KTSR | Chapter 35

“Do you hate it that much? Others love it when I do this.”

“Then go play with those who love it… It’s so disgusting I can’t even associate with you.”

The thought of how thick his tongue was and how big his mouth was made Ijin feel like he was being swallowed—and it wasn’t a pleasant feeling.

He rubbed his lips roughly with the back of his hand.

Hyeongdo smacked his lips, as if he still had lingering feelings for Ijin’s lips. A metallic glint shone from the tongue he ran over them.

Just seeing that made Ijin feel an uncomfortable urge to pee, so he turned his head sharply.

“You’re so picky… I’d love to play more, but I’m too busy. Clean up a bit and get to work. No one appreciates it anyway.”

Hyeongdo gave Ijin’s chest one last squeeze before abruptly turning away.

It wasn’t until Hyeongdo had left, leaving Ijin shivering in the cold wind, that he finally came to his senses.

“Bastard!”

The curse, which Hyeongdo called a cliché, echoed emptily through the office.

***

Kwon Hyeongdo left the office and stopped by the minions’ break room before heading to Trevi.

The sudden appearance of a senior made everyone jump up and bow at a 90-degree angle, but none of them had bite marks on their faces.

Pinching his nose against the musty smell, Kwon Hyeongdo asked.

“Where’s the guy with the bite mark on his cheek?”

“Oh… If you’re talking about Yonggwang sunbae, he’ll be back in the evening.”

“Got it. And you guys, try to ventilate this place. It smells like a bunch of guys in here.”

Kwon Hyeongdo repeated what Ijin had said and left the break room.

He drove to the Dandelion Inn, where a “No Vacancy” sign hung at the entrance, and began knocking on each door.

He passed by men hastily pulling on their underwear while cursing and others who stormed out naked, also cursing.

Soon, he found the guy with the bite mark—his eyes bleary and unfocused.

“What the…”

“Why. Are you looking for some bastard too?”

After confirming the face, Kwon Hyeongdo pulled out his wallet and rummaged through it.

As he exhaled a stream of cigarette smoke, the guy’s eyes finally focused, and he bowed deeply.

“Ex, ex, executive director! Thank you for your hard work!”

“Yeah. You’re working hard too, it seems.”

Kwon Hyeongdo frowned at the stench wafting from the room. It wasn’t just the usual smell of a bachelor—there was something else mixed in.

He couldn’t quite distinguish it over the reek of rotting food, but if his nose was right, it was weed.

Without a word, Kwon Hyeongdo pulled ten 10,000-won bills from his wallet and shoved them into the guy’s chest.

The man, still dazed, habitually counted the money before snapping to his senses and bowing again.

“Thank you!”

“While you’re on duty tonight, order some fried chicken with the guys. I heard there’s a good place in town.”

“Oh, yes. I know it. I’ve ordered from there a few times with the juniors, right?”

“I don’t know where you’ve ordered from a few times.”

Kwon Hyeongdo chuckled, clearly in a great mood.

Seon Ijin’s cheeky little theft was amusing, and it seemed like it would lead to some entertaining fishing.

For once, Kwon Hyeongdo decided to indulge in a bit of fishing—something unusual for him.

“Order it, and if there’s any change left, give it to Seon Ijin. I’ll check.”

“…Seon Ijin, you mean?”

Pyeon Yonggwang’s face crumpled at the mention of that bastard—the one already rumored to be the executive director’s personal plaything. Just hearing the name made his cheek sting.

Noting the man’s inability to mask his expression, Kwon Hyeongdo tapped his own cheek.

“How is it?”

The guy, now more often called Ippal than Pyeon Yonggwang, didn’t understand Kwon Hyeongdo’s actions and answered in a dazed voice.

“Yes, yes? Oh, it’s, it’s cute.”

Kwon Hyeongdo didn’t tolerate nonsense. Nonsense was only cute when a pretty person said it.

He lightly slapped the cheek with the bite mark, sending not just the guy’s head but his entire upper body twisting to the side. Only then did he seem to come to his senses—standing stiffly with his chin up, clad in trunks that looked like they hadn’t been washed in ages.

“I asked how the bite mark is, not some nonsense.”

“Oh, it’s, it’s fine!”

Fine, my ass. The scar was a nightmare.

Ippal thought his face, which already didn’t park well, had been completely ruined by Seon Ijin’s antics—like a traffic jam on his skin. Compared to his original appearance, though, Seon Ijin’s bite mark wasn’t even a flaw.

However, Kwon Hyeongdo didn’t like it.

He had a bite mark left by Seon Ijin on his shoulder too. It would fade over time, and even if it scarred, he didn’t mind. He had never cared about scars on his own body.

But he hated the idea of the same mark being left on someone else.

“If you need it, come to me for treatment. I know some plastic surgeons in Gangnam. They’re a bit underground, but they’re good.”

Kwon Hyeongdo made the offer kindly, exhaling smoke as he shifted the cigarette to his hand.

Ippal only heard “Gangnam,” conveniently ignoring the part about being underground. He was drooling.

The temptation was real—fix his cheek, maybe even raise his nose, which he considered a slight flaw.

“Anyway, enjoy your meal. What did I say to do with the change?”

“Give it to Seon Ijin.”

“Yeah. I’ll check.”

Kwon Hyeongdo turned away with a gentle tone uncharacteristic of a gangster.

Unaware of how things were unfolding, Pyeon Yonggwang felt buoyant with the 100,000 won in his hand and the mention of a Gangnam doctor. Even the executive director had come to see him personally.

Could it be that he would catch the executive director’s eye and move up when he left this rural place?

Empty dreams filled him like a balloon.

Ippal scratched his heavy groin, then spread the 100,000 won like a fan, burying his nose in it and inhaling deeply.

“My mom dreamed of a pig when I was born.”

He chuckled and slammed the door shut.

***

Whether it was from spending too long in the cold office or from rolling around with Kwon Hyeongdo, Seon Ijin could feel the symptoms of a cold creeping up.

Now, he was shivering beneath a pile of blankets he had pulled over himself.

As the clock passed midnight and crept into the early hours, Ijin’s pain worsened, his teeth chattering uncontrollably.

Just then, his door swung open.

Due to potential concerns like suicide, the doors of the jockey dormitory couldn’t be locked.

“Hey. Come out.”

A young thug, reeking of alcohol, burped and called out to Ijin.

Ijin poked his head out from the large pile of blankets.

“It’s nighttime. If you have something to say, do it tomorrow. Get lost.”

“Kid, I’m doing this for your own good. If I tell you to come out, just come out. You talk too damn much.”

It seemed like he was the one talking more.

Ijin didn’t have the energy to argue, so he rolled out of bed.

The young thug was already quite drunk—or maybe it was Ijin’s vision that was swaying.

The place he was dragged to was the break room, and as soon as the door opened, a thick cloud of cigarette smoke and the distinctive scent of a gas heater wafted out.

“Why did you call me?”

Ijin asked in a drained voice.

Pyeon Yonggwang sat at the center of a table piled high with chicken feet, fried chicken, and seasoned chicken, his legs spread wide.

The way he smoked his cigarette reminded Ijin of Kwon Hyeongdo—especially the way he held it between his middle and ring fingers.

“Hey. How much have you been fooling around with the executive director?”

Ippal asked, twitching his cheek, still marked with teeth prints. He soon let out a hissing sound, clenching his fist before slamming it into his open palm.

“Your backdoor isn’t worn out, right? How big is the executive director? Is he really big? How much does he give you for fun money? When are we getting some?”

“Why was I called?”

Ijin asked, looking drained. He felt even more exhausted, still dressed in the same clothes he had thrown himself onto the bed in, too worn out from his cold symptoms to bother changing.

“The executive director said you could have the change if there’s any left. So I spent a bit sparingly.”

Ippal rummaged through his pocket and pulled out his fist. Upon closer inspection, his thumb was peeking out between his clenched index and middle fingers.

As he flicked the tip of his thumb vulgarly, the surrounding young thugs burst into uproarious laughter.

Ijin watched the display and sneered internally, his sluggish mind barely keeping up.

“Are you showing me your little thing? It’s bigger than I thought.”

“You damn bitch…”

Ippal’s face flushed red in an instant, and he spat phlegm into an ashtray. The sound was disgustingly filthy.

“Keep the change for yourself…”

Ijin didn’t have the energy to argue and was about to turn away.

“Hey. Wait. I said take it. They said they’d check.”

But this time, Ippal really took out the change and tossed it to him.

A 500 won coin and three 100 won coins rolled over and stopped at Ijin’s feet.

“……”

Ijin stared blankly at the few coins.

“Your pride’s too hurt to take it, huh?”

Ippal sneered. Contrary to his expectations, Ijin picked them up and put them in his pocket.

“Thanks. I guess I’ll have to pay off some debt with this. Since the executive director gave it, maybe they’ll add two more balls? Or if they back me up, maybe three. They really like me.”

Ijin’s mouth moved on its own. He seemed drunk.

“You guys just drooled like dogs, but that person ate it right away, so you must be pissed. Kwon Hyeongdo’s thing is really damn big.”

Ijin pulled his hand out of his pocket and spread his arms wide, flailing them. His voice stretched lazily as he said, “This much…”

However, the thugs—momentarily provoked—weren’t focused on his arms.

Their attention locked onto the plastic bag that had slipped out when Ijin pulled his hand free.

Pyeon Yonggwang squinted his already small eyes even further and stood up.