Chapter 18

Gauging the man’s reaction, Mu-yeong trailed off into silence. Choi Yook swept his eyes over Mu-yeong’s face from top to bottom.

“I even granted your wish to stay alive,” Choi Yook stated evenly.

“…” Mu-yeong had no answer for that.

“You ought to put more faith in me than in unresponsive gods, Seo Mu-yeong-ssi,” the man commanded coldly. “That’s the only way the ledger squares, isn’t it?”

Reaching out, he clamped his thumb and forefinger firmly against Mu-yeong’s throat. Because the grip pressed precisely where his pulse throbbed, his breath caught in his airway. The memory of having his windpipe crushed by those very hands rushed back instantly.

Did he mean he would kill him if he didn’t comply? As Mu-yeong reflexively sucked in a sharp gasp of air, Choi Yook pulled his hand away without lingering.

Watching the man round the front and slip into the passenger seat, Mu-yeong swallowed dryly. As expected, Choi Yook was not a man to be taken lightly—especially given how fiercely he sought to grind Mu-yeong under his heel the moment Choi Sijin’s name entered the conversation.

Even so, there was no reason to let it dampen his spirits. Mu-yeong promptly slid into the driver’s seat, meeting Choi Yook’s dark eyes.

“Then is it alright if I pray to you, Section Chief?” Mu-yeong asked.

Mu-yeong beamed as he posed the question. Choi Yook gave him a look of utter disbelief, but Mu-yeong didn’t mind in the slightest.

Before his name had been stolen, Mu-yeong had possessed an extraordinary degree of sociability. Back when he lived in Seoul, smiling and throwing his arms around practically anyone had been second nature. And when he first came down to Mangcheon, he had persistently tagged along and clung to his hyung until they grew undeniably close.

Of course, nowadays the vast majority of people felt inherently uneasy around his very existence. Yet Choi Yook, who could perceive him clearly, experienced no such eerie discomfort. What the man felt was merely pure, unadulterated contempt for the pathetic stalker clinging to his younger brother.

Then wasn’t it worth a shot—trying to make Choi Yook warm up to him, even just a fraction? Mu-yeong turned the key in the ignition with a bright smile, only for Choi Yook’s voice to slice through the idling hum.

Choi Yook’s deep voice cut across the silence. “Do you know why people used to believe in gods so devoutly in the old days, Seo Mu-yeong-ssi?”

“Why?” Choi Yook’s sluggish voice took on a distinctly chilly tone as he asked, “Did what Hong Soon-ja said sound like some profound prophecy to you? You think I wouldn’t recognize the kid if he were standing right in front of me?”

Mu-yeong offered the simplest, most intuitive answer. Choi Yook let out a dry smirk.

“No. Because they believed abandoning faith invited divine retribution,” Choi Yook explained ruthlessly. “Droughts, devastating typhoons, and fatal plagues—they blamed every catastrophe on an insufficiency of faith.”

“…” Mu-yeong swallowed in silence.

“Once wrath descended, digging up graves, splashing pig’s blood, or tearing off human flesh to feast upon was utterly useless,” the man finished.

In short, the man was making it clear that if Mu-yeong ever dared cross him, he would tear him apart without mercy. As expected, befriending Choi Yook might be relatively easier than with anyone else, but it was far from an easy feat in absolute terms. Mu-yeong met his gaze with an exceptionally sunny countenance.

“Then I suppose I’ll have to serve you with even greater devotion,” Mu-yeong chimed in with a bright smile. “Where shall I take you?” he asked with genuine cheer.

“Gangnam.”

Choi Yook answered curtly. Having glanced at the lotus pendant and rosary hanging below the rearview mirror, his gaze drifted down toward Mu-yeong. It was an examining look, remarkably similar to the way Mu-yeong had studied the grasshopper moments earlier.

The drive back from Mangcheon to Gangnam passed in no time. Pulling up before an office building along the main boulevard, Mu-yeong put the car in park and leaned over with a cheerful, ingratiating smile.

“Section Chief, would you perhaps care to join me for lunch—” Mu-yeong began.

—Thud.

The door slammed shut before he could finish. Without glancing back, Choi Yook strode straight into the building. Still, given that the man hadn’t thrown a punch, Mu-yeong considered it quite a promising start.

Pulling back into traffic, Mu-yeong fired off a message to his information broker. With Yoon Hee-sook’s name, past residence, and former workplace in hand, tracking down her current whereabouts wouldn’t be difficult. Having wired the commission fee, he expected the necessary details to arrive in a matter of days.

Mu-yeong dialed Kim Sang-beom. An upbeat lilt crept into his voice naturally.

“Boss, I’m back from Mangcheon,” Mu-yeong reported cheerfully. “I’m in Gangnam right now.”

―“Yeah,” Kim Sang-beom grunted. “If you can take a picture right now, snap one of the scenery outside and send it over.”

It was an odd, unexpected request, but Mu-yeong complied without question. Having checked the incoming photo, Kim Sang-beom let out a heavy sigh over the speaker.

―“Fine. Wrap up your remaining tasks safely,” the boss concluded.

“Will do. I’m heading to my next appointment right away,” Mu-yeong said with a grin. “Have a great day, Boss!”

Ending the call, Mu-yeong checked his GPS tracking app. The vehicle belonging to thirty-six-year-old Kim Joo-won, who had taken a discreet half-day off from work behind his wife’s back, happened to be passing right nearby.

Switching lanes, Mu-yeong fell in behind his mark. The target vehicle eventually came to a stop at a public park he had staked out a few times before. Crowds swarmed beneath cascading showers of falling cherry blossoms.

Since taking up this line of work, Mu-yeong had memorized not only the layout of motel districts, but the blooming seasons of various flowers and renowned restaurants nationwide. People invariably flocked to specific scenic hotspots according to the season and their palates.

Grabbing his camera, Mu-yeong stepped out of the van and approached Kim Joo-won and his companion. A photo holding hands; a photo taking a selfie together beneath a blossoming tree; a photo spreading out a picnic mat and feeding each other stuffed fried tofu rice balls. While Mu-yeong captured crisp video footage just two meters away, the two huddled close, whispering sweet nothings.

“Oppa, why did we have to meet so late in life?” the woman cooed, leaning against his shoulder. “If only we’d met sooner.”

Kim Joo-won stroked her cheek with an affectionate smile. “Still, I don’t regret meeting you for a second. You know, our encounter is pure fate. How else could we be this happy?”

A lingering, emotive gaze gave way to a display of heartfelt kisses. Lowering his camera, Mu-yeong stepped backward, retreating from the scene. It was roughly the three-hundred-and-seventy-fifth time he had heard people invoke the word “fate.”

Yet shouldn’t fate refer to something far more helpless and inescapable? Like passersby nearly unfurling a picnic mat right over Mu-yeong’s head as he crouched on the grass, someone carelessly tossing a half-eaten hot dog straight onto his sneaker, or strangers crowding right against his shoulders to snap a cheerful family portrait.

The family posing for the photograph numbered three: a mother in blue jeans, a child in a denim jacket, and a father sporting a denim cap. To any observer, they looked like an immaculate matching set.

Mu-yeong stepped aside. He watched the child, nestled securely in the mother’s arms, smiling as the father took their picture. Reaching out to grab the father as he approached, the toddler fumbled and dropped the prized ball cradled in small hands.

The bouncing pink ball rolled across the grass, coming to rest at Mu-yeong’s feet. Waddling forward with both arms outstretched, the toddler hurried over to retrieve it, a bright, innocent grin lighting up the child’s cherubic face.

Mu-yeong crouched down before the approaching child. Brushing off the specks of dirt and stray flower petals with his sleeve, he held out the ball with both hands.

“Hello there,” Mu-yeong greeted warmly, offering the ball. “Here you—”

Mu-yeong’s broad smile froze before he could finish. The child had abruptly burst into loud, terrified wails. In an instant, the parents rushed over, glaring at Mu-yeong with expressions of bewildered outrage.

“Why on earth are you terrifying my child?” the mother demanded sharply.

Raising his empty hands in frantic apology, Mu-yeong stammered, “Ah, well, that’s…”

“Popping out of nowhere like that—what if the kid got hurt!” the father bellowed.

The father raised his voice in furious reproach. As he pointed an accusatory finger, heads instantly whipped around, and a wave of uneasy murmuring rippled through the surrounding crowd.

—“What is it? Did someone try to hurt that little kid? A child that small? How could anyone do that? Do we have to watch out for creeps even in a public park? The world is terrifying. Shouldn’t someone call the police?”

A wave of dizziness washed over Mu-yeong beneath the barrage of hostility piercing him from every direction. The child had every reason to be startled—he hadn’t seen Mu-yeong standing there. The parents were entirely justified. So were the bystanders throwing accusations. Their reactions were completely natural, and none of them had done anything wrong.

The fault lay entirely with himself. He should have signaled his presence more noticeably—stomped his feet or made some noise. No, even then, the child would have been just as frightened. He should have simply pretended not to see and walked away.

Under ordinary circumstances, it was a mistake he never would have made. But he had briefly forgotten. All because of the half-day spent in Choi Yook’s company—because that man had looked at him and spoken to him as if he were an ordinary human being.

Letting the ball drop, Mu-yeong spun on his heel and hastened through the crowd. Holding his breath, taking three steps and then running without pause. Each time someone’s shoulder collided with his or a foot stepped on his shoe, the air choked in his throat.

Mu-yeong barely broke free of the throngs and reached the parking lot. Struggling to spot his own vehicle amidst the rows of nearly identical black sedans, he felt like a turtle desperately wandering in search of its lost shell. Clambering into the Carnival at last, he drew ragged breaths and unlocked his phone. Choi Sijin’s beaming face, filling the entire wallpaper, greeted his sight.

Seeing that brilliant smile finally coaxed a faint chuckle from his lips. Strength seeped back into his limbs. Even Choi Sijin was living the high life without a care in the world, so why the fuck couldn’t Seo Mu-yeong survive and thrive just as well?

Pulling out a wet wipe, Mu-yeong scrubbed aggressively at the ketchup and mustard smeared across his sneaker. Just as he gathered the trash into the empty bread bag, the line connected between Han Seo-yoon and Choi Yook. Hurriedly popping in his earphones, Mu-yeong tuned into the wiretap with cheerful anticipation.

―“It’s me,” Choi Yook stated.

Choi Yook spoke first. Han Seo-yoon responded without missing a beat.

―“Yes, Section Chief,” Han Seo-yoon answered promptly. “Is everything well?”

―“Yeah, no issues. Pick up a jacket on your way back. Black.” Choi Yook’s instructions were brief.

―“Understood,” Han Seo-yoon replied. “Anything else you require?”

―“Anything else…” A low murmur drifted over the line. Choi Yook paused, deliberating in silence. “Dig into Seo Mu-yeong’s insurance and medical records,” he commanded.

Han Seo-yoon sounded taken aback. ―“Medical records, sir?”

Choi Yook lapsed into momentary silence, letting the question hang.

―“So far, we haven’t uncovered any evidence linking Seo Mu-yeong to that place, have we?” Choi Yook asked.

―“No, sir,” Han Seo-yoon confirmed. “Has something aroused your suspicion? Shall I put a tail on him?”

―“No, he’d notice without fail.”