Chapter 12

On the morning of his departure for Mangcheon, Mu-yeong drove by a cafe. While waiting for his coffee order, he typed “Mangcheon City” into the portal search bar. A cascade of auto-suggested search terms populated beneath the field:

Library, psychiatric hospital, apartments, churches… Ignoring them all, Mu-yeong pressed enter. Beneath the official link to the City Hall portal, a brief municipal summary appeared:

“Mangcheon (蟒川) City: Area approx. 49 km², population approx. 310,000. Renowned for scenic trails winding along the slopes of Mount Yeongno and abundant cultural assets, including Boryongsa Temple established during the late Silla period. Yeoui Reservoir offers additional leisure. The perfect weekend getaway for the entire family!”

Various municipal notices and redevelopment articles filled the space below. Mu-yeong locked his phone screen.

Over the past few days, he had searched every conceivable keyword regarding the fire from fourteen years ago. However, he had turned up nothing of substance—a failure compounded by the fact that he didn’t even know the exact street address of his grandmother’s house.

Just as he picked up his coffee, an incoming call from Kim Sang-beom chimed on his phone. Mu-yeong answered with a bright tone,

“Good morning, Boss. Do you have an assignment for me?”

—”No, nothing like that.”

Perhaps because it was early morning, Kim Sang-beom’s voice sounded slightly gravelly.

—”Today’s the day you head down to Mangcheon, right?”

“Yes,” Mu-yeong confirmed.

—”If by any chance, while you’re down there…”

Kim Sang-beom trailed off into a heavy sigh. As Mu-yeong waited in patient silence, the rhythmic clicking of an e-cigarette power button drifted over the line. After taking a drag, Sang-beom let out a long exhalation.

—”…Whatever you do, try to be back before the sun goes down. And don’t wander off the main roads.”

Mu-yeong figured the local road conditions must be treacherous. Nodding agreeably, he replied, “Don’t worry. Who do you think taught me the ropes? If I see anything tasty on my way back, should I pick some up for the office?”

—”No, don’t even think about buying anything from that town. I’m hanging up.”

The call clicked dead before Mu-yeong could answer. For the boss to be that adamant, the town must truly have nothing palatable to offer. Mu-yeong patted himself on the back for packing the pastries Ho-joon had given him.

Placing the takeout iced Americano into the console cupholder, Mu-yeong put the car in drive. The address Han Seo-yoon had designated was familiar to him as well:

The underground parking garage of a luxury high-rise hotel in Gangnam. Although the route followed a spacious ten-lane boulevard, weekday rush-hour traffic in Gangnam was so gridlocked that walking would have been faster. After crawling through the agonizing congestion, Mu-yeong pulled into the hotel garage and messaged his parking bay number to Han Seo-yoon.

The appointed time was nine o’clock sharp. Having departed early, he had plenty of time to spare, so Mu-yeong waited patiently. Yet when nine arrived, Choi Yook was nowhere in sight.

Nine-zero-one, nine-zero-two, nine-zero-three. Double-checking the time and location, Mu-yeong dialed Han Seo-yoon’s number. The monotonous dial tone rang endlessly:

—”The person you are trying to reach is unavailable. After the tone…”

Mu-yeong lowered his phone. It was plainly a hazing tactic meant to make him squirm. If that was the game, protocol dictated that he leave a generous trail of missed calls.

Han Seo-yoon’s name stacked neatly in the call history amid the repeated automated prompts. Just as Mu-yeong debated whether to redial once more, his glance fell upon the glass entrance doors.

The automatic sliding doors parted, and Choi Yook sauntered out from the hotel interior. He wore an all-black suit virtually indistinguishable from their first encounter. The sleek black silk shirt stretched taut over a broad, powerfully defined torso.

Mu-yeong alternated his gaze between Choi Sijin on his lock screen and the man approaching. In terms of sheer physical features, the two brothers shared not a single ounce of resemblance.

If Choi Sijin’s visage was like delicate graffiti fading on an old snack-shop wall, Choi Yook’s face was like sharp strokes carved with a permanent black marker by a freshly departed patron. Even the serpent tattoo slithering beneath his unbuttoned shirt collar stood out with visceral clarity.

Had he stared too long, as he was accustomed to doing with strangers? Just as Mu-yeong tried to avert his eyes, their gazes snapped together like magnetized iron. An unfamiliar chill spiked through his veins, locking his body rigid.

Using that rigidity as a spring, Mu-yeong pushed open the car door and stepped out. Wearing a genial smile, he pulled open the rear passenger door wide.

“Did you sleep well, Section Chief?”

Keep greetings bright, courteous, and energetic—a survival habit honed over a lifetime. No reply came from Choi Yook, as if to remind him that exchanging pleasantries was far beyond their station.

When Choi Yook halted directly in front of him, the sheer difference in their physical statures became overwhelmingly pronounced. Rather than flinching back, Mu-yeong held his ground with an easy smile. In response, Choi Yook cupped Mu-yeong’s jaw and tilted his face sideways, bringing the greenish-yellow bruise into plain view.

“Looks even more impressive than last time,” Choi Yook remarked dryly.

Rough fingertips scraped precisely across the bruised flesh. What an ironic predicament—the very perpetrator who inflicted the injury was the only one admiring it. Though a sharp twinge throbbed along his jaw, Mu-yeong didn’t so much as wince, brightening instead.

“Really? I’ve been sleeping well lately, so maybe my complexion improved,” Mu-yeong chirped. “Your skin looks fantastic too, Section Chief. Sijin has great skin as well, so it must run in the family.”

Before the sentence was even finished, Choi Yook released his grip. Treating Mu-yeong’s chatter like ambient noise, he bypassed the rear door, opened the front passenger side, and slid inside—not forgetting to casually toss Mu-yeong’s backpack into the back seat.

It was an unexpected choice of seat. Mu-yeong had assumed the man would naturally take the rear VIP position. Regardless, since he had fitted seat covers throughout the entire cabin, contamination was nothing to worry about.

Taking his seat behind the steering wheel, Mu-yeong pulled out of the garage. As they emerged into the blinding daylight, sunbeams refracted through the carved lotus gemstone hanging from the rearview mirror. Choi Yook’s eyes shifted between the lotus pendant and the adjacent wooden crucifix.

“What kind of eclectic taste is this?” Choi Yook asked.

“One was a gift from a Catholic church, and the other I bought at a Buddhist temple,” Mu-yeong answered smoothly.

“So you believe in both.”

Dark, measuring eyes turned back toward Mu-yeong. He hadn’t expected the man to pay attention to such trinkets, so why the sudden interest? The heavy, inscrutable stare pressed down on his throat like a weight. Shrugging to shake off the unease, Mu-yeong smiled.

“The more blessings, the better, right? Would you like some coffee?”

Choi Yook picked up the plastic cup and stared down at it impassively. His stony demeanor formed a stark contrast with Choi Sijin’s beaming face printed across the cardboard sleeve.

“It’s Sijin.”

“Yes, I only drink their brand,” Mu-yeong pleaded earnestly. “I don’t stalk Sijin around anymore, but I can’t help still being a devoted fan, can I?”

Rubbing the cardboard sleeve with his thumb, Choi Yook gave a slight nod.

“True enough. You haven’t been seen near Sijin for the past few days.”

“And I won’t be in the future, either,” Mu-yeong promised.

So he had guards stationed there personally. Mu-yeong silently congratulated himself for steering clear. Flashing what he hoped looked like an innocent smile, he gestured toward the back seat:

“If you haven’t had breakfast yet, there are pastries inside my bag back there. My boss brought them back from his business trip to Daejeon.”

“Your boss knew you caused an incident, and he still packed you pastries?” Choi Yook asked.

“Yes,” Mu-yeong answered pleasantly.

“How remarkably generous of him. If it were me, I’d have beaten your back until you vomited up every scrap you ever ate on my dime.”

Swirling the iced coffee gently, Choi Yook fixed his gaze on Mu-yeong.

“Or did you conveniently leave out the fact that you’re a pervert drooling over someone else’s innocent younger brother’s ass?”

It was a targeted barb born from the background check—knowing full well that Mu-yeong’s sole safety net in life was his job. His threatening delivery was as tranquil as discussing the afternoon weather.

Arguing that his devotion was pure adoration wouldn’t make a dent here. What truly mattered was the devastating fallout if Choi Yook labeled him a degenerate stalker to Kim Sang-beom.

Ruin, severance, dismissal. As Mu-yeong swiftly calculated the worst-case chain of events, the muddy black coffee swirled inside the clear cup like an omen of his inevitable defeat.

But there was one vital truth Choi Yook failed to grasp: Seo Mu-yeong possessed no conscience, no pride, and certainly no shred of face to protect. Consequently, Mu-yeong didn’t beg or grovel in terror. Instead, like a man utterly devoid of shame, he broke into a radiant grin.

“That’s right! How did you guess?”

“…” Choi Yook stared at him in deadpan silence.

“Though to be accurate, I have zero interest in topping,” Mu-yeong explained breezily. “I’m on the receiving end. So if you want to be precise, saying I’m crazy about cock would be much more fitting.”

The traffic signal switched to red, so Mu-yeong brought the car to a halt and turned toward Choi Yook. When their eyes met, Mu-yeong’s grip on the steering wheel tightened on instinct. Even so, he refused to look away.

Leaning his upper body across the console, Choi Yook rested an elbow on the driver’s seat. The distance between their faces narrowed drastically, the density of their locked stare intensifying. Lips that rarely curved into a smile parted on a slant.

“Judging by that mouth, you must’ve spread your legs pretty diligently.”

“I’ve actually never spread them once,” Mu-yeong answered cheerfully.

Seizing upon the shifted topic, Mu-yeong chattered away with pristine enthusiasm. “Not once, with anyone. But I simply can’t picture myself penetrating someone. Ever since I was young, my ideal type has always been a pale, innocent, intellectual man. Thinking about causing pain to someone like that just makes me…”

Recalling the older boy, Mu-yeong knitted his brows in theatrical dismay.

“Well, whatever was standing goes totally limp. So obviously, I have to be the one on the bottom.”

It was an answer overflowing with earnest sincerity. Choi Yook let out an incredulous bark of laughter.

“Since when was Sijin pale, intellectual, and innocent?”

“Sijin leans more toward the cute, squishy side, I admit,” Mu-yeong reasoned wistfully. “But isn’t loving someone even when they don’t fit your ideal type the true definition of love?”

Mu-yeong argued his case with an affectionate sigh. Choi Yook flicked open the plastic lid of his takeout cup with a thumb.

“Could be,” Choi Yook drawled. “Assuming slapping audio bugs and GPS trackers on someone passes for true love.”

“Then mine must be true love after all!” Mu-yeong exclaimed with joyous revelation. “Our clients love their spouses deeply as well, yet they still plant recording devices and GPS trackers on them.”

Choi Yook held Mu-yeong in an unblinking gaze. Caught within those abyssal pupils, Mu-yeong felt as though he were trapped in a bottomless pit. The stretching silence grew ominous.

Mu-yeong clamped his mouth shut. His spine, which had been leaning slightly forward, pressed flat against the backrest of the driver’s seat. It was a futile attempt to put as much distance between himself and Choi Yook as possible.

Mocking that effort, Choi Yook effortlessly reached across the gap. Clamping his palm around Mu-yeong’s jaw like an iron muzzle on a hound, he gave it a slow, deliberate shake.