Chapter 16

Choi Yook flipped a page with his thumb. “The name Kang Shim-soo is in here. Registered when Yoon Hee-sook was working as librarian, so they must have seen each other at least once. Conveniently right around the time the kid was in Mangcheon. Perhaps she registered on the child’s behalf.”

His reasoning was spot-on. Mu-yeong gave a solemn nod.

“It’s certainly possible,” Mu-yeong replied. “As soon as we get back, I’ll track down Yoon Hee-sook-ssi’s whereabouts.”

Choi Yook gave a chilling half-smile. “You’d better, if there’s to be any point in Seo Mu-yeong-ssi staying alive.”

Holding the notebook, Choi Yook walked deeper into the corridor. The weathered floorboards gave off precarious groans beneath his tread.

Watching his footing, Mu-yeong followed behind him. Yoon Hee-sook had disliked Mu-yeong. He had been the child from the shaman’s house, from which loud noises that disturbed reading often drifted.

Put another way, she was one of the few people who knew the address of Mu-yeong’s home.

Keeping that fact firmly in mind, Mu-yeong took light, careful steps. Rounding the corner, dim sunlight filtered through ivy-choked windowpanes, sketching out the contours of the reading room.

A faint smile brushed Mu-yeong’s lips. The spacious study desks and chairs were deteriorating right where they had always stood. The towering bookshelves remained standing in slanted rows, though with the books entirely gone, they looked like the picked bones of a fish.

Dust motes drifting through the pale beams resembled a hazy filter. It felt as though peeling back that single layer of haze would transport him straight back into the vivid past.

Choi Yook strolled between the bookshelves. Despite the loud creaking of the floorboards, he paid it no heed. He merely ran his hand along the shelving units, glancing about as if attempting to uncover something.

Even though there was unlikely to be anything to find, Mu-yeong intended to play along. Doing so would allow him to linger in this place just a little longer.

“Come to think of it, the kid might have left some graffiti behind,” Mu-yeong suggested.

Approaching slowly behind Choi Yook, Mu-yeong continued his musings. It felt novel all over again that he could maintain a natural conversation with someone at this distance without struggling to draw their attention—and in a space where silence had once been strictly enforced, no less.

“If it was a murder-suicide, there might have been warning signs beforehand. If the kid had no one to talk to, she might have scribbled something alone somewhere—”

He was just sharing his insights as an errand operative when something as tiny as a fly dropped before his eyes with a dull tap.

Looking down at the nail rolling by his feet, Mu-yeong lifted his head. A slab of rotted plywood was plunging directly toward him. Rusted nails threatened to pierce his eyes at any second.

“Ah.”

A small exclamation escaped his lips. Come to think of it, it was about time something fell from above to hit him. It had been quite a while since that last happened. Just as he pulled back his waist, ready to collapse backward instead—

A heavy weight crashed against his chest, blacking out his vision. His legs, wobbling from how far back his torso had bent, barely managed to regain their footing. At the same moment, with a dull thud, the plywood struck something solid and rolled across the floor.

Blinking in shock, Mu-yeong raised his head. He couldn’t comprehend the situation in the least.

All this time, whether a deluge of dirty water splashed over his head or a crumpled can struck him, no one had ever cared. After all, not even the people dropping things knew Mu-yeong was standing there.

Naturally, Choi Yook could see him. He was the sole individual capable of doing so.

Still, even so… why on earth had Choi Yook shielded him and taken the hit from the plywood in his place?

That was the kind of thing only Hyung had ever done for him back then. Shielding him from the corner of a heavy hardcover book. Enfolded within those fair, warm arms, Mu-yeong had remained speechless for a long time. Tucked against his hyung’s crisp shirt, he remembered the faint scent of fabric softener.

In contrast, the arms currently wrapped around Mu-yeong were rugged and thick. The pitch-black shirt felt sleek, radiating a sharp cologne that smelled almost like alcohol. Strangely, he could hear the rapid thumping of a heartbeat, though he assumed he was merely mistaking his own frantic pulse.

Sweat quickly pooled in his empty palms. Inhaling and exhaling required immense caution. Drawing shallow breaths, Mu-yeong barely managed to lift his head, only to freeze.

Choi Yook was looking down at the splintered plywood. His sharply defined profile was, as usual, devoid of expression. Yet his eyes, typically dull and lethargic without a hint of vitality, wavered ever so faintly for the very first time.

As if even he hadn’t intended to act that way.

Instinct urged him to avert his gaze, but as always before this man, Mu-yeong was a second too late. When their eyes met, his breath hitched and his heart pounded wildly. Far from forming words, he had no idea how to react.

Releasing his arms, Choi Yook straightened his posture. Before Mu-yeong knew it, the man’s gaze had settled once more, murky as cigarette ash dropped into a puddle.

“If you’re going to die, do it after the job is finished,” Choi Yook muttered coldly. “Finding another errand runner is a pain in the ass.”

Hearing that abrasive tone, he sounded thoroughly irritated. Even so, Mu-yeong couldn’t very well protest that he could have dodged it or had been trying to move out of the way. Asking any questions was out of the question as well.

“…Yes, sir.” Mu-yeong forced himself to respond.

Mu-yeong barely parted his lips. To mask his flustered state, the corners of his mouth curved upward by habit. He bowed respectfully. “Thank you so very much. Are you all right, Section Chief?”

Choi Yook scoffed, “You probably wish I weren’t, but as you can see, I’m disgustingly fine.”

Given his venomous retort, he was undoubtedly fine. Mu-yeong trotted closer behind him. But then, catching sight of the tear in Choi Yook’s clothes, he swallowed a sharp breath.

“Your snake scales are cracked.” Mu-yeong pointed in alarm.

The nail that had shredded both jacket and shirt had left a shallow graze across Choi Yook’s back as well. A faint streak of blood stretched diagonally for a considerable length, cutting across the snake’s torso. The ink-black tattoo was so massive and dense that even a closer look revealed no bare skin, only scales.

He looked like a serpent wearing human skin, or a monster attempting to shed its scales to become human.

While Choi Yook remained silent, Mu-yeong’s expression grew serious. It would be a disaster if the man seized up and collapsed, only to name Mu-yeong as the culprit with his dying breath.

“Have you had a tetanus shot?” Mu-yeong asked anxiously.

“Yeah.” Choi Yook exhaled a plume of smoke.

Mu-yeong reached into his bag. “I have antiseptic and ointment. Let me treat it for you.”

Choi Yook turned his head and looked down at Mu-yeong. Having composed himself in the blink of an eye, his face showed neither confusion nor the slightest hint of discomfort. His voice, coated in rough sediment, rang out in a flat monotone.

“If you’re going to do it, do it right,” Choi Yook rasped. “Don’t go prodding around and force me to visit a hospital. If there are medical bills, I’ll add them straight onto your promissory note.”

Though he wondered if he might be asking for trouble, building rapport always required a certain give-and-take. That was how useful information was extracted. Driven by calculated motive stronger than fear, Mu-yeong beamed at him.

Mu-yeong smiled brightly. “I’m really great at first aid. I’ve done it a lot.”

“…” Choi Yook narrowed his eyes in silence.

Mu-yeong looked around the rotted ceiling. “Shall we head outside? It seems risky to stay in here. Want to walk back to the car?”

Regrettable though it was, reminiscing would have to end here. But just then, Choi Yook clamped a hand around Mu-yeong’s wrist and yanked him forward.

“Where do you think you’re going when we haven’t even checked this whole place?” Choi Yook demanded.

The prominent bone of his wrist was crushed inside the man’s grip. The large hand, easily encircling his wrist with room to spare, was rough and searing hot, making Mu-yeong feel as if his skin might burn or his bones snap.

Without knowing where Choi Yook was dragging him, Mu-yeong scrambled to keep up. His stray fingertips brushed against desks and chairs claimed by dust.

Striding through the reading room, Choi Yook gripped the handle of a door leading out to the courtyard. Rusted solid, the door merely rattled without budging, having practically merged into the wall over time. Surprised that the man had managed to locate it, Mu-yeong stepped closer.

“If it won’t open, I can—”

Before he could finish his sentence, Choi Yook kicked the door. Thoroughly rotted, the wood gave way and blew apart from a single blow.

A burst of long-blocked sunlight flooded inside. Mu-yeong squeezed his stinging eyes shut before slowly blinking them open. The courtyard was completely overgrown, leaving not a patch of bare earth. Arrowroot vines dominated aggressively, while trees jutted their branches in tangled directions.

He also spotted a tree of the exact same species as the massive giant that had stood in front of the old library. Because that same kind of tree had grown in his grandmother’s yard, he recognized it immediately despite its much smaller size.

What was the name of that tree again? In late summer, its branches bloomed so profusely they bent under the weight. On the mountain where all other flowers had withered to leave only green, the clustered, small yellowish blossoms always caught his eye. Whenever it rained, a subtle fragrance would drift through the air, tickling the tip of his nose.

Yet the identity of the tree no longer mattered. Instead of dwelling on the past, Mu-yeong approached Choi Yook with a small ziplock pouch. Sitting in the grass, the man tossed his jacket aside and lit a cigarette. Seeing him reach for his shirt buttons next, Mu-yeong quickly waved his hands.

“Leaving it on should be fine!” Mu-yeong said hastily. “I’ll make sure nothing gets on your clothes.”

He had no desire to see the man’s bare torso. Even less so with a writhing snake etched across it.

Kneeling on the grass, Mu-yeong touched an alcohol swab to Choi Yook’s back. As he gently pressed the skin exposed through the torn shirt, the white cotton grew stained with blood and dust. Clear birdsong echoed from afar, and warm sunlight beat down gently overhead.

The longer it lasted, the less real it felt. It was like dreaming an absurd dream.

To lock eyes with someone, converse for this long, be held in someone’s arms—even by force—and now treat a wound in a place filled with memories. It made him feel like an ordinary person. Even though his counterpart was none other than Choi Yook, it was hard to resist the comforting, addictive sensation washing over him.

It was like floating effortlessly on water without thrashing desperately to stay afloat. Like breathing in deeply the air everyone else took for granted, his lungs felt wonderfully unburdened. It was as though he were receiving confirmation that he was undeniably alive, that he truly existed in this world.

Yet of all people, why was Choi Yook the only one who could see him? Mu-yeong studied the ink visible through the long, narrow rip in the shirt.

“Why did you choose this design for your tattoo?” Mu-yeong asked.