BBK Ch 13

Minho tilted his head, arms still crossed. He knew they were showing interest in an odd way, and he understood Gyuoh’s intention to intervene…

“I appreciate you getting riled up for me, but what does that have to do with the motorcycle?”

“We’re close together when I ride the motorcycle. Could we be like that if we weren’t close? Could you hug Secretary Kang like that?”

“Are you crazy? Why would I hug Secretary Kang?”

“See? That’s why we need to flaunt our closeness with these little things. Show them we’re a tight-knit pair.”

So, it was all nonsense. Just another way of saying he felt like riding his motorcycle today. Minho was used to Won Gyuoh’s arbitrary logic by now. They had known each other long enough, and were close enough to justify the showing off.

“…Do whatever you want, then.”

He quickly corrected himself; if he told him to “do whatever the fuck he wanted,” Gyuoh would start spouting words like dick, cock, and prick, making Minho fear being overheard. Besides, arguing would only make things worse. Minho conceded, once again. He knew this retreat was a strategic move to control Won Gyuoh.

No matter how many times he visited, he could never get used to the air in the shabby ping pong hall. Despite the numerous small windows, they clearly never ventilated the place. His palate itched with every breath. He made a mental note to bring a mask next time, or change the meeting location, as he sat down.

“1.2 billion. Non-negotiable.”

The first thing out of his mouth was a demand for more money. He hadn’t seemed to contact the pastor, yet his stance was firm. Minho stared at him, incredulous.

“Does 200 million won just sprout from the ground? You speak so easily.”

“It might, if it’s a chaebol’s land.”

He’d been annoyed by the constant “chaebol, chaebol” talk since their last meeting, but he kept missing the chance to correct him. This time was no different.

“Do you think going to jail for confinement and assault is no big deal?”

Or did they think they could just use a few scapegoats and be done with it? Shaggy Hair merely shrugged at the question. Minho scanned the room.

Unlike their first meeting, they weren’t looking at him. They averted their gazes, pretending disinterest in the conversation. They were silently pressuring him, acting as if they had nothing to lose. Minho cleared his throat, irritated by the dusty air.

“Then shall I give you something stronger?”

“…”

Finally, their eyes quietly shifted towards him. Having multiple cards up his sleeve was advantageous in situations like this. He could pull them out one by one and present them. Minho gave a slight nod, and Gyuoh, in his helmet, bobbed his head in response.

Gyuoh pulled a crumpled piece of paper from his biker jacket pocket. It had been pristine when he brought it, but now the edges were frayed, as if it had been sitting on a desk for years. Gyuoh flipped up his face shield, unfolded the paper, cleared his throat dramatically, and read aloud.

“6th, Kim Dongmun, Lee Jaeyoung, seventy. 7th, Kwon Nayeon, forty.”

“…”

The thugs, initially puzzled by the combination of ordinary names and numbers, belatedly realized what the list represented and began to stir.

“17th, Kim Chaeyoung, Kim Dongmoon, Jin Seongil, Heo Jaekang… Why are there so many on the 17th? On Chuseok, no less, those fucking perverts.”

Annoyed, Gyuoh crumpled the paper in his hand after reading it. The scattered gazes now focused on Gyuoh’s hand.

“How about this? You trafficking people.”

They sent church members, regardless of gender, to various establishments. Sometimes for cleaning or designated driving, other times to serve drinks or worse. They had established a “rule” that people had to go through this process to receive the fake pastor’s blessing.

Desperate individuals endured these degrading and exploitative environments, completely unaware that their very existence was being manipulated. They believed that such sacrifices were necessary to receive grace.

“We also have the ledger showing you pocketing the money after sending them to these places.”

The list Gyuoh had recited was the proof. The money earned through this exploitation went straight into the pastor’s and these thugs’ pockets.

“…A piece of paper as evidence? You expect me to believe that?”

Shaggy Hair feigned composure, scoffing. He was trying to deny it, assuming they lacked concrete evidence, just like with the photos before.

“We got our hands on the list. You think there’s no CCTV footage?”

Minho’s lips curved into a smirk, almost a victor’s smile. Shaggy Hair’s face hardened as he looked back and forth between Minho and Gyuoh.

“Still sticking with 1.2 billion?”

“…”

“I don’t think so.”

Shaggy Hair, silently staring at the floor, gave a slight nod to the man beside him. The man immediately pulled out his phone, suggesting he had someone to report to, likely the pastor. It meant that despite acting like the boss here, Shaggy Hair didn’t have the authority to make decisions on his own.

“Need more time to think? Luckily, I’m free today, so I’ll wait.”

Minho unbuttoned his shirt cuffs and loosened his tie, leaning back in his chair, looking much more relaxed. Gyuoh took off his helmet and ruffled his hair, tossing a ping pong ball in the air and catching it repeatedly. Shaggy Hair, watching them settle in as if they planned to stay indefinitely, cleared his throat to get their attention.

“I need to make a quick call.”

“Sure.”

As Shaggy Hair stood up with his phone and headed towards a back room, Minho and Gyuoh simultaneously checked their wristwatches – a silent display of pressure. Coughing again, Shaggy Hair disappeared into the room. His silhouette moved back and forth behind the square window.

Then, Minho’s phone vibrated. Jiho’s name flashed on the screen. It was his morning practice time. He looked at the screen, then caught Gyuoh’s eye and showed him the phone. He stepped out of the ping pong hall to answer the call. He wondered if something was wrong, but the call ended quickly after Jiho simply informed him of a delivered package.

As he pocketed his phone and opened the door to the ping pong hall, Gyuoh’s gaze immediately snapped towards him. He turned his head so quickly his bangs fluttered, his brow furrowed. His expression was clearly one of bewilderment.

Minho mouthed silently,

‘Why?’

But Gyuoh didn’t respond. His troubled expression remained unchanged.

“…”

Had something happened while he was gone? As Minho tilted his head in confusion, Shaggy Hair emerged from the back room with an awkward expression. Whether he had been yelled at or had an argument, his neck was flushed red.

Dust from the back room tickled Minho’s nose and throat. Even as he sneezed, covering his mouth, the man continued speaking without pause.

“The pastor is currently out of town, and things seem hectic. So, we don’t need to decide right away, right? Can you give us a little more time?”

“Hmm.”

Minho rubbed his eyes, reddened from sneezing, and considered the man’s words. He leaned against the ping pong table, tilting his body. His gaze met Gyuoh’s. His sharp eyes slowly closed and opened.

Registering the silent agreement, Minho pondered. Their previous visits had been every two or three days. Should he give them more leeway this time? He straightened up and spoke.

“Two weeks.”

“…Two weeks?”

“That’s enough, isn’t it?”

Giving them more time and following up would help him figure out the pastor’s movements. Then he could find evidence linking the pastor to the drugs or other illegal activities.

“Okay, two weeks. We also… uh… have a lot to consider because of the significant losses.”

“But let’s meet at Wuwon next time.”

Gyuoh, who had been standing silently like a stranger throughout the conversation, suddenly interjected. Shaggy Hair narrowed his eyes at the unexpected change of venue.

“Why?”

“Coming here keeps giving me allergies I didn’t have before.”

All eyes turned to Gyuoh. He seemed unfazed by the sharp stares, even going so far as to cover his mouth with his large hand and wrinkle his nose. The expensive watch on his wrist still glittered.

“Are everyone’s lungs okay? Just breathing here feels shitty.”

“W-What do you mean?”

“Maybe you guys are just used to this kind of place.”

The thugs’ faces crumpled as they watched Gyuoh wave his hand in front of his face. He was so good at getting under people’s skin. Breaking the tense silence, Minho raised his right hand.

“I second the ‘shitty.’ Let’s meet on our turf next time.”

Although no one agreed, the two began to prepare to leave, as if they had received confirmation.

“Minho-hyungnim, you haven’t changed, have you?”

As he waited for Gyuoh to gather his helmet and gloves, Shaggy Hair spoke, using the honorific “hyungnim” he hadn’t used since they met again. Even Gyuoh, who had been bending over, stopped and looked up.

“Protecting Won Gyuoh. You always did that back then.”

“Were you jealous? Then you should have looked like him. So I’d feel like protecting you, too.”

Minho responded nonchalantly, shrugging, but he was inwardly surprised. He had thought he was simply being reasonable when he saw Gyuoh being bullied for absurd reasons. But perhaps it had looked like he was protecting him.

“Your way with words is the same too. I wonder if your body is also the same as before.”

Shaggy Hair licked his lips and lowered his gaze, pointedly looking at Minho’s lower body. The implication was clear.

“…It’s been a while since I’ve thrown a punch. I’m probably out of practice.”

As Minho feigned ignorance, shrugging, Gyuoh suddenly stepped between them. Even from behind, his displeasure was palpable.