Chapter 47

Choi Yook cut off his train of thought there. He could never allow even the slightest comparison between that child and Seo Mu-yeong. Even if they shared the exact same age, that child was entirely different from Seo Mu-yeong.

That child was simply a child—so pure and transparent that Choi Yook feared leaving a smudge with the lightest brush. A fragile soul he was duty-bound to protect completely and nurture from afar.

Seo Mu-yeong, in contrast, was a man who had tumbled through the lowest gutters of this underworld. He was nothing more than a tool that could be handled, used, and discarded without consequence.

Arriving before the suite, Choi Yook pulled the door open. Acrid cigarette smoke immediately billowed through the opening. Without betraying the faintest hint of distaste, Choi Yook stepped inside.

Inside the room, plush black carpeting paired with rich violet wallpaper. A golden chandelier, a full meter in diameter and dripping with crystal pendants, cast a brilliant glare across the space. On the table, thick stacks of fifty-thousand-won banknotes were strewn between heavy whiskey bottles.

The culprits behind this vulgar squandering of wealth were the directors of Yeongchwi Moneylending. Over the past six years, Choi Yook had mingled with them regularly, cultivating a persona as an agreeable, reckless scoundrel. Choi Hak-gyun deserved much of the credit for that reputation.

To begin with, Choi Hak-gyun never flaunted his household contempt for Choi Yook in public. He worried that if Choi Yook appeared too pathetic, his utility would shrink; thanks to that calculation, Choi Yook was reasonably well received wherever he went. His standing was that of the Chairman’s eldest son—not particularly favored by the boss, but undeniably his firstborn.

Furthermore, because Choi Hak-gyun quietly harbored suspicions that Choi Yook might one day instigate a bloody revolt between kin, Choi Yook needed to indulge in enough filthy debauchery to keep the patriarch at ease. The more loosely he lived, the closer the directors felt to him, and the more they came to trust him.

The three executives gathered tonight were in a celebratory mood over the demise of Director Kim, the head of a rival faction. Managing Director Yoon in particular had been tossing banknotes around the parlor since early evening, declaring it travel fare for the deceased’s journey to the underworld. Naturally, the ones pocketing the cash were the parlor waitstaff, not the late director.

Sprawled with his legs parted wide, Managing Director Yoon flashed a greasy smirk upon seeing Choi Yook. He patted the vacant cushion beside him.

“Hey, Section Chief Choi, pull up a chair. We’re just about to deal another hand of poker.”

A flushed glow burned across Yoon’s tipsy face. Snatching the woman seated at his side, he jerked his chin toward Choi Yook’s glass.

“Come on, sweetheart, fill the man’s glass.”

The woman emptied the tumbler where melted ice had collected, replenishing it with fresh cubes and whiskey. Meanwhile, the hostess seated beside another director shuffled and dealt the deck. The black-and-white patterns on the card backs blurred into a dizzying streak as they flicked across the felt.

Choi Yook settled into his seat and placed a cigarette between his lips. Watching the cards slide across the table, Managing Director Yoon shot Choi Yook a leering grin.

“Who were you on the phone with, a lover? You didn’t even seat a girl beside you tonight—did you finally find yourself a sweetheart?”

“You certainly possess a romantic imagination, Managing Director Yoon,” Choi Yook remarked dryly.

Choi Yook released a long plume of cigarette smoke into the air.

“Hate to burst your bubble, though. It was my father. Nagging me about when I’m coming home feels plenty like an irritable lover, I suppose.”

“Managing Director, you clearly wagered a hundred thousand won,” one of the other directors called out with a hearty laugh.

He pointed an amused finger at Managing Director Yoon. Shoving a hundred-thousand-won bill across the green felt, Yoon drew the two hole cards dealt before him closer.

“Consider it paying off bad luck. Now, let’s see what we’ve got…” Yoon mumbled, squinting at his hand.

Choi Yook cut a glance toward Managing Director Yoon. From the way Yoon’s eyes gleamed as he gripped the hostess tighter, he evidently liked his cards.

Then I should lose with appropriate grandeur. When it came to slipping bribes, this method was the cleanest and left zero loose ends. Choi Yook checked his own cards: the five of hearts and the five of diamonds. He pushed forward a bundle of fifty-thousand-won bills used in place of chips.

“Full pot,” Choi Yook bid calmly.

“Double the raise,” Managing Director Yoon countered with a sly chortle, doubling the stakes.

“Sounds good, call!” Another director slapped the table with gusto, booming with enthusiasm.

“I fold.” The third director tossed his cards into the muck with a defeatist sigh.

Groaning in defeat, the man threw up both hands. Managing Director Yoon turned back to Choi Yook with a wide grin.

“Did the Chairman mention anything else? He shows his face at the office even less than before, so I’ve been wondering how he’s getting along,” Yoon inquired.

“He didn’t say anything out of the ordinary, though…” Choi Yook trailed off.

Choi Yook watched the dealer reveal the flop: the five of clubs, king of diamonds, and seven of diamonds. From his perspective, three of a kind was already locked in. Not that it held any real significance, of course.

Glancing at the cards, Managing Director Yoon couldn’t hide his excitement, grinning from ear to ear. Once, cunning old vipers had filled these seats, but now only shallow fools as simple as Yoon remained. It seemed his efforts over the past six years hadn’t been in vain. Choi Yook exhaled another long trail of smoke.

“I am a bit concerned that his health has taken a turn for the worse lately. Check,” Choi Yook said.

It signaled his choice to pass without raising the wager. Yoon studied Choi Yook’s expression. Unable to read anything from it, he merely smacked his lips. A semblance of caution crept onto his ruddy face.

“Good. Why, is his liver acting up again?” Yoon asked.

Echoing Choi Yook’s move, Yoon pressed for details. Only after the remaining director followed suit did he remark calmly, “His liver is fine, but he’s become quite forgetful. Probably just his age catching up with him.”

Of course, Choi Hak-gyun’s memory remained as formidable as ever. While he might conveniently forget how brutally he had beaten his children when they were young, his recollection of exactly how much money belonged in his grasp was unnervingly sharp.

With the round passing smoothly without any bets, the hostess turned over an additional card: the two of clubs. Checking the card, Yoon’s eyes flared with avarice.

“Full pot!” Yoon declared eagerly.

“Half pot,” Choi Yook matched evenly.

Choi Yook humored him just enough. Glancing back and forth between them, the other director rapped his knuckles against the table.

“Fold. Ah, the cards just aren’t sticking to my fingers tonight. Say, Section Chief Choi, are you bluffing or is your hand genuine? No matter how hard I stare, I can never read your poker face,” the director complained.

“It’s only because I’m nervous. Pure nerves, I assure you.”

Choi Yook tossed off the reply with casual indifference. Only Managing Director Yoon and Choi Yook remained in the pot. Removing his hand from the hostess beside him, Yoon picked up their previous topic.

“Well, he’s already hit sixty, so forgetting the little things is natural. Still, it won’t do if the condition worsens,” Yoon noted.

“Indeed. But you know my father’s temper, Managing Director Yoon. He’s not a man who would ever tolerate stepping into a hospital for such an issue. Don’t even hint that you know anything in front of him,” Choi Yook cautioned.

Choi Yook watched the final card laid down by the hostess: the five of spades. Four of a kind.

“Max!” Yoon shouted triumphantly.

Managing Director Yoon cheered as he shoved his towering stacks of cash forward. Choi Yook stubbed out his cigarette in the crystal ashtray.

“Fold,” Choi Yook conceded quietly.

“Bwahaha! Of course! I was holding a full house!”

Spreading his cards face up on the table, Yoon beamed from ear to ear as he swept in the massive pile of fifty-thousand-won notes. One clapping director proposed a toast, raising his tumbler high, and the atmosphere in the room loosened even further. Draping an arm over the hostess’s shoulder, Yoon looked back toward Choi Yook.

“Now, Section Chief Choi, you aren’t married yet, so you wouldn’t know.” A distinctly patronizing, didactic edge colored Yoon’s voice as he added, “Men are creatures who won’t listen to their sons, but they’ll always heed their wives. Have a proper word with Madam Kim and persuade her to take him to a hospital.”

“Well, Father dotes on my mother so much that he would certainly listen to her.”

Choi Yook tilted his whiskey glass, letting the amber liquid swirl over the melting ice.

“Whether Mother would ever bring him to a hospital is another question entirely. Much as I respect and love my mother, our opinions might diverge when it comes to medical care,” Choi Yook pointed out.

“Hm? What do you mean by that?” one of the directors asked in confusion.

Managing Director Yoon clicked his tongue. The flushed warmth on his face turned somber.

Lowering his voice to a cautious rasp, Yoon asked, “You’re talking about the shaman, aren’t you?”

Choi Yook nodded. The directors had no clue just how obsessively Choi Hak-gyun hung on every word uttered by Yang Ui-ju. That was because Choi Hak-gyun loathed anything that might erode his own authority.

These men, gangsters to the core, would die if Choi Hak-gyun commanded it, but they would never accept the reality that an obscure male shaman held sway over their syndicate boss. That was why Choi Hak-gyun had always put Kim Jeong-seon forward whenever seeking the shaman’s counsel—from marriage arrangements and Choi Sijin’s illness to crucial business endeavors.

A tragic mother driven to superstition out of desperate sorrow for her sick child. It was a persona that suited her gentle, frail appearance remarkably well. Of course, in truth Kim Jeong-seon was heavily reliant on the shaman as well—an almost absolute dependence ever since Choi Sijin’s ‘surgery.’

Sickened by such folly, Choi Yook believed in no deity. Even in his most desperate moments, he had never clasped his hands in prayer, nor had he ever looked into the four pillars of destiny that ordinary people consulted for mere amusement.

Thus, the curses Hong Soon-ja had spat at him today did not frighten him in the least. He had merely found it utterly revolting that she would use that child of all people to flaunt her spiritual prowess.

She claimed I wouldn’t find him even if he were right under my nose.

Hong Soon-ja’s prophecy brought a famous myth to Choi Yook’s mind: the tragedy of a king who, upon hearing an oracle that he would slay his father and bed his mother, loudly scoffed that such madness was impossible—only to gouge out his own eyes when he realized he had failed to recognize either parent.

Yet that was merely a disaster born of being cast aside the moment he drew his first breath. Choi Yook was distinctly different from that tragic figure. He had cared for that child for years and knew him as intimately as anyone could.

Therefore, it was impossible that he could look upon that child with his own two eyes and fail to recognize him. While picturing him grown proved difficult, he would realize it the very moment they stood face to face. If nothing else, of that he was certain.

“Let’s have a toast. To my father’s health,” Choi Yook proposed.

The toast served to break the somber lull. Soon, amber whiskey was splashed into every glass, and the heavy tumblers met with a solid clink. Being men who never dwelled on unsettling thoughts for long, boisterous laughter and raised voices quickly reclaimed the room.

Cards were distributed around the table once more in their allotted count. Amid the increasingly lewd banter and sticky laughter, spherical ice cubes as transparent as crystal globes melted gradually in the alcohol.

As though the final chance to glimpse the future were slowly slipping away.