Chapter 11

***

Whirrr—hummm.

Geum Seoul busily beat the blanket draped across the long clothesline. No matter how hard he struck with his palms, the creases wouldn’t vanish completely, but if it dried thoroughly under the sun, it could still be spread neatly over the mattress.

Pat.

Brushing off his hands, wrinkled and damp from hanging laundry, he slumped onto a dry section of the roof. With the sun behind him, a long shadow stretched from his toes.

Yesterday had brought torrential rain; today, the sky was cloudless from dawn and the heat was hellish. The thermometer Park Gil-pyeong had mounted on the building climbed past thirty-eight degrees Celsius toward forty, driving the villagers into whatever shade they could find. Geum Seoul, meanwhile, finished an errand, rushed through the washing, and hung every garment across a clothesline he had wiped meticulously clean.

“Help me find Lee Hee-joong until then, and I’ll pay you a hundred times your usual rate.”

The smiling face of that man barged into his mind without warning. Geum Seoul hurriedly rubbed his earlobes. Perhaps the sudden heat had transferred to his hands, for his fingertips felt slick and warm.

Just as Rin had said, Geum Seoul had never seen anyone who looked like that. For the first time he understood what people meant when they said someone ‘looked like a painting.’ Whenever the man’s lips curved into a smirk, Geum Seoul caught himself staring or felt the strength drain from his toes. Why does someone with a face like that have to be so terrifying? He drew his knees together and let out a long breath.

—With the rain clearing, a full-blown heat wave has resumed. Heat wave warnings have been issued across Seoul and…

The radio forecast had been right. The sun beat down so hard that sweat drenched him within minutes. Accustomed to discomfort, Geum Seoul did little more than blink and endure it.

His pocket felt heavy. Lowering his bent knees slightly, he retrieved the object stretching his worn fabric to near-bursting: a small water bottle roughly the size of a palm, wrapped in a label he had never seen before.

“If you collapsed from dehydration, you need to drink plenty of water. Take it.”

The bottle received yesterday remained unopened. Tilting it created an odd bubbling sound as air pockets formed inside.

A police officer.

Geum Seoul remembered the brilliant holographic badge. The officers he had encountered in lawless alleys before were mostly indifferent, detached figures. Even so, this man had to be a good person, didn’t he? He had said he would return Lee Hee-joong to his parents. Coming all the way here to search for a gemstone omega treated worse than livestock had to mean something. Even if it was only duty, Geum Seoul preferred to think there was compassion in it.

The errands were hardly difficult: carry water to operatives scattered around the area, or guide one of the subordinates through the neighborhood. To Geum Seoul, who knew every alley and shortcut, it barely felt like work. Besides, the subordinate had turned out to be far friendlier than expected.

“I apologize for earlier,” Yu Jeong-ham said gently. “You were scared, weren’t you?”

“No, it’s fine. I was the one who lied… I didn’t even know you were police,” Seoul replied, shaking his head.

Jeong-ham offered a polite smile, “Our mission requires keeping our identities secret. Please keep it between us.”

Seoul promised earnestly, “I will.”

They had even spoken like that. Being treated with such consideration made the arrangement feel less and less like paid work.

Creeeak.

The familiar hinge groan sounded from the building entrance. Pulling his gaze naturally from the bottle, Geum Seoul looked past the edge of the roof toward the alley below.

“…”

Gwichang. The man whose very name carried a chill was stepping through the doorway while conversing with his subordinate. There was nothing remarkable about his expression, yet Geum Seoul’s gaze clung to him helplessly.

Gwichang drew a slender hand-rolled cigarette from his silver case and parted his lips around it. Geum Seoul felt absurdly like a peeping Tom, and heat climbed into his cheeks.

A tiny gasp slipped from Seoul’s throat. “Ah.”

Of all moments, their eyes met. How had the man known he was looking? Geum Seoul had been on the roof first, so it was not as though he had deliberately spied on him, yet he still shrank back. He started to shift as though he should stand. Gwichang seemed to give the briefest hint of a smile, then his dark brows drew together in a deep scowl. Geum Seoul understood why: the sun slanted directly into his eyes.

Yet the man didn’t move away, lighting his cigarette on the spot and continuing his conversation. What was being said was neither audible nor any of his business.

Geum Seoul rose to his feet. Gathering the garments aligned neatly along the line, he pulled the blanket drying on the left and rehung it on the right. Though creases formed again on the fabric he had vigorously beaten, he refrained from beating it this time, fearing the noise would carry down to the ground.

After draping the fabric and pinning it down with colorful clothespins, Geum Seoul picked up his water bottle and stepped back inside.

“Deputy Director,” Jeong-ham reported, stepping closer, “the operatives monitoring Noh Pil-gyu just checked in. They say he’s growing suspicious of the communication gap, so you need to contact him within thirty minutes…”

“…”

Gwichang listened to Yu Jeong-ham’s report with the filter between his lips, then let his gaze drift toward the low roof. The brutal sunlight that had been stabbing into his eyes moments earlier was now blocked by a broad blanket—the one Geum Seoul had just moved before disappearing through the window.

So he had washed the rain-stained blanket again. Around it, scraps of cheap fabric rescued from the storm, washed clean, and rehung were already baking beneath the morning sun.

“Is there any statistical data sorting omega pheromone scents by type?” Gwichang asked, abruptly changing the topic.

Jeong-ham scratched his cheek thoughtfully. “Uh, I couldn’t say about statistics, but it varies from person to person. The friend I met a while back smelled of sulfur…”

Given the opening, Yu Jeong-ham began talking. As he said, omega scents resisted easy classification. Still, when Gwichang thought back over the omegas he had encountered, most carried a heavy sweetness—flowers or fruit drowned in sugar, intense enough to sting the nose. He disliked being near them. Geum Seoul, however—

Thud.

Having been on the roof moments before, he pushed open the first-floor door and emerged outside. Though he had been watching freely from above, he now hurried past in brisk strides as if nothing had happened. Gwichang’s eyes trailed the tip of the youth’s shadow.

Screeeech—

A shrill mechanical squeal suddenly tore across the village. Yu Jeong-ham winced and looked up. A streetlamp stood in black silhouette; high above the lamp itself, atop a post taller and sharper than anything else in the district, sat the speaker pouring out the noise. Public-address horns were common in small towns. This one looked grotesquely out of place in a ruined settlement.

Skrrr. Skreeek.

The horn was cracked, whether from age or thrown debris, exposing the circular driver beneath its weathered shell. What came through it was no public announcement but raw, punishing noise: rusted hinges grinding, fingernails raking metal, then a burst of manic human laughter. Gwichang tilted his chin.

Unfamiliar with the town, Yu Jeong-ham naturally looked toward Geum Seoul, who had just brushed past. Setting out on an errand, Geum Seoul glanced at the speaker before retracing his steps—an explanation for the strangers.

“This broadcast plays about four or five times a week,” Seoul explained over the rising whine.

Covering his ears against the din, Jeong-ham yelled, “Four or five times a week? Why?”

With one hand clamped over his ear, Yu Jeong-ham shouted over the din. The operatives inside rushed out at the racket, only to snap into formation the instant they saw their superiors. Geum Seoul, who had reacted to the sound with the weary indifference of someone long accustomed to it, visibly shrank at the squad’s disciplined movement and edged a step closer.

“They say it’s blasted to drive us out,” Seoul shouted back.

Jeong-ham grimaced, understanding dawning on him. “Ah.”

Yu Jeong-ham remembered an old news report from the years when abandoned houses multiplied and crime rose among the destitute who occupied them. This was one of the eradication broadcasts launched by the government before last, meant to drive people from dying settlements until the villages disappeared entirely.

“Wow. So it’s real,” Jeong-ham muttered in disbelief. “I’d only heard it as a rumor.”

The broadcast shifted into a high, nerve-flaying ultrasonic whine. Being subjected to something foul enough to induce migraines four or five times a week was torture. Every detail of the place seemed to add another reason to pity the boy.

Yu Jeong-ham strode toward the nearest utility pole, but the climbing rungs had been cut away so cleanly that even a finger could not find purchase. Pointed iron brackets held the speaker high above the power lines. The whole arrangement felt deliberately malicious.

“How long does this keep up?” Jeong-ham asked, wincing.

“Mm… Since it didn’t play yesterday or the day before,” Seoul shouted, “it’ll probably drone on for several days. But it’s manageable if you wear earplugs. Cotton balls work too… Would you like some?”

Jeong-ham waved his hand dismissively. “No. It’s fine.”

Of all times. Noh Pil-gyu was as paranoid as he was greedy. Even while abroad, he routinely tracked his subordinates. Their software could spoof GPS signals, but skipping scheduled calls was impossible.

“Is there anywhere around here out of earshot?” Jeong-ham pleaded urgently. “Some enclosed building? Just for about an hour. We have an important call to take.”

The call would come soon. If they placed an outgoing call first and disguised it as a routine briefing, they could head off suspicion. The problem was escaping the acoustic repellent, which seemed likely to require a considerable trek.

Geum Seoul looked toward Gwichang, who stood two paces away with the cigarette still between his lips. Yu Jeong-ham’s face was twisted by the noise. Gwichang merely gave an indifferent shrug, as though the sound did not exist.

They could order the broadcast cut, but first they would have to identify the agency controlling the feed. Any official footprint risked catching Noh Pil-gyu’s attention, so leaving it alone was safer. The noise grated on Gwichang and his men, but it was bearable.

Worst case, they could drive downhill and make the call once the noise faded. Noh Pil-gyu would complain about the delay, but excuses were easy enough to invent.

Even so, Gwichang merely watched to see how Geum Seoul would react. Meeting his eyes, the boy hesitated briefly. Though subtle, Gwichang caught the youth gently tapping his bulging pocket.

Seoul touched the pocket holding the bottle. “Um…”

The bottle in that pocket was the one Gwichang had given him—a small, unconscious echo of kindness received. Gwichang’s gaze rested briefly on the boy’s pale hazel hair, thin strands stuck to sweat-bright temples. Geum Seoul looked away and lowered his voice.

“Is one hour enough?” Seoul asked softly.

Yu Jeong-ham’s face brightened and he nodded eagerly. Praising the usefulness of having someone who knew the town, he gave Geum Seoul’s back an affectionate pat with his calloused hand—his usual easy charm. Gwichang turned his eyes away. The day was much too hot.

***

—“I’ll be returning shortly, so don’t get ahead of yourself.”

Spouting nonsense in a raspy, phlegm-choked voice, Noh Pil-gyu raised his chopsticks once more within the holographic feed. Whatever he was eating, pale noodles were slurped endlessly into his maw in an unsightly display.

“Understood, sir.”

Gwichang answered without expression. Behind him, Yu Jeong-ham and the operatives lined up in formation used every scrap of discipline they possessed to keep their faces neutral.

Gulp.

Noh Pil-gyu drained a glass of amber liquor in one swallow, groaned appreciatively, and set the tumbler down. A disembodied hand entered from beyond the hologram’s frame to refill it. At that moment, the most unfortunate person in the room was probably whoever had been assigned to pour his drinks.

—“Where did you say you were?”

“The northern redevelopment district of Sangjin-gu, sir. Investigating the preferential treatment allegations involving Kim Man-yong’s father-in-law, as mentioned previously.”

Kim Man-yong had crossed Noh Pil-gyu years ago. The man was equally filthy, so using him as a pretext for digging around made convenient bait. Picking at his teeth, Noh Pil-gyu narrowed his eyes like a snake.

—“Why poke at that bastard all of a sudden? Especially while I’m away.”

Gwichang almost never flattered anyone or played the sycophant. For him to suddenly volunteer to remove a thorn from Noh Pil-gyu’s side naturally invited suspicion. His face, however, remained perfectly calm.

“We’re slated to investigate Iljang Trading’s CEO Gwak Chun-young next month, and there appears to be a connection with Sangjin-gu construction firms. Grilling him first makes securing physical evidence easier, so—”

Bang!

Slamming his metal chopsticks onto the table, Noh Pil-gyu barked, —“Fuck, these noodles are completely bloated and taste like shit!” As he snatched a napkin to wipe his mouth, the aide beside him hastily bent down to present a fresh pair of chopsticks. —“I’ll handle Iljang Trading personally, so you keep your hands off it. Just skin Kim Man-yong clean and throw him in prison.”

The moment Gwichang pressed that vulnerable spot, Noh Pil-gyu flared. His expression practically said, *I knew that was your game,* but the suspicion itself had dissolved. Another gulp of liquor followed, then the familiar bluster.

—“I told you to keep a low profile, and yet, fuck! Eager to show off again, you set up next month’s schedule like that? Listen here. No matter what you try, you won’t accomplish a damn thing as long as I’m standing.”