Chapter 9: The First Time
After washing up, Dohyuk scowled at the bloodstains on his bed—Yeon’s blood from the night before. He stripped the sheets and blankets, tossing them into a corner of the room.
In the bedroom, Yeon was slumped over the tea table by the window, fast asleep.
Neither of them had slept after the chaos of the previous night. Yeon had claimed Dohyuk could sleep without worry, but there was no way he could rest with someone else in the room. Even if he was certain Yeon posed no threat, the presence of another person made relaxation impossible.
Yeon had shown no intention of leaving, and Dohyuk, tense and restless, couldn’t sleep either. They had spent the night in a silent standoff, neither speaking, until dawn broke.
Now, Yeon had finally succumbed to exhaustion while Dohyuk was in the shower, collapsing at the tea table. After two consecutive sleepless nights, even the most resilient person would hit their limit. Besides, Yeon’s arm, visible through the thin fabric of his hanbok, was so slender it could belong to a woman. When Dohyuk had pulled him close earlier, he had noticed how frail Yeon was—so thin that he couldn’t even swat a fly. It was absurd to think such a person could threaten his life.
***
When Dohyuk entered the living room, Director Choi was already waiting.
“Did you rest well?”
“Not at all.”
The curt reply made Director Choi’s expression stiffen. He could tell from Dohyuk’s tone that his mood was at rock bottom.
“And him…”
Director Choi glanced around, searching for Yeon, who had been stubbornly holding his ground in the living room. Dohyuk answered with a gesture toward the bedroom instead. Director Choi’s expression hardened again, clearly confused as to why Yeon was in Dohyuk’s bedroom.
“Call someone to change all the bedsheets.”
“Excuse me?”
Director Choi’s voice rose slightly, something rare for someone so accustomed to Dohyuk’s eccentricities. Dohyuk scowled, wondering what had surprised him—until he realized what Director Choi might be thinking.
“I don’t have that kind of taste.”
“Ah…”
Director Choi, embarrassed that Dohyuk had seen through his thoughts, averted his gaze and hurried into the bedroom. He took in the scene: the blood-soaked sheets strewn on the floor, the crimson stains unmistakably blood. He was used to such sights, but the dark stains on Yeon’s collar—whether from fainting or sleep—were unsettling.
Did he kill him?
The white fabric made the bloodstains stand out even more. Director Choi swallowed hard and reached out to check Yeon’s pulse. It was faint, but he was alive. He had been worried he might have to dispose of a body, but thankfully, that wasn’t the case.
He pulled out his phone and made a call.
“Bring medicine and bandages.”
After confirming the response, he hesitated before adding, “And food. Something soft, if possible.”
According to the CCTV monitors, Yeon hadn’t eaten anything since yesterday. His boss, Kang Dohyuk, might not care, but Director Choi felt compelled to feed him. If Yeon were to die here, he wouldn’t have minded. But he was still alive—shockingly, in Kang Dohyuk’s bedroom.
Of course, the wound on his neck, left by a knife, was proof of Dohyuk’s temper, but the fact that Yeon was still breathing was nothing short of a miracle.
As far as Director Choi knew, only two people had ever been allowed into Kang Dohyuk’s bedroom: his mother, Cha Seonyoo, and himself, Dohyuk’s right-hand man. And even then, only during the day, never at night. The idea of someone entering Dohyuk’s room late at night was unthinkable.
This was the first time. The first time someone had spent the night in Dohyuk’s room. And that someone was this enigmatic man, dressed all in white.
***
In the car on the way to the office, Dohyuk reviewed the documents Director Choi had sent the previous night on his tablet. He had already skimmed them once but was going over them again, unable to accept some of the findings.
“No address?”
Dohyuk’s muttered question made Director Choi turn around immediately.
“They must have a base, but we couldn’t confirm it. It seems they avoid visits from clients as much as possible.”
“Then how do they take requests?”
“Only a very select few know their contact information. We tried tracing the number, but it was a burner phone, and it kept changing.”
The more he heard, the more it sounded like chasing shadows. Dohyuk had ordered an investigation into Muryeong, but the report was unsatisfactory.
If all members had no official records, tracking them was impossible. Still, he had assumed that as an organization, they must have some place they gathered. But even that led nowhere. Was there really land in South Korea that belonged to no one? Even if it was unregistered, buildings and residents would leave a paper trail. Yet there was nothing.
“They can’t be living behind an invisible barrier…”
The deeper a group hid, the more they had to conceal. They were desperate to stay hidden because they had too much to lose if exposed.
“Who was it that told Mother about Muryeong?”
“It was Lee Seoyoung, the representative of Hovan Gallery.”
Lee Seoyoung was a major figure in the financial world and a powerhouse in political circles. Her influence was undeniable, especially in networking—rumor had it she even had a hand in the election of the current president.
It made sense that she would know about a secretive group like Muryeong.
“And this arrived this morning.”
Director Choi handed over two photos. One showed Lee Seoyoung meeting with Congressman Ma Young-jin. The other featured two young men.
“The man on the left in the second photo is Congressman Ma Young-jin’s secretary. The man on the right seems connected to Muryeong. We had someone follow him, but they lost track.”
“So Lee Seoyoung is definitely the link to Muryeong. Keep an eye on her. Check everyone she meets in the political and financial worlds. If we dig deep enough, we’ll find something.”
Director Choi nodded, but he hesitated, as if he had more to say. Dohyuk looked up at him, signaling him to speak. After a moment, Director Choi gathered his courage.
“May I ask why you’re digging into Muryeong?”
Director Choi followed Dohyuk’s orders without question, even if they were illegal. But this time, he couldn’t fathom Dohyuk’s intentions.
“Who do you think seeks out shamans?”
Dohyuk answered the question with another question.
“People who are anxious about the future or have troubles, I suppose.”
“Generally, yes. But what about the people Muryeong deals with?”
Dohyuk’s eyes narrowed as he looked back at the tablet displaying the investigation report on Muryeong. Ah. Only then did Director Choi fall silent and turn back around.
The scale of their anxiety was different. From what they had learned about Muryeong, their clients were extremely exclusive—people with enough power to sway the nation or politicians on the verge of a presidential election. If they could figure out why these people sought Muryeong, Dragon Holdings would have a clear advantage in deciding future investments.
“It’s unpleasant to think that by calling them in, I’m exposing my own weaknesses.”
Dohyuk added. Of course, this was under the assumption that Yeon truly had supernatural abilities and could see all the connections tied to Dohyuk.
The idea that a third party might know who held goodwill or malice toward him was a bigger problem than he had anticipated. It could easily become an obstacle to his ambitions.
If Yeon ever returned to Muryeong, it would undoubtedly become an issue. So Dohyuk had to make a choice: either ensure Yeon never left, or bring Muryeong under his complete control.
***
When Yeon came to, it was already midday. He washed his face in the bathroom and looked in the mirror—he looked terrible.
“I look like a corpse.”
He was so pale that even he could joke about it. His clothes were stained with blood, making him look even more like the walking dead. He hadn’t collapsed just from two nights without sleep. The blood loss and the tension from facing Dohyuk had taken their toll.
Nothing changes no matter what I do…
Knowing too much always led Yeon to resignation. He understood better than anyone that he couldn’t change things by force, so he had learned to accept and comply.
The bloodstains were too visible on the white fabric. He hadn’t chosen to wear white—it was the color designated by Mu-yeong, the leader of Muryeong. He claimed it gave people a mystical impression.
Pathetic.
Yeon had doubted whether something as trivial as clothing color could sway people, but even skeptics were often swayed by the otherworldly demeanor and speech of Muryeong’s members. Some even worshipped them fanatically. So, regardless of Yeon’s personal feelings, Mu-yeong’s judgment had been correct.
The bloodstains wouldn’t come out easily by hand. He would have to change into his spare clothes and contact Muryeong to replace the stained ones.
He took off his bloodied outer garment and stepped into the living room, where his bag was. Just then, the sound of the automatic lock disengaging made him turn.
It was too early for Dohyuk to be back…
“Why are you dressed like that?”
The person who entered was Dohyuk’s mother, Cha Seonyoo. She frowned deeply at the sight of Yeon. He could guess what she was thinking but saw no point in responding, so he remained silent.
“Blood?”
Fortunately, her suspicion didn’t last long. Noticing the blood on Yeon’s clothes, she tilted her head and examined him from head to toe.
“Ah…”
Her gaze stopped at the wound on Yeon’s neck, and she frowned.
