Chapter 6: Existence or Nonexistence
Dohyuk finished work earlier than usual that day. There had been no major headaches, and his meeting with Baek Hyeri wasn’t until tomorrow. On his way home, his mother called.
“I heard you’re meeting Baek Hyeri from Kangsan Construction?” she said. “That’s good. Kangsan may be struggling financially lately, but they’re an old, respected family. Their elders are honorable, too.”
Even if it was just business, his mother’s tone made it clear she saw more in it. In their world, business often led to marriage, and she wasn’t wrong to assume. If he had to get tangled up in such things, better with someone from a good family.
Dohyuk cut her off sharply. Nothing was decided yet. But the fact that Chairman Kang Mansik had specifically chosen him for the meeting with Kangsan Group made it feel like a done deal.
When he arrived at his villa, two men stood guard at the entrance. He remembered—he’d ordered them to watch the shaman he’d left inside that morning.
“No unusual activity,” one reported, hesitating. “We checked the CCTV, but…”
Dohyuk’s expression darkened. “But what?”
“He didn’t move. At all.”
It took a moment for Dohyuk to grasp what was strange about that. Then it hit him—the man hadn’t shifted an inch. A dry, humorless laugh escaped him.
“He didn’t eat, either,” the man added. “Not sure if that’s okay…”
“A day without food won’t kill him,” Dohyuk replied coldly.
Inside, he found Yeon sitting in the living room, exactly as he’d been that morning. At the sound of the door, Yeon turned his head. Dohyuk prided himself on his patience, but this man was testing it. Staying motionless for nearly 24 hours wasn’t normal.
“Meditating?” Dohyuk snapped.
He’d planned to ignore Yeon, treat him like he didn’t exist—as long as he didn’t interfere. But seeing him sit there like a doll, not even human, grated on him.
Yeon didn’t react. His face was half-covered by a white cloth, making his expression unreadable. It only annoyed Dohyuk more.
“New condition,” Dohyuk said. “Remove the cloth. Now. Or I’ll send you away.”
Yeon’s lower lip trembled slightly. He was listening, but his presence still irritated Dohyuk.
Yeon stayed silent, his lips sealed, making no move to remove the cloth.
“Fine. I’ll call Director Choi.”
Dohyuk reached for his phone, ready to order Choi to remove Yeon immediately. Only then did Yeon sigh. His hands, resting on his thighs, rose to untie the knot at the back of his head. The white cloth slipped away, revealing the same bluish eyes Dohyuk had seen the night before.
They stared at him more directly than he expected. Despite Dohyuk’s sharp, almost hostile aura, Yeon didn’t look away.
Under the bright light, he looked even stranger. His features were distinctly East Asian, but his hair and eyes weren’t. The traditional hanbok he wore only made him stand out more. Maybe that’s why he covered his eyes—with that appearance, earning trust would be difficult.
“I know what you’re thinking,” Yeon said, as if reading his mind. “But I’m not mixed-race.”
Dohyuk’s face remained blank, but his intense stare made Yeon aware of the scrutiny.
“Even if I were, you’d say the same thing,” Dohyuk shot back. “With that look, trust wouldn’t come easy.”
Yeon didn’t flinch. “Would you trust me if I looked different?”
The implication—that Dohyuk wouldn’t trust him no matter what—made Dohyuk’s expression harden.
“If you’re not mixed-race, then explain your eyes. Your hair.”
Yeon’s appearance wasn’t his business, but it was unusual enough to make him skeptical. Still, as Yeon said, he’d doubt him regardless.
So why did this man get under his skin? Why did he want to see that doll-like face crack?
Yeon raised a hand, as if searching for something in the air. A faint white light flickered at his fingertips before vanishing.
“Every time I do this, the color fades a little more.”
If true, it was no ordinary matter. Yet Yeon spoke so calmly, it only confused Dohyuk further. He couldn’t tell if it was a lie or the truth. It was the first time someone’s intentions had been this unreadable.
Ah. That was the source of his irritation.
Since last night, he couldn’t figure this man out. It wasn’t just because he was a shaman. That doll-like face didn’t even feel human. And his appearance was more refined than Dohyuk had expected. Even though he was a man, others might call him beautiful. Had he used that delicate face to charm clients? The thought soured Dohyuk’s mood. No, it didn’t matter—it had nothing to do with him.
But why was he so irritated?
“How long is the contract?”
Maybe it was because he couldn’t accept the existence of shamans. How many days would he have to keep this fraud in his home? A week? Would that satisfy his mother?
“Until there’s no one left who threatens Kang Dohyuk’s life.”
Dohyuk scoffed. Until the threats were gone? That day would never come—unless he eliminated all his enemies first.
“Convenient.”
The longer the contract, the higher the fee. So wouldn’t Yeon just sit around, pretending there were threats, to keep the money flowing? He needed to get rid of him as soon as possible.
“If you don’t want this, cancel now. The deposit will be refunded in full.”
Yeon’s response made Dohyuk narrow his eyes. He was offering to leave immediately—and return the money? What was his game?
Dohyuk glared, lips pressed thin, as Yeon finally stood. He gave a slight bow before turning toward the door.
“Stop.”
Yeon paused, halfway into his shoes.
“Come back. Sit down.”
The cold command made Yeon turn and look at him blankly.
“I said sit.”
He’d said he would leave if Dohyuk didn’t want him. That was exactly what Dohyuk wanted. So why did seeing him leave so obediently make him feel even worse?
He couldn’t send him away. Not yet. He still hadn’t uncovered all the corruption in the political and financial circles that Muryeong knew about. Dohyuk tried to rationalize it, but something still didn’t sit right.
Yeon stood by the door, neither returning to the living room nor leaving. He just stood there, watching Dohyuk.
Dohyuk exhaled sharply and stood, walking over to Yeon.
“Like it or not, you’ve already entered my space. I don’t know what you’ve been doing here all day, but I can’t just let you leave. So sit back down.”
He didn’t mention that his men had been watching the CCTV all day. Standing right in front of Yeon, glaring down, Yeon still didn’t flinch. But he seemed to understand and returned to the living room, sitting back in his original spot.
“If you wish, assign someone to watch me.”
Even under Dohyuk’s suspicious gaze, Yeon didn’t seem flustered. After all, his clients were from the highest echelons of society—he was probably used to this kind of treatment.
“Name. Age.”
Yeon blinked slowly at the demand.
“I asked for your name and age.”
Dohyuk decided to change his approach. He wanted to dig deeper—into this man, and into Muryeong.
“As I said last night, I don’t exist. Call me whatever you like. Yeon will do.”
He was referring to the name Dohyuk had thrown at him the night before.
“No registered name?” Dohyuk pressed. “There must be something on your resident registration.”
“…There isn’t.”
Dohyuk’s brow furrowed.
“The people of Muryeong are those who exist but do not exist.”
“Not even registered at birth?”
“Either they never existed from the beginning, or their records were erased the moment they entered Muryeong.”
Yeon’s answer was reluctant, but Dohyuk could infer what kind of people belonged to Muryeong. They were more shrouded in mystery than he’d thought. Erasing resident registrations entirely in this day and age was no small feat. Since he had no official name, he could be called whatever Dohyuk pleased—so Yeon must belong to the former category.
“Age?”
“I don’t know. I don’t count.”
This was getting more absurd by the minute. Who didn’t know their own age? This man was beyond ordinary human logic.
“You said you’d sever the bad connections.”
Dohyuk didn’t believe him, but he decided to play along for now.
“How?”
At the very least, Yeon was here to protect him. He needed to understand what he was dealing with.
Yeon’s eyes moved slowly, scanning Dohyuk from head to toe before closing. With his eyes shut, his long lashes stood out even more.
“Between people, there are countless connections. To me, they appear as threads of various colors, linking one person to another.”
“Threads?”
A humorless laugh escaped Dohyuk. Yeon continued calmly, unfazed.
“Among the countless threads connected to Kang Dohyuk, I find the bad ones and sever them.”
The image of the light that had appeared in Yeon’s hand earlier flashed in Dohyuk’s mind. There had to be some trick to it. He would watch closely and figure it out.
“So? How many bad connections do I have?”
If he knew the number, he might know when this would all end.
“Minor connections come and go on their own. The ones you need to be careful of—the bad connections that require severing…”
Yeon’s gaze returned to Dohyuk’s face. Their eyes met, and Dohyuk felt an odd sensation.
“Three. They are connections that will only end when either you or the other person dies.”
