KTSR | Chapter 14

The television was playing some cheap porn, but the lackeys were sitting like they were on pins and needles, their eyes fixed on the screen in an uncomfortable pose.

It was clearly different from usual. There was an eerie silence, like they had placed wax figures instead of people, and it was squeezing the breath out of Ijin. It was the first time he had seen those loud-mouthed bastards so quiet. They were… tense.

“……”

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The reason for this atmosphere was surely the man flipping through a magazine over there. What the hell was he doing here with these small-time punks on night duty? If they had nothing to do, they should go to a motel room or to some flashy house in Seoul.

Ijin couldn’t understand why this man was here, acting like some executive director.

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“What are you doing? Come and write it down.”

The man, with his eyes still on the thin magazine pages, spoke in a disinterested tone.

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Since there was no one else to fill out the ledger, that was probably meant for him. Ijin dragged his reluctant feet forward.

Ijin opened the entrance log and found the page with his name on it.

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“Why were you late?”

As he carefully wrote down ‘Seon, I, Jin,’ he didn’t know why his hand was shaking so much. When he tried to write the time he arrived in the remarks section, he was scared to look up to check the time.

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“7:15.”

“……”

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“I gave you a five-minute discount.”

Without lifting his head, only rolling his eyes, Ijin saw a copy of ‘Sunday Magazine’ placed down with a ‘thud.’ It seemed like it was one of the old issues lying around here.

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“Why were you late?”

He heard the sound of a lighter, and with a ‘hmm,’ the cigarette smoke sank down heavily.

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“……”

“I asked twice. Let’s see if you make me ask again.”

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“…I dozed off.”

The man sighed deeply, stubbing out his cigarette. Now, there were burn marks on the plywood desk, already covered with various stains.

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“The debt collector might have run away or be hiding somewhere, and these kids here to watch over it are just playing with their dicks over some stupid porn.”

The magazine was picked up again, hitting the desk with a ‘thud, thud,’ the sound growing louder each time.

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“You’ve been treated specially, haven’t you? You’ve never met guys who would beat you even if you passed out, have you? Right, Ijin?”

His name spoken by the man felt strangely unfamiliar, slithering out like a snake. Ijin barely suppressed a shiver, wrote down the time, and stood up straight.

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“You’ve been beaten a lot; it’s worth it. Look. This is how you stand, you bastards. Come here.”

Ijin only realized later that the man’s cheerful tone was mixed with curses.

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While the artificial moans from the porn reached a climax, the atmosphere inside the container was tense.

The lackeys lined up in front of Ijin. If he looked up, he could see all their faces. The tension was palpable.

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The man was wearing rings that weren’t there during the day. Where he got those vulgar rings from, one couldn’t tell; there was a thick one with a snake coiled around the finger, and another wide one with a green gem, whether it was real gold or just plated. Putting those aside on the desk, the man hummed.

“Clench your teeth. If they fall out, you’ll suffer when you’re old. Pick up the teeth that fall out and put them in cold water. They might be able to reattach them later.”

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The lackeys closed their eyes tightly at his words.

Ijin had been hit countless times and had seen others get hit just as much. He was almost numb to violence.

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“If your teeth fall out, pick them up yourself. Take them to the doctor in cold water, and they’ll get them back in for you.”

However, the man’s action of hanging his leather jacket neatly over the sofa instilled the same fear Ijin felt when he first witnessed violence.

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The man could choke you without exaggerating the fear. He slapped the face of the first lackey standing before him, unprepared.

“……!”

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Ijin almost screamed.

The sound was so loud that it seemed like a game when he got slapped. It was like a small car accident. The rather large body collapsed to the side, coughing up blood onto the floor.

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When he hit him, he was going easy.

“You all seemed to have lived too comfortably, being stuck out here in the boonies.”

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The man looked like he was having fun, like he was watching his bet horse cross the finish line in first place.

Ijin could feel the remaining four lackeys trembling. After the second slap, even Ijin, who was used to violence, turned away.

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“Number 13, look up.”

Number 13 was the number Ijin had been given when he first arrived.

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“You should watch closely. Who’s making you take this beating?”

The man knew Ijin was avoiding his gaze without even looking back.

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That bastard is like an animal.

Ijin shivered.

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“If you don’t get up right after falling, the next one is the foot.”

It was terrifying how he could enjoy beating people without losing himself to violence.

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Whether you were a team leader or a lackey, when you beat someone, you usually get lost in the violence, but this man was just doing what needed to be done. He wouldn’t do housework with that kind of indifference.

When the fifth guy fell, the other four were still standing, though wobbling, showing how much they didn’t want to be hit anymore.

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“Let’s do our job properly. I want to get out of here quickly too. The smell of horse shit here is too much.”

The man walked leisurely between Ijin and the five lackeys, leaning against the desk, one leg crossed over the other, putting on his rings one by one.

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Was it over? Ijin shivered, expecting to be the sixth one to be hit. He felt the resentful looks from the lackeys, ‘Because of this bastard, we’re in this mess.’

“…You’re not going to hit me?”

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Ijin finally asked, preferring a busted mouth over this slow strangulation.

“No. That’s enough.”

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But the man answered without even looking at him.

“Skip breakfast and lunch tomorrow.”

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That was it?

“What are you doing? Not going out?”

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Ijin turned his head at the man’s cold, emotionless gaze.

He met the eyes of the lackeys, their looks saying they would tear him apart right now.

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Bastard!

Ijin realized. The man knew their anger would be directed at him when things turned out this way. He was cunningly smart.

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[Haang, aang, aang! Ahng!]

The porn sounds filled the container as it reached its climax.

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“I’m sick of it. Turn it off.”

At the man’s word, the first guy to be hit, still staggering, went to the television. The video tape was forcibly ejected, and the sound stopped.

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Ijin finally moved his feet. The man was back to flipping through his porn magazine. The revenge from those bastards made his steps heavier. From behind, he heard the man say, “Buy some new magazines and ventilate this place. Do I have to smell horse shit and your dicks in my old age?”

That night, Ijin got beaten in his room. The room was a mess. In this place, tightly bound by hierarchy, even lackeys without titles had set bedtimes and wake-up times. They tried to use their time well before bedtime, but not being experts yet, they couldn’t beat Ijin thoroughly.

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“Fuck you, you’ve already sucked that executive director’s dick, haven’t you? Did you see this rag of a man? How did you hold back until now with your ass wagging like that?”

Ijin curled up, protecting his face with his arms, enduring the unskilled kicks.

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“If you were going to give it up so easily, why act all high and mighty, you fuck? You think I’m a joke? This bastard… picking and choosing?”

By this point, Ijin was confused whether they were mad because they got hit because of him or because he hadn’t given it up.

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“Hey, hey, stop it. We have to go.”

The pig who had broken into Ijin’s room first, now tired, was wiping sweat with his clothes. He must be the highest-ranking jockey among them, strutting around with a more civilized tone than usual, clearly mimicking someone. That man had become their ideal.

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“Fuck… that executive director is just a few years older than us. Just because he has a title, he thinks he’s all that?”

“Who knows if the rumors about him are true. He could have spread them himself. There’s no fight in his eyes. Looks like a damn magpie.”

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Running out of steam, the guys who had been beating Ijin lit cigarettes for each other, gossiping. Despite collapsing after just one hit, they were talking about his lack of fighting spirit or fists.

As their anger subsided, turning into mocking laughter, Ijin was still crouched, unable to get up from a bad hit to his back.

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“What’s this? Do you read books, too?”

With five uninvited guests, Ijin’s room was so cramped it was hard to stand properly. One of them, bored, put a cigarette in his mouth and started rummaging through Ijin’s room, eventually sitting on him like he was a chair.

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“Ugh…!”

His back stiffened.

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“Stay still. Unless you want to be a cripple.”

Laughing, he hit Ijin’s head with a thick novel. It stung.

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“Hey, we really need to go. It’s time.”

“Fuck… it’s like being back in high school. This isn’t even the army.”

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“He said we could drive foreign cars after graduation…”

Ijin had to listen to their pointless chatter while in pain.

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There was even one with acne, most of them having been lured by obviously hollow promises when they were delinquents in high school. Promises of foreign cars, luxury clothes, women – it was clear how low their standards were to fall for such obvious scams.

They might have strutted around in their neighborhood, but here they were just lackeys, their inferiority complex ready to burst, always aiming their sharp, pointed dicks at Ijin.

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“Hey, move.”

The highest-ranking jockey pushed the pig off Ijin. Knowing they had to leave, they lined up in the hallway.

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“Seon Ijin.”

A kid three years younger than Ijin blew cigarette smoke into his face while calling his name.

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“Did you really suck that executive director’s dick?”