Chapter 7

“There is one thing I’d like to hold in the palm of my hand. The problem is, every bastard I’ve put on the job has completely botched it.”

What could it be? Secret documents? Stolen jewels? Yet the man’s next words shattered every one of Mu-yeong’s expectations.

“Seo Mu-yeong-ssi, can you track down a person for me?”

Of all the services offered on an errand center’s roster, missing-persons cases were the least suited to Mu-yeong’s specific abilities. Still, refusing was out of the question.

“I’ll find them,” Mu-yeong assured him readily. “What kind of person are we looking for?”

Flicking the earbud with the toe of his shoe, the Section Chief rose to his feet. Though the man merely looked down upon him, to someone unused to being perceived at all, that heavy gaze felt suffocatingly menacing.

“Lived in Mangcheon City, Gyeonggi Province, up until fourteen years ago,” the man stated.

At the mention of that all-too-familiar location, Mu-yeong’s breath hitched in his chest. The Section Chief took another slow pull from his cigarette.

“Would be twenty-five years old today.”

“…” Mu-yeong maintained a cautious silence.

“Lived with an old mudang,” Choi Yook continued, tapping his cigarette. “The shaman burned to death in a house fire, and the kid has been missing ever since.”

It was a story Mu-yeong knew intimately. And if Yeongchwi Moneylending was hunting for Seo Mu-yeong, it certainly wasn’t to offer an apology and return his stolen name. Assuming the missing child had long since perished, they were likely seeking to tie up loose ends.

“So the target went missing at eleven years old,” Mu-yeong said, keeping his voice carefully neutral. “Any other details?”

He prayed with all his might that the mobster hadn’t already seen through his identity and was merely toying with him. Tapping the cigarette between his long fingers, ash tumbled from the glowing tip.

“I’ll give you the property address once you take the assignment… Ah, one more thing.” With that casual murmur, another flake of ash drifted downward. “The kid is a girl.”

The hot gray ash narrowly grazed the fallen earbud. Mu-yeong kept his eyes pinned to the plastic casing rolling on the cement.

Under the pretext of warding off the coming calamity, his grandmother had treated her grandson like an absolute stranger throughout his childhood. She never once addressed him by name, forced him to do menial chores, and strictly forbade him from speaking.

And she made him grow his hair long down his back, dressing him exclusively in girls’ one-piece dresses.

“I’ll do my very best,” Mu-yeong promised, beaming brightly.

His grandmother’s spiritual shielding truly had worked miracles. Even Choi Sijin, who had stomped him mercilessly underfoot, had clearly never suspected that the child from that night was a boy.

If that were the case, the desperate gamble he was about to make carried genuine odds of victory. He would enthusiastically put on a show of hunting down this mythical ‘girl,’ buy as much time as possible, and then feign defeat and claim the trail had gone cold.

Looking down at him, the Section Chief reached inside his suit jacket. Mu-yeong stiffened, dreading the glint of a knife, but what emerged was a thick yellow brick of banknotes bound with rubber bands.

Tugging open Mu-yeong’s windbreaker, the man shoved the stack of bills deep into his inner breast pocket. Then he patted Mu-yeong’s chest twice with heavy, firm thumps, like a gravedigger tamping down fresh dirt on a burial mound.

“If we’ve agreed to work together, you need your retainer up front,” the Section Chief remarked.

Mu-yeong’s eyes went round. This deal was looking shockingly professional, generous even—

“Take the money and run, and our company’s interest rates kick in immediately,” the man added smoothly.

…Of course. There was no such thing as a free lunch. The Section Chief dropped a sheet of paper before Mu-yeong’s knees and shoved a bright red felt-tip pen between his teeth—his idea of hospitality rather than untying his prisoner’s wrists.

The pointed plastic cap jabbed harshly against the roof of Mu-yeong’s mouth. Gagging in reflex, Mu-yeong clamped his molars down around the plastic barrel. Watching him with cold amusement, the man tapped the paper with the toe of his shoe.

“Sign it,” the mobster commanded.

Instead of ‘Contract,’ the bold header at the top read Promissory Note. An interest rate was printed below, though mental calculation was impossible. Judging by the sheer weight and thickness of the wad in his pocket, defaulting would mean repaying with his internal organs.

Bending low, Mu-yeong laboriously dragged the pen across the line using only his mouth: Seo. Mu. Yeong. Spitting the pen onto the floor, a blotch of crimson ink smeared across his name like a drop of fresh blood.

“I don’t have a personal seal, so I wrote my full name,” Mu-yeong said, spitting out excess saliva. “Are there any specific options you require for this assignment?”

“Naturally,” the Section Chief answered without hesitation.

The man stated it as if it were the most obvious condition under the sun.

“Whenever you’re in the field, you travel with me.”

His eyes widening at the unlisted stipulation, Mu-yeong objected, “I really have zero intention of skipping town, you know?”

“And while claiming you haven’t skipped town, you’ll be hovering around Sijin again like a creep,” the Section Chief pointed out dryly.

“If I promise never to tail Sijin again—”

“If verbal promises carried that kind of weight, I would have pinky-sworn back in the garage and sent you on your merry way,” the man cut in.

Curling his hand into a fist, the Section Chief extended only his pinky finger.

“If you’re willing to put this pinky on the chopping block as collateral, I might reconsider.”

“No, that won’t be necessary at all,” Mu-yeong declined with an instant, radiant smile.

How on earth had the man deduced his plan to secretly shadow Sijin anyway? Now that things had come to this, stalking Choi Sijin was completely out of the question.

Even so, being tethered to the Section Chief was a prime alternative. If he couldn’t have the pheasant, this chicken was a silky, black-boned fowl of the highest pedigree. And not merely because the man was close family to his target.

The Section Chief could see Seo Mu-yeong with absolute clarity. He needed to uncover the secret behind that sight if he ever hoped to escape him, smash his skull in from behind, or vanish back into the shadows. Straightening his posture, Mu-yeong spoke up.

“Traveling with Section Chief suits me just fine. May I ask what your name is?”

“Choi Yook,” the man replied curtly.

Choi Yook—the name sounded like the kind that must have earned him endless teasing about spicy stir-fried pork back in his school days. Deciding his own name was infinitely superior, Mu-yeong replied politely, “My name is Seo Mu-yeong.”

“I know,” Choi Yook said flatly.

As far as Seo Mu-yeong was concerned, exchanging names was of paramount importance. Without a true birth name of his own, he was painfully aware of how hollow an existence became without a title to anchor it.

A name was a lifeline, a boundary, and the sole anchor keeping a person bound to the human realm. Without one, you were nothing more than a stray shadow, easily forgotten by the world and discarded like trash.

That was why Mu-yeong freely shared his name with anyone who crossed his path, and why he burned with equal curiosity to learn the names of others. Yet upon hearing his introduction, Choi Yook merely studied his face in silence.

Those pitch-black eyes felt as though they were stripping him down to the bare bone.

Mu-yeong broke the stifling quiet with another brisk question.

“When do we begin the assignment? If I’m escorting Section Chief, we should set a proper schedule.”

Keeping his eyes dutifully fixed on the floor, Mu-yeong asked with deferential charm. Choi Yook’s gaze slid from his brow down to his parted lips.

“You’ll hear from me soon,” Choi Yook answered.

“Understood. Feel free to call on me before then if you ever get bored. Now that I’m not following Sijin around, I have plenty of free time on my hands.”

His plan was to cling to the man like a burr and extract every ounce of intelligence he could. But as Mu-yeong beamed with innocent cheer, a suffocating shadow fell across his crown.

“And if I call you, what will you do?” Choi Yook asked softly.

Bending low, Choi Yook exhaled a warm cloud of cigarette smoke directly into Mu-yeong’s face. Beyond the swirling gray haze, those dark eyes chilled the air.

“Seo Mu-yeong.”

“…” Mu-yeong’s lips parted, but no sound came out.

“What do you plan on playing with me?” Choi Yook demanded quietly.

The low, gravelly baritone pressed heavily against his bare skin. Mu-yeong held his breath. Fighting down a cough, his eyes rimmed with moisture and his bitten lower lip flushed crimson.

“Would you like to get a meal? My treat,” Mu-yeong offered meekly.

Choi Yook offered only an icy, unreadable silence, watching him like an insect beneath glass.

Tilting his head, Mu-yeong ventured again, “Or would you prefer drinks?”

The second the words cleared his lips, Choi Yook clamped a large hand around Mu-yeong’s jaw. Drawing on his cigarette, the man tilted Mu-yeong’s face from side to side in cold appraisal.

“You do look appetizing enough, whether as a side dish or drinking snacks,” Choi Yook murmured.

“…” Mu-yeong froze under the mobster’s heavy thumb.

“Still, you ought to pick out your own fine bones before coming to the table,” Choi Yook warned. “Doing business is exhausting enough—don’t make me waste effort picking bones at mealtime.”

The thumb gripping his jaw pressed firmly against Mu-yeong’s Adam’s apple—an unmistakable warning not to cross the line. He remained motionless, offering absolute silence. As if testing his limits, Choi Yook tightened his grip. His windpipe cinched shut in an instant, darkness creeping along the edges of his vision.

Yet Mu-yeong didn’t so much as twitch a brow. Far from pleading for mercy as he had earlier, he didn’t even let out a whimper. The specialized survival instinct honed over a lifetime was, in the end, an instant assessment of the power dynamic.

Between them lay only the cold logic of force and hierarchy. When a predator chose to crush you beneath his heel, prostrating yourself in absolute stillness was the safest way to endure the storm.

He had accepted the assignment, which meant the man wouldn’t murder him right this second. That was all that mattered: surviving by any means necessary. Surviving so he could drag Choi Sijin into the gutter and reclaim the ordinary life a human being rightfully deserved.

The swirling fury within his chest never rippled across his expression. His lowered lashes cast faint bluish shadows, and his cool skin showed porcelain-smooth yet entirely devoid of life.

Beneath Choi Yook’s calloused thumb, Mu-yeong’s pulse hammered with fierce vitality. A faint flush crept into his pale cheeks, his shallow breathing turning ragged under the fluorescent bulb’s sterile blue glare.

Abruptly, Choi Yook released his hold, tossing Mu-yeong aside like discarded trash. Losing his balance, Mu-yeong slumped onto the concrete floor. As his shoulders heaved in silent shivers without daring to cough, the cigarette butt struck the cement beside him.

Seeing how ruthlessly the man extinguished a harmless cigarette, dealing with him was obviously walking on razor wire. Yet seeing any possibility of a blaze completely snuffed out brought Mu-yeong a strange sense of relief.

“Seo-yoon-ah,” Choi Yook called toward the heavy metal door.

Mu-yeong couldn’t tell whether the subordinate’s name was ‘Seo-yoon’ or simply ‘Yoon-ah.’

Straining to turn his head toward the entrance, Mu-yeong blinked in surprise. The square-jawed man who had gagged him earlier was stepping back inside. Looking closely, the driver bore a striking resemblance to an upright stone statue.

The driver bowed from the waist with crisp discipline. “Yes, Section Chief.”

Stopping behind Mu-yeong, the subordinate waited for instructions. Choi Yook pulled his dress shoe back from the pulverized cigarette.

Choi Yook announced with lazy indifference, “Seo Mu-yeong-ssi here has agreed to track down our precious long-term missing child.”

“…Is that so, sir?” The driver blinked in muted surprise.

Choi Yook gave a slight nod of his chin. “Cut his hands free and escort him safely home.”

Producing a pair of blue-handled wire cutters, the driver snipped through the thick plastic cable tie with a crisp snap. Stepping back, he looked toward his boss.

“Will you be returning with us as well, Section Chief?” the subordinate asked.

Lighting another cigarette, Choi Yook replied, “I need to review the ledgers.”

Bowing low once more, the driver turned toward the exit. Mu-yeong hastily scrambled to snatch his earbud off the floor before bowing respectfully.

“I’ll see you next time, Section Chief.”

No answer came. Without waiting for one, Mu-yeong fell into step behind the suited driver. Born of long habit, his silent footsteps made not the faintest sound against the floor.

Yet glancing over his shoulder, Mu-yeong found a pair of black eyes locked squarely onto him. Across meters of empty space and despite his soundless gait, that gaze pinned him with unerring accuracy, burning into him from above.

Discard any delusions that you can run away like you did before.

An icy shudder rippled from the crown of his skull straight down to the soles of his feet. Rooted to the spot as though his boots were nailed to the earth, the voice from the doorway snapped him out of the trance.

“Seo Mu-yeong-ssi, please hurry along,” the driver urged.

Mu-yeong hurried out. Ascending a flight of stairs with rusted handrails, the shabby interior of a dilapidated commercial shopping building emerged into view. From out in the alley, boisterous chatter mingled with the stench of cigarette smoke drifted through the night air.