Chapter 92

“What, you gonna bow twice before eating? Brought it straight off the grill. Eat.”

Snatching the spoon back from the motionless Geum Seoul, the man placed a piece of steaming-hot eel on it and brought it right to his lips. After a moment’s hesitation, Geum Seoul opened his mouth and took the bite. His cheeks bulged slightly.

“Deputy Director.”

“Yeah.”

Watching him place a piece of beef on top of the white rice this time, Geum Seoul asked:

“Deputy Director, do you hate family?”

“They’re all fucking dead, how am I supposed to hate them?”

For such an ambitiously posed question, the answer was swift and resolute.

“What, dig up their bleached bones and stab them again?”

He then jabbed the spoon right up to Geum Seoul’s mouth as if telling him to just eat, and Geum Seoul parted his lips to accept it. He wondered if, to this man, the concept of hating someone simply meant having to beat them to a pulp over and over again. He barely feigned chewing twice before gulping it down. It was better to swallow quickly before a violent wave of nausea could strike.

“Even though my mom died, I still love her, though.”

At those words, Gye Do-hyeop narrowed his eyes and tilted his head.

“Was your mother a Jewel too?”

Geum Seoul clamped his mouth shut. Even when Do-hyeop loaded side dishes onto the spoon again and brought it close to his lips, he refused to part them. The corners of his mouth twitched faintly.

“No. My mother wasn’t.”

One bitterly cold day, his mother, who had been terribly sick, never woke up when morning came. In place of his thirteen-year-old self, Park Gil-pyeong had buried her body. Geum Seoul spoke calmly in a quiet voice.

“That’s why even when Park Gil-pyeong beat me, I couldn’t really bring myself to hate him that much.”

It was also the reason he had quietly stayed there for years. He had nowhere else in particular to go, but neither had he possessed any reason to leave. Gye Do-hyeop scoffed, his face twisting into a sneer.

“What are you, Buddha?”

“I’m Geum Seoul.”

“Getting cheeky now, are we?”

He wasn’t trying to be cheeky; it was closer to tossing out anything he could just to avoid eating. As Geum Seoul swallowed down gulps of saliva against the nausea churning in his stomach, Gye Do-hyeop pressed the spoon to his lips again, telling him to open up. Geum Seoul barely managed to take the spoon into his mouth.

Yet he couldn’t swallow. Vomit threatened to surge up at any second. Cold sweat crept up his back as he made a show of chewing as slowly as possible, putting off the swallow. Watching his puffed cheeks, Gye Do-hyeop turned his gaze to his wrist at a brief vibration.

Tap.

“Keep eating. I’m going to hear where things stand.”

“Yes, sir.”

The spoon came to rest on the table. Geum Seoul watched Do-hyeop answer the call and disappear into the bedroom. For one fleeting second, Yu Jeong-ham’s voice drifted faintly through the gap.

Rustle.

Geum Seoul rose from the chair immediately. Covering his mouth, he lengthened his strides and rushed into the bathroom. Before he could even bend at the waist, a violent heave surged through him.

“Heugh. Mmph!”

The food he had just forced down came straight back up. Ah. A small groan escaped Geum Seoul as he folded his shivering body tight over the toilet. Lately it happened at least once a day, and every time the wretched misery soaked him in cold sweat and left his skull throbbing. Clinging to the bowl, he dry-heaved twice more. Heavy tears slipped from his eyes. White flashes pulsed behind his vision, and a thin, electric ringing filled his ears.

“Phew…”

His hands bracing against the toilet bowl trembled violently, but he couldn’t just linger here dwelling on the wretched sensation. He had to hurry back before the Deputy Director finished his call. The moment he shut the lid and flushed, he caught hold of the sink and turned on the tap.

Trickle.

Even after holding cold water in his mouth several times, the heat burning in his forehead showed no sign of cooling down. Cupping his palms, he scooped up more water and took it into his mouth.

“Hah…”

Only after rinsing his mouth a couple more times did the nausea twisting his stomach like a vise begin to recede slightly. He barely managed to lift his head, which had remained bowed over the sink until then.

“…Ah!”

Yet in that exact moment, his heart plummeted. The strength drained from his knees, sending him collapsing straight to the floor.

Thump. Thump.

“……”

Gye Do-hyeop was leaning against the bathroom doorframe, looking down at him.

He had distinctly seen him walk into the bedroom just moments ago. Had he… not shut the door? In his frantic rush, had he—? Trembling all over, Geum Seoul shielded his wet lips with the back of his hand. His palms were flushed scarlet from the icy water, and his forehead burned red with fever.

Thump.

Thump.

His heart pounded so violently it felt swollen to the size of a watermelon, hammering against everything inside his chest.

“Ah. This is…”

Because he hadn’t switched on the bathroom light, the man, silhouetted against the faint light filtering from the living room, appeared pitch-black. While Geum Seoul choked on his breath and stammered, the man casting a dry, emotionless gaze down at him parted his lips. His voice dropped to a low murmur.

“…Thought I’d let it slide, and you don’t know when to quit.”

Having muttered the barely audible words, the corners of his lips curved faintly upward, but it looked less like a sneer or a smile than pure fury. As a hand reached toward him, Geum Seoul squeezed his eyes shut. Yet the man merely scooped him up with meticulous care. Geum Seoul bit down hard on his trembling mouth and lowered his head. His wildly galloping heart was now pounding directly against his brain right beside his ears.

“…Deputy Director.”

“Quiet.”

Setting Geum Seoul down on the bed as the young man tried to make an excuse, Gye Do-hyeop’s voice was chillingly low. He tapped the watch on his wrist, calling in several people. Then, pressing his hands against various spots on Geum Seoul’s body to check him over, he stepped right out of the bedroom.

Click.

At the sound of the door clicking shut, Geum Seoul burrowed into the duvet and curled his body tight. Something he had dreaded facing so desperately, yet an event that was bound to happen someday. In a way, getting caught like this was a relief. Had it not happened, he might never have been able to tell him until his stomach swelled.

Geum Seoul chewed on his lips once again. His heart, gripped by anxiety, throbbed so painfully that his ribs hurt worse than his raw, scratchy throat.

Click.

The door opened almost immediately. Only then did Geum Seoul realize Gye Do-hyeop had returned with something in hand. With a rustle, the duvet covering him was peeled back, and an arm supported his back to prop him up.

“Drink.”

“Deputy Director, I—”

“Water first.”

“……”

Geum Seoul took the water bottle in silence. Placing his lips to the already opened spout, he drank a few mouthfuls. The instant it left his mouth, Gye Do-hyeop took the bottle back and emptied the rest in one long draught.

Knock, knock.

“Deputy Director, it’s Yu Jeong-ham. Coming in.”

At the voice from outside the door, Gye Do-hyeop offered no answer, only staring down at Geum Seoul’s ash-white face. Buried in the plush duvet, Geum Seoul cast his eyes down and gripped the bedsheets, his eyelashes fluttering.

“The medical team is packing their equipment and heading over, and Director Oh Ga-on is being brought in by helicopter. Here is the kit.”

Taking the box from him without a word, Gye Do-hyeop wedged his fingertip into the gap and tore it open.

“Yu Jeong-ham.”

“Yes, sir.”

“What’s your weight?”

Rrrip.

Paper tore cleanly along the perforated line. Pulling the contents from the rustling paper packet, Gye Do-hyeop asked the question impassively.

In the first place, Yu Jeong-ham had already sensed the man’s wrath the moment he was ordered to bring a pregnancy test kit alongside summoning Oh Ga-on.

A cold dread washed over him. The reason Geum Seoul had begun eating meals on his own at some point. The reason he avoided going to the cafeteria together and headed to the records room instead. The reason his pheromones had quieted down again and an endless fatigue hovered over his face. The myriad clues he had failed to catch left Yu Jeong-ham reeling with vertigo.

The irritation etched across Gye Do-hyeop’s face appeared pushed to its absolute limit. Standing rigid at attention, Yu Jeong-ham answered without a pause:

“Eighty-seven, sir.”

“A month ago.”

“Eighty-seven as well, sir.”

Rip.

Tearing open the foil wrapper and taking out the patch inside, Gye Do-hyeop pulled out an arm from Geum Seoul—who was still curled up—and applied it to the crook of his elbow.

“Then what the fuck does he look like to you?”

“……”

Carefully tucking the emaciated arm back under the duvet, Gye Do-hyeop shoved a hand into his trouser pocket and turned at an angle toward Yu Jeong-ham.

“I apologize, sir.”

“Fuck. Eighty-seven?”

Letting out a hollow scoff, Gye Do-hyeop took a step toward him and jabbed an index finger forward. Thud. His fingertip shoved into Yu Jeong-ham’s shoulder. Next, his hand curled into a fist.

Thud.

“The kid.”

Thump.

“Every single bite he eats,”

Thud.

“He throws right back up,”

The man shoved Yu Jeong-ham with his fist in between each chopped phrase.

“For an entire month,”

Thud. Thump.

“Wasting away to skin and bones,”

The dull thuds of the punches grew louder as more force was driven into them. Though Yu Jeong-ham kept his hands clasped behind his back and braced with all his might, his upper body was driven backward with every strike.

“And you, you fucker.”

Thud.

Gye Do-hyeop’s voice was dangerously low.

“Stuffing your own fucking face,”

Whack.

“Eighty-seven.”

His shoulder knocked completely backward near the end, Yu Jeong-ham braced himself back into a rigid posture and bowed his head.

“I am sorry, sir. It is my negligence.”

He meant it. Yu Jeong-ham would not have felt wronged even if Deputy Director Gye smashed a fist across his face right now. When Gye Do-hyeop had gone to serve his disciplinary suspension for defying orders, he had left behind only a single command:

‘Protect Geum Seoul properly.’

In his own way, Yu Jeong-ham had believed he was taking proper care of him. Geum Seoul showed interest in the work, but the attention from the other team members also seemed to overwhelm him, so Jeong-ham had decided that letting him eat alone gave him necessary breathing room. When Seoul spent entire weekends shut inside the official quarters without setting foot outside, Jeong-ham assumed that was simply how he rested and recovered. Convinced the young man’s poor condition came mostly from Gye Do-hyeop’s absence, he had tried to leave him as comfortable and undisturbed as possible.

But that was not what his actual duty had required. His superior was Gye Do-hyeop, not Geum Seoul. Jeong-ham should have checked whether Seoul was eating three real meals a day. He should have made sure the boy was getting enough nutrition while holed up alone all weekend. At the absolute minimum, when he heard Seoul had caught a cold, he should have called a doctor. That was proper protection. That was what Gye Do-hyeop had entrusted to him. Somewhere inside Yu Jeong-ham’s head, an alarm began screaming the words impending disciplinary transfer.

“Deputy Director…”