Chapter 8

It was a commercial nightlife strip: moderately prosperous, moderately decayed. Neon-lit karaoke parlors and claw-machine arcades were wedged between greasy barbecue joints and pungent raw fish taverns, bathed in the sickly yellow haze of outdated streetlights.

Choi Yook’s sedan was parked out front. After confirming that no dashcams were recording the exterior, Mu-yeong slid into the front passenger seat. Climbing into the driver’s side, the stone-faced man tapped his phone screen to disarm the vehicle’s security.

Passcode: 2008. The exact same digits as the license plate.

There was no need to squint or pretend not to look; the driver never even registered Mu-yeong’s gaze, just like every other human being on earth except Choi Yook.

As the car pulled out, the driver cast repeated, disgusted glances toward the passenger seat. The hostility in his expression was intense, yet his pupils failed to focus, glaring as though trying to pin down a translucent phantom.

“Seo-yoon-ah-ssi?” Mu-yeong called out softly.

“…It’s Han Seo-yoon,” the driver gritted out through clenched teeth.

True enough, ‘Seo-yoon’ suited him far better than ‘Yoon-ah’—though names like Park Man-sik or Gwak Pil-seung felt considerably more fitting for a bruiser of his build.

“I see.” Mu-yeong nodded affably. “I’m Seo Mu-yeong.”

“I know,” Han Seo-yoon snapped.

Punching Mu-yeong’s address into the navigation screen, Han Seo-yoon accelerated down the avenue. Though he kept flicking glances toward the passenger seat, their eyes never once met. Taking advantage of that disjointed perception, Mu-yeong asked, “By the way, did you leave my van in that parking lot?”

“I relocated it elsewhere,” Han Seo-yoon replied curtly.

“Then please have the shattered window replaced and park it in front of my house by tomorrow morning—actually, this morning. I have an assignment in Goyang by ten, so I need my vehicle.”

Mu-yeong checked the time on his phone: 12:04 AM. Directly below the digital clock, the wallpaper displayed the caption ‘★Our Love★ D+2,193’ beside a photo of Choi Sijin smiling brightly with a silk ribbon tied at his neck.

“Seo Mu-yeong-ssi,” Han Seo-yoon gritted out, “I am not your subordinate.”

With a serene smile, Mu-yeong replied, “I know. But you are my kidnapper.”

“…And Seo Mu-yeong-ssi is a stalker,” Han Seo-yoon countered coldly.

“I already reached a settlement on that with the Section Chief, so that’s settled,” Mu-yeong pointed out cheerfully. “However, you and I haven’t reached a settlement on this matter yet, have we?”

Seo Mu-yeong knew next to nothing about formal jurisprudence, but having navigated countless out-of-court settlements in his line of work, he understood the paramount importance of reaching a mutual agreement. Han Seo-yoon kept his mouth firmly shut, venting only a long, beleaguered exhale.

“I will consult the Section Chief regarding this matter as well,” the driver gritted out.

“You didn’t tamper with the belongings inside my vehicle, did you?”

“Nothing was damaged,” Han Seo-yoon answered stiffly. “However, all recordings and materials relating to Sijin-ssi will be permanently expunged.”

“Understood. I’d appreciate it if you returned those alongside the vehicle as well,” Mu-yeong requested sweetly.

Conveying his demands, Mu-yeong casually scanned the windshield and rearview mirror: a single forward-facing dashcam lens. The interior was not being recorded. As the traffic signal shifted green, the sedan accelerated onto the main road.

“Why on earth are you chasing Sijin-ssi like this?” Han Seo-yoon asked abruptly.

Assuming he was staring into Mu-yeong’s eyes, the driver fixated his glare intently on his passenger’s ear. Seizing upon that distracted intensity, Mu-yeong’s fingers soundlessly slid Han Seo-yoon’s smartphone from the center console.

“Well, there are far too many reasons to list,” Mu-yeong replied with an airy hum. “To begin with, he’s cute, stunning, and endlessly lovely.”

Instantly dimming the screen brightness to minimum, Mu-yeong entered the passcode and began installing a clandestine monitoring app onto Han Seo-yoon’s phone. Installation time: three minutes.

In roughly the time it took for instant cup noodles to brew, Han Seo-yoon’s real-time GPS coordinates, photo gallery, chat logs, and call recordings would stream directly to Mu-yeong’s device.

“When he smiles, he’s practically an adorable puppy and literal sunshine,” Mu-yeong prattled on, pouring vibrant enthusiasm into every syllable. “When he dances, he resembles a fluffy little chick, or a squishy mochi rice cake. You know how tall Sijin is, right? Yet he has the most disarming aegyo—”

“Haa… fine. I get it—” the driver groaned, shaking his head.

“No, please don’t assume that’s the sum of my adoration!” Mu-yeong protested, raising his voice earnestly. “My feelings aren’t nearly so shallow! Sijin is the very purpose of my existence! My anchor in life!”

Tracking the download progress bar creeping toward the seventy percent mark, Mu-yeong laid on the pathos with heart-wrenching theatricality.

“You could practically say I draw breath solely for Sijin. The Sijin who commands the stage, the Sijin who acts his heart out, the Sijin whose laughter lights up the screen—Seo-yoon-ssi, surely you know just how brilliantly he shines?”

“No, I don’t—” Han Seo-yoon stammered, flustered.

“When I was little, I had neither parents nor friends, so I lived in bone-deep misery and loneliness,” Mu-yeong lamented, his voice trembling with sorrow. “Nobody ever spared me a single word. Heck, even the free food sample aunties at the grocery store wouldn’t hand me a toothpick—”

Three minutes: completed. Slipping the phone cleanly back into the console tray, Mu-yeong concluded his impassioned oration. Han Seo-yoon looked thoroughly drained, his expression nauseated and utterly repulsed as he lapsed into defeated silence.

Taking advantage of the quiet, Mu-yeong inspected his damaged wireless earbud. Though scuffed and chipped around the seam, the Bluetooth antenna paired seamlessly and audio played without distortion. Tracing the dented groove with his fingertip, its peculiar shape brought something to mind.

“Ah,” Mu-yeong murmured.

Touching the back of his head, he felt around his tender scalp. Han Seo-yoon asked irritably,

“What is it now? Do you have even more drivel to share about Sijin-ssi?”

“No, I’m bleeding back here,” Mu-yeong answered plainly.

He thrust his fingers toward the driver’s side. Dried flakes of crimson dust scattered from his fingertips across the gearshift. At the exaggerated gesture, Han Seo-yoon’s eyes darted sideways in alarm.

“Seo Mu-yeong-ssi, I am currently operating a motor vehicle! What reckless nonsense are you—?”

While the man vented his fury, Mu-yeong confirmed via his phone screen that an incoming SMS had been mirrored successfully from Han Seo-yoon’s device. Sender: Section Chief Choi. Content: [Did you drop him off?].

“We’ll just call my medical expenses even against the cost of detailing your interior,” Mu-yeong suggested cheerfully.

When Han Seo-yoon merely stared ahead in stony silence, Mu-yeong announced cheerfully, “I’m going to recline and get some rest.”

Adjusting the passenger headrest to cradle his aching skull, Seo Mu-yeong promptly drifted into a dead sleep. He awakened to the sound of knuckles rapping against the vinyl dashboard. Han Seo-yoon was glaring in his general direction, wearing an expression of deep, bone-tired exhaustion.

“Seo Mu-yeong-ssi, is this your residence?”

“Ah, yes, that’s it—Bethel Villa,” Mu-yeong replied.

Pointing toward the building’s name etched in severe serif script on the outer gate, Mu-yeong climbed out of the sedan. Tucking his wireless earbud securely into his ear, he offered a pleasant parting bow.

“Thank you for the ride. And please make sure to relay what I said about my van to the Section Chief. Without fail, alright?”

Han Seo-yoon offered no verbal reply, giving only a single curt nod. He watched as Mu-yeong vanished through the building entrance. The second-floor window flickered with light, only for the room to plunge back into darkness less than a minute later. Pulling out his phone, the driver speed-dialed his superior.

“Section Chief, it’s me,” Han Seo-yoon reported. “I have dropped Seo Mu-yeong off at his residence.”

―“Yeah. And how was he?” Choi Yook’s dry baritone inquired.

Hardly waiting for the prompt, Han Seo-yoon unleashed the torrent of bizarre antics he had endured inside the vehicle. Choi Yook listened in dead silence. Nearing the climax of his grievance, the driver lost his composure.

“The guy is a raving, lunatic bastard—!”

―“Seo-yoon-ah,” Choi Yook cut in.

For the first time, Han Seo-yoon’s words were severed mid-sentence as the Section Chief broke in over the receiver. ―”Check if Seo Mu-yeong dropped anything on the floor.”

“…Pardon?” the subordinate stammered, caught off guard.

―“You know what I mean—something shaped like a pen or a car key. A digital recorder, a pinhole camera, a magnetic GPS tracker. Seeing how unusually long his tongue wagged in front of you, he was almost certainly planting something.”

That chillingly calm observation sent an icy spike down Han Seo-yoon’s spine. Come to think of it, Seo Mu-yeong was an operative who had quietly earned a living for three whole years in a cutthroat detective agency swarming with convicts and ex-gangsters.

“I don’t detect anything out of the ordinary,” Han Seo-yoon stammered after checking the mats. “My apologies, sir. I conducted a pat-down earlier, so I assumed he was clean…”

―“Right. Have the car detailed and swept again later,” Choi Yook commanded. “And whenever you contact Seo Mu-yeong, use a burner phone. Otherwise, the bastard will harvest your family dog’s veterinary history down to the last vaccination.”

The dog’s name was Seolgi, not Poppi, but that was beside the point. Conjuring the image of his tiny, palm-sized terrier, Han Seo-yoon put the car in gear and accelerated away from the villa. Only after putting considerable distance between himself and the building did he speak again.

“Section Chief… regarding the assignment you mentioned earlier,” Han Seo-yoon began tentatively, casting nervous glances toward the rearview mirror before pressing on.

“Must you truly entrust that search to Seo Mu-yeong? It’s not as though it’s a trivial matter to you, and the fellow feels exceedingly ominous.”

―“What feels ominous?” Choi Yook countered smoothly. “The fact that you failed to spot him inside the van at first?”

A sick wave of nausea churned in Han Seo-yoon’s gut—a visceral unease unbefitting a man accustomed to seeing blood flow like tap water.

“That is admittedly the largest part of it,” the subordinate conceded.

He had visually cleared the cabin, declaring it entirely empty. Yet when Seo Mu-yeong was dragged out from that very vehicle, Han Seo-yoon had nearly gasped his lungs out. It was like witnessing an apparition step out of thin air.

“Furthermore, the man himself is deeply abnormal,” Han Seo-yoon argued. “Even setting aside hidden motives, he is at bare minimum a degenerate stalker.”

―“No one has turned up a single trace of the child in six full years,” Choi Yook noted with detached realism. “And there isn’t a soul left who’s willing to take the contract.”

Choi Yook laid bare the bitter, unvarnished truth over the line. ―”The fact that Seo Mu-yeong is suspicious actually works in our favor. His origins are murky, and there’s no telling which way he might bolt. That’s why I have to keep him tucked close at my flank and roast him over the coals myself to see what pops out.”

Han Seo-yoon recalled a deflated, scuffed soccer ball left abandoned in the corner of his middle-school athletic field: kicked around, battered, tossed into trash bins, yet somehow rolling back out into the open dirt day after day.

Seo Mu-yeong strongly evoked that grimy ball resting in the shade of the trees. And now Choi Yook had declared temporary ownership over it. For Han Seo-yoon, there was no room left to intercede.

“Understood, sir. What shall I do regarding Seo Mu-yeong’s broken car window?”

―“Repair it and deliver it to him.”

The unexpectedly generous directive took Han Seo-yoon aback.

“Yes, sir, I will do so. May I ask why you decided upon that…?”

―“Because from now on, I’ll be riding in that van down to Mangcheon,” Choi Yook stated. “Just Seo Mu-yeong and me.”

It was news far more staggering than anything he had heard tonight. Han Seo-yoon choked on his breath.

“Of all places, Mangcheon? How can you entrust the steering wheel to an unverified crook? Please reconsider, Section Chief—let me handle the driving at least!”

―“Forget it,” Choi Yook dismissed.

The refusal over the receiver was absolute and unyielding. ―”That face alone already draws enough attention. There’s no need to add another hulking brute and make us look like an armed mob.”

“His face, sir? You mean Seo Mu-yeong?” Han Seo-yoon scoffed in disbelief. “That bastard looks completely plain—”

A sudden, cold dread clamped around Han Seo-yoon’s throat, swallowing the rest of his sentence. He had naturally assumed Seo Mu-yeong possessed an unremarkable face. From the moment he had laid eyes on him, he had believed that without question.

Yet when he strained to picture Mu-yeong’s specific facial features, his mind drew a total, terrifying blank. On the other end of the line, Choi Yook slowly echoed the subordinate’s words.

―“He looks plain to your eyes. Seo Mu-yeong does.”

“Yes… well, the truth is, I can’t seem to recall clearly,” Han Seo-yoon confessed sheepishly.

A heavy, unbroken silence hung over the phone line. That quiet felt like a pointed rebuke of his incompetence. Grasping stubbornly at his memory, Han Seo-yoon earned only a dull, throbbing headache before giving up.

He would see the man again soon enough anyway. Other matters held greater urgency.

“…At any rate, the fellow is unmistakably suspicious, so I will dig deeper into his background,” Han Seo-yoon resolved.

―”Yeah. Keep digging,” Choi Yook commanded. A chilling undertone curled through the boss’s voice as he added, ―”While you dig from behind, I’ll hold him in front and knead him in my hands. Let’s see what spills out.”

With that, the superior terminated the call.

A few seconds later, tucked in a shadowy corner of Bethel Villa Room 218, a pinprick-sized green LED light blinked once before settling into a steady glow, confirming that the wireless earbud had at last been returned to its charging cradle.