Chapter 12

The house they returned to in Seowon after the holiday was no better than an icehouse, devouring three or four times their usual ration of briquettes just to take off the edge. With the new school semester approaching for Myeong-hui, he also wanted to buy new clothes for the rapidly growing child. But the most pressing emergency was that the rice crock was completely empty. Believing his compensation from the institute was guaranteed, he had proudly boasted to Myeong-in that they shouldn’t pinch pennies over the holiday.

“An advance? I give you time off for the holidays and you come back full of haughty airs… If you need quick cash that badly, why bother hauling gas cylinders? You should head to Saudi Arabia! Just finish out today. Better go find yourself a real job starting tomorrow.”

Predictably, the shop owner flew into a temper. His thumb flicked through the thousand-won notes so fast it blurred; somehow, even while counting, he still found breath to snap at Myeong-joo.

Myeong-joo knew this was the moment to grovel and flatter, but he held his tongue in silence. He recalled lunch before the holiday in the rented room behind the shop—the owner’s family dining on freshly steamed white rice while shoving cold, burnt scraps and scorched crust from the bottom of the pot toward him.

Fuck it. Yeah, I’m broke, but this isn’t the only place to work. Muttering silent curses under his breath, he navigated the streets on his final delivery of the afternoon.

Still, a pang of bitter regret pinched his gut. Of all the jobs Myeong-joo currently held, this was the only one with predictable hours and steady pay. Hauling LPG cylinders to residential homes was grueling, but just as he had finally memorized the maze of neighborhood streets and apartment complexes, losing it felt like a waste.

“What else can I do…?” he muttered to himself.

Swallowing down the burning bile in his stomach, Myeong-joo fell into deep thought. Having realized after traveling back that vengeance was a fool’s errand, his sole ambition was to accumulate wealth by any means necessary. He had intended to earmark part of the bounty from selling himself as a test subject for Myeong-in’s tuition and Myeong-hui’s wedding dowry, while stashing away the remainder so Myeong-in might open a small noodle restaurant down the line.

Though the plans remained unannounced in this era, Seowon Subway Line 2 would open five years from now. Knowing the exact neighborhood where the station would be built, even a modest snack bar or noodle shop near the exits would turn a handsome profit. And if he managed to save a little surplus capital, he could look into purchasing a plot of land near the station to run a boarding house.

If Myeong-in ran a boarding house with Myeong-hui helping her, the sisters could continue their studies without being looked down on simply for being women, and they could hold their heads high wherever they went. Putting the land in both their names would also give Myeong-hui something solid to stand on after marriage. Once he was gone and there was no man left in their household, in-laws might think the sisters easy to mistreat; even a small parcel of valuable land near the station would make people think twice.

The moment that plan took shape, Myeong-joo naturally piled on more work. He delivered newspapers at dawn, hauled gas cylinders from morning until five-thirty, and manned a billiard-hall counter at night. The gas deliveries paid best of the three, and now that he had lost them, he could not stop cursing Lee Yi-ho.

“He looks born to misery, and everything he does is just as rotten,” Myeong-joo growled under his breath. “Shameless son of a bitch…”

Spitting curses as he drove past the Royal Hotel, Myeong-joo turned the steering wheel toward the back of the property. Driving inward, he soon entered an alley lined with Dutch-style brick residences. It was a first-time customer, and the ambiguous address had nearly sent him in circles, but fortunately, the delivery note mentioned the house stood right behind a small supermarket, allowing him to locate it without delay.

Although the alley behind the supermarket was narrow, it was not impassable for a three-wheeled truck. The incline, however, was steep enough to test his Master truck, which barely scraped together twenty horsepower from its six-hundred-cubic-centimeter engine. At the top of the slope, where the air-cooled two-cylinder engine strained with all its might, sat a sizable French-style brick residence. Lee Yi-tan’s newlywed home in his previous life had been built in a similar fashion; while this one was somewhat smaller and cozier, compared to the cramped hovel Myeong-joo and his sisters inhabited, it was practically a royal palace.

“Gas delivery!” Myeong-joo bellowed as he knocked hard against the front gate.

Climbing down from the truck, he banged vigorously on the heavy gate. Planning only to swap out the cylinders and leave, he had left the truck’s engine idling. If today was his last day on the job, he wanted to finish his shift as quickly as possible.

“It’s open, so bring it right in!” a man’s voice called from within.

Without having to wait more than a moment, the homeowner’s voice rang out from inside the courtyard. Crisp and piercing, it gave Myeong-joo an inexplicable, uneasy premonition. Taking off his baseball cap, he scratched the back of his head before tugging the brim low, then heaved the gas cylinder down and pushed the front gate. Just as the man had said, it swung open smoothly.

Standing squarely in the courtyard was a man staring intently in his direction. Tall and gaunt as a beanpole, he did not look like someone blessed with an easy temperament. With the gas connection situated right by the gate, it was obvious where the replacement cylinder was supposed to go, so Myeong-joo briefly wondered why the owner had come outside.

The answer presented itself almost immediately: stepping slightly aside, the man revealed a massive floor scale resting behind him. Myeong-joo gritted his teeth in silent dread.

“Set that cylinder up here,” the man demanded. “I work for the Gas Corporation, and these days shops think nothing of cheating customers out of four or five kilos. I need to see the numbers with my own eyes, so hurry up and put it on.”

“What?”

Myeong-joo blinked a couple of times, feigning incomprehension. If this man was truly employed by the Gas Corporation, he had likely prepared this trap deliberately. And predictably, the fellow was not one to be easily dismissed. He merely glared back with a sharp scowl that asked what Myeong-joo was waiting for. The scrutiny was so biting that tension gripped Myeong-joo with every step toward the scale.

Gas shops skimming weight off cylinders was far more common than people realized. A standard tare was twenty kilograms for the steel tank and twenty kilograms for the liquefied gas, but shops frequently shaved off two kilos for regular patrons and four to five kilos for first-time callers. Since housewives placed most orders and typically avoided prolonged interactions with strange deliverymen, they were virtually never caught. But running into an actual Gas Corporation inspector meant he was royally screwed.

The man prodded sharply. “What are you standing around for? Put it up!”

To make matters worse, this meticulous customer was openly rushing him. Cold sweat trickled down Myeong-joo’s spine. The shop owner had almost certainly skimmed the liquid before he left. Having been so rankled by being fired on the spot, Myeong-joo hadn’t paid close attention to just how much had been drained.

Standing before the scale, Myeong-joo froze with the heavy cylinder in his grip. Catching his hesitation, the sharp-eyed inspector smirked as if saying, Got you now.

Suddenly clicking his tongue, Myeong-joo slammed the heavy tank onto the pavement with a resounding thud.

“What do you think you’re doing, dropping it like that?!” the inspector shouted.

“Well,” Myeong-joo retorted coolly, “how is our shop supposed to trust your scale, sir?”

“What did you say?” the man demanded, bristling.

Myeong-joo scoffed. “Gas Corporation or five-zero corporation, I don’t know anything about that. If you tampered with this scale beforehand and told me to put the cylinder on it, what am I supposed to do? How can I possibly trust your scale?”

“Why, this young fellow…” the man sputtered, his face flushing crimson.

If he was looking for a nobleman, he had found one; Myeong-joo glared right back with an expression boldly proclaiming that the eldest grandson of the Gwangsan Cha clan was standing right before his eyes.

Myeong-joo pointed down the street. “Since your scale can’t be trusted, let’s head down to the rice shop and weigh it fairly on their scale right now.”

“Do you even hear yourself?!”

“Why are you getting angry?” Myeong-joo challenged. “You’re allowed to suspect our shop, but I’m not allowed to suspect your scale? Or do you have something on your conscience?”

“You little insolent punk…”

Just then, a petite woman emerged from behind the man and smacked him squarely across the back.

“Oh, goodness, dear!” the woman scolded, giving him another stern swat. “Stop making a scene in the neighborhood and go to the rice shop or wherever! Why did you drag out that heavy scale to begin with? Hurry up and go!”

“No, listen, this brat just—”

She shoved him forward. “Why are you using foul language? Go on, right this second!”

The couple squabbled for a moment, but the husband was plainly no match for his wife. Looking as though he had narrowly escaped losing ten years off his life, Myeong-joo shot the woman a grateful glance, hoisted the cylinder, hurried through the gate, and loaded it onto his Master truck.

“I’ll see you at the rice shop down front!” Myeong-joo called over his shoulder.

Climbing into the driver’s seat, he hit the gas and tore away. He pressed the accelerator flat until the Master truck’s two-cylinder engine roared even louder than it had climbing the hill.

A short while later, Myeong-joo marched straight back into the gas shop carrying the cylinder. The owner’s eyes went wide seeing the deliveryman return with a fresh tank on his shoulder, but hearing Myeong-joo’s explanation, his face brightened with overwhelming relief.

“Lord have mercy!” the boss exclaimed, wiping his brow. “Well done, lad! If you’d messed this up, they could have revoked our business license!”

Handling hazardous materials required a strict license from the Gas Corporation; delivering an underweight cylinder to an actual inspector’s residence could easily have led to immediate shutdown. The owner promptly hauled out a legitimately full cylinder, even patting Myeong-joo on the backside as he urged him to hurry back.

When Myeong-joo finally reached the rice shop, the inspector raged over the delay, but Myeong-joo only leaned against the cylinder and picked his nose with studied indifference. The man could do little more than thump his chest in frustration: on the rice shop’s scale, the cylinder weighed exactly forty kilograms, the proper amount.

Having somehow weathered the storm, Myeong-joo returned to the shop to find himself treated like an unexpected hero. Elated, the owner told him to name anything he wanted to eat. Remembering how Myeong-hui had been begging for fried chicken since last week, Myeong-joo mentioned it, and the boss immediately placed an order over the phone and told him to pick it up.

“Take tomorrow off to rest up,” the boss offered generously. “Come back the day after.”

Myeong-joo blinked in surprise. “…Are you sure, sir?”

“Of course, why wouldn’t it be fine?” the boss said with a hearty laugh. “Go on, hurry over and enjoy that fried chicken with your sisters!”

Leaving the grinning owner behind, Myeong-joo set off toward the chicken eatery. Since the shop was situated near the market, walking there meant he wouldn’t have to wait around while the birds were frying. Humming softly under his breath as he emerged into the alley, he spotted a sleek black Granada parked against the curb.

Far superior to the landlord’s Peugeot, the vehicle caught his eye and made him pause in admiration. It was not merely because luxury cars were uncommon; before turning back the clock, he had driven an automobile of comparable prestige. Rather, the angular silhouette of the black sedan strongly evoked the car Lee Yi-tan used to drive, compelling him to stop and look.

In those days, whenever the muted purr of an engine announced a black sedan entering the broad courtyard, Myeong-joo would think his brother-in-law had come home. He would quietly rise and steal a glance from behind Myeong-in as she went out to greet him. After exchanging a few words with his wife, Yi-tan would invariably look toward him and say, brother-in-law, I’m home. Myeong-joo would answer with dignified composure, Welcome back, while his heart fluttered shamefully beneath his ribs. He hated himself for taking pleasure in a feeling he considered forbidden. What a small, miserable love it had been.

Letting out a heavy breath at the memory, Myeong-joo turned on his heel to resume walking toward the market.

“Instructor.”

A voice called out from behind his back. Myeong-joo turned around, doubting his own ears. He had recognized the cadence instantly, yet he assumed it was a trick of his imagination. But when he looked back, Lee Yi-tan was genuinely standing there.

“Lieutenant? What brings you here…” Myeong-joo muttered in bewilderment.

Unlike their previous encounter, the young officer was dressed in a formal suit. The deep navy necktie and tailored jacket lent a severe, commanding edge to his cool demeanor, accentuating just how exceptionally handsome he was. He looked entirely out of place standing in a dingy alley beside a gas delivery shop.

“Could you spare a moment?” Yi-tan asked quietly. “I’ve come because I have something to say.”

“Ah…”

Struck by the firm resolve beneath what sounded like a polite request, Myeong-joo suddenly grasped the purpose of the visit. The memory of his phone call with Lee Yi-ho surged back. …Of course. If it sounded absurd even to me, how much more so to him? Yi-tan had undoubtedly sought him out to agree on breaking off the engagement.

“All right,” Myeong-joo replied softly.

With a slow nod, Myeong-joo watched as Yi-tan stepped over and wordlessly opened the passenger door of his sedan. Before he could stop himself, however, Myeong-joo spoke up.

“Wait, I need to make a quick stop at the market right now…”