Chapter 25

Which meant there was no way he would ever return that lump of jade to her. Yoon Hee-sook would simply have to live out her days like someone missing a tooth.

Living on and on for a very long time, without ever choking on a grape to an untimely death.

Seo Mu-yeong waited for the door to open. Before long, the caregiver entered to collect the meal tray. As the door swung wide, an ample opening emerged.

Seo Mu-yeong slipped out through the gap. He moved with an impeccable quietness that would pass the strictest rules of any library. The faint sound of his breathing was drowned out by the air purifier, and his soft footsteps were swallowed by the conversation outside.

In the meantime, Yoon Hee-sook seemed to have reflexively felt under her pillow. Moments later, a frenzied screech erupted from behind Seo Mu-yeong.

“My diary, my diary!” Yoon Hee-sook shrieked. “It was you, wasn’t it, you wench! You took it! How dare you…!”

Shouts and screams from the two women tangled in the air. The meal tray crashed to the floor with a sharp metallic clatter. Soon, a polite, mechanical automated voice resonated from the call-bell receiver.

“Room 302, call received. Room 302, call received.”

Staff members rushed over in a flurry. Behind their swift movements, curious eyes peered in from all around. Tsking tongues and derisive sneers spread in an instant.

To them, Yoon Hee-sook was loud, unhinged, and a nuisance. A thorn in their side, yet also a piece of chewing gum to gossip and chew on.

Just as Seo Mu-yeong had once been such a child to her, long ago.

Weaving his way through the commotion, Seo Mu-yeong exited the nursing home. It was late evening, and the outside was quite dark—to the point where the outlines of buildings were hard to distinguish from the night sky.

Yet no matter how bright the light spilling from the nursing home was, the shadow that ought to have stretched long before Seo Mu-yeong was virtually invisible. As if living up to his assigned name, Mu-yeong (無景)—the shadowless one. Paying it no mind, Seo Mu-yeong took out his phone. The corners of his lips lifted softly as he typed words into the notepad app.

♥Yeon-jae♥

While he was at it, Seo Mu-yeong also checked the monitoring app. Han Seo-yoon was on a call with Choi Yook at that very moment. Listening in as he headed toward the parking lot, it seemed there was something important taking place tonight. Since it contained nothing concerning himself or Choi Sijin, his interest quickly waned.

Mu-yeong took out his earphones well before reaching the parking tollbooth. Returning to the car, he found Choi Yook still on the phone. Atop the dashboard, a fresh bunch of Shine Muscat grapes lay showing off its vibrant, dewy luster.

The moment their eyes met, Choi Yook hung up the call. Sliding into the driver’s seat, Mu-yeong handed him the notebook.

“She said he’d be around his mid-forties by now, with a beauty mark below his lower lip,” Mu-yeong relayed. “Decently handsome, speaking with a gentle standard accent. Does anyone come to mind?”

Choi Yook’s irises flickered for an instant. Taking the notebook into his hands, he stared fixedly at Mu-yeong, his gaze unmistakably searching for something. Mu-yeong blinked back with an innocent expression.

“I’ve never had a mole removed.”

“Never once suspected you of having one,” Choi Yook countered dryly.

“Then who do you suspect?” Mu-yeong tilted his head in curiosity.

“Would you even know if I told you?”

Choi Yook opened the notebook. Seeing how rapidly his fingers turned the pages, it seemed he was satisfied with the harvest. Mu-yeong clicked on the overhead cabin light and leaned across toward him.

“If you look through it, there’s someone frequently mentioned alongside the child.”

“…” Choi Yook offered only heavy silence.

Mu-yeong prompted him gently, “Yoon Hee-sook referred to him as ‘Student Yeon-jae.’ Wasn’t there a name like that on the list?” He beat him to the punch before Choi Yook could bring up hyung’s existence. Without glancing in Mu-yeong’s direction, Choi Yook opened his mouth.

“Seems there might have been,” Choi Yook murmured noncommittally.

“What was his surname? No, wait—if you show me the list, I can search through it myself. In exchange…” Mu-yeong paused expectantly.

“What now?” Choi Yook asked flatly.

“Could I track down that student on my own?”

Mu-yeong posed the question in a deliberately sunny tone. Only then did Choi Yook glance his way, a faint shadow of irritation bleeding into his features as if put out by the interruption.

Clearly, it was wiser to stop right here. When he pushed back against the man earlier, he had held a solid card in his hand, but that was no longer the case. Even so, Mu-yeong found it difficult to leave things as they were.

“I haven’t gone anywhere near Sijin all this time, have I?” Mu-yeong argued, flashing an easy smile. “And I brought you the notebook today, didn’t I?”

Choi Yook could meet Yoon Hee-sook if he must. But he could never be allowed to meet hyung.

To prevent that, groveling before Choi Yook was nothing. As Mu-yeong offered a sunny, beaming smile, Choi Yook’s index finger jabbed him squarely in the forehead.

Choi Yook leveled a cold look at him. “Seo Mu-yeong-ssi, you’re mistaken about something.”

“…” Mu-yeong offered only quiet compliance.

“I’m the one who makes proposals here, not you,” Choi Yook said. “Besides, look at this.”

His finger slid down to press against a specific phrase in the journal: Now that he’s entering middle school as well.

“There’s no need to go looking for that one,” Choi Yook scoffed. “How is a fourteen-year-old supposed to hide an eleven-year-old kid and raise him? Middle schooler or not, he was just a punk who had barely graduated elementary school. At that age, kids think they’re all grown up, but the reality is they can’t do a damn thing.”

In his sneering voice lay an unmistakable revulsion—a contempt for sheer powerlessness. Even though at that age, it was only natural to be helpless before overwhelming misfortune.

Mu-yeong couldn’t fathom why Choi Yook spoke with such venom. Above all, he hated hearing him badmouth hyung.

“Still, he might know something about the child,” Mu-yeong protested softly. “For instance, a name—”

Before the sentence could finish, Choi Yook slammed his fist onto the dashboard. Even without a shift in his expression, the thud was more than enough to shut Mu-yeong’s mouth.

“Do you know why I said we need to find Yoon Hee-sook?” Choi Yook’s heavy baritone settled over the car’s interior. “It’s because she was a full-grown adult when everything went down. However pathetic her life might have been, Yoon Hee-sook earned her own keep and had the sense to keep neat, meticulous records of what the kid was doing. But a wet-behind-the-ears brat? What could he possibly have gotten out of that girl? At best, they flipped through books together while he grinned like an idiot, pleased with himself.”

“No, they didn’t just play together.” Leaning forward in his seat, Mu-yeong adamantly denied the claim. “Section Chief, you haven’t read through the entire notebook yet. I read all of it while waiting for the staff to arrive. Sure, Yoon Hee-sook treated the shaman’s girl like an outcast while putting that student on a pedestal as a model child, but she recorded everything that took place in the reading room with absolute precision. That student always taught the kid, looked after her, and made sure she didn’t get so much as a scratch. In the winter, he even wrapped his own down jacket around her!”

“And?” Choi Yook arched an eyebrow.

The corner of Choi Yook’s lip twisted into a mocking sneer.

“I fail to see what you find so poignant about that,” Choi Yook remarked with cold contempt. “Did you empathize because you grew up in an orphanage swarming with brats? But tell me, Seo Mu-yeong-ssi—of all the kids you fed, dressed, and bathed for a few fleeting moments, how many ever bared their souls to you? You’re not in touch with a single one of them now, are you? Because you never amounted to anything special in their eyes.”

The mention of the orphanage struck Mu-yeong like a blow to the chest, leaving him momentarily speechless. It was true: none of the younger kids he had cared for ever remembered him. That was why none of those bonds had lasted.

“Still, that was…”

“Don’t tell me it was different. In my eyes, it’s all the exact same thing,” Choi Yook said flatly, delivering the verdict with ruthless finality. “A person has to be in a position to act as a guardian before anyone tells them anything of real consequence. What kind of critical secret could a middle schooler hear when the best he could do was call the police? Even if a kid cried and begged him for salvation, it’s not like he could stash the runaway in his own bedroom and raise her.”

Of course, hyung hadn’t even known Mu-yeong’s name. Mu-yeong’s guardian had been Grandmother, and above all else, Mu-yeong could never disobey Grandmother’s commands. In that regard, Choi Yook’s assessment might well be right.

Mu-yeong fell silent for a moment. Then, slowly, he pulled back his upper body, which had drifted far too close to Choi Yook.

“Fine. I won’t bother you about looking for that student anymore,” Mu-yeong conceded.

Perhaps it was for the best. Though finding hyung had now become far more difficult for himself, the possibility of Choi Yook ever tracking hyung down was completely eliminated. Hyung—who used to head home from work in crisp, clean suits—would never have to cross paths with a mobster under a streetlamp.

“Even so, Section Chief.”

Knowing it was entirely superfluous, Mu-yeong couldn’t stop himself from speaking up.

“I still believe it’s different.”

“What?” Choi Yook’s brow furrowed.

Rather than looking at the man, Mu-yeong glared straight ahead at the steering wheel.

“My time at the orphanage and the missing girl’s situation are entirely different,” Mu-yeong insisted. “Sure, maybe the student named Yeon-jae didn’t know her real name or where she went. But that doesn’t mean he wasn’t important to her. No matter how young and clueless you might be, you never forget happy memories.”

Whatever hyung felt, Mu-yeong knew for a fact that held true for himself. He refused to let someone like Choi Yook tarnish those memories. Whatever else he could swallow, that was something he simply could not endure.

“To that child, Student Yeon-jae might have been more precious than any adult in the world.” Mu-yeong’s voice resonated with quiet conviction. “Because he gave her something those so-called great adults would never offer. Even a penniless brat with nothing to his name knows what is truly precious.”

The moment the words left his mouth, Mu-yeong clamped his lips tightly shut. A suffocating silence stretched between them. He had half-expected a vicious slap across the face for talking back—perhaps the car’s tight quarters made swinging a hand too awkward? He just had to be careful not to turn his head at the wrong angle and burst an eardrum if a blow landed.

Hesitating, Mu-yeong glanced over at Choi Yook. Unexpectedly, the man was not sneering at him. Nor did he betray irritation, annoyance, or glare with that icy, breath-stealing detachment.

Instead, he was merely looking down at Mu-yeong with an enigmatic gaze, as if appraising the quality of a piece of collateral placed before him. After remaining motionless for a long beat, Choi Yook broke the heavy silence.

“Sounds like you have someone like that, Seo Mu-yeong-ssi,” Choi Yook murmured in a low, husky rumble.

“Yes, I…” Breaking into a radiant smile, Mu-yeong gushed, “Sijin is that kind of person to me. From the exact second I laid eyes on him the day his debut was confirmed, he’s been my salvation, my dream, my happiness—all of that. It just so happened that cherry blossoms were fluttering through the air and the sky was vivid blue, so…”

“Start the engine,” Choi Yook cut him off coldly.

“Right away.” Mu-yeong obediently shifted into gear.

Catching sight of Choi Yook’s expression—chilled past the point of lost interest—Mu-yeong smiled subtly and set the car in motion. Though it was already late evening, the downtown streets remained vibrant with life. Crowds and vehicles streamed ceaselessly around the department store and subway station.