Chapter 29

“Take me to the salon.”

With just those words, Han Seo-yoon would know to drop him off at one of the establishments registered in Kim Jeong-seon’s name. Which particular place hardly mattered. All that mattered was that Kim Jeong-seon would prattle to Choi Hak-gyun about how her dear Yook had gotten plastered again.

Han Seo-yoon pulled the car onto the road in swift motion. By the time the vehicle cleared the dirt track and merged onto the highway, night had fallen. He broke the silence with hesitant care, “Congratulations on wrapping things up, sir. Director Kim was always a thorn in our side.”

Director Kim was one of the men who blindly fawned over Choi Hak-gyun. Not that it mattered; the moment his embezzlement came to light, there was no chance Choi Hak-gyun would pardon him. It was not merely that the cash flowing into his palms had dwindled. Choi Hak-gyun never tolerated any slight against his authority.

Using Choi Hak-gyun’s orders as his mandate, Choi Yook had systematically purged the man’s limbs and appendages. Director Kim had been the trickiest of the lot, but even he would now be reduced to nothing more than an unidentified corpse.

The work he had cultivated over the past six years was finally bearing fruit. Though rather than a sun-drenched vineyard, the harvest grounds resembled an industrial press crushing dark crimson grapes to pulp.

“We’ll need to shove someone from Executive Director Yoon’s faction into the vacancy.”

Choi Yook spoke dryly as he traced the organizational chart in his mind. As his gaze drifted habitually across the interior, it snagged on a black plastic bag.

Picking up the bag, Choi Yook plucked a Shine Muscat grape, tossed it into his mouth, and bit down. The rustling plastic sounded frivolously out of place against the muted silence. Han Seo-yoon stole a sideways glance toward the bag, curiosity flickering in his eyes.

“How did your trip down to Mangcheon go today, sir?” Han Seo-yoon asked.

“Turns out he paid a visit to Yoon Hee-sook.”

Choi Yook’s tone was entirely offhand. Catching the implication at once, Han Seo-yoon stiffened, tension bunching his shoulders. He gripped the steering wheel tight. “I had no idea he was tied up in that affair as well. Kang Shim-soo alone was suspicious enough. Should we go track him down right away?”

“It’s not like we can string him up from the rafters like Director Kim yet, so why bother barging in?” Choi Yook replied dryly. “He’d only fling a bushel of red beans in our faces to ward off bad luck.”

“…” Han Seo-yoon held his tongue.

“Just keep tabs on his movements. Make sure he doesn’t slip away like a rat. And what about Seo Mu-yeong’s insurance and medical records?”

Choi Yook plucked another grape and popped it into his mouth as he spoke. Han Seo-yoon promptly reeled off the findings from his investigation.

“According to the records, his health was dreadful when he first entered the orphanage,” Han Seo-yoon said. “He suffered from constant ailments after that, too. Cross-referencing with his school records, it looks like that was why he had so many absences and early dismissals… I just assumed he’d been slacking off, though.”

Han Seo-yoon’s voice trailed off into a subdued murmur. Choi Yook paid it no mind, pressing ahead without a pause.

“Any physical trauma?” Choi Yook asked.

“Pardon?” Han Seo-yoon blinked, startled.

Choi Yook clarified his question. “Did he ever smash anything up or break any bones?”

“Ah, there are several, but two major incidents stand out,” Han Seo-yoon replied, checking his memory. “When he was twelve, he was hit by a truck while on a pedestrian crossing—an eight-week prognosis. His leg was completely shattered, but since he suffered no head trauma, the recovery time was relatively brief. Then at thirteen, he was struck by a motorcycle on another pedestrian crossing—six weeks that time. Sounds like his leg was crushed to pieces then, too.”

Clicking his tongue in faint pity, Han Seo-yoon added, “It doesn’t hinder his everyday life, but either his knee or his ankle ended up slightly crippled, so it never functioned properly again.”

So that’s why he gave up soccer. Choi Yook mused in silence, looking down at the pale green grape in his hand.

“He was crossing on a green light both times, wasn’t he?” Choi Yook murmured.

Han Seo-yoon sounded utterly astonished. “Pardon? Yes, sir. How did you know? Honestly, I wondered if Seo Mu-yeong had been telling tales…” His voice, which had grown animated, seemed to realize his blunder midway through, and he abruptly changed tack.

“I apologize, sir. I won’t use words like ‘luck’ again.”

Choi Yook chewed his grape in silence. In any case, it was obvious that Seo Mu-yeong had possessed an abnormal constitution from an early age.

That being so, the crucial question was whose hands had shaped him. Considering how Seo Mu-yeong had gotten entangled with his half-brother, the fellow’s origins seemed far from clean. Even the timing of his sudden appearance was suspiciously coincidental, and from his manner of speaking to his expressions, there were countless little things that grated on Choi Yook. Naturally, far from feeling pleased, he found it jarring—unpleasant, even.

“Seo-yoon,” Choi Yook called out.

“Yes, Section Chief?” Han Seo-yoon answered attentively.

“Do you like okchundang candy?”

Han Seo-yoon seemed bewildered by the out-of-the-blue question. Even so, his reply was thoroughly earnest.

“Well… if I’m supposed to like it, I can like it, sir,” Han Seo-yoon hedged. “Though to be honest, I never really ate that sort of thing, even when I was a boy.”

“What was your childhood dream?” Choi Yook asked.

Han Seo-yoon thought for a moment. “It changed a few times, but back in middle school, I wanted to be a judo athlete.”

“Did you ever catch grasshoppers and play with them?”

“I grew up in the city, so… I did keep a stag beetle for a little while, though,” Han Seo-yoon confessed sheepishly.

These were different answers from the ones Choi Yook had uncovered in Seo Mu-yeong. Of course, they still belonged to roughly the same spectrum. Ordinary, unremarkable details that any typical elementary school boy in Korea might have shared.

Yet those nondescript traits happened to evoke an intimate presence etched deep into Choi Yook’s past. It could very well be a deliberate imitation orchestrated by Seo Mu-yeong or whoever pulled his strings—and judging by the way the fellow persistently clung to him and smiled without a trace of shame, the likelihood was high. Even so, Seo Mu-yeong was unmistakably different from the original.

If it were that child, he would never have lived like this—wallowing in the gutter, doing this sort of dirty work, and making such pathetic excuses.

That was a far more glaring divide than any difference in gender. Saving him at the library on reflex had occurred only because past memories had overlapped with the present, causing his body to act before his thoughts could catch up; it was never because he had mistaken the young man for the vanished child.

And so Choi Yook found Seo Mu-yeong not merely suspicious, but intensely grating. One moment the man seemed calculating to an extreme, only to act the next as though he had no brain in his skull. Whenever that supple smile vanished, it revealed a sharp, chilling, and at times ferocious glint in his eyes. That conspicuous face, ambiguous identity, and unfathomable motives kept Choi Yook’s nerves on edge.

For someone like Choi Yook, who had drifted through life with no trivial preferences outside his singular goal, it was an entirely novel sensation. And amid all of it, Seo Mu-yeong acted as though he actually possessed some semblance of earnest sincerity.

As if he really were Choi Sijin’s fan, secretly pining away in unrequited love. As if all of this were nothing more than Choi Yook overthinking, and the man was simply a lunatic with a screw loose. That impression had been solidified far more by today’s confession than by his rote recitation of celebrity trivia.

—“Even a brat with nothing has things that are precious… and that’s why I wanted to live.”

On that face stripped of its customary laughter, there had been a precarious yet fierce conviction. Simply put, it was madness; put intricately, it was the very obsession Choi Yook had recognized in his own reflection for the past fourteen years.

The vanished child was alive. That was such an indisputable truth that Choi Yook had never even bothered appending evidence or clues to it. It was no different from never questioning the gravity pulling at his feet or the air he breathed each day.

Yet Seo Mu-yeong’s blind obsession shared a striking resemblance to his own. Even if it was far simpler, more emotional, and almost laughable compared to his, Choi Yook had fleetingly felt a kindred spirit—a sense of affinity he had never expected to feel toward another human being.

Is Seo Mu-yeong truly nothing more than a half-crazed stalker?

If that were all, then however repulsive it was that he had latched onto his half-brother, the fellow could still be put to good use. Choi Yook had zero curiosity as to why Seo Mu-yeong had become invisible to others, nor why he alone was able to see him.

The only thing that mattered was that he could squeeze every drop of sweetness out of him. As he had always done, Choi Yook fully intended to wring Seo Mu-yeong dry with ruthless efficiency until nothing remained but a withered husk.

So long as that nectar was not laced with poison. Recalling the young man’s face, Choi Yook let out a quiet click of his tongue.

“Maybe I’d have suspected him less if he were a little uglier.”

No matter how invisible he was to others, the fellow surely knew what his own face looked like. Knowing it full well, he had likely asked Choi Yook about it on purpose. At that offhand remark, Han Seo-yoon gaped in horror.

“M-Me, sir? Are you talking about me?” Han Seo-yoon stammered in shock.

“No,” Choi Yook replied, shaking his head. “Seo Mu-yeong.”

“Ah, you startled me for a second… But what does Seo Mu-yeong actually look like to you, Section Chief?” Han Seo-yoon asked, leaning slightly toward the passenger seat. “It’s truly bizarre, but I honestly can’t seem to retain any impression of his face.”

His tone was rife with irrepressible curiosity. Choi Yook paused, recalling that pale, striking, and foolishly blank countenance. The features—as delicate and radiant as if stroked with a fine ink brush—lost their keen edge whenever a witless expression washed over them. Yet every now and then, they betrayed a sudden flash of bone-chilling malice.

It was a face completely unlike the round, sun-browned, grubby little mug that had done nothing but beam with laughter.

“He looks like Daji,” Choi Yook said dryly.

“…Pardon? A straw… berry?”

Han Seo-yoon echoed the word in utter bewilderment. Giving him a careless nod, Choi Yook stared straight ahead. Out in the pitch-black night, a distant traffic signal scattered vivid red light across the asphalt.

Choi Yook tossed the plastic bag of Shine Muscat grapes onto the floorboards. There was no need to dwell on Seo Mu-yeong any deeper. In the end, there was only one person in this world who held any meaning for him.

The innocent little kid who would beam as though he owned the whole world, only to tear up and insist that he had to be called ‘Elephant.’ A child whose true name and surname were unknown beyond that silly nickname, yet who had felt more like family than any blood relation ever could. A younger kid whose whereabouts Choi Yook searched for tirelessly and whose safety he prayed for each day, yet before whom he never dared harbor the greed to appear. A ward who served as the sole reminder of the duty and responsibility remaining in his life.

Compared to that child, Seo Mu-yeong was merely Seo Mu-yeong.

No matter how dazzling his names and colors might be, he was nothing more than a bunch of grapes garnishing a hundred-and-seventy-thousand-won fruit basket—one to be plucked and devoured if it caught the eye, or trampled underfoot if it proved a nuisance.