in a voice that didn’t betray his fatigue.

“I’ll be there.”

Uhm Seungwon sent the location via a phone message. It was Yeonggwang Building near the Disciplinary Corps’ main building, a 24-hour café on the fifth floor.

Uhm Seungwon sighed deeply, watching raindrops hit the glass window. He hated rainy days. The humid, stuffy air, the bag and pant hems that got wet no matter how much he used an umbrella.

For someone whose job required running around with heavy items like a bulky laptop and various odds and ends, the rainy season was an unkind time. What he hated more was that all these troubles could be solved with just a car.

Uhm Seungwon looked up at the Disciplinary Corps’ twelve-story building visible through the window. It wasn’t an especially tall skyscraper by floor count, but its duplex structure and vast area made it seem endlessly imposing. What would it feel like to come and go from there every day?

Kang Inwoo, sitting across from Uhm Seungwon, smoked silently.

He arrived ten minutes late for the appointment. Uhm Seungwon felt guilty knowing Kang Inwoo was on his way home after a duty shift and had been delayed changing into civilian clothes in his car. So he paid for the coffee.

Uhm Seungwon spoke, pointing to the window with the mug holding his iced coffee.

“They say the average age of the members there is in their early thirties.”

“Yes.”

“My junior in the social affairs department says it’ll get even younger in the future. It’s really popular with young kids these days.”

“It’s the only public institution that doesn’t care about social status.”

“That’s part of it, but the image is so glamorous, isn’t it? Kids who love flashy things would go crazy for it. The uniforms are cool, the pay is great, and the welfare benefits are top-notch. I’m just saying, but if I were ten years younger, I’d have applied.”

“…”

“It’s a joke, Captain. Don’t take it too seriously.”

“Please drop the title.”

Uhm Seungwon glanced around with an “oh” expression.

“Sorry. I was careless.”

“It’s fine. Go on.”

Uhm Seungwon took a sip of his coffee.

“My junior went to a career fair at some high school, and he said a super young kid showed up in a full uniform. No matter how you looked at him, he wasn’t from the officer academy. Turns out, that kid was an official Disciplinary Corps member. It caused a huge stir. They held the fair in the school auditorium, and it was packed. During the Q&A, all the questions went to that kid, and my junior said he was so embarrassed he could’ve died.”

“Is that so?”

“That’s the kind of image the Disciplinary Corps has with kids these days. That place is only going to get bigger. They say it’s tough being on the front lines, that there’s a manpower shortage due to lack of applicants, but I predict things will change in five years—no, two years. By then, the lower-ranking members will have enough experience to take on mid-level management roles.”

“You’re really interested in the Disciplinary Corps.”

Uhm Seungwon scratched the back of his head.

“It’s not all positive, though.”

“I understand.”

Uhm Seungwon’s voice grew cautious.

“How… are you adjusting?”

“There’s nothing to adjust to. The water’s the same.”

The café’s old wooden chair was woefully inadequate to support Uhm Seungwon’s hefty frame. It creaked every time he moved. But there was no helping it. There were cushy sofa seats outside the smoking room, but Kang Inwoo didn’t want to be seen, and more than anything, he craved a cigarette. He couldn’t recall when he’d developed the habit of getting anxious if he didn’t smoke during important conversations.

Kang Inwoo turned his head and exhaled cigarette smoke.

“I have a roommate. Jung Ryujin, a twenty-one-year-old kid who seems to do errands for the MVP, that sort of thing.”

“Nobles need their attendants.”

Uhm Seungwon said with a laugh, but Kang Inwoo replied in a cold voice.

“It hits home anew. The class difference.”

“Oh…”

Kang Inwoo turned his head to the window. Thick raindrops pounded the glass. In this season, morning came quickly. The sun, pushing away the blue of dawn, illuminated the world. He looked up at the sky. It seemed like it would be clear today.

Everyone yearns for light. They want to climb high. In doing so, they often fail to notice the precious things around them. They forget. By the time they realize they shouldn’t have, it’s usually too late. Kang Inwoo didn’t want to make that mistake. The highlands weren’t just about wealth and power.

The brighter the light, the darker the shadows. People build tall buildings on flat land, but areas with naturally high terrain often become slums because property values are low.

Those who strive to build towers to climb from low places and those pushed to ridges and slopes because there’s no room on flat land. The gap between them weighed heavily on Kang Inwoo’s heart. Inhye had rarely come home since becoming a college student. When he learned she was eating and sleeping at the activist hideout in the hillside slum, he nearly asked if she really had to go that far but held back.

Kang Inwoo stubbed out his cigarette forcefully in the ashtray.

“Any progress on the investigation?”

Uhm Seungwon’s voice was awkward.

“It’s not easy. It’s such an old case.”

“That’s why I asked you, isn’t it? There might be things only an outsider can see.”

“I met Choi Geumho’s family. They applied for national merit status several times but never passed the review. The elderly mother grabbed my hand and earnestly asked me to write something in the news, and I was so embarrassed.”

“Reporting isn’t easy either.”

“She wouldn’t know much, but she said if her son were alive, he’d have a big position in the Disciplinary Corps by now.”

“Is that so?”

“They weren’t exactly struggling before, but it seems the family’s fortunes completely declined after Choi Geumho’s incident.”

Frowning, Uhm Seungwon clicked his tongue.

“That’s what happens when one person supports the household. Their situation was so pitiful that I told them I’d mention it to Chief Yu, but I don’t feel good about it.”

“You’re a kind person, Reporter.”

“Oh, it’s not me, it’s Chief Yu’s work. I just bring it up casually.”

“Speaking of which, I’d like to offer you a good story.”

“An interview with Shin Haebeom?”

Uhm Seungwon’s face lit up with expectation. Kang Inwoo realized anew how much he wanted to meet Shin Haebeom. Admiration. A desire to reach.

Kang Inwoo handed his phone to Uhm Seungwon. A photo of Jung Ryujin, sent from <White Lion>, was displayed. Red hair, a small, delicate face. A strikingly long neck, like a deer. Up close, you could still see soft fuzz on his cheeks.

But the real Jung Ryujin was different from Kang Inwoo’s expectations. It wasn’t just that his hair color had changed or that he’d lost weight. The bruises wrapping around his emaciated, almost malnourished body and the look in his eyes, as if he’d resigned himself to the flow of events, leaving himself defenseless, resembled the “trigger” that had made Kang Inwoo unable to stand by and watch such a tragic situation any longer.

Kang Inwoo stared at Uhm Seungwon’s greasy forehead as he looked intently at the phone.

He had a hunch. But he couldn’t be certain yet. He didn’t think Cha Moeun would have said it thoughtlessly. Kwon Sehyuk’s cold, wary gaze when he saw Jung Ryujin’s bare body also nagged at him.

Kang Inwoo chose the same approach as Yu Mihyun. Borrowing the power of a third party with no connections, seeing the situation through their eyes. That was true “objective judgment.”

Kang Inwoo knew Uhm Seungwon wouldn’t refuse his request. Someone who couldn’t sit still, itching with curiosity, wouldn’t ignore inside stories about the Disciplinary Corps.

“Who’s this?”

Kang Inwoo turned off the phone and put it in his pocket.

“My roommate, as I mentioned. It’s an old photo, so he looks a bit rough.”

“He looks like a celebrity. Really young.”

“He’s lost a lot of weight now. His hair color’s different too. The length is a bit…”

Kang Inwoo mentally gauged Ryujin’s hair length, moving his fingers near his ear as if snipping with scissors.

“A bit shorter.”

“Oh… yes.”

“Do you remember what I mentioned last time? About Shin Haebeom’s rise to success?”

Uhm Seungwon’s Adam’s apple bobbed.

“I remember.”

“Have you found anything?”

He shook his head.

“The security’s tight. He’s such a big figure in active service. Honestly, I’ve got nothing yet. In my defense, the Choi Geumho case took priority.”

Kang Inwoo nodded. I understand.

“There aren’t many gaps, are there?”

“Yes. Definitely.”

Kang Inwoo lit a new cigarette. He inhaled deeply and exhaled in one breath. Then he spoke quickly.

“I saw bruises from beatings on Jung Ryujin’s body. I confirmed old scars and minor scratches with my own eyes.”

“What?”

“It wasn’t a situation where I could take photos. But I have no reason to lie to you, do I?”

Uhm Seungwon blinked like a goldfish. The face of Jung Ryujin he’d just seen lingered in his mind. A pale, delicate face, a long neck, double eyelids, and balanced features. But what stood out most was the aura. An unmistakable presence, even though the photo wasn’t taken with a camera-conscious subject or proper focus to highlight the subject.

Uhm Seungwon repeated Jung Ryujin’s name in his mind. Jung Ryujin. The sound felt familiar. Was there someone he knew with a similar name? Or perhaps a name from a movie, drama, or novel he’d seen long ago?

Or maybe…

Uhm Seungwon’s fingers tapped the table as if typing.

No matter how he thought about it, he resembled someone.

“Reporter.”

Kang Inwoo’s clear voice snapped Uhm Seungwon out of his thoughts.

“Approach Jung Ryujin. Whatever the case, it’s better for you to confirm with your own eyes. Posing as an entertainment reporter would be good. Say you want to cover the handsome private assisting the MVP, something like that.”

Uhm Seungwon chuckled.

“I didn’t know you were interested in that sort of thing.”

“It’s for my family. My sister says she needs to read up on stuff to talk with her friends.”

“Oh, right.”

She had a younger sister, didn’t she? Uhm Seungwon thought to himself, nodding.

On the first floor of Yeonggwang Building, where he’d spoken with Uhm Seungwon, there was a bookstore. Recalling the saying that a sparrow can’t pass a mill without stopping, Kang Inwoo entered the bookstore without hesitation.

The clerk who’d been at the counter all night looked tired. His eyes, behind glasses, were glued to the computer monitor. Kang Inwoo headed straight for the foreign fiction section. He had no interest in domestic novels steeped in totalitarianism and imperialism.

Kang Inwoo thought of the “amateur writers’ group” Inhye had told him about. A bestselling author during the Republican Party’s rule, whose books were all banned and who was designated a “Level 3 National Threat” and confined to house arrest, was said to run the group through an overseas server. It was called a group, but it was quite large, with high-quality works. The downside was the unstable server, requiring careful tracking of update schedules.

“If updates are late, everyone gets nervous. They worry the writer’s been arrested.”

“I’ll let you know if the writer gets caught.”

“What kind of nonsense is that! Want to die?!”

Kang Inwoo’s fingers brushed the displayed books. Inhye’s clear voice lingered in his ears.

It was last winter. The day he heard about Inhye’s acceptance. He took her to a department store to buy new clothes. He gave her his card and told her to pick whatever she wanted, but the item Inhye chose was a single handmade coat from a mid-to-low-end brand. It had loose sleeves and reached the ankles of Inhye, who was just over 160 centimeters tall. He burst out laughing at her penguin-like appearance. Inhye got annoyed, saying it was the trendy style among college students these days.

To appease the sulking Inhye, they went to a dessert café, where they talked about books.

“All you do is read novels, Oppa?”

“Yeah.”

“Never tried writing?”

“What would I write?”

“I looked it up, and there are lots of writing contests. They give extra points to public servants during judging.”

“Those places want specific content. I don’t write that kind of stuff.”

“Well, you’re an ice cream fritter, so.”

The inventive dessert “ice cream fritter,” made by coating cold ice cream in breadcrumbs and lightly frying it, was slang in this closed totalitarian state. It referred to those who received the state’s salary but held anti-government views. Biting into a hot, fried ice cream fritter surprises you with its unexpected coldness.

Sucking strawberry juice vigorously through a straw, Inhye grinned, saying there were many “ice cream fritters” among university professors.

“Not just your expectations?”

“No, really! Sunbaes say they watch freshmen to recruit for a secret campus organization. I want to join.”

“Inhye, I respect your beliefs and opinions. And I support you. But you always have to be careful. Especially with people close to you…”

“Ugh, again! You worry too much, Oppa.”

Inhye’s middle school homeroom teacher was an “ice cream fritter.” He taught history and Korean and was executed for instilling anti-government ideas in students. Back then, Inhye tried to write a petition with her friends but was caught by their father, and that day, two TaylorMade golf clubs met their end in the household.

“Oppa.”

“What?”

Inhye stirred her juice with the straw.

“You trust me, right?”

“Of course. Who’s as smart as you?”

“You’ll support me no matter what happens, right?”

“Naturally.”

“You’ll do anything I ask, right?”

“Even if it costs my life.”

“What’s that? Save that for your future sister-in-law.”

Inhye’s words stabbed his heart painfully. Kang Inwoo forced a calm smile.

“I’m not getting married.”

“Why? Because you’re a confirmed bachelor? It’s fine, win with experience and financial power.”

“Forget it.”

Kang Inwoo sank into the cushy sofa.

“I’m going to spend my life looking after you and then die. So, take care of my retirement, our genius.”

“Ugh, so annoying! Already a leech!”

Kang Inwoo laughed, watching the grumbling Inhye. Just looking at her brought him joy. She was his reason for living. For this girl’s future, there was nothing he wouldn’t do.

Kang Inwoo picked out two genre novels and headed to the counter. The clerk, who’d been staring at the computer, processed the payment with practiced ease. Holding the books wrapped in a brown paper bag, a warm feeling spread from a corner of his chest.

✶⋆.˚

Jin Chiwoo stared at the document Shin Haebeom handed him for a long time before suddenly looking up and asking.

“Have you got your death date scheduled?”

“What?”

“Otherwise, this bizarre behavior doesn’t make sense.”

Standing in front of the floor-to-ceiling glass window, Shin Haebeom took a sip of black coffee and laughed.

“What’s so bizarre about it?”

“Why are you doing something you’ve never done? Eradicating harsh treatment in the unit? Intensive crackdown on beatings and hazing? In all my years, I’ve never heard such weird terms.”

“Should’ve read more books instead of staring at the stock market all day.”

“Hey!”

“There’s no iron rice bowl like you, mouthing off to a superior and not getting fired.”

Shin Haebeom turned his head.

“Right, Major Gi?”

Gi Woohee, sitting on the sofa, nodded with a smirk, and Jin Chiwoo roared.

“You guys always gang up and pick on me!”

Shin Haebeom chuckled. He tilted his teacup, looking out the window. The drizzle that had fallen all night had stopped. The world was still wet, and the heavy, humid air of the rainy season clung to the skin, but the sky, with the sun rising, was dazzlingly blue. The weather had cleared.

“Good day for laundry.”

Jin Chiwoo noisily flapped the document. A scoffing sound.

“Even a passing dog would laugh. Beom, you think this makes sense? How do you manage kids without hitting them? Didn’t you feel, like, this doesn’t add up while writing it?”

Shin Haebeom elegantly tilted his teacup.

“Post it on every floor’s lobby bulletin board, and Major Gi, gather the team leaders and discipline officers and have them run laps around the parking lot. Yelling loudly. Good thing the MVP’s room is on the second floor. They’ll hear it loud and clear.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And Chiwoo, don’t lay a hand on Jung Ryujin for a while.”

“What?”

“It’ll be a hassle if the MVP finds out.”

“Beom, you’re really…”

“It’s not sudden do-gooder nonsense. I’m planning to take them somewhere.”

Shin Haebeom gazed at the bustling cityscape. It was morning. The start of a new day and a new page in an ongoing struggle.

“Major Gi, remove Sergeant Seo Jiwoon from the investigation team’s schedule. He’ll know why.”

“Yes, sir.”

“You stay low for a while too. Can’t have you getting hurt in the field.”

“Understood.”

Jin Chiwoo cut in.

“What’s this? Leaving me out again while you two scheme?”

“Join if you’re curious. Want me to tell you?”

The two men’s eyes met. Gi Woohee knew the outcome of this silence. Shin Haebeom was always ready to include his friend, but at the critical moment, it was Jin Chiwoo who stepped back.

“Forget it. Who’ll watch the house if both Mom and Dad go out?”

“It won’t take long. A week at most? No, three or four days. Keep an eye on Kang Inwoo in the meantime.”

Shin Haebeom neatly folded the document twice and slipped it into an envelope. He didn’t bother sealing it, as it was all for show anyway. Indulging a cocky kid who’d never faced a world where things didn’t go his way was easier than flipping a hand.

As the elevator doors opened and he was about to step out, Kwon Sehyuk’s loud voice echoed through the second-floor hallway.

“I told you not to!”

Shin Haebeom frowned. He quickened his pace down the corridor. As he turned the corner and reached Kwon Sehyuk’s door, it flung open, and Ryujin burst out, clutching a plastic laundry basket.

“Then who’s going to do it?!”

Shin Haebeom, standing in front of the door, and Ryujin, rushing out, collided head-on. Both were startled, but only one fell. Ryujin tumbled onto the hallway floor along with various laundry items spilling from the basket.

“Ryujin Hyung!”

Kwon Sehyuk came running out, practically rolling. Ignoring the scattered laundry, he lifted Ryujin by the shoulders to help him up.

“Hyung, you okay? You alright?”

“It hurts… What the! Watch where you’re…!”

It seemed he was about to say “going.” Recognizing Shin Haebeom’s face, Ryujin shut his mouth. Kwon Sehyuk, who was helping Ryujin up, turned bright red.

“Oh dear.”

Shin Haebeom didn’t mind. He smiled broadly and extended a hand to Ryujin with a disciplined, polite posture.

“Get up, Private Jung. I’m fine, so don’t be scared.”

Ryujin didn’t want to take Shin Haebeom’s hand. But refusing a hand offered by a superior, especially one so far above him, would brand him with unprecedented insubordination. At that moment, Kwon Sehyuk lifted Ryujin by the shoulders and waist, helping him stand.

“Sorry, Haebeom Hyung. Were you startled? You’re not hurt, are you?”

“No. I’m fine.”

Kwon Sehyuk scratched his head with one hand.

“We had a bit of a laundry issue.”

The back of Kwon Sehyuk’s hand, gripping Ryujin’s shoulder, showed prominent green veins. Shin Haebeom blinked silently.

“May I know what the issue is?”

“Oh, it’s kind of embarrassing…”

Kwon Sehyuk’s brown hair, laughing awkwardly, was flattened and disheveled. His white T-shirt, likely pajamas, was wrinkled, and his casual pants were too short, exposing his ankles. He looked like he’d just woken up. He hadn’t even washed his face, it seemed. But his sheepish grin as he scratched the back of his head wouldn’t have looked out of place in a magazine featuring college student models.

Shin Haebeom hoped that Ryujin, nestled in Kwon Sehyuk’s arms, wouldn’t lift his head. For some reason, he just felt it would be better that way.

“Let go. I can’t breathe.”

“Oh, sorry.”

The strength drained from Kwon Sehyuk’s arms. Ryujin, sitting on the floor, began picking up the scattered laundry.

Kwon Sehyuk had a lot of clothes beyond the standard-issue Disciplinary Corps uniforms, and he changed frequently. For him, wearing yesterday’s clothes today was unthinkable, even if he hadn’t gone out in them. Any clothing that had touched Kwon Sehyuk’s body went straight into the laundry basket. Naturally, the laundry piled up. Ryujin, handling the clothes for both himself and Kwon Sehyuk, including underwear, towels, socks, and more, was practically clocking in at the laundry room daily to manage the massive load.

Shin Haebeom looked down at Ryujin, who was brushing dust off the laundry and putting it back into the basket. His thin, frail limbs moved restlessly, which was somewhat unsettling, but at least he was alive and moving. Shin Haebeom was satisfied with that.

Jung Ryujin is moving. He’s alive. A living human thinks. About what he has to do from now on.

Shin Haebeom knelt on one knee and started picking up the laundry with him.

“Let me help.”

“It’s okay.”

“I’ll help.”

Both reached for the same towel at the same time. Shin Haebeom pulled with force, but unexpectedly, Ryujin held onto the towel and didn’t let go.

“…”

They were close. Shin Haebeom caught a glimpse of a scar on Ryujin’s temple through his hair.

“Just leave it. I’ll do it.”

The voice declaring he’d do it himself was surprisingly dignified, and Shin Haebeom couldn’t help but smile. He knew Ryujin felt the same pain he did. He could tell from the trembling eyelashes of his downcast eyes.

Your temple scar and my ear.

Shin Haebeom swallowed dryly. His ear, jagged and pointed like a demon’s from where flesh had been torn, trembled faintly.

Three text messages from Shin Yena were waiting on his phone.

“Arrived in Hampung.”

“Waiting at the meeting spot.”

“Gas was pricey, and I need new tires. Call later.”

Shin Haebeom flipped his phone shut and flung open the laundry room door. As soon as he stepped inside, a booming roar assaulted his ears.

“Why is Hyung washing my underwear!”

Kwon Sehyuk was blocking the washing machine, visibly furious.

The laundry room, bright, spacious, and spotlessly clean, was Shin Haebeom’s second favorite place after the dining hall. Equipped with washing machines, dryers, and even the latest steam closet, it had ample supplies. You could even borrow an iron and ironing board by requesting them from the management office. Shin Haebeom cherished the laundry room as much as the dining hall, and the fact that loud shouting was echoing in this space irritated him.

He stood with his arms crossed, one corner of his mouth raised. Kwon Sehyuk, yelling for his underwear, and Jung Ryujin, clutching the laundry basket and holding his ground, were quite a sight. Truly a spectacle.

“This guy’s a pain even when I do it for him. Ugh, stop being annoying and move!”

“So why is Hyung doing it? I said I don’t want you to! I said you don’t have to, so why are you like this, seriously!”

“Funny guy. Who else here’s gonna clean up after you besides me?”

“Just get someone else to do it!”

“Someone else? Who? You think your precious Brigadier General Shin Haebeom’s gonna wash your underwear too?”

“Ugh, come on!”

Ryujin tried to head to another washing machine, but Kwon Sehyuk darted over to block him.

“You really wanna do this?”

“Are you really gonna do this?”

A brief silence. Ryujin, looking up at Kwon Sehyuk, asked.

“Why won’t you let me wash your underwear?”

“What do you mean why? Obviously…”

“Did you have a wet dream?”

“Aaagh! Be quiet!”

Kwon Sehyuk clutched his head with both hands, stomping his feet. Ryujin tilted his chin up.

“What, feeling guilty?”

Shin Haebeom laughed inwardly. This scrawny kid is toying with Kwon Sehyuk.

“If you’re guilty, just say so. I’ll let it slide just for today.”

“What’s there to say! I didn’t do that!”

“Oh, really?”

He looked at Ryujin, thinking to himself. Impressive. This is reassuring. I’m relieved.

It should be reassuring…

But something felt off.

“Your Highness?”

Sensing someone, both turned around. They stared at Shin Haebeom with wide eyes. Shin Haebeom smiled, approached, and placed a hand on Kwon Sehyuk’s shoulder.

“If you wish, I’ll wash them for you.”

“Haebeom Hyung!”

Shin Haebeom hid his true feelings and smiled broadly.

“What’s wrong? I may not look it, but I’ve got strong hands.”

“Are you two in on this?! Why’s everyone obsessed with my underwear!”

Ryujin averted his gaze, and Shin Haebeom thought to himself. We’re in on something, alright. Something far bigger than a few pairs of underwear.

Taking advantage of Kwon Sehyuk’s hesitation, Ryujin dashed to the opposite washing machine. He flung open the drum door and stuffed in the laundry. Kwon Sehyuk screamed and lunged, but it was too late. The door closed, and the button was pressed.

“Hyung!”

With a satisfying sound, water poured in. Kwon Sehyuk, pressing his hand against the glass, groaned.

“Ugh… seriously…”

Ryujin set the empty laundry basket on the floor with a thud and brushed his hands.

“Making a fuss over nothing.”

“It’s not nothing to me!”

“Get a grip. What, is your underwear some magical pair that no one else can wash? Does its sacred power fade if someone else touches it?”

“Aaagh! Stop it! Seriously, stop!”

Kwon Sehyuk looked ready to bash his head against the washing machine. From behind, even his earlobes were red. Shin Haebeom looked at Ryujin with admiration. He’s completely got Kwon Sehyuk under his thumb.

“…”

But why won’t he even make eye contact with me?

When I’m staring this hard, you’d think he’d glance over by mistake.

Shin Haebeom crossed his arms and raised one corner of his mouth. Jung Ryujin, you’re doing this on purpose. Trying so hard to act like you don’t care? I’m dying to grab your head and turn it.

Kwon Sehyuk, pressing his forehead against the washing machine, slid down to the floor. Ryujin approached him and said.

“Others have been doing it for you anyway. What’s so embarrassing?”

“Are you the same as others?”

“What’s different?”

“You’re different, Hyung.”

Ryujin crouched on the floor. He didn’t mind the weight of Kwon Sehyuk leaning against him. It shielded him from Shin Haebeom’s piercing gaze.

The old top-loading washing machine at the <White Lion> dorm made such a racket it seemed it might crack the floor. Crew members in the room next to the balcony, where the machine was, complained they couldn’t sleep due to late-night laundry noise. Even with care, it was temporary, and all sorts of minor issues from communal living cropped up daily.

At the Disciplinary Corps, that wasn’t an issue. That made it all the more bittersweet.

Kwon Sehyuk was intently watching Ryujin’s profile, lost in thought.

“What’s on your mind?”

“Huh?”

“Is the washing machine fascinating or something?”

“No.”

Ryujin shrugged. Then Shin Haebeom interjected.

“Private Jung, can I have a word?”

Kwon Sehyuk turned around.

“Why? What do you need to talk to Ryujin Hyung about?”

“Yes. I have something to tell him regarding his family.”

Looking around the empty laundry room, Kwon Sehyuk said.

“Just talk here. No one’s listening.”

Shin Haebeom replied inwardly. No one’s listening? The biggest rat is right here.

“It’s about Private Jung’s personal matters.”

“If it’s about Ryujin Hyung’s family, I should know too.”

Shin Haebeom only smiled. His gaze was fixed on the crown of Ryujin’s bowed head. He could guess what thoughts were swirling in that small head. Fear of what might happen if he followed, suspicion that it might be a lie to trick him, but worry that it could be true and something might have happened to his aunt and uncle.

Finally, Ryujin spoke.

“You stay here.”

“Why? Hyung, I’ll go with you. If it’s about your family…”

“Who are you to butt into someone else’s family matters?”

Kwon Sehyuk’s face stiffened. Shin Haebeom was pleased with Ryujin’s rudeness. In the game of love, push and pull is key. Yesterday, he pulled; today, he pushes a little to show, “I’m not a doll you can manipulate.” Good job, our little chick.

Shin Haebeom extended a hand to Ryujin. Of course, Ryujin didn’t take it.

✶⋆.˚

Shin Yena’s gray Ferrari was a racing model. A decade-old design, it was one of only five limited-edition units produced worldwide, still considered a dream car among Ferrari enthusiasts for its rarity and exceptional performance.

Shin Yena acquired this car from Seo Ilyoung, the CEO of the toy company <Triad>, which was investigated by the Disciplinary Corps for organized crime, for the price of a cup of coffee. Seo Ilyoung, who formed a team to build political connections, attempted to launder black money through rigged auctions. Shin Yena meticulously gathered evidence of his ties to a criminal organization and handed it over to the Disciplinary Corps.

Seo Ilyoung had openly disparaged Howollu as a parasitic establishment, and Shin Yena wanted to take everything from this arrogant man who’d achieved success at a young age with clever ideas.

Shin Haebeom received a merit medal for this case. It was for his contribution to rooting out a criminal organization that threatened the royal family and shook the nation’s foundation. The award ceremony at Shinryonggwan was broadcast nationwide, and Shin Haebeom once again etched his face and name into the public’s memory.

At the time, Shin Yena was with Gi Woohee, who was off duty. At Howollu’s annex, they munched on onion snacks while rating the appearances of soldiers caught on camera. That one’s a 10, that one’s a 7. Shin Yena realized then that Gi Woohee’s taste in men was the opposite of hers.

Seo Ilyoung’s downfall was the first collaboration of <Red Tiger>. It was also the moment Shin Yena came to see Gi Woohee, whom she’d viewed with prejudice for killing her own mother, as a true colleague. That’s why this Ferrari was precious to Shin Yena. Jin Chiwoo shuddered, saying the spirit of the executed Seo Ilyoung must be clinging to the wheels, but this beloved Ferrari had never once had a minor issue.

As they left the metropolitan city, a bumpy, unpaved national road began. Fields stretched out on both sides. Vinyl greenhouses, large trees, utility poles, and ridges came into view. It was a decently scenic view. But Shin Yena rolled up the window. To put it nicely, it was the smell of nature; bluntly, it was the stench of manure.

The Ferrari wasn’t suited for long-distance driving. Accustomed to speeding on smooth pavement, it struggled on rough, uneven roads. The gleaming silver body was quickly caked in mud and sand. Shin Yena sighed inwardly, resolving to replace the tires upon returning.

After three hours of nonstop driving, they arrived.

Hampung 2-do.

Eunha was still amazed that Jung Sunghyun lived here. But Shin Yena didn’t find it particularly surprising. Life was so harsh that he likely couldn’t even consider leaving his hometown. Perhaps he didn’t even have the freedom to relocate. Jung Sunghyun had a wife to care for.

Jung Sunghyun, a courier deliveryman, said his waiting spot was in front of the station. The station area wasn’t bustling. It was a place that could have been thriving but had “stopped” midway. There were many half-built structures and completed buildings abandoned without purpose, making Shin Yena reluctant to wander alone while also feeling a sense of regret. Economic development had been so close.

Jung Sunghyun said he didn’t have fixed working hours. That meant working from the moment he woke up until just before bed, with only minimal breaks for meals or bathroom visits. But it wasn’t out of passion for his job. To Shin Yena, Jung Sunghyun seemed like someone who worked relentlessly, quietly sinking, without time to look around. Like most low-income workers.

Shin Haebeom had said he came to the Disciplinary Corps dressed in a suit. Of course, that was a carefully chosen outfit. Working outdoors in the summer, Jung Sunghyun wore worn jeans and a stretched-out T-shirt, sweating profusely. As he entered the family restaurant, the meeting spot, all eyes turned to him.

A man sitting near the entrance pulled his chair closer to the table. He seemed afraid of something. Of what? The smell and dust. The unmistakable traces of poverty.

Jung Sunghyun knew it too. His hesitation to step inside was telling. Shin Yena sighed and lightly raised a hand.

“Mr. Jung Sunghyun?”

She felt the stares. The gazes of people fixed on her. They had been subtly lingering since she entered and took her seat.

Shin Yena stiffened her neck. Stare all you want. The more you look, the stronger I get.

Before shaking hands, Shin Yena saw Jung Sunghyun wipe his palm on his worn jeans. His rough, calloused palm was full of hard skin. He wasn’t related to Ryujin by blood, but up close, their aura was strikingly similar. Both seemed so fragile, as if they could collapse at any moment.

Shin Yena gripped his hand firmly, shook it, and smiled broadly. It was the practiced hospitality smile honed at Howollu.

“I’m Shin Yena, the one who called.”

Jung Sunghyun seemed unsure of what to do. He kept trying to pull his hand away, uncomfortable with Shin Yena holding it.

“I’ve heard a lot about you from the boss. Please, sit.”

Jung Sunghyun, who had been standing awkwardly, sat down. Shin Yena pulled a white envelope from her black handbag. The thick, soft material with gold trim was quite substantial.

Jung Sunghyun blinked.

“What’s this?”

“Ryujin’s unpaid wages.”

“He worked there too?”

“He was briefly at a place before the Disciplinary Corps. We tried to give it to him, but he left in a hurry, and he wouldn’t accept it.”

“There’s probably a reason he didn’t take it.”

“Howollu operates with Shinryonggwan’s permission. I’m an owner who complies with labor laws and respects workers’ rights. Ryujin worked diligently, even for a short time, and I’m saying he deserves this payment.”

“Then give it to him directly.”

“Ryujin designated Ms. Park Jinah as his proxy. But as you know, Ms. Park Jinah is…”

Shin Yena placed a document and a sapphire fountain pen next to the envelope.

“Since we can’t contact Ms. Park Jinah, this is a proxy receipt. Just sign here.”

“…”

“Is there a problem?”

Jung Sunghyun was staring at the floor, head bowed.

“Is Ryujin… doing okay?”

Shin Yena gave a prepared response.

“I heard he’s busy adjusting to military life.”

Jung Sunghyun fell silent. For a long time, he looked only at the floor. Growing impatient, Shin Yena spoke.

“As I mentioned on the phone, I have something to ask. It won’t take long, so will you hear me out?”

“It’s better than being summoned there again.”

Shin Haebeom, who prided himself on treating guests well, would be hurt to hear that. Shin Yena gave a bitter smile and flicked imaginary dust off the white tablecloth with her finger.

“It’s a place that makes you feel intimidated even if you’re innocent. I understand.”

“So, what you wanted to discuss…”

“Before I ask, let me say this. Mr. Jung Sunghyun, from now on, my words are a message from Brigadier General Shin Haebeom of the Disciplinary Corps. I’ll relay your answers to him word for word. In other words, I’m sitting here as Brigadier General Shin Haebeom’s proxy. You understand what that means, right?”

Lie, and you’re shot. Refuse to answer, and you’re shot. Realizing the implication, Jung Sunghyun’s face hardened.

Shin Yena took a sip of cold water. The ice in the glass clinked. A small voice slipped from Jung Sunghyun’s chapped lips.

“Yes…”

Despite the air conditioning making the room feel like the Arctic, Jung Sunghyun kept wiping sweat from his forehead and temples with the back of his hand. His nervousness was obvious.

Shin Yena placed her interlocked hands on the table.

“Mr. Jung Sunghyun, do you know anything about the belongings of the late Ryu Yeonbi?”

“I don’t. She never told me.”

“Didn’t you look for them when her hometown house burned down?”

“It… it wasn’t a situation where I could.”

Jung Sunghyun suddenly looked up.

“We had a hard time too. We were overwhelmed with various things, and just surviving day to day was tough.”

His voice was unexpectedly defiant.

“It was a mess. You couldn’t imagine, ma’am. My mother-in-law passed away like that, my wife was half out of her mind. And Yeonwoo, no, Ryujin, that kid…”

Jung Sunghyun couldn’t continue and lowered his head. But the next moment, the man who’d seemed like a listless deer raised his head, showing hostility toward Shin Yena, toward the world.

“People like you don’t understand. What our life is like. The scorn from others, the poverty clinging to us, the relentless misfortunes… Want me to be honest? I think my wife went crazy because of Ryujin, that kid. If he’d been a bit more cautious, if he hadn’t hung out with delinquents, that incident wouldn’t have happened.”

“…”

“We wouldn’t have had to kneel before criminals, wouldn’t have lost our tiny house and ended up on the street. My wife was anxious since her mother’s death, but she completely broke down after Ryujin’s incident.”

Jung Sunghyun took a deep breath.

“I know why you’re making that face. You think I’m despicable. I enjoyed the benefits through my nephew and now I’m complaining, right? I know. I admit it. But that doesn’t make our current suffering any less.”

“…”

“Ryujin doesn’t want the money. I don’t want to see him. He abandoned us. He ran away like a coward.”

“Do you really think that?”

Jung Sunghyun’s voice grew heated.

“My wife waited for Ryujin. She hoped he’d come back. Even in her unstable state, she looked for her nephew. But now… we’re exhausted. My wife won’t leave the facility. I’m barely hanging on, living day to day.”

“Ryujin wants to help you financially.”

“I don’t need it. If I take it, who knows what trouble it’ll bring.”

“Even just for Ms. Park Jinah’s hospital bills…”

“I said I don’t need it!”

“You won’t regret it?”

“I won’t.”

Jung Sunghyun kicked back his chair and stood.

“If we’re done, I’m leaving.”

“We’re not done. Sit.”

Jung Sunghyun pursed his lips but sat back down obediently.

Shin Yena smirked. Crossing her legs, she put a cigarette in her mouth. Noting that the Dupont lighter sounded particularly clear today, she spoke.

“Mr. Jung Sunghyun.”

He didn’t respond, keeping his head bowed in silence. Shin Yena’s eyelids blinked slowly as she looked at him. The cigarette tasted bitter. It wasn’t just from the fatigue of the long drive.

The ordered coffee arrived. Neither touched their cups. Exhaling cigarette smoke, Shin Yena looked straight into Jung Sunghyun’s eyes.

“Mr. Jung Sunghyun, Ryujin wasn’t reported as a runaway.”

“That’s because we… we were overwhelmed with things… and, I hate to say it, but Ryujin wasn’t exactly a problem-free kid.”

“What kind of problems?”

“He never adjusted to school, even before.”

“Why was that?”

Jung Sunghyun asked back, incredulous.

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

Shin Yena replied calmly.

“Ryujin’s school records are colorful. He transferred multiple times.”

“He caused trouble everywhere he went. I got a call once because he fought with a classmate on his first day at a new school. I know it wasn’t just his fault. He said kids kept picking on him even when he did nothing. But if he can’t even endure that, how’s he supposed to function as a person?”

Jung Sunghyun brought up Gwak Hyeonwoo’s name, comparing him to Ryujin. Both lost family and faced hardship. Yet one maintained excellent grades and went to college, while the other became an outsider and a burden.

“So?”

“What?”

“Mr. Jung Sunghyun, let’s just be honest.”

Shin Yena deftly flicked the cigarette ash.

“A kid went missing. Given the circumstances, it’s clearly a runaway, not a kidnapping. It’s common for guardians not to report runaways. Usually for these reasons: the kid has a history of running away and returning, so the police tell them to wait and don’t accept the report. Or they don’t want to stir up the neighborhood, so they stay home quietly waiting.”

“…”

“But from what I see, Mr. Jung Sunghyun, it’s neither of those.”

Winking with one eye, Shin Yena’s face bore a resemblance to Shin Haebeom’s.

“The worst reason for not reporting a runaway is when the guardian doesn’t want to find the kid.”

“…”

“You’re not denying it.”

“Is that a crime?”

Shin Yena smiled.

“It’s not a crime. Legally.”

This was a country where juvenile protection laws no longer existed. Even those under twenty had no mandatory guardians. Support was an individual choice, and the state respected that choice. It sounded like communal freedom, but in reality, it was just a deranged dictator’s thuggery, exploiting the ignorance and innocence of minors without restraint.

Shin Yena answered curtly.

“Have you heard of neglect or abandonment?”

“The world’s only harsh to people like me. I just didn’t look for him.”

Just didn’t look for him…

What an irresponsible human.

Shin Yena blinked. It was fortunate Shin Haebeom wasn’t here. He wouldn’t throw punches in a crowded restaurant, but knocking a motorcycle deliveryman off the road would be nothing to him.

“So that’s what you thought. That you didn’t abandon the kid.”

“…”

“That’s how you justified it.”

Jung Sunghyun didn’t respond, but Shin Yena already knew his answer.

Ryujin was abandoned. Scolded, burdened with debt, beaten, assaulted, and left completely alone without anyone’s protection.

She understood why Ryujin clung to Ha Seongrok. He was a savior. The only person who needed Ryujin when even his last remaining kin didn’t want him.

Ryujin needed a place to go. A home to sleep in and meals to fill his stomach. Ha Seongrok went further, forgiving a massive debt Ryujin could never repay in his lifetime.

Shin Yena’s eyelids blinked. The way Ha Seongrok lured Jung Ryujin was identical to how he’d deceived Shin Haebeom in the past. A thief posing as a savior.

And part of the blame lay with Jung Sunghyun, the man sitting before Shin Yena. Of course, she couldn’t reveal such thoughts, so she spoke in a gentle voice.

“Mr. Jung Sunghyun, it’s okay. I’m not blaming you.”

“…”

“It’s been a long time. You can be honest now. You hoped Ryujin wouldn’t come back, didn’t you? That’s why you sent Ms. Park Jinah to a facility, right? If he returned and saw his aunt wasn’t there, he’s old enough to fend for himself, so he wouldn’t cling to a complete stranger like you. That was your calculation, wasn’t it?”

Jung Sunghyun remained silent. Shin Yena nodded. Many people used silence to affirm what they didn’t want to admit.

A disheveled chair, a spilled teacup, black coffee staining the white tablecloth. Shin Yena looked at the spot Jung Sunghyun had stormed out of. The timid man fled, heedless of the stares. He was in such a hurry…

Shin Yena picked up the envelope of money he’d thrown at her face. Ryujin would feel so guilty he’d want to die if he knew. Still, being hit with money didn’t feel too bad.

Shin Yena smiled at the waitress approaching with a towel.

“It’s fine. Sorry for the commotion.”

Shin Yena stood. She pulled two bills from her wallet and handed them to the waitress. The young waitress, unfamiliar with tipping culture, widened her eyes.

In the Ferrari, Shin Yena took out an old phone. The voice of her only remaining kin was, as always, grating.

— Yeah, it’s me.

“I met Mr. Jung Sunghyun.”

— Settled the payment issue?

“He refused it outright, so I had no choice.”

Shin Haebeom chuckled.

— Acting proud when he’s got nothing.

“He was very guarded. You’d think I came to collect money, not give it. Know why?”

— Ryu Yeonbi’s debt was pretty complicated. It’s clear Kwon tried to bury it, but I don’t know the details yet. Did you ask about Ryu Yeonbi’s belongings?

“He didn’t know anything. It didn’t sound like a lie… but who knows. Ryujin said his grandmother died in that house. Seems that’s weighing on him.”

— Not just a simple stalker.

“Smells fishy, doesn’t it?”

— It’s Kwon’s doing. To let the family access Ryu Yeonbi’s account. If there’s a cash withdrawal record, it can be deemed simple approval. Then Jung Ryujin would legally inherit all of Ryu Yeonbi’s assets. Including debts far exceeding her entire estate.

“They were trying to pin economic crimes on Ryujin?”

Shin Yena bit her nail. Shin Haebeom’s voice on the phone was calm.

— Jung Ryujin would’ve gone to prison.

“Even with mitigating circumstances?”