“This is my contact.”
“I don’t need it.”
“You will.”
Not a vague prediction that he might need it someday — more like a certainty, a prophecy, that a moment would come when he absolutely would. Yieum stared hard at the eleven-digit number, already planning to quietly block it.
“Hojang, bring me a card.”
“Yes, sir.”
Was one number not enough — did he intend to force a subordinate’s number on him too? But Chaehyeok took the business card from Hojang and handed it over himself. Inwardly disgruntled, Yieum reflexively straightened his shoulders and accepted it with both hands.
He checked the name out of courtesy, and found, contrary to his expectations, that it was Chaehyeok’s own name printed there. The title before it read CEO, clear and prominent. He flipped it over — a Cheonma painting rendered in gold foil, and in large Chinese characters: Cheonma Construction.
Even Yieum knew that company’s name. Then the money behind it must be no ordinary sum. Yieum gave voice to the question in his head immediately.
“Why is the CEO of a major company playing gangster?”
“You’ve got it backwards, kid. Played gangster first — that’s how the company got built, and how the CEO nameplate got put up.”
Chaehyeok showed no sign of being offended by the word gangster at all. Yieum held the small card by its corner between his fingertips and murmured —
“A gangster company……”
Another round of low laughter came from across the table. Even as he laughed, his hand moved diligently to refill the glass.
If he’s going to pour that often, wouldn’t it be more efficient to just drink from a bigger glass. He kept that to himself and read through the rest of the card. The eleven digits printed small looked as unfamiliar as if he were seeing them for the first time.
“But the number’s different.”
“Sharp eyes.”
“……”
“If I don’t pick up, use that one. Tell them you’re Bongwoo’s son.”
The mechanical compliment and the helpful explanation together only made it feel more unsettling. Yieum wet his dry lips and looked back and forth between the nearly empty bottle and Chaehyeok. With expression on his face now, he was nothing like the dry-eyed creature Yieum had first met in the funeral hall.
A face capable of showing something like human emotion looked considerably younger than his first impression. But he looked like someone who could smile brightly and carry out something ruthless without a second’s hesitation.
A gangster couldn’t possibly have a soft spot. Nor did it seem like he had held Bongwoo in any particular regard. And yet he had already helped Yieum, and was still showing signs of wanting to help further.
There was certainly going to be a far greater price demanded for this kindness.
“Why me, out of everyone?”
Even with the wariness clear in his voice, Chaehyeok reached for a cigarette, unbothered.
“Bongwoo owed me a debt.”
Not a single word outside of what he’d expected. And his expression was perfectly composed — as though he had never once found a conversation like this difficult.
Yieum gave a small, bitter smile. In the not-very-long life he’d lived so far, no one had ever extended goodwill without a price attached.
Not even his parents.
Even Bongwoo, who had been kinder than most — if Yieum hadn’t been his mother’s son, he would surely have been different.
And yet Yieum had seized even that small warmth and tucked it away inside himself.
He didn’t trust people, and yet he was starved for affection.
Because of that, it felt like he was about to open the lock on his heart for Chaehyeok too. For the single reason that he had spoken to him with just a little familiarity.
So he had to get a grip, right now.
“Looks like the kid will have to repay it instead.”
“I’m going to renounce the inheritance.”
“Kid knows his law.”
Yieum met Chaehyeok’s gaze, brows lifted in surprise, with eyes full of quiet force, and gave a nod.
In truth, he had only come across renouncing inheritance while looking up funeral procedures — there was no way a middle schooler actually knew much about the law. But he didn’t want to be underestimated and taken advantage of.
The bluff seemed to land, because Chaehyeok leaned forward with a genuinely serious expression.
“Then let me ask — can you also renounce an inherited obligation to return unjust enrichment?”
“……”
Yieum’s eyes trembled slightly as the words stopped in his throat.
He’s obviously using complicated-sounding legal terms on purpose to throw me off.
But by the time he realized he’d walked into the trick, he had already hesitated too long. The moment he showed any reaction, the bluff was seen through.
Sure enough, Chaehyeok’s low, private laugh came again.
He had apparently feigned seriousness purely to toy with him. The embarrassment and humiliation of it made Yieum clench his teeth.
“Don’t try to play clever games you can’t finish, kid.”
He didn’t know exactly how old Chaehyeok was, but he was certainly younger than Bongwoo. If someone like that had made serious money through gangster work, his head for business must be something else.
Could a kid as young as himself actually wriggle free if he tried? Someone like this would be thoroughly versed in exploiting and squeezing people while slipping right through the law.
A deep sense of defeat settled over him. It was different from the helplessness he’d felt when his biological father hit him, when struggling only made it worse and there was no way out.
Chaehyeok watched the dark emotion moving through Yieum’s eyes. Chin propped in hand, eyes gleaming, he curved his lips into a smile and spoke.
“What’s the kid’s name.”
“Yeon…… Yieum.”
“Pretty name, just like the face.”
“……”
Chaehyeok stubbed out his half-finished cigarette and got up from his seat. He smoothed the front of his jacket with both hands, then extended the other hand — the one that hadn’t absorbed the cigarette smell.
Yieum opened and closed his fist until it nearly shook, then reluctantly extended his own hand to meet it.
A palm roughened all over with calluses closed lightly around Yieum’s hand and shook it. He clearly wasn’t gripping hard, and yet there was a weight to it that couldn’t be ignored.
“Let’s see how well our yeon holds.”
With that tossed-off parting line — a play on Yieum’s name — he walked out of the funeral hall with a smile on his face. The heavies rose from their seats all at once and followed after him.
Yieum looked at the cluttered table. The moment his gaze landed on the cigarette butt soaking in a puddle of water, a dull ache bloomed in his chest.
* * *
His mother had abandoned him three times in total.
The first, when she fled from his biological father’s violence. The second, when she left to chase a new love. The third, through death.
The most devastating, the hardest to bear, was the second.
The last one, strangely, had left him both at a loss and somehow lighter. He was alone now, but paradoxically — he no longer had to lie awake worrying about being abandoned again.
Of everything left to worry about now, Bongwoo’s debt was the largest.
When he went to file the death certificates, he found out that the two of them had never officially registered their marriage. That meant Yieum had no legal obligation to repay Bongwoo’s debts.
But since when did the law’s logic apply to gangsters.
Cheon Chaehyeok. That man looked like someone who would wring Yieum out by any means necessary until the very last coin was extracted.
Bang, bang, bang!
Just then, someone hammered violently at the front door. Completely ignoring the existence of a doorbell.
Of all the times to be thinking about a gangster, a knock like a gangster’s.
He pressed down the dread stirring in his chest and got to his feet. As he made his slow way to the front door, another round of pounding came — bang, bang! — as if to break it down. Aggression that had gone past anger into something attacking.
Please let it be someone who has the wrong address — Yieum pressed his eye to the peephole and looked. But all that met his eye was solid black darkness. As though someone on the other side had deliberately covered it.
Could it be Chaehyeok’s men, here to collect the debt. Should he pretend no one was home.
As he sank deeper into that thought, the beeping of someone pressing the keypad came — beep, beep. Yieum froze in terror, unable even to blink.
The warning tone for an incorrect password hadn’t even finished sounding.
“I know you’re in there, you little shit!”
Along with the crash of a kick landing on the door came a voice he had managed to forget. A voice muddied and coarsened by years of cigarettes. Slurred, indistinct pronunciation twisted even when the man was stone cold sober.
Yieum clapped both hands over his mouth, terrified even a breath might escape, and backed away. His foot caught on a pair of shoes lying scattered on the floor and he went down hard on his tailbone.
Even through the pain that brought tears to his eyes, his first thought was whether the sound of him falling had leaked outside.
Thud. Thud. Thud.
“Open the door! You little bastard!”
Another round of frantic keypad beeping followed. Yieum crawled on hands and knees toward the kitchen.
In his memory, his biological father had been enormous and invincible. But he himself had grown some by now. Bare-handed might be difficult, but with something in his grip, it wouldn’t be entirely one-sided.
With hands that shook badly, he picked up the kitchen knife.
All the while, the beeping and the incorrect-password alerts continued repeating. So many consecutive wrong attempts triggered it — a loud, blaring alarm that flooded the entire apartment. Even as the sharp sound stabbed at his ears, Yieum only gripped the kitchen knife tighter in both trembling hands.
The alarm showed no sign of dying down. Only the occasional thud of impact against the door vibrated through the walls. The noise was enough to swallow even his biological father’s screamed curses whole.
