Chapter 15

Scanning the screen, the tension in Choi Yook’s grip abruptly released. Slipping free from his clutches, Mu-yeong hurried ahead.

Errand agencies didn’t always recover missing persons. Normally, since clients were family searching for loved ones, operatives made it a strict rule never to suggest the target was dead—a policy Mu-yeong swore never to violate again. If he uttered that phrase once more, he would be branded a degenerate stalker and an incompetent parasite before bidding this mortal coil farewell.

Taking a slow, measured breath, the babble of a nearby mountain stream restored his composure. Contemplating their destination, a faint flutter of anticipation rose in his chest. Though its name had been prettified, judging by the direction and distance, the library seemed to occupy the very same plot of ground from all those years ago.

Yet after walking for ten minutes and arriving at the site, Mu-yeong froze in his tracks before an unfamiliar structure.

The library Mu-yeong remembered had been a dilapidated single-story brick building. Book covers were faded blue from the sun, pages yellowed with age, and what few comic books existed were dry, educational volumes.

What stood before him now was a sleek, imposing four-story glass-and-steel complex. Perhaps to accommodate that modern grandeur, the colossal ancient tree that once cast sprawling shade had been mercilessly felled, its stump entirely erased. In its place, rows of colorful tulips stood in rigid geometric planters.

“This library was built ten years ago,” Choi Yook observed, nodding toward a small granite monument engraved with the founding date.

Tucking his hands into his slacks pockets, he continued, “Hard to say if anyone here will remember the kid. In any case, head inside. I presume you had your reasons for gracing us with this detour.”

He looked up at the library with a distinctly sour grimace, as though the civic, public nature of the institution offended his sensibilities. With the dark ink curling blatantly around his throat, he looked jarringly out of place in such an environment.

Stepping past him, Mu-yeong approached the automatic entrance. Passing into the lobby, brilliant fluorescent fixtures glared down like artificial sunlight.

The vaulted, open-concept atrium was filled with cool, dry air. Behind patrons lounging on plush couches hung a massive directory outlining library regulations.

Mu-yeong walked over to the information desk. Seated behind it was a woman in her late twenties dressed in a neat black blouse. Mu-yeong tapped lightly on the counter to draw her attention.

“Hello, excuse me. I was hoping to ask a question.”

“Yes, how can I help you?” the librarian replied with a wide, courteous smile. Her lips curled upward so high that the expression looked almost artificial.

Touched by her professional warmth, Mu-yeong explained, “I’m looking into a long-term missing child case. The child may have visited this facility prior to its reconstruction. Is there anyone currently on staff who has worked here continuously for over fourteen years?”

“Fourteen years…” the librarian echoed.

Murmuring the number, the woman clapped her hands together as an idea struck her.

“Hold on a moment. I only joined recently so I’m not certain, but someone at the third-floor desk has been here for quite some time. Let me give her a call and ask if she knows anything.”

Picking up the desk receiver, she punched in an extension. Turning her head away, she whispered rapidly into the mouthpiece in a barely audible hush.

Feeling a heavy gaze pressing against his shoulder blades, Mu-yeong glanced back. Choi Yook, who had been inspecting the directory, had soundlessly closed the distance. When the librarian looked up at him in inquiry, Choi Yook answered smoothly, “He’s with me.”

A strange sensation rippled through Mu-yeong. Never once in his life had someone stepped forward to claim him as their companion. Yet here he was, lumped into the same category as Choi Yook of all people. While he stood frozen, unable to affirm or deny it, the librarian lowered the receiver slightly and looked at Mu-yeong with an apologetic expression:

“She says she isn’t sure either. Apparently, there was a librarian who worked here all by herself back before the reconstruction, and she might have known something. However, she’s no longer employed with us, so I’m afraid we can’t provide any further details.”

“Would it be possible to get that former librarian’s contact information? Or just her name, if a number is difficult?” Mu-yeong asked eagerly.

Desperation bled through Mu-yeong’s urgent tone. Hesitating for a beat, the librarian relayed his inquiry into the receiver before looking back up.

“Her name is Yoon Hee-sook,” she replied. “The librarian on the third floor said she took over duties from her.”

Mu-yeong recalled the librarian he had known in the past. An elderly woman who squinted perpetually despite the corded gold-rimmed spectacles perched on her nose, likely suffering from severe myopia. She had always disapproved of Mu-yeong, and Mu-yeong had been equally indifferent toward her. Her name must have been Yoon Hee-sook.

“Thank you,” Mu-yeong said with a polite bow.

He offered a warm smile, but just as he turned to leave, Choi Yook stepped forward to intervene.

“Excuse me, but regarding that former library building—” Choi Yook tipped his chin toward the notice board. “The sign says entry is prohibited. Wasn’t this place newly built after demolishing the old structure?”

The librarian blinked in mild surprise. “Yes, that’s right.”

She answered as though it were the most obvious fact in the world. In that instant, the world seemed to brighten before Mu-yeong’s eyes. Being someone who found reading anything in print tedious, he had never bothered paying attention to an irrelevant notice board, never dreaming such vital information was posted right there. An urgent curiosity gripped him as he leaned across the counter.

“Then where is that old building?” Mu-yeong asked eagerly.

“Ah, it’s just behind this one. But just in case you’re curious, you really shouldn’t try going back there.”

The librarian offered a bright, cheerful smile. “It’s blocked off because of collapse hazards. For a while it was used as book storage, but even that became impossible. It’s scheduled to be torn down this coming autumn.”

“I see. Thank you so much,” Mu-yeong replied warmly.

His heart pounded wildly even as he answered. Autumn meant there was still plenty of time left. Naturally, he wanted to sprint back there this very second, but Choi Yook was trailing right beside him.

Folding the sticky note neatly before slipping it into his pocket, Mu-yeong exited the library alongside Choi Yook. The moment the gentle spring breeze brushed against his forehead, Choi Yook gave Mu-yeong’s shin a sharp kick. It was a kick as effortless and natural as flicking open a lighter.

Choi Yook jerked his head. “Time to move.”

Before Mu-yeong could even ask where, the man gestured toward the rear of the library with his chin. No way. Mu-yeong wondered if he had misheard. Never had he imagined a situation where his desires would align with Choi Yook’s—let alone one that suited him so perfectly.

Why on earth? Mu-yeong stared wide-eyed at Choi Yook, but the man offered no explanation. He merely looked down at Mu-yeong with an expression that seemed to ask why the lighter wouldn’t spark when flicked. Like the seasoned professional he was, Mu-yeong feigned mild hesitation.

Mu-yeong voiced his doubts. “Um, Section Chief. Wouldn’t it be better to look for Yoon Hee-sook-ssi first? Even if the kid went to the old library back then, so much time has passed that traces are unlikely to remain. Besides, the librarian warned that it’s dangerous—”

“Move.” Choi Yook nudged him forward.

“Understood.” Mu-yeong gave a quick nod.

Beaming brightly, Mu-yeong took the lead. The narrow trail winding behind the library was only wide enough for a single person to pass. Mugwort and plantains grew in thick clumps encroaching on the path, while shepherd’s purse flowers swayed on their long stalks in the breeze. Unlike the well-tended grounds around the entrance, this area was conspicuously untouched by human care.

Rounding the side of the library, a solitary building appeared. Having weathered more than a decade of decay, the old library was far smaller than Mu-yeong remembered. Its walls were smothered in ivy, and a banded argiope spider the size of a thumb had spun its web across a cracked windowpane. Even so, Mu-yeong recognized the building at first glance.

“This must be the place.” Mu-yeong turned around with a racing pulse.

He saw Choi Yook staring impassively at the dilapidated library. The man didn’t even bother meeting Mu-yeong’s gaze.

“CCTV?” Choi Yook asked flatly.

“None,” Mu-yeong replied, shaking his head.

“You can pick the lock, can’t you?” Choi Yook tilted his head.

“Easily.” Mu-yeong unzipped his pack.

From here on out, speed and silence were essential. Checking their surroundings, Mu-yeong inspected the heavy padlock securing the rusted iron door. It was keyed rather than combination.

Mu-yeong retrieved a nail care kit from the front pocket of his backpack. Unzipping the black faux-leather case revealed tweezers and beauty scissors arranged neatly alongside a miniature screwdriver, a tension wrench, and lock picks.

Sliding the tension wrench into the keyway first, Mu-yeong inserted a pick through the remaining gap. Feeling along the contours of the inner pins, he applied delicate torque. Click. The first pin set upward with a crisp snap.

Repeating the motion several more times, the padlock gave way with a heavy clunk. Pushing the door open, Choi Yook stepped into the darkness first. Mu-yeong followed close behind, shutting the iron door soundlessly in their wake.

Despite the bright daylight outside, the interior was remarkably dim. The hallway extending from the entrance lacked any windows, and the flashlight from his phone barely illuminated the ground beneath his feet.

Naturally, the layout of this space was clear in his mind even with his eyes closed. Along the wall of the L-shaped hallway stood the librarian’s desk. Passing it and taking a left turn led straight into the reading room.

However, the state of the wooden flooring was atrocious. Weeds sprouted through sunken gaps in the floorboards, and countless ants swarmed over the rotting wood. Fearing a bad fall if he misstepped, Mu-yeong took out a flashlight from his backpack. But just as he turned it on and swept the beam across the floor, Choi Yook snatched the torch right from his hand.

“Look at this. Left completely intact,” Choi Yook muttered under his breath.

What the low beam revealed was the desk. A bulky CRT monitor, a desk lamp, and a metallic librarian nameplate were thick with dust. The equipment was so ancient that paying for disposal must have been considered a waste of money, leaving them abandoned where they sat.

Stepping behind the desk, Choi Yook wrenched open the drawers roughly. The first compartment held small stationery like staplers and name stamps, while the second was packed with standardized forms. Choi Yook pulled the entire drawer out and dumped it onto the desk. Among the cascading papers, not a single sheet contained any writing.

Choi Yook reached into the bottom drawer. His fingers emerged clutching a battered faux-leather notebook. Flipping open the cover, which flaked black dust against his skin, bold letters scrawled firmly in permanent marker came into view.

Hoehwa-dong Small Library Membership Roster

Mu-yeong’s heart thumped against his ribs. Could Hyung’s name be recorded in there as well? Standing on tiptoe, Mu-yeong met Choi Yook’s gaze.

“Do you happen to have any guess as to what the kid’s name might be?” Mu-yeong asked.

Choi Yook scoffed, “Even if I guessed, it wouldn’t be accurate, so why waste time on pointless speculation? There’s no need for that at all.”

Before Mu-yeong could inspect even the first syllable on the roster, Choi Yook snapped the notebook shut.