BAI Ch 4

<Haebeom 3>

My aunt was a gourmet. People said she had a tongue twice as sensitive as anyone else’s. She also inherited our grandfather’s knack for business, which played a decisive role in turning a small Korean eatery downtown into a three-story restaurant.

As the business grew, my cousin and I quit our part-time jobs and started working at her restaurant. I washed dishes while Yena waited tables. Back then, I didn’t have much interest in cooking. My aunt being a gourmet came from growing up with good food. Yena and I didn’t have that kind of environment.

Even so, my aunt handed me over to the head chef. Though skeptical, he taught me appetizer recipes. Unexpectedly, the results were a success. My kitchen colleagues liked how quick my hands were and how precisely I measured ingredients. My aunt and Yena told me the customers enjoyed my dishes.

I was happy. It was a sense of accomplishment I hadn’t felt in a long time.

I was fourteen then. An age when I didn’t yet know the limitations of my background, when even a small taste of success let me dream.

I became an apprentice to the dessert chef. I learned to bake cakes and pastries. I entered various competitions and won big and small awards. The growing stack of certificates and trophies became our family’s pride.

I couldn’t slack on academics either if I wanted to get into vocational school. My aunt stretched the household budget to enroll me in a prep academy for culinary school entrance exams. My homeroom teacher wrote me a recommendation letter, despite the risk of tarnishing his own record.

My dream was a house of cards built on the sacrifices of many. Reaching my goal was the only thing I could do. The only path available. And yet, the school repaid me with a rejection notice, failing me at the final hurdle of the entrance exam: the background check.

✶⋆.˚

Seo Kyungyak of Shinyungsan, Ha Jinju of Yusung Foods, Jin Hwayoung of Daeil Electronics.

Gi Woohee pulled up the profiles of the three side by side on her monitor.

Known as the “Three Dragons” of the Republic Party, these individuals shared more than just their identities as entrepreneurs-turned-politicians. They had all risen from humble, working-class or lower-middle-class families to achieve success through their own efforts.

The Republic Party, united around the Three Dragons, poured everything into dismantling the Kwon family’s dictatorship. It was a crisis for the dynasty. Amid the sharp divide between conservatism and progressivism, dictatorship and equality, the 49th President Kwon Ilhyuk proved—with their lives, no less—how imperfect this newly emerged force was and how grave a mistake it had been not to win over the older generation nostalgic for past glories.

Kwon Ilhyuk aimed for the absolute monarchy he’d witnessed in his grandmother’s iron rule during childhood. He used the military as a tool to reintegrate the three branches of power the Republic Party had separated.

Maintaining an army costs money. To fund the military, Kwon Ilhyuk dismantled the nation’s welfare system and raised taxes. He twisted laws and regulations to his liking, squeezing the populace dry. The middle class collapsed. As the wealth gap widened starkly, most citizens’ lives were pushed to the brink. The curtain rose on an era of great famine.

In the ravaged lives of the common people, all sorts of cults flourished. Among them, the “White Swan Church” rose to prominence as a revolutionary group, amassing thousands of followers.

Kwon Ilhyuk wouldn’t stand for it. It was a chance to demonstrate the revival of absolute rule. The target was set, the gun loaded. Kwon Ilhyuk and his forces threw everything into suppressing the White Swan Church.

Every action has its light and shadow. Kwon Ilhyuk’s regime split into the “radicals,” who argued violence was inevitable for national stability, and the “moderates,” who believed indiscriminate suppression—sparing neither young nor old—only fueled public unrest. Since Kwon Ilhyuk had long openly favored his “main family” over the “branch family” among politicians, internal division accelerated.

Gi Woohee opened another profile.

Former Chief Secretary Gwak Jaeheon.

As Kwon Ilhyuk’s regime fractured, he emerged as the moderates’ leader. A social entrepreneur-turned-politician, he was also the head of the “branch family.” Gwak Jaeheon grew up in a single-parent home, his father a mere laborer, neither politician nor anything grand.

Gi Woohee moved Gwak Jaeheon’s profile next to Jin Hwayoung’s. Though the timing and reasons differed, they shared the same fate: their heads taken by the president’s blade.

“I feel so damn sorry for Ryu Yeonbi.”

Jin Chiwoo mumbled, cigarette dangling from his lips.

“Getting tangled up with some geezer over twenty years older, and fuck, branded the nation’s adulteress. She’s so pitiful it makes me wanna cry.”

“Did you like her?”

“Who in our age group doesn’t know Ryu Yeonbi? She had tons of female fans too. Guess you weren’t that interested?”

“Celebrities and stuff… not really, even now I don’t care.”

“Even you know her full name, so imagine her fame.”

Ryu Yeonbi’s crime was “Disciplinary Corruption,” her sentence public execution by firing squad.

Ryu Yeonbi and Gwak Jaeheon were public figures beloved for different reasons. That also meant their power waned when public interest and affection faded. The one who saw through this was Kwon Ilhyuk’s younger brother and closest aide, Kwon Joohyuk—now comfortably sitting in Gwak Jaeheon’s former seat.

Kwon Joohyuk didn’t merely succeed Gwak Jaeheon. He abolished the position and created a new one. The old Chief Secretary became the current Presidential Aide. Thus, Kwon Joohyuk wasn’t Gwak Jaeheon’s successor but the first Presidential Aide. That distinction mattered.

Gi Woohee recalled Kwon Joohyuk’s expressionless face as he offered her a cigarette. And his words.

“Freedom, he said…”

Gi Woohee wasn’t blind to the fact that she was a tool for whitewashing President Kwon Ilhyuk’s image. The thought made her want to drain every drop of her biological father’s blood from her veins.

Gi Woohee, looking at Jin Chiwoo, spoke.

“There’s no freedom. Probably not in our generation.”

“Probably not.”

“But if we bust our asses, maybe the next batch of kids can have it?”

“Your way with words, really.”

“What, am I wrong?”

Gi Woohee let out a small sigh. Jin Chiwoo prided himself on being an easier boss than Shin Haebeom, but that wasn’t entirely true. Big head or small, they were all two-faced.

“About Jung Ryujin—don’t waste your sympathy.”

“I’ve never thought that.”

“I know. You’re sharp. But me—I’m a bit mixed up about it.”

Gi Woohee blinked. She understood why Jin Chiwoo was saying this.

Jung Ryujin was Ryu Yeonbi’s flesh and blood. Ryu Yeonbi was a victim of Kwon Ilhyuk’s regime. So, if they’d met under different circumstances—if he weren’t part of <White Lion>, opposing the Disciplinary Task Force—Jung Ryujin might not be in that interrogation room right now. He could be here, in front of this monitor, chewing on a slice of cold but tasty pizza.

“Take a nap for a bit. It looks like it’ll take a while.”

“No, this is my job too.”

Jin Chiwoo’s voice was firm.

“I can’t just dump it on Haebeom and crash out. I’m human—I’ve got at least that much conscience. And that bastard Jung Ryujin—if I don’t mess him up myself, my Valkyrie’s gonna wail from the scrapyard.”

✶⋆.˚

Shin Haebeom stripped Ryujin naked and slammed him to the floor. He doused the wrecked body with cold water.

“Ah!”

The chill sank into his bones. His teeth chattered. Shin Haebeom, holding the showerhead, grinned ear to ear.

“Now let’s talk.”

“Fuck off.”

A boot flew at him. Ryujin curled up, shielding his head. No matter what this devil tried, he swore he wouldn’t give him a single word.

“Aagh!”

His hair was yanked. Ryujin glared at Shin Haebeom, who waved the showerhead in his face.

“Want your nose smashed in?”

“Fuck off! You pervert bastard!”

“I can’t figure you out. Begging me to stop one minute, then popping back up to curse me out the next… What are you, a roly-poly? That hungry spirit that keeps getting back up?”

Shin Haebeom burst out laughing. Still laughing, he swung the showerhead at Ryujin’s temple—the spot already burned by the cigarette.

“Aaaagh!”

“If you’re stalling, give it up.”

There’d be no negotiation with <White Lion>. That was set from the start. Wasn’t it obvious? His one-of-a-kind friend nearly met the Grim Reaper. Just thinking about it still made his fingertips tremble faintly.

Shin Haebeom wrapped the hose around his fist. It’d been a while since he’d felt this refreshed. All thanks to Jung Ryujin’s tight hole.

He stomped on the ankle of Ryujin, who was crawling forward.

“Ugh…!”

“Who told you to do it?”

“There’s no one.”

“I’ll ask again. Who’s the mastermind?”

“No one! You damn bastard! If you’re so curious, die and ask the reaper yourself!”

Shin Haebeom shrugged.

“Well, I usually ask three times. Mastermind’s name?”

“…”

“Too hard for an open-ended question? Fine, I’ll give you options. Number 1: Ha Sungrok. Number 2: Ha Shinsung. How’s that? Easy, right?”

“Bullshit.”

Shin Haebeom sighed deeply.

“Hey. Are you an idiot?”

“What’re you saying, you lunatic!”

How could someone be this shortsighted? Jung Ryujin was a fool. This was a chance Shin Haebeom was kindly offering. Hand over one of the Disciplinary Task Force’s two headaches, and he might show leniency—a subtle deal.

“Don’t you want to live?”

Shin Haebeom was curious.

“Or have you given up? Planning to take the fall and die alone?”

“…”

“Ryu Yeonwoo. Answer me.”

“Did you get shot in the head? Who the hell are you calling?”

“Don’t play dumb. I’ve already checked your records. You’re Ryu Yeonbi’s brother, aren’t you?”

“…”

“Clamming up ‘cause I hit a nerve. Kid, I see right through you.”

“Don’t act smug, you bastard!”

Shin Haebeom chuckled. No matter how tough his life had been, Jung Ryujin was still young. His clueless yapping proved it.

“I can guess why you changed your name. But looking so much like her, it’s pointless.”

“Shut your mouth.”

“You shut it. Before I rip you apart.”

Shin Haebeom put a cigarette in his mouth. At the click of his Dupont lighter, Ryujin’s shoulder flinched.

“What? Scared I’ll burn you again?”

“You damn bastard! Asshole!”

“So pick one already. I’ve got decent patience, but the guy waiting outside doesn’t. Want to start the physical exam over with Chiwoo?”

“There’s really no one! I said no one! What am I supposed to say when there’s no one!”

“Oh… right.”

Shin Haebeom crouched down. He slipped the cigarette between his fingers. His gaze landed on Ryujin’s ankle. The protruding bone was so pretty.

A spasmodic scream tore through Shin Haebeom’s eardrums.

“There’s really no one! I planned it alone!”

“Yeah. Got it.”

“It’s true! Believe me for once! You said it yourself—that bomb was shitty as hell…! Fuck, put that away!”

“Number 1 or Number 2?”

Ryujin’s eyes wavered. His bound hands trembled behind his back.

“Forget ‘cause you’re slow? I’ll make it simpler. This is your real last chance, Jung Ryujin. Think hard.”

“…”

“Big lion, little lion. Which one?”

“…”

Shin Haebeom sighed.

The smell of burning protein stung his nose.

Ryujin sobbed, forehead pressed to the floor. Blood from his lips dripped to his chin. Shin Haebeom tightened his grip. The crying grew louder.

When their eyes met, Shin Haebeom grinned.

“Next time, it’s your eyeball. Who’s the mastermind?”

Truth didn’t matter anymore. What mattered to Ryujin now was that this was Shin Haebeom’s final offer.

Nine in the morning.

The iron door opened. Shin Haebeom emerged, reeking of cigarettes and blood. Gi Woohee shot up from her seat and bowed.

“Good work, sir.”

“Mhm.”

An NCO pulled a towel from a drawer and handed it over. Shin Haebeom shook out his wet hair and perched on the edge of the sofa where Jin Chiwoo was curled up asleep.

“He’s tougher than I thought. We’ll pick up again this afternoon.”

Seeing Shin Haebeom’s wet hair, clothes, and boots, Gi Woohee guessed Jung Ryujin had been waterboarded. Yet no real progress? He looked frail—just a tall, skinny kid—but maybe he had some grit.

Gi Woohee pulled up the CCTV feed on the monitor. The NCO glancing at it gasped. The interrogation room was a mess—flooded with water, no, blood. A chair with a broken leg rolled around, and a shattered toilet lay in pieces. Jung Ryujin, covered in debris, lay unconscious. His arms were tied behind him, and naturally, he was stark naked.

Kicking the NCO’s shin to make him face the wall after he failed to hide his shock, Gi Woohee asked Shin Haebeom.

“Shouldn’t we send him to the infirmary?”

“Already told them to bring a stretcher.”

“There’s been no contact from White Lion.”

Shin Haebeom chugged a bottle of water in one go.

“Pretty big pawn to throw away.”

“What about the chance it was Jung Ryujin acting alone?”

“There’s a chance, sure.”

“Then isn’t the interrogation pointless? We’ve already got the mastermind.”

“Opportunities are there to be seized, Major.”

Shin Haebeom smiled faintly.

“Jung Ryujin’s weak. He’s holding out with bravado now… but you know kids like that don’t last long.”

Shin Haebeom always said breaking their spirit early was key.

“Once his mouth opens, whether it’s true or not, he’ll spill whatever we want.”

“Of course, I trust you, Commander. But…”

“But what?”

“If it turns out Jung Ryujin confessed falsely under pressure, it could give Yu Mihyun—riding high from the Gwak Hyeonwoo case—another excuse.”

Shin Haebeom tossed the empty bottle into the trash.

“We nearly lost our deputy commander. If she tries to downplay this now, even Yu Mihyun risks being called a rebel. I don’t think she’s that reckless.”

Sensing movement, Jin Chiwoo stirred groggily. Shin Haebeom snapped his fingers in front of his blinking friend’s face.

“Slept well?”

“…”

“Reunited with your baby in your dreams? Can’t snap back to reality?”

Jin Chiwoo sluggishly lit a cigarette. His voice was hoarse.

“Can I go in now?”

“Not yet. I half-killed him.”

Medic Oh Jaeyoon entered with a corpsman. Jin Chiwoo scratched his eyebrow.

“What’s with the fuss? Some VIP patient?”

Glancing at the monitor, Gi Woohee swallowed a sigh. Jung Ryujin’s condition was visibly bad. Especially the temple wound. Shin Haebeom’s cigarette, aimed for his eye, had veered to the temple at the last second—already a burned spot. Shin Haebeom straddling the thrashing Jung Ryujin looked demonic.

The unconscious Jung Ryujin was carried out on a stretcher. Oh Jaeyoon’s expression was a sight. But he’d get used to it. No one starts out like this.

As the stretcher passed right by, Gi Woohee felt a choking pain. The swollen face was a wreck. The temple wound looked like a bullet hole. His chest heaved weakly, and a rattling came from his throat. The stench of blood and pus was rancid.

Gi Woohee turned her head silently. Jin Chiwoo spat out.

“Send him to plastic surgery first. That pretty face is all smashed up.”

A lame joke. Shin Haebeom shook his head.

✶⋆.˚

The club was empty. Lights and sound equipment were dismantled, and the scant furniture hauled out—nothing remained. Ha Shinsung didn’t know who’d taken it over or what it’d be used for. That didn’t matter anymore. His focus was entirely on Cha Moeun.

Leaning her elbow on the second-floor railing, she lit a cigarette.

“Me and Sayul Sunbae—we didn’t treat him bad.”

Smoke drifted into the air.

“I think we treated him pretty well, actually.”

“You expect me to believe that?”

“Believe it or not, I don’t care. At least we didn’t give him false hope or lie. I made it clear he could die—had to be ready to die. Unlike some people.”

“Then why’d he do it?”

Cha Moeun, gazing down at the desolate hall, spoke.

“He planned to self-destruct from the start.”

“What?”

“Why would he want to live? After losing Hyeonwoo like that?”

Ashes scattered into the air.

“Think about what you did to him.”

“I was on Ryujin’s side.”

“Hypocrite.”

Cha Moeun snorted.

“You were only ever thinking about screwing Jung Ryujin. Hovering around him, looking for any weakness to exploit.”

“What?”

“You were pathetic, Ha Shinsung. I know you saw Hyeonwoo as a thorn in your side. Because he protected Jung Ryujin. Kept you from touching him.”

“Don’t talk reckless, Cha Moeun.”

“Jung Ryujin, that dumbass, might’ve fallen for it, but not me.”

Ha Shinsung’s lips twisted.

“Writing a novel? Sorry, but the script’s too trashy.”

“You’re the star of that trashy script.”

Cha Moeun’s voice turned icy.

“Sayul Sunbae was clear. Do exactly as he said if he wanted to live. One minute early or late, and it’d all be for nothing. Jung Ryujin ignored the plan and went rogue. You drove him to it. Why make promises you couldn’t keep? Why not tell him Hyeonwoo was dead sooner?”

“…I didn’t kill Gwak Hyeonwoo.”

“Jin Chiwoo killed Hyeonwoo, but you killed Jung Ryujin.”

“Enough, Cha Moeun.”

“No, I’ll say it. You killed Jung Ryujin, Ha Shinsung. You broke his spirit. He died under you. To you, he was just a breathing corpse.”

Ha Shinsung’s hand trembled as he gripped the railing. Cha Moeun’s voice continued.

“Why do you think he did it? Couldn’t wait? Didn’t listen? Because he couldn’t stand a minute, a second more.”

“That doesn’t mean it’s not your fault for letting him go!”

“We tried to stop him!”

Cha Moeun shouted.

“I sent the whole crew after him! We knew that idiot would pull something! I’m telling you, I tried to stop him!”

“Then why didn’t you?!”

“It was too late.”

She described what she saw.

“You could tell from a mile away. Jin Chiwoo’s car is famous, right? That red Chrysler flipping through the air—damn, I thought it was some kind of show.”

“…”

“Don’t look at me like that. You, me, Sayul Sunbae, even the boss—we all got played by him.”

Cha Moeun’s cigarette smoke clouded Ha Shinsung’s vision.

“How much do you really know about Jung Ryujin?”

“What?”

“Seriously, what was your deal? Hyeonwoo didn’t tell me. You think I don’t know she kept quiet to save your face, that loyal kid?”

“What, we comparing who screwed up worse now? Hilarious.”

Ha Shinsung sneered.

“We both flopped at the relationship game.”

“Shut up. Before I shove a tracer round in your skull.”

Ha Shinsung ground his teeth.

The moment he first saw Gwak Hyeonwoo—when he introduced himself and offered a handshake—Ha Shinsung wanted to strangle the past version of himself who’d told Jung Ryujin to recommend someone.

Gwak Hyeonwoo was his opposite in every way. Pale face, glasses covering half of it, tall but scrawny. A guy you couldn’t imagine doing anything but pushing a pen at a desk. That was Gwak Jaeheon’s son? Jung Ryujin’s friend?

Ha Shinsung remembered how Jung Ryujin looked at Gwak Hyeonwoo. He didn’t know the guy could smile like that. Despite all the favors and care, never a single thank-you—Ha Shinsung thought he was an ungrateful block of wood. He was wrong. Jung Ryujin…

“Hyeonwoo hyung is my family.”

Then what am I?

Gwak Hyeonwoo could do what Ha Shinsung couldn’t. Touch Jung Ryujin’s cheek, pat his head, hold his hand, even sleep tangled up in the same bed. When teased about the vibe, he’d brush it off as brotherly.

Bullshit. What brother looks at his sibling like that?

“Deceptive bastard.”

Ha Shinsung wondered. What about Gwak Hyeonwoo drew people in? What did that frail guy have that made Jung Ryujin, Cha Moeun, everyone lose their minds like teens high on ecstasy?

“Deceptive bastard? Unbelievable. You blaming Hyeonwoo now?”

“I was Gwak Hyeonwoo’s team leader. I know more about him than you.”

“Oh?”

Cha Moeun’s lips twisted.

“Then you must know this too? Jung Ryujin was sleeping with the boss.”

“What?”

“Idiot. Look at your face.”

“What nonsense are you spouting!”

“Dumbass. And you call yourself a team leader.”

“Hey! Cha Moeun! No matter how much you hate Jung Ryujin—!”

Ha Shinsung stomped his foot hard. Cha Moeun’s momentum didn’t falter.

“Can’t believe it? Ask Sayul Sunbae. No, better yet, ask the boss directly.”

“Cut the crap. There’s a limit to how much I’ll tolerate.”

“The one tolerating here is me. Look, I think the boss backed me in this because she and Jung Ryujin were a thing.”

Ha Shinsung’s mouth gaped. He couldn’t process it. His head understood, but his heart wouldn’t accept it.

“The boss wanted Jung Ryujin gone. Before a lover’s spat broke out between father and son.”

“No way.”

“Yeah, it’s denial time.”

Ha Shinsung wanted to argue. The reason his father didn’t protect Ryujin was him. If it got out that a team leader abused his power to exploit a subordinate sexually, no one would respect him.

Cha Moeun tilted her head.

“Jung Ryujin—what’s so special about him that both father and son lost it?”

Cha Moeun’s voice was venom seeping through his veins. Ha Shinsung barely held the railing to stand.

His father’s furious face flashed before him.

“Gonna deny it? Say he came onto you first? Give it up! You wanna sink that low as a man?!”

He’d thought it was love.

A father’s protective love, worried for his son’s reputation and future.

It wasn’t. That moment, Ha Sungrok’s mind was ruled by rage. Jealousy toward a rival.

Cha Moeun sneered viciously.

“You’re a lot like the boss. But damn, even your taste in lovers?”

Ha Shinsung couldn’t retort. His father’s face appeared and vanished. Then Ryujin’s red hair, slender nape, and back wrapped in an oversized coat filled his vision.

✶⋆.˚

They’d set a lunch date. It wasn’t a rare thing, so it didn’t feel special. But the moment they sat across from each other with a table between them, Lee Rohan noticed something off about Ha Shinsung’s state.

His eyes, visible under a pressed-down ball cap, were hollow. Sunken cheeks, chapped lips. Ha Shinsung looked like a man who’d skipped a decade alone. Lee Rohan knew where this sudden change came from.

“You okay?”

“About what?”

The glare from under the cap was hostile.

“About what? You look… Never mind. You’re already a mess—let’s not think about it during lunch.”

“Did you know?”

“…Know what?”

“About Father and Ryujin. Did you know?”

Lee Rohan’s fingers, fumbling with the menu, froze.

“Lee Rohan, answer me.”

He downed a glass of cold water in one gulp. Wiping his lips with the back of his hand, Ha Shinsung pressed again.

“Did you know Father and Jung Ryujin were sleeping together?”

The restaurant was bustling at lunchtime. Conversations, clinking dishes, the chime signaling food was ready, waitstaff taking orders—it was noisy, but not enough to miss Ha Shinsung’s words.

Lee Rohan nodded.

“Yeah.”

Ha Shinsung’s eyes flared. Lee Rohan quickly added.

“Sayul Sunbae swore us to silence. It wasn’t meant to be hidden from you on purpose.”

“You should’ve at least given me a heads-up!”

“…….”

“Is it fun making a fool out of people? Do you believe I had to hear from Cha Moeun that Father and Jung Ryujin were in that kind of relationship?”

“I just! I thought you were… messing around with him for a bit. You can’t seriously mean it was for real?”

Ha Shinsung’s Adam’s apple bobbed heavily. Lee Rohan’s face turned pale.

“Hey, you…”

He was dumbfounded. It was a critical time when the organization’s direction—no, its very survival—was at stake. The fact that Ha Shinsung was getting heated over a romantic rivalry at a moment like this was beyond belief.

Lee Rohan wasn’t against workplace relationships. If anything, he’d encourage them. To begin with, if vigorous twenty- and thirty-something active members couldn’t even experience love before growing old, that would be the real tragedy. Cha Moeun and Gwak Hyeonwoo, though an unexpected pair, weren’t entirely incomprehensible. People are naturally drawn to those who fill their shortcomings.

The human heart is something unpredictable, liable to veer anywhere.

Lee Rohan didn’t expect every member of the organization to have a heart of steel. Even the countless absolute rulers in history had lovers. He only ever cautioned them. Don’t go rubbing palms with civilians for no reason. If you’re lonely, if you need someone to lean on, find it within the organization where people understand each other’s positions.

But this wasn’t it. This was truly not it.

The organization’s boss and the next in line to succeed him as romantic rivals? A petty tug-of-war with a low-ranking member caught in the middle? And on top of that, the two were father and son. What kind of soap opera lineage was this?

Lee Rohan muttered.

“Tell me it’s not true. Say it was just a passing interest, that it was just for fun, Sung-ah. Don’t try to go toe-to-toe with the boss.”

Ha Shinsung didn’t respond.

“Sung-ah. Think about our position too.”

“…….”

Lee Rohan wanted to grab Ha Shinsung’s unresponsive neck and shake it. He thought of the powerholders throughout history who, despite commanding the world, fell because of love—that damned love. An absolute ruler was someone who shouldn’t love. Not parents, not lovers, not even their own flesh-and-blood children.

Not even a pet should receive genuine affection. They shouldn’t create anything precious in this world that could become a weakness. Unless you were a cold-blooded monster who could spit on every joy, anger, sorrow, and pleasure of human existence, toss them into the trash, and slam the lid shut without a second thought, being an absolute monarch was impossible.

In that sense, Ha Sungrok was someone who fulfilled Lee Rohan’s ideals. He awakened after losing his wife. He survived in a foreign land thousands of miles away with nothing but the resolve to fight against immense power. Baking pastries from mud, tearing out tree bark to boil into porridge—Lee Rohan didn’t entirely believe those tear-jerking survival tales, but Ha Sungrok was a man worthy of respect.

He lost everything but didn’t give up. He even raised his only son as a tool for revenge. <White Lion> was the sole revolutionary force in this dog-eat-dog world that gave the people a chance to breathe.

And yet, now.

Lee Rohan swallowed dryly. A different kind of anger from what Ha Shinsung felt writhed beneath his heated tongue.

“I only found out by chance.”

Lee Rohan dug through his memory.

That day, a brawl broke out at <White Swan>. Thug fights were common, but that day’s was unusually large-scale. It disrupted business to the point of being a problem. The property damage was severe enough to warrant a report. The managers present at the club at the time were Baek Sayul, Lee Rohan, and Cha Moeun—three of them.

“Sayul Sunbae didn’t file the report.”

Lee Rohan asked why, but Baek Sayul dodged the question, talking around it without answering.

“I figured Sunbae had his reasons. But you know how Cha Moeun’s temper is a total mess. Who’s going to stop that runaway train?”

Lee Rohan licked his dry lips. He said he’d gone up to the second floor with Cha Moeun and hid in the hallway to peek into the boss’s room. Without Baek Sayul knowing.

“But you know how sharp Sayul Sunbae’s instincts are.”

Lee Rohan didn’t fully disclose what he saw that day. But he could guess well enough. Ha Sungrok came out of his room with Jung Ryujin in tow. No one could enter that room until Jung Ryujin left.

Ha Shinsung stared intently at Lee Rohan’s face.

“You sure?”

“I’m sure. I saw it clearly.”

“You didn’t see wrong?”

Lee Rohan countered firmly.

“The stage lights were all on even after closing. And you’d know just from the back—that red hair. In that leather jacket you handed down.”

“…….”

“What was I supposed to say in that situation?”

“You could’ve told me.”

“That was Sayul Sunbae’s—”

“Enough with the Baek Sayul, Baek Sayul crap!”

Ha Shinsung’s fist slammed the table. Eyes darted over from the table across. Lee Rohan hurriedly raised the menu to cover his face.

“I didn’t tell anyone. Neither did Sayul Sunbae. But Cha Moeun—I honestly don’t know. She’s pretty pissed off right now…”

“Is gossip the issue now?”

Lee Rohan blinked.

“It’s not?”

“This!”

“Don’t get too mad. I was… really thrown off too.”

Ha Shinsung let out a scoff.

“Yeah, now the rumors will spread like wildfire. I lived off my image even while dealing drugs—what do I do now? Guess everyone should quit being team leaders and start kicking cans?”

“Hey, why say it like that?”

Lee Rohan explained, almost defensively.

“Seunghwan and the guys below don’t know yet. They won’t find out either. I’ll tell Cha Moeun to have Sayul Sunbae shut her up again. Look, she’s just heated right now, but you know—she’s usually tight-lipped.”

As Ha Shinsung stayed silent, his voice grew louder.

“Ah, is that what matters right now? When the shop and everything’s being packed up to bolt? Hey, what about your dorm?”

“Mind your own business. I’ll handle it.”

Lee Rohan sighed.

“Sung-ah. You really mad?”

“…….”

“If I say this, I’ll sound like a total bastard, but… realistically speaking. You should forget Ryujin. The boss made that call for a reason.”

“…….”

“He’s the guy who smashed a soju bottle on a teammate’s head. Who knows what kind of trouble he’d cause later?”

Ha Shinsung clenched his jaw. He mentally applauded Lee Rohan’s quick shift in stance. The disgust hit him—everyone survived like this. In the end, it was all organizational politics.

Jung Ryujin had the worst damn luck. A truly shitty fate. After surviving all kinds of hell, just when he thought he’d found a place to belong, he was pushed off the cliff. I drove you to that.

Ha Shinsung rubbed his face with both hands.

✶⋆.˚

He slipped into a crisply ironed shirt. The combat boots under the desk were spotless, their tips gleaming like new.

He donned a uniform coat adorned with a cascade of rank insignia. A subtle fragrance wafted from the collar where he’d spritzed perfume. He applied clear lip balm to his dry lips and spread concealer under his eyes to mask the fatigue. Jin Chiwoo, shoving two pieces of sushi into his mouth at his desk, frowned.

“Not tired?”

“I am.”

“Then why insist on going to a restaurant when I said we could just order something quick? Hey, punk, do you know how good delivery services are these days? The food’s tastier. Look at this—the broth’s still hot.”

“I like our cafeteria.”

Shin Haebeom said, glancing at the mirror on the wall.

“The ladies there have a magic touch.”

“Magic touch, my ass. What are you, a grandpa?”

“It’s personal taste. Just like you, Chiwoo, enjoy fast and efficient meals, I prefer nutritious food I’m used to, made with care.”

“Goddamn. What, robots make delivery food?”

“No matter how advanced a robot is, it can’t match a human hand. Especially in cooking.”

“Ugh, fine, you win. Your taste buds are Michelin three-star.”

Shin Haebeom flashed a smile at his friend. Jin Chiwoo’s face scrunched up. Shin Haebeom shrugged nonchalantly, looking down at the palms that once wielded various kitchen tools.

The cafeteria was bustling. Right after Shin Haebeom took over as commander, he’d rolled up his sleeves and revamped the staff dining hall.

Food suppliers were chosen by anonymous vote, and nutritionists and cooks were hired through open recruitment. He even attended the final interviews. Shin Haebeom’s actions were an unprecedented “event,” overturning a system ruled by connections and backroom deals. Media inquiries and interview requests flooded in. Shin Haebeom’s response was brief: I don’t mess around with food.

Following basic rules caused a stir. That’s how tough the world was. Corruption permeated every aspect of life. Unless the older generation, who remembered the welfare state days, turned their backs on Kwon Ilhyuk, reform from the bottom up was impossible. But within that system?

Today’s menu had two options: Western and Chinese.

Shin Haebeom joined the long line at the Western food counter. The members ahead of him bent at ninety degrees with booming greetings. He waved off those trying to yield their spots. Smiling brightly, he thought to himself: You convenience-chasing fool, this is why I eat here.

“Major! Major!”

“What.”

“The brigadier general’s coming.”

Gi Woohee scrambled up from her seat. Shin Haebeom, tray in hand, smiled radiantly. Oh, don’t go elsewhere…

“Eat comfortably. Don’t mind me.”

He’d noticed the commotion at the entrance. Some higher-ups who frequented the cafeteria avoided peak hours out of consideration for their subordinates, but Shin Haebeom clearly didn’t get that memo. He barged in precisely at noon when it was busiest. Gi Woohee could easily guess a nickname he’d earn in the future: Three-Meals.

“I said eat. Stop staring at me.”

Laughter erupted, shaking the tables. She couldn’t figure out what was so funny.

A gyoza she’d swallowed without chewing lodged in her throat. Gi Woohee chugged cold water. In doing so, she didn’t notice the other members slipping away one by one with excuses.

“Major Gi.”

“Yes?”

“Is lunchtime too short? Everyone’s getting up so fast.”

“Oh… well.”

Those traitors!

Gi Woohee smiled awkwardly at Shin Haebeom.

“No idea. I’m fine.”

A wry smile spread across Shin Haebeom’s face.

“Guess it’s still hard to fit in.”

“…….”

“I like our cafeteria. The food’s delicious, the interior’s great. Take this spoon, for instance. The kitchen keeps it so clean I’ve never seen a speck of dust on it. Above all, our members are here. Regardless of rank, we line up fairly and eat the same food depending on the day’s menu. This place is open to everyone. That’s why I really like our cafeteria.”

Gi Woohee sat her half-raised hips back down. Her lips twitched faintly.

“What’s your take, Major Gi?”

“I completely agree. Oh, I was just about to get some water—could you wait a moment?”

“Whoops. Didn’t mean to make you run errands.”

“Errands? I’m doing it because I want to.”

Gi Woohee swallowed tears inwardly. She’d rather be in a sealed interrogation room munching pizza with Jin Chiwoo.

Shin Haebeom ate without making a sound. You’d think he was slicing steak with a laser.

Table manners were ingrained in him. No elbows on the table, he only spoke after swallowing, and he handled his knife and fork as gently as an expensive ink pen. Spreading cream cheese on a bagel looked like a restaurant commercial.

Gi Woohee wondered if they should photograph him and make a manual to distribute. To encourage upper-class enlistment. The <Disciplinary Task Force> couldn’t keep serving as just a stepping stone for social climbers forever.

“What’re you thinking about so deeply?”

“Our members. Should we hold a table manners class?”

“Why all of a sudden?”

“Appearances matter, don’t they?”

“If that worked just by deciding to do it, I wouldn’t have suffered so much. Getting whacked on the hand with a spoon at thirty feels like absolute shit.”

Gi Woohee nodded. Learning something wasn’t that hard. Turning it into a habit was. Shin Haebeom’s movements were so natural because he’d clearly been trained to some extent as an upper-class kid.

“Tastes good.”

“Huh?”

“Food’s especially good today.”

“Oh, yeah.”

“I wonder if Yu’s had lunch.”

Shinryonggwan’s Number Three, chief strategist Yu Mihyun. He had a lot in common with Shin Haebeom. Both exuded an unapproachable aura just standing there, and it was all a crafted image.

Gi Woohee pictured Yu Mihyun’s impeccably polished, imposing face. After attacking the Disciplinary Task Force over Gwak Hyeonwoo’s death, how did he feel now, knowing Jin Chiwoo nearly died?

“Probably wearing red lipstick.”

Gi Woohee said offhandedly.

“Must feel like utter crap.”

The world was abuzz with sympathy for Jin Chiwoo. How could a public servant just doing his job face a life threat? If a Disciplinary deputy commander-level official got hit by terrorism, how shoddy was national security? That kind of talk.

Gi Woohee realized anew that Kwon Joohyuk’s image-making had succeeded. The world was lenient with these legal killers.

“Doesn’t the deputy commander eat?”

“Probably tired of pleasantries. Him too.”

Shin Haebeom cut his meat, popped it in his mouth, and chewed thoroughly before swallowing.

“I’m thinking of writing a drama.”

“A drama?”

“A touching human drama. Protagonist Jin Chiwoo, villain Jung Ryujin.”

Gi Woohee sipped cold water.

“No matter how I think about it, our side’s story is thin. Gwak Hyeonwoo and Jung Ryujin’s tale is dramatic even from the bits I’ve heard. Gwak Jaeheon and Ryu Yeonbi were such hot topics.”

“What’s the script?”

Shin Haebeom said, holding his knife and fork.

“Obvious stuff. Misery business.”

Facts alone don’t make a story. Dramas that grip the public are steeped in exaggeration and lies. And the fastest, surest way to win public favor? Misery.

“Do we need to add more? Articles are already rolling out.”

News, papers, radio, the internet—all the media the public easily accessed were blaring about how diligent a soldier Jin Chiwoo was, how hard he’d worked to reach his position. The special friendship with Shin Haebeom, Disciplinary Task Force commander, was a staple in the narrative.

“That’s not enough.”

Gi Woohee studied Shin Haebeom’s profile. He was growing more like Kwon Joohyuk. Turning others’ misery into a sales pitch. If it won public favor, he’d sell anything. Pride? Find that in the afterlife or don’t.

“Major Gi, you’ll need to step up. Keep it secret from Chiwoo.”

“How so?”

“He’s got some debt. His mom’s sick. Missed the treatment window, and it’s gotten bad—must cost a fortune.”

“…I didn’t know.”

“He’s not the type to show it.”

Shin Haebeom continued calmly.

“Chiwoo looks flashy on the outside, right? It’s all debt spinning a windmill. Pouring water into a bottomless bucket. I tell him to sell that damn car, but he won’t listen.”

“Haha…”

“That’s what’s scary about nouveau riche mentality. He still thinks he’s Daeil Electronics’ youngest.”

Shin Haebeom’s tone was flat, but there was a hint of bitterness. Gi Woohee nodded.

“Understood. I’ll visit the deputy commander’s mother.”

“No need for photos—just ask as many questions as you can. We’ll edit it to milk as much sympathy as possible.”

With that, Shin Haebeom slid his pudding over to Gi Woohee.

“You’re tired, Major Gi. Sweet stuff’s good for fatigue.”

Gi Woohee caught the hidden meaning in Shin Haebeom’s smile. Keep it from Chiwoo?

✶⋆.˚

Gi Woohee leaned her elbow on the railing. She listened to her uncle’s voice through her Bluetooth earpiece.

— I knew something like this would blow up. That Chiwoo punk’s been loud since his Paohuai days. Still, he should get his act together by now. How long’s it been since he got the deputy commander title?

“He’s still full of energy. Hasn’t settled down.”

— A guy like that needs to face a real near-death scare. That’s the only way he’ll learn.

Gi Woohee tilted her head to look at the sky. The sunlight falling on her face was warm.

— That kid’s name is Jung Ryujin?

“Real name’s Ryu Yeonwoo. Ryu Yeonbi’s brother. We nabbed him at the scene—what should we do? Shin Haebeom’s handling him.”

— Send him up to the military police. I’ll see him myself.

“You, Uncle?”

She swallowed dryly. Shin Haebeom’s pudding was already digesting in her stomach.

“Is that really necessary?”

— Why not?

“I don’t want Yu Mihyun’s attention. That woman’s ready to flip just hearing about the Disciplinary Task Force right now. If we mess with Jung Ryujin and she starts making noise, it’ll be a hassle. Better we handle it quietly ourselves. The sympathy for Jin Chiwoo’s building nicely too.”

— Haebeom’s in charge, you said?

“Yes. If it’s alright, come by sometime. He looks like Ryu Yeonbi—real pretty kid. It’d be nice if you checked on our members too. You know some of them dream of meeting you just once in their lives.”

Gi Woohee counted silently. Five, four, three—

— I’ll swing by soon for a morale visit. How’s Haebeom?

“He beat Jung Ryujin to a pulp and feels great about it. He’s consistent, I’ll give him that. Takes care of Jin Chiwoo like clockwork.”

— That’s his strength. Perfect stray dog pack leader, spot on.

Imagining the old man giving a thumbs-up into the air made her smirk. Whether Shin Haebeom was a stray dog boss or a tiger, they’d find out when the lid came off.

— Woohee-ya.

“Yes, Uncle.”

— Keep a close eye on Haebeom. A stray dog can never be a hunting dog. No matter how much it grovels and wags its tail, the moment the food runs out, it’ll bare its teeth and lunge at its master—that’s their nature.

Gi Woohee replied in a low voice.

“Yes.”

The call ended. She pulled out the earpiece and stuffed it into her uniform pocket. She walked straight ahead, her steps thudding rhythmically toward the interrogation room at the end of the hall. Time to work.

Shin Haebeom pulled out his lighter. At the pong sound, Ryujin’s shoulder flinched.

“Ahh…”

Instead of lighting a cigarette, he put it back. Ryujin spat out.

“Doesn’t suit you.”

“What doesn’t?”

“Stop pretending to be a good guy now!”

He couldn’t finish. Shin Haebeom’s claw-like hand grabbed his hair and yanked. At a distance close enough to brush noses, he said.

“You’re seriously deluded, Jung Ryujin.”

“Let go!”

Shin Haebeom stared piercingly at the vivid burn mark on Ryujin’s temple.

“Did you think I’d show you mercy? Ridiculous. How naive do you have to be to expect that?”

“Bullshit.”

“Trembling but acting tough. Why can’t you just get a grip? Are all kids these days as cocky as you?”

“Then what about you!”

He shouted in a fit but clamped his mouth shut. Ryujin didn’t know Shin Haebeom’s exact age.

“What about me?”

“You… how old are you anyway?”

“You don’t know?”

He looked genuinely surprised.

“Don’t you ever watch TV?”

“You’re not that famous. And let me make this clear—your fanboys are matched by just as many haters.”

“Don’t care. Attention’s attention, whatever the kind.”

Ryujin was floored. What was this, not a soldier but a terminal celebrity wannabe?

“Anyway… do you know where you are?”

He tried to hold back but couldn’t. Shin Haebeom pulled the cigarette back out and put it in his mouth. Ryujin sat on the bed, staring blankly up as he lit it.

“Hospital.”

“Wrong. This is the Disciplinary Task Force infirmary.”

“You joking?”

“Does it look like I am?”

They locked eyes in silence. Ryujin broke the stare first.

“Why’d you keep me alive?”

“What, you got a problem with that?”

“You killed Hyeonwoo hyung.”

“You’re pretty and sexy.”

Ryujin snapped his head up. Sparks flew from the eyes glaring at Shin Haebeom.

“You joking now?”

“Think of it as black comedy. Oh, too young to get it?”

“Don’t mock me. You look fucking pathetic.”

Ryujin clenched his fists.

“Why don’t you act your age?”

“Unbelievable. Jung Ryujin, you act like I’m some axis of evil or something…”

“You are!”

An ashtray whizzed past Ryujin’s ear.

“Don’t interrupt me.”

Ryujin gripped the blanket.

“Bring Hyeonwoo hyung back.”

“I’m good, but I can’t resurrect the dead.”

“Then drag that bastard in front of me! I’ll rip him to shreds!”

Truly impressive. Was this the fire of youth? Or did yesterday’s head blow mess him up that bad? Shin Haebeom waved his cigarette hand, chuckling.

“Our little guy’s full of fight.”

“Stop screwing around!”

“Thought about how you’ll pay for it?”

“What nonsense?!”

“That car of Chiwoo’s you totaled—foreign make, decked out with tuning, cost a fortune. He even named it, loved it to death.”

“So what!”

“Jung Ryujin, you should thank me. If Chiwoo were in charge, you’d be bone dust by now.”

Shin Haebeom gazed down at Ryujin. He got why Jin Chiwoo said plastic surgery first. The bruised, swollen face looked like a burst tomato.

Honestly, it was a shame. Jung Ryujin’s face perfectly matched Shin Haebeom’s aesthetic standards. Smashing it up like that—Jin Chiwoo must’ve been thrilled.

Shin Haebeom stubbed the cigarette on the bars. His fingers tapped a rhythm on the sill. How to plate this up for a meal with no regrets?

✶⋆.˚

The silver second hand of his wristwatch pointed to 3 p.m. Shin Haebeom pocketed the clicking lighter and rose from his chair. Gi Woohee and NCO Sung Jaekyung stared at the monitor with stiff faces.

“Good work.”

“Yes, sir.”

Shin Haebeom opened the iron door and stepped in. Ryujin’s head hung low.

“…….”

Shin Haebeom didn’t speak right away. He set a laptop on the desk, then paced in front of Ryujin, lightly tapping his palm with a baton—tap, tap.

Ryujin’s eyes followed Shin Haebeom’s movements. Silence stretched on. Just as he got used to the newly repaired interrogation room, Shin Haebeom spoke.

“Let’s hear your story.”

“What story?”

“Exactly that. Tell me how you’ve lived up to now.”

Ryujin glared at Shin Haebeom.

“You’re real interested in me. Must be because of Noona, huh? Instead of grabbing people and screwing around, go search the internet. Tons of pics from when paparazzi bastards snapped me as a kid. Use those if you wanna jerk off.”

“Such a pretty way with words.”

“What, you thought I’d say thanks for caring?”

Shin Haebeom sat, smiling, and waggled the baton side to side.

Memories from his Paohuai days flooded back—clashing with protesters illegally occupying public buildings and staging sit-ins.

It was a blizzard-heavy winter. Some thirty-odd protesters, all armed. With hostages among the agency staff, no shoot order came down. Backup was delayed, stuck in snow and rush-hour traffic, radioing in about congestion… ridiculous. Armed, they weren’t civilians—they were robbers. Shin Haebeom requested shoot permission repeatedly, ignored.

Only twelve of them deployed, including him and Jin Chiwoo. Outnumbered, the encirclement tightened. Shin Haebeom finally understood why they were called cannon fodder. Just buy time—we don’t give a damn if your heads get bashed in or shot off.

Realizing their advantage, the robbers charged boldly. In an instant, the line collapsed. Screams and shouts tangled. A member collided head-on with a protester swinging a three-meter bamboo spear, clutching his chest as he fell. Red blood splattered white snow.

‘Bongjo! Hold the line right, damn it!’

Jin Chiwoo bellowed. Shin Haebeom turned toward the yell. A rifle butt smashed his temple.

His face guard flew off. Face planted in the snow, a muzzle pressed against his skull. Warm blood soaked his eyelids. Through blurry vision, he saw Jin Chiwoo being beaten by frenzied men.

No amount of drilled training—recitable even woken from sleep—mattered once the line broke. Appeals that we were just young guys their age, brothers, sons, fell on deaf ears amid their triumph at toppling the regime’s dogs.

Fumbling through the snow, his hand hit something hard. He swung without knowing what. A man with a red band’s face caved in. Blood poured like a waterfall onto Shin Haebeom’s bare face. It was hot.

Later, he learned the baton belonged to a member who’d died of a concussion on-site. He’d considered giving it to the family at the funeral—scheduled with difficulty—but realized how stupid that was. No way he could present a weapon used like that to grieving kin.

Shin Haebeom spoke.

“I’ll ask instead.”

Suspicious eyes met his.

“Who scouted you into <White Lion>?”

“Why’s that matter?”

“Ha Sungrok, right? He’s the boss.”

“Why’s that important?”

“What I’m curious about is what matters. Answer unless you want your head busted.”

“You already know.”

Ryujin stared at the laptop on the desk.

“All my info’s in there, isn’t it? Asking just to confirm if it’s true? Give it up. I’m not saying shit to you, and you know this is a waste of time.”

“Why so cynical?”

“Just kill me. You’re good at that. Treating people like flies, no guilt!”

Ryujin looked up at Shin Haebeom.

“Do it like you did Hyeonwoo hyung. To me too.”

“That’d be tough. Me and Chiwoo have different styles.”

The pissed-off look was a sight. Shin Haebeom reached for his pocket absentmindedly, then paused. A lightbulb flicked on in his head.

“Jung Ryujin.”

He dangled the Dupont lighter’s flame before Ryujin’s eyes.

“You scared of this?”

The bruised purple cheek twitched. Clamped lips parted. The fierce glare wavered, lost. Shin Haebeom grinned.

“Looks like you are.”

“Put it away.”

A cold voice snapped.

“Get that out of my face, you fuck!”

“Then talk.”

The trembling lips shut tight. Empty eyes resolved to silence appeared.

Shin Haebeom tossed the baton aside and leaned forward. He grabbed Ryujin’s hair, forcing him to face him.

“You know what your only asset is.”

No house, no skills, no money—a punk. Without <White Lion>, he’d be crushed under debt, barely scraping by as an untouchable. For a guy like Ryujin, his one boast in front of others was his face. Resembling Ryu Yeonbi, the goddess and idol who ruled an era, a face that turned heads. Though now, swollen and bruised, it was unrecognizable…

“I can make it so you never look in a mirror again.”

“Crazy bastard.”