Chapter 72

Choi Yook picked up the binder. Mu-yeong wondered if he should wait for his reaction, but leaving fresh, piping-hot pizza untouched was simply unthinkable. He took a massive bite of the steaming Hawaiian slice. The explosion of sweet and salty flavors sent a delicious shiver straight to his skull.

“So good…”

Swallowing the bite, Mu-yeong let out a languid sigh as a bead of sweat dripped from the wet ends of his hair. Choi Yook, who had been flipping through the pages, shifted his gaze toward him.

“Your body is fully grown, but you act like a complete brat sometimes.”

Mu-yeong wiped a stray crumb from his lip. “If I don’t spill, that’s grown-up enough in my book. Besides, when food is delicious, you have to savor it. It’s not like I get to eat well on ordinary days anyway.” He tore open a packet of hot sauce and drizzled it over half of the Hawaiian slice. The thin, bright red sauce added a glossy sheen atop the pineapple chunks.

Across the table, Choi Yook picked up a slice of the pepperoni pizza sitting before him. “Is there any reason to bother eating delicious food?” Choi Yook asked flatly. “As long as it keeps you alive, that’s enough.”

His tone suggested he might as well be holding a dried-up crust of stale bread. Mu-yeong tilted his head curiously. He rested his chin in his hand. “But then your sense of what you like gradually goes numb. And that means you stop understanding what kind of person you truly are.”

“It’s quite the opposite,” Choi Yook replied. “When what matters most is absolute, all the trivial little details cease to matter.”

Mu-yeong leaned forward across the table. “Then what’s the most important thing to you, Section Chief?” He took another bite of pizza, watching him with a pounding heart. In his field of vision, the perspective made Choi Yook’s face look like a topping resting on the pizza itself. He felt as though if he opened his mouth and went ‘ah’, he could swallow the man whole. The moment he swallowed down the mouthful, Choi Yook parted his lips with an entirely deadpan expression.

“My brother.”

Fuck… Mu-yeong’s appetite vanished in an instant. The pleasantly chewy cheese suddenly felt like rubber between his teeth. Why doesn’t he just marry his brother and get it over with? Or is that a no-go because Choi Sijin hates the idea?

Mu-yeong chewed his pizza with fierce, vengeful vigor. Meanwhile, Choi Yook set his half-eaten slice down and turned another page.

“If we weave this properly and feed it to the broadcasters, it might make for a fairly compelling picture…” Choi Yook murmured beneath his breath, scanning the documents with rapid precision.

Mu-yeong chewed and swallowed the rest of his slice, meeting his gaze. He blinked in surprise. “Really? What about pressing charges?”

Choi Yook’s eyes narrowed. “You don’t seriously believe criminal charges will stick, do you?” he asked.

“Uh… why wouldn’t they?”

In his own case, there was zero evidence and his testimony carried no legal weight, but surely anyone looking at this would call it outright fraud, wouldn’t they? As Mu-yeong blinked in confusion, Choi Yook set the binder down.

Choi Yook set the document flat on the table. “Crimes tied to shamanism have a far higher acquittal rate than other cases. You can file, but it drags out forever and the outcome is never guaranteed.”

“Then…” Mu-yeong furrowed his brow, something about this failing to add up. “Then why would Yang Ui-ju go out of his way to eliminate Kim Seo-gyeong? If she wasn’t much of a threat to him, I mean. Even if the broadcast ran a segment, people would just curse him as a fraud for a few days and move—”

Wait. Mu-yeong’s eyes widened. A fraud, a fake shaman, a spiritualist who had lost his divine edge. Those were the exact threats Mu-yeong had used to blackmail Yang Ui-ju.

Mu-yeong looked up sharply. “Was he terrified of losing his clientele?”

“I’m glad you have enough brains to figure that much out,” Choi Yook said.

Choi Yook swallowed his mouthful of pizza. Though he seemed to eat without care, the corners of his mouth remained immaculate, without a single smudge of sauce.

“Hearing people say his divine spark has dried up is what he fears most,” Choi Yook continued. “Still, this alone isn’t enough. Since it’s all tied to his disciples, he has plenty of loopholes to wriggle through.”

He polished off another slice of pepperoni in rapid succession. Rather than enjoying the flavor, he seemed to be eating mindlessly simply because it was placed right in front of him. Sliding the Hawaiian pizza into the empty space left by the pepperoni, Mu-yeong mulled over Choi Yook’s words.

Right. Yang Ui-ju takes no responsibility for his disciples. If they lack spiritual power, he simply shifts the blame entirely onto them.

So why did he go so far as to promise one particular disciple that he’d perform his initiation rite ahead of everyone else? And why did that disciple suddenly have to dig up a perfectly intact backyard?

It hardly seemed likely that Yang Ui-ju had ordered that just to bury kimchi crocks. Mu-yeong pushed the tray of oven-baked spaghetti toward Choi Yook, his eyes brightening with realization.

“Section Chief, if Yang Ui-ju killed Kim Seo-gyeong, I doubt he disposed of her alone.” Mu-yeong leaned forward, dropping his voice. “Those records you’re reading—I skimmed them too, and the disciples handled everything from plunging clogged toilets to booking his golf dates. There’s no way he would have left his personal errand-runners out of the loop for this one occasion. Or living in such close quarters, someone might have caught wind of it by accident.”

Choi Yook speared a pickle and ate it. In contrast to the mechanical movement of his jaw, his eyes slowly raked over Mu-yeong’s face.

“Then bring me proof to back up that speculation,” Choi Yook demanded.

Resting his elbows on the table, Choi Yook leaned his upper body toward Mu-yeong.

“We’re going to meet Yang Ui-ju before long. While I talk with him, turn that house upside down if you have to and dig up the evidence. If you make me waste my time…”

He plunged his fork straight into the center of the melted cheese blanketing the oven-baked spaghetti, tearing it open. From between the golden-brown crust, a clump of spaghetti tangled in thick red tomato sauce spilled forth like viscera.

“…then it proves your skills are utterly ordinary, which means I can treat you like anyone else.”

“Like anyone else?” Mu-yeong asked.

Choi Yook twirled the pasta around his tines. “Whether I butcher you for parts or use you to blow off steam however I see fit—as long as I extract some use out of you, it makes no difference to me.”

The twirled spaghetti disappeared into Choi Yook’s mouth. It was a predation that left not a single trace behind.

Knowing him, he was certainly capable of doing whichever suited his whim. Even if Choi Yook had genuinely worried for him last time, it brought Mu-yeong no sense of safety.

Apart from momentary impulses or desires, people always held values they deemed far more vital. Just as Yoon Hee-sook had trembled in terror yet never reported anything to the police, and Kim Jeong-seon had wept in bitter sorrow yet still slaughtered the dog without hesitation.

And Seo Mu-yeong possessed nothing impressive enough to make himself Choi Yook’s foremost priority. From the very beginning, his first impression had undoubtedly been atrocious. After all, wasn’t he the vile stalker bastard obsessing over the man’s cherished younger brother?

Not that he enjoyed watching Choi Yook treat only Choi Sijin like a precious treasure, of course. Mu-yeong twirled the spaghetti around his fork. Before he realized it, the yellow cheese and crimson sauce had swirled together into an indistinguishable mess.

“That’s only if I fail,” Mu-yeong said with an arch of his brow. “What if I do well? How specially will you treat me then?”

Swallowing a bite of pasta, Mu-yeong offered a sweet smile. He felt an urge to take a fork and scrape furiously at Choi Yook’s unyielding brotherly devotion, like scraping away charred cheese baked onto a dish.

“Will you grant me a proper vacation? Then I could grab dinner and drinks with my boss for the first time in a while. Or maybe I’ll properly search for that childhood friend I mentioned before. Otherwise, would you give me permission to go see Sijin? It’s been so long since I last saw Sijin that it’s getting really hard—”

Before he could finish his sentence, Choi Yook seized the hand Mu-yeong held his fork with. A searing pain surged through his knuckles as if every bone were being wrenched out of place. As Mu-yeong gasped, Choi Yook jerked his hand forward, heedless of the tomato sauce splattering across the table. Caught off balance by the violent motion, not just his hand but his entire torso lurched forward.

“I don’t know where you picked up that habit of constantly testing the waters, but it’s filthy as hell.”

Choi Yook glared directly into Mu-yeong’s eyes with a chilling frost.

“You think keeping a hook in every man means you get to claim them all for yourself. But you’re in no position to be greedy, so shut up and just do your work. Be grateful you still have breath in your lungs.”

Mu-yeong met his icy glare unflinchingly. “I don’t see what’s so wrong with my habits.”

Despite the throbbing agony, Mu-yeong offered a bright smile.

“My job is at the errand center, and I have hardly any friends to speak of,” Mu-yeong said smoothly. “It’s only natural that I’d want to see them often. Or are you, our busy Section Chief, willing to make time to meet with me instead?”

Choi Yook gave a curt nod. “Sure, that sounds like a plan.”

Mu-yeong doubted his own ears.

“…Pardon?” Mu-yeong blurted.

“I’m busy as hell either way, so I might as well keep you on a tight leash so you don’t go wandering around throwing your affections around so cheaply,” Choi Yook replied flatly. “After all, a management position means getting used to breaking people in and putting them to use.”

A crooked smirk tugged at Choi Yook’s lips. A gaze like a rushing torrent pinned Mu-yeong to the spot. He leaned in, his voice brooking no argument. “Once this job is finished, come work under me. I’m going to run you through the wringer and teach you myself.”

Mu-yeong’s eyes widened. Come work under him?

That was something he had never once considered. Having feelings for Choi Yook and wanting to be by his side was an entirely different matter from having the man as his direct superior.

“But I already belong somewhere,” Mu-yeong murmured.

Mu-yeong tactfully declined. Naturally, that didn’t make the slightest dent in Choi Yook. He sneered at the idea. “If you can call a dusty hole-in-the-wall office an affiliation, that is. I can pay you double whatever you’re currently earning.”

“The money is fine,” Mu-yeong insisted. “I even get bonuses on public holidays right now. More importantly, my boss is a wonderful person. He treats me exceptionally well—truly, really well in every conceivable way.”

Mu-yeong glanced down at his pinned hand, making a somewhat deliberate show of it. Yet far from releasing the crushed fingers, Choi Yook merely stared right through him. If anything, was it just his imagination that the man’s gaze seemed to turn even fiercer? Giving up on his pulverized hand, Mu-yeong scrambled to tack on further justifications.

“And I’m still lacking in experience, with no brokers or connections of my own, so it’s hard to get anything done by myself… Besides, I started my working life there, so it has sentimental value to me.”

Of course, that was far from the only reason Mu-yeong couldn’t readily become Choi Yook’s subordinate. Once placed under the man’s direct oversight, he would no longer be able to drag his feet on investigating the child’s whereabouts using his regular job as an excuse.

Furthermore, if he ever needed assistance with his revenge down the line, Lee Ho-joon and Kim Sang-beom were the only allies he could turn to. Yet if he drifted even an inch away from them, he feared they would forget his existence entirely.