KTSR | Chapter 5

― Ahh!

Seon Ijin was forcibly bent by a strong force as he was dragged away. Forced to kneel, Ijin was beaten for days. The carefully timed and executed beatings were akin to torture.

Despite the strange atmosphere surrounding him, Ijin didn’t care. He believed as long as he and Clover did well, that’s all that mattered. Was that the problem? Was he too arrogant? Was this why he was dragged into a bigger shadow under collective responsibility? If ignoring the incomprehensible advice and bizarre feelings from those around him was coming back to haunt him like this, it only made him sadder and unbearably angry. In the end, everything was deemed his fault.

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To avoid going mad, Ijin constantly questioned himself.

How could the people he trusted, who took pride in their professions, throw away their lives in such a filthy, shameful, and cowardly manner? And how could they drag Ijin into their messed-up lives? Was it because Ijin, who lived with his grandmother, was practically an orphan? Was it because it was easy since his grandmother was in a nursing home and Ijin was too busy visiting her on his days off? Did they think so little of Ijin’s pride as a jockey because it was shallow and materialistic? Did they even know how desperately Ijin wished to die knowing he could never race as a jockey again?

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The fall was simple. Numerous questions arose, but not a single one served as a hook to save Ijin.

Once pushed, his life gained momentum and spiraled endlessly downward. Everything, including his grandmother’s whereabouts and even the ownership of the horse that he had transitioned along with the stables, was exposed. With no hooks to hold onto, Ijin had to endure somehow.

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― Make your decision.

That was when Ijin first met the Boss.

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That day… the last of those hellish four days.

A day he didn’t want to remember… a time when he couldn’t distinguish night from day, the Boss sat down with his legs wide apart in front of Ijin, who lay sprawled out, and arrogantly told him to decide.

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His body was swollen, and his mind wasn’t working. Why? How? He had stopped asking such questions a long time ago. His constant self-consultations had ended. Ijin no longer wanted to be sane; he simply asked nothing.

― Will you run as our jockey, or will you be completely stripped of everything?

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― Ma, Ma…

His mouth was so swollen that it was hard to speak. It took a moment to understand that Ijin was trying to ask, “What about the horse?”

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― It’s ours now.

It was the horse Ijin had scrimped and saved for, not buying clothes or proper food, hoping to retire together with this beloved, though not famous, horse that was smart and ran well, and with whom he had bonded.

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― Your organs alone won’t cover the costs, so we’ll use the horse too, from its skin to its bone marrow.

Ijin cried his eyes out. He was such a mess that not even tear stains showed.

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He signed with a thumbprint, ink not required.

That day, Ijin received medical treatment. He was in a single room. All the medical and hospital fees were added to Ijin’s debt. Those bastards were utterly vicious.

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― From today, you’ll run as our horse, Seon Ijin. Get along well.

The other jockeys Ijin met here were all different ages. There were those of a similar age due to a recent major race-fixing scandal, but they avoided each other’s gaze.

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Get along well? How could they?

Gangsters with nothing in their heads spouted pretentious culture. True to the tacky name of ‘Colosseum Racing’, if jockeys fell out of the top ranks too many times, they disappeared and then returned. Some ran like mad, shaking with foam at the mouth before collapsing, never to ride again.

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The roster kept filling up. Even debt-free jockeys came, hoping for a big score. They either made their money and left or lost everything and remained.

Sometimes there were even those still learning, not yet qualified as jockeys.

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Ultimately, skill didn’t matter. What mattered was providing sensational entertainment.

Seon Ijin had consistently been in the top three, and now, if he won just ninety-eight more races, he would be free.

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Ninety-eight more times.

It wasn’t even a joke.

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Ninety-eight times… Ijin stared at the wall. He began counting the marks he had made, but they seemed to rise and dance, so he punched the wall. Due to the thin wall, the jockey in the next room punched back.

“That crazy fuck! Making a racket every night!”

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Ijin fell back to sleep using the returning insults as a lullaby.

***

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Ijin woke up to the sound of a rooster crowing.

Damn rooster.

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Not only was there an illegal race track, but there was also a cockfighting arena. Ijin had heard that the roosters were fed chili water to enhance their aggression. When he first heard there was a cockfighting arena, Ijin, who loved animals more than people, felt his heart rip apart. Now, it didn’t bother him. Probably because surviving each day was hard enough as it was.

“That fucker, someday I’m going to make soup out of him.”

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Gaeko, unusually alert for someone so sleepy, was grumbling. True to his name, Gaeko had a knack for catching anyone who tried to escape. His eyes were slit long, his front teeth gapped. And he always grinned when he saw Seon Ijin.

Sure enough, even while grumbling, he grinned upon seeing Ijin.

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“Ah, our Colosseum’s darling. Did you sleep well?”

Ijin didn’t respond.

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Besides the communal showers, there was also an outdoor washing area. Ijin finished brushing his teeth and washing his face there, his face tightening from the cold water.

“Got beaten up yesterday, huh? I lost all my money betting on whether you’d remain a jockey or start entertaining guests in two weeks. Where did I place my bets? By the way, your ass is so firm it must grip really well.”

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Gaeko leered disgustingly as he groped Ijin’s buttocks. Rumor had it Gaeko had missed his thigh once and castrated himself. Yet, he couldn’t let go of groping Ijin.

Ijin swatted his hand away with a towel without touching him. Gaeko laughed, amused. Ijin felt nauseous. He replied distantly.

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“Haven’t tried squeezing, so I wouldn’t know. And maybe teach your lackeys to wash better instead. They stink like hell…”

Gaeko was impressed anew, though he knew Ijin’s way of speaking well.

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Two years of stomping on him and he still hadn’t broken, as the agents said—his audacity was unspeakable.

Gaeko didn’t hide his displeasure. His cheeks twitched, then he dropped the joking tone and snapped.

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“Kid. You keep up that shit, one day you’ll get your tongue cut out and teeth pulled. You know? All we need to know is how to run. And we don’t need mouths for riding.”

“…….”

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“Seon Ijin, there’s a limit to how much we can overlook your nonsense. Don’t think we’ll keep letting it slide because you’re cute.”

The whistling sound of breath passed between Gaeko’s smirking lips, but his pride seemed to have taken a hit as his laughter was strained.

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A pretense he had never given.

Ijin bit the inside of his cheek. Soon, Gaeko whistled as he walked away. Ijin buried his face in the towel and sighed painfully. The tension eased like a body ache.

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It always felt like walking a tightrope, never knowing when he might fall onto a blade.

“Shut it, damn temper.”

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Ijin muttered to himself. He knew too well how dangerous his quick temper was, but he couldn’t hold it back. It was as if his self-control had been completely stripped away.

“I might really mess up at this rate.”

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Then he burst into laughter. He was always causing trouble. Ijin chuckled, then quickly his face fell again. He looked so pathetic.

If he didn’t want his life to get any more screwed up, he had no choice but to run well. Each jockey’s practice time was set for one hour per day. The most popular time, from three to five, was reserved for the top three. Having come in fourth this time, Ijin had barely secured a very early slot.

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Ijin limped into the race track and picked up a rake and a bag. Since race track cleaning time before and after practice was included, he had to make the most of his time.

“No need to waste time on that crap.”

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Ijin started sweeping the race track, cleaning just enough to be able to run. He coaxed and calmed Clover, but even today, Clover seemed out of sorts. Instead of spending time running, he ended up gasping for air trying to calm Clover. As Ijin left the race track, Bbang came over and handed him a fistful of rice mixed with seasoned seaweed and stir-fried anchovies.

By then, any thoughts of the new executive director that Bbang had mentioned had completely vanished from Ijin’s mind. Bbang didn’t bring it up again.

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