KTSR | Chapter 8

After the somber tone, there came a sound of excitement as if recounting heroic tales.

“Then we…”

“If this gets resolved and big money starts coming in again, we survive. If not…”

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The team leader drew his thumb across his throat.

“Either we get our fingers cut off and buried at sea or climb back up from being goons.”

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“…”

“Hey, Seon Ijin.”

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As Kkeobi’s face darkened, the team leader now called out to Ijin.

“Yes.”

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“You did well with your sweet smile, didn’t you?”

At those words, Kkeobi turned around with a smirk. Ijin didn’t answer. If he lied saying he did well with a sweet smile, Kkeobi would immediately expose the lie, and he’d get beaten even more.

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“Never mind. Why am I even asking?”

The team leader stood up.

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He was wearing a shiny, tacky suit. As he approached, the smell of strong tobacco mixed with cheap liquor wafted over. He rolled up his sleeves and tapped the table, signaling Ijin to come closer.

Ijin moved reluctantly and approached. Suddenly, Ppochi grabbed him by the waist and pulled him onto his lap.

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Ijin almost cursed and slapped him, but he clenched his pants and bit his lip. Feeling nauseous, he tried to lift his buttocks slightly by tensing his thighs, but Ppochi pushed him down further, then slowly stroked Ijin’s cheek with the back of his hand. It was incredibly creepy.

“Ijin, I’m saying this because I pity you. When the executive director comes, don’t act like a dick, shake that pretty face of yours. We can start over as goons, but for someone like you, if you mess up, there’s no bottom. You’ll just be screwed.”

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Though it was posed as advice, it was essentially a threat. Ijin just wished to get up from this disgusting lap, tired of such repeated threats.

“If you don’t want your life to get worse here when your string breaks, shouldn’t you do well by me?”

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“…”

“Hey, no answer?”

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“…Yes.”

The team leader seemed to have some confidence, acting as if he’d survive no matter what, unlike what he said to Kkeobi.

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He must have something. He didn’t get to that position for free. However, even if that were the case, Ijin would never stoop so low as to kiss up to the team leader. If this place goes down, it would be a good thing for him. He could use the chaos to escape far away on Clover.

Ijin endured until Ppochi let him go, imagining himself riding into the sunset like a scene from a B-movie.

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Washing his lower body more thoroughly than usual before bed was an added bonus.

The jockeys were all tense. They now had to prepare themselves without the team’s support. And here, not performing well wasn’t just about feeling bad; it was about constant tension and anxiety.

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The condition of the horses, being sensitive animals, fluctuated greatly. There was a reason why the horses brought here had less time on the track than regular ones.

Ijin had finished his preparations early and came to the stable. Clover was pawing at the ground, avoiding his gaze.

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“Clover, are you going to keep this up?”

Ijin tried to soothe Clover with a gentle tone, but when he reached out, Clover turned away like a sulky child, making Ijin frown in disappointment and concern.

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“I understand. I’m sorry. You hate it here, right? I know you hate it… so we need to get out quickly. I hate it here too.”

The gangsters always scoffed when they saw Ijin talking to Clover like this; it was the same with the other jockeys. They mocked them for losing their minds and talking to animals, but the jockeys believed horses understood human emotions and sometimes even human words.

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Ijin felt the same. He truly felt he could communicate with Clover. Even now, Clover subtly turned her head back towards him after having turned away.

“I want to get out of here.”

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Has anyone ever left this place on their own two feet? Even if there hadn’t been, Ijin wanted to be the first.

“Let’s get out together. Okay?”

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With sweet coaxing, Clover finally tilted her head towards him. Ijin pressed his cheek against Clover’s firm cheek, smiling softly—a sight the gangsters here, who only knew Ijin’s sadistic looks, would never see, nor would they in the future.

“Yeah. Let’s do well, thinking only about that, us.”

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Clover’s tail wagged widely.

Ijin closed his eyes for a moment before pulling away. He had only two chances. He had to make it into the top ranks no matter what. His heart was beating fiercely as he faced the race without any acclimation.

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Today, Ijin’s cap was black. Unlike official horse races, here, all jockey uniforms were the same except for the caps, to prevent recognition of individual jockeys by appearance. Therefore, they looked almost like equestrian outfits, although practicality was clearly lacking. There was no interest in the convenience of the jockeys or the essence of the sport; the focus was solely on visual pleasure. It was fitting for a place called Colosseum—where it didn’t matter who died, as long as the audience was entertained.

As he was about to leave, fastening his riding cap and tucking his riding gloves under his arm, he nearly collided with someone coming in. The impact felt like bumping into an SUV, leaving Ijin momentarily dazed.

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“…”

“Aren’t you going to apologize for bumping into someone?”

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Even though it was Ijin who got hit, the man, solid as a car bumper, asked nonchalantly.

Ijin immediately recognized him by the yellow shirt with red and white Aloha flowers, and the sun-kissed skin visible through the open collar. An unforgettable outfit, indeed.

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“…I’m sorry.”

Why is this guy here? Is he here to mess with the horses?

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Ijin frowned at the man.

“The ticket you bought is for my horse.”

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“So?”

“My horse is the one with the white diamond on its forehead.”

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“So.”

“Don’t do anything foolish.”

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The man chuckled at the mention of ‘foolish.’

“Don’t hurt the horses. Not just mine, but the others too.”

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Due to the significant size difference between them, if the man decided to kick, Ijin would likely fly off. However, Ijin was confident in his lower body strength, honed from years of riding. He would stop any race-fixing, giving no leeway, ensuring no one touched the horses.

In Ijin’s mind, this man was already seen as someone with malicious intent, snooping around the stable.

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“I’ll call someone.”

“Are you the stable boy here?”

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Stable boy? What kind of nonsense is that? He seemed to be here for the races without knowing anything, a hopeless addict. Ijin judged, furrowing his brow slightly.

The man took out a cigarette pack, tapped one out, and mumbled:

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“You sell tickets, guard the horses, and ride them too. Busy, huh.”

“Go to your seat. The race is about to start.”

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“You’re good?”

For a moment, Ijin’s mind went blank, wondering what that meant.

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The man blew smoke to the side and asked again.

“Do you ride well?”

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Ah… that’s what he meant. Ijin must have been too sensitive due to the team leader’s threats filling his mind. He rubbed his cheeks vigorously and gave a short answer.

“I’m good enough to make you win if you sit quietly in your seat.”

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“You seem confident? Quite the bravado.”

The man chuckled. How could someone who’s just a money courier for the bettors be so arrogant? Too many idiots thought buying a ticket meant they owned the jockey and the horse.

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“Seon Ijin!”

At that moment, someone called for Ijin. Ijin jumped as if his feet were on fire. He was late.

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“Go to your seat. If you get hit while staying here, it’s not my problem.”

“Hit me? Me? Who?”

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The man asked, his eyes wide. Seeing such a big man act like this was neither cute nor appealing; it was just annoying.

Is he on drugs or something? Ijin pushed the man away. Fortunately, he moved aside without resistance. Ijin then closed the stable door since others would soon arrive. It seemed the man had given up.

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“Do well. It’ll be good if you catch my eye.”

This man, with just a number plate ticket and not even a corporate one, was quite arrogant. Ijin had seen many like him, pretending to be something they’re not. He waved his hand dismissively, letting the words go in one ear and out the other. The man, laughing derisively, flicked his cigarette butt onto the ground and turned away. As he walked off, his jacket moved, revealing the one-sided Aloha shirt flapping.

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“Must be a bad day. All the crazy bastards are showing up.”

Ijin muttered.

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However, even if he knew that no sane person would set foot where he was, he was only spitting in his own face.