Chapter 13

Blink… flick.

A pleasant scent. The thought came unbidden as Geum Seoul opened his eyes. Half his vision held a soft mattress; the other half, a clean wall. Not crumbling concrete but a real room—wallpaper, smooth floor tiles, everything intact. He blinked twice in disbelief.

Beige wallpaper. Pale gray tiles. Neat curtains.

Geum Seoul pushed himself up groggily and rubbed the back of his neck. The sweat that had drenched him earlier had dried completely, leaving only a faint tackiness over parched skin.

“…Where am I?”

The room was not hot at all. A ceiling-mounted air conditioner poured out such crisp, frigid air that it bordered on cold.

Which meant this could not be the neighborhood. He swallowed and eased his legs from beneath the blanket, setting his feet carefully on the floor. The lights were off, but the muted glow filtering in told him it was still daytime.

He gathered what courage he could and tried to piece his memory together. The last thing he recalled was sitting on the rooftop ledge. Rather than reach for the ladder, he had tipped forward into the arms waiting below. For someone like him, it had taken astonishing nerve.

He turned the doorknob as gently as he could. The hinges did not make a sound. That eerie smoothness startled him enough that he held his breath before slowly pulling the door wider.

A living room. Complete with a plush sofa, a television, and even a tall floor lamp standing in one corner—a real living room. Having known nothing but single cramped shacks or floor spaces barely large enough for two people to lie down ever since his mother was alive, an actual home like this felt utterly foreign to him.

Yu Jeong-ham asked gently, “You’re awake?”

The voice in the silence made Geum Seoul flinch and draw his shoulders tight. Yu Jeong-ham immediately lifted both hands in a small, apologetic gesture. Geum Seoul swallowed against his dry throat.

“Where… where is this place?” Seoul croaked, his throat parched.

“It’s one of our temporary safehouses,” Jeong-ham explained with a warm smile. “There wasn’t anywhere cool for you to rest back there, so we brought you outside the neighborhood. Considering you collapsed because of us, it was the least we could do.”

“Ah, a safehouse…” Seoul murmured softly.

He nodded as if he understood, but dread hammered beneath his ribs. Since arriving in that ruined town, Geum Seoul had never crossed its borders alone. He had nowhere else to go in the first place, and if Park Gil-pyeong came looking and found him missing, the beating afterward would be vicious.

That was why he always poked his head back into the building between errands, terrified he might miss Park Gil-pyeong calling for him. If he failed to answer, his best hope was to throw himself at the man’s feet and grovel hard enough to blunt the worst of the rage.

Park Gil-pyeong was not in the neighborhood now. Summer turned the district into a furnace, so he usually stayed elsewhere during the hottest months. Even then, he used to stop by every few days around sunset to check on things. Since these newcomers arrived, however, he had stayed away completely.

Then how do I get back home? It’s too far to walk.

The worry was written all over him. Looking at the boy’s grimy, disheveled face—somehow even scruffier after sweating himself unconscious—Yu Jeong-ham spoke again.

‘It was sunstroke. You were this close to serious trouble,’ Jeong-ham said, sounding more relieved than stern.

“Ah… I was fine while I was holding onto it, though.”

‘…Well.’ Jeong-ham stopped himself from pointing out that Geum Seoul had been nowhere near fine and shook his head. ‘Just rest here today. Tomorrow, you can ride back up with us for the auction.’

The superior who had personally carried the unconscious Geum Seoul down the mountain and loaded him into the vehicle had also given him a prepared restorative injection. The safehouse, the rest, everything that followed—those orders had come directly from him.

“In here?”

Jeong-ham nodded in confirmation. “Yes. I only stuck around until you woke up so I could let you know. The boss went back out to handle business.”

Immediately grasping that the ‘boss’ he referred to was Gwichang, Seoul whispered with a polite bow, “…Yes. Thank you.”

“Though we’re fresh out of food and water here,” Jeong-ham added, “so I’ll leave some outside the door later.”

“You really don’t have to do that,” Seoul demurred politely.

“Even if you’ve bounced back, you need to hydrate,” Jeong-ham insisted.

Yu Jeong-ham scratched the back of his neck. He had no objection to his boss showing Geum Seoul some kindness; what baffled him was whether Gwichang was capable of such an exception without a reason. Had the heat finally melted something inside that cold Ghost?

In all the years Jeong-ham had served him, Gwichang had never given charity simply because someone looked pitiful. Geum Seoul’s circumstances were miserable, certainly, but his limbs worked and his mind was sharp enough to build an entire false body around himself for protection. It made far more sense to assume the deputy director was being kind because the boy had practical value.

Gwichang could act as though he would carve out his own liver and hand it over if a plan required it—then cave in the recipient’s skull from behind once the purpose was served. Gentleness from him almost always meant there was an angle.

Yu Jeong-ham glanced at the boy’s jutting fake teeth, then pointed to the towel, clean clothes, and unopened toothbrush laid out on the table. He had requisitioned the clothes from the smallest operative in the squad.

“Figured what you’re wearing would feel nasty. This was on the boss’s orders too, so change into something comfortable and get some rest. Nobody’s going to drop by until tomorrow.”

Having delivered all his instructions, Yu Jeong-ham turned toward the front door. Geum Seoul, who had remained standing there blankly until then, called out timidly, “Um, excuse me.”

Jeong-ham paused at the door, asking, “Yeah?”

“Thank you,” Seoul murmured softly.

Jeong-ham waved with a grin. “Don’t mention it. Thanks to you, we were able to wrap up an important call without a hitch. Oh, by the way—there’ll be a needle mark on your arm. Don’t let it spook you.”

With a genial wave of his hand, Yu Jeong-ham slipped out through the entryway. Any trace of the terrifying figure he had seemed when they first met in the clearing had vanished completely.

Click.

At the soft click of the latch, Geum Seoul stood still for a moment, then looked down at his hands and rolled up one sleeve. The bruises on the back of his hand had not faded, and a round red puncture mark now showed at the crook of his elbow.

He retained a hazy memory of the needle. His strength had drained away, his eyes closing while his body trembled in a fog, yet he distinctly remembered thinking how solid Gwichang’s chest felt around him. Even as consciousness faded, he had registered the long, sweeping strides, the cool leather seat touching his back, and a low voice ordering, ‘Get the kit out.’ Then came the sharp rebuke: ‘Were you just born, Yu Jeong-ham? Move your fucking ass.’ Only now did Geum Seoul realize that the operative who had just left was Yu Jeong-ham.

Geum Seoul slowly surveyed the room, gathered the clothes and towel Yu Jeong-ham had left, and went in search of a bathroom. He still was not sure whether accepting this much comfort was shameless, but he desperately wanted to wash. Sweat had soaked him through, and although his clothes had dried, a grimy film remained over his skin, making him rub anxiously at the back of his neck.

“What is this place…?”

When he opened the bathroom door, a soft sound of wonder escaped him. The building where he lived did have a shower room, technically, but it was communal. He had to creep in before dawn while everyone slept and wash as quickly as possible. The showerhead stayed yellow with grime no matter how hard he scrubbed it, and shattered tiles pricked the soles of his feet.

Compared with that, this bathroom was paradise. It looked like the pictures in discarded storybooks he had once leafed through, or the glossy photographs in old newspapers. He set the clothes and towel carefully on the counter, then began to undress.

‘Seoul-ah. From now on, you must never go anywhere without this. If you ever get your hands on money, buy this first. Do you understand? You must never let anyone discover the truth.’

In memories that had grown somewhat hazy with time, his mother had always gripped him tight and repeated those very words. She had insisted that this was the only way to keep him safe. And so, from an age when he hardly understood the reason why, Geum Seoul had hidden his face. He never stepped forward in the presence of others, lived lurking like a shadow in the margins, and perpetually walked around with slabs of counterfeit fat glued haphazardly across his frame.

Plop.

He peeled off the thin short-sleeved undershirt beneath his long-sleeved button-up. Clinging tightly to his skin underneath, the dense mass of silicone weighed heavily against his frame just like real flesh. Tugging with all his might to wrench it off as well, the body revealed before the large mirror was pitifully scorched red.

Summer always meant this misery. Sweating incessantly, his chafed flesh would fester, breaking out in inflamed red blotches across his torso. It was a grotesque, unsightly sight.

“Wow… feels so refreshing…”

Next, he carefully removed the prosthetic clamp that compressed the bridge of his nose, followed by the jagged fake braces that scraped the inside of his lips raw with fresh red lesions every single day. Stripped entirely bare of every encumbrance for the first time in an eternity, Geum Seoul stepped beneath the streaming water.

Though the lukewarm stream stung against his swollen, inflamed skin, he had no desire to step out from under the spray. The fine, steady needles seeping through his hair and penetrating his scalp felt so exquisitely cool and invigorating that, despite knowing full well it was rude to squander expensive running water in someone else’s home, Geum Seoul stood quietly in place with his eyes closed until he counted to ten.

Moreover, to someone who had never used anything beyond three-hundred-won bars of harsh soap, even the plastic dispensers sitting on the shelf felt like novel marvels. Fearing he might carelessly ruin something expensive, he pumped a generous dollop from the smallest container into his palm, washing his hair and lathering his skin. It was the scent of sweet fruit. The fragrance was so intoxicating that, loath to watch the lather wash uselessly down the drain, he rubbed the suds repeatedly into the nape of his neck and along his wrists.

Rustle.

Next came the new toothbrush. As he cleaned his teeth, Geum Seoul found himself wondering whether he might be allowed to take it home. His own brush had lost so many bristles it looked nearly bald. This one was sleek and soft, making a crisp, rhythmic sound with every stroke. Delighted by the sensation, he rinsed with plain water and brushed a second time simply because he could.

“Is this how rich people live every day?”

The luxury of taking his time in the shower, without fear of someone barging in, filled him with almost childish contentment. His cheeks were still warm when he dried himself with the thick towel. Then, after a brief hesitation, he put on the borrowed clothes piece by piece. He wore none of his disguise beneath them—not the silicone padding, not the fake braces. They had promised no one would come until tomorrow. He could rest like this for a little while before putting everything back on.

Slender legs showed beneath shorts ending halfway down his thighs; bare arms extended easily from short sleeves. He could never afford prosthetics for his limbs, only cheap padding around his torso, which meant long sleeves and trousers in every season to hide the seams. Being free of them felt almost unreal. Cold air slid over the back of his neck, slipped through the armholes, and billowed softly beneath the shirt.

He stepped into the living room and lowered himself onto the sofa. Not cracked vinyl but clean, plush cushions that gave beneath his weight. The air was so cool he could almost forget it was summer outside. *How could a place like this even exist?*

‘If you ever saw how wealthy people in Seoul live, your jaw would hit the floor.’