Yieum pulled both arms up to cradle his head and curled into himself as small as he could go. Bracing for a pain that was familiar and yet never something he could get used to.
But the expected blow never landed.
Instead, he felt the cigarette — burned all the way down to the filter, scorching hot — slip free from between his fingers.
“Almost forgot about getting yukgaejang on the way out.”
A low voice tickled the back of his neck. When he looked up, dazed, Chaehyeok was standing there with the cigarette balanced between two fingers.
While Yieum flexed his newly empty fingertips, Chaehyeok drew one last deep drag. He aimed that toxic exhale directly at the manager’s face.
The furious crimson of the man’s face went hazy. Chaehyeok’s exhale went on and on, so long it made you wonder how that much smoke could fit inside a person’s lungs.
Through it all, the manager couldn’t blink even once.
Chaehyeok ground the butt under his shoe and dropped an elbow onto the manager’s shoulder. As if that wasn’t enough, he shifted his weight onto one leg and leaned in, loading his full weight onto the man.
Looking every bit the delinquent about to shake someone down, Chaehyeok asked —
“Kid, you close with this guy?”
“Smoking’s not allowed in here.”
Rather than answer the question, Yieum chose to relay information. Something like faint interest stirred in Chaehyeok’s eyes at the unexpected response.
“Didn’t know that.”
He spun the cigarette pack between his fingers and curved one corner of his mouth upward.
“He said so himself.”
Caught in both their gazes at once, the manager shook his head frantically. His hands had already come together in front of his stomach in a posture of perfect deference.
“Says he didn’t.”
“N-no, you’re w-welcome to smoke——”
“Looks like the kid had it wrong.”
Ignoring the stammering manager entirely, Chaehyeok pulled a long cigarette from the pack, put it between his lips, and smirked. It was a vivid smile, but somehow it looked fake.
Yieum’s gaze lingered on that curved lip.
“Right. I had it wrong.”
He nodded while holding Chaehyeok’s gaze, and one of those brows ticked upward. Puzzlement, curiosity, or amusement — whichever it was, something that could be called an emotion settled behind his eyes.
Chaehyeok straightened up and crushed the fresh cigarette he’d only held in his mouth with one hand, unsmoked. He shoved the remains into the manager’s breast pocket, then dusted the residue off his palm against his other hand.
Unhurried footsteps drew closer. One, two.
The man, vast as a shadow, came to stand less than a hand’s span away. Yieum tilted his head back, and an oppressive weight crashed down over him, almost enough to steal the breath from his lungs.
“The kid and I are going to have a little chat.”
Again, that artificial smile.
Yieum’s gaze slid toward the interior of the funeral hall while he looked at that smile. The cigarette Chaehyeok had pressed into the incense burner had long since burned out, but the space still seemed thick with pale, drifting smoke.
“I need to keep watch over the hall……”
In truth, there was no need to keep watch at all. There were no more guests coming, and even when she was alive, his mother had always preferred spending her time alone with his stepfather.
Even on her final journey, his mother would surely find it disagreeable to have Yieum by her side.
But Chaehyeok didn’t brush off even that small murmur. He must have seen through the excuse from the start, yet he said nothing further — he simply flicked his fingers toward the back of the room.
“Who was under Bongwoo?”
One burly man stepped forward with quick precision.
“That’s me, sir.”
“Go and keep watch over our brother on his way out. Look after his wife properly too.”
“Yes, sir.”
The man bowed respectfully and made his way into the funeral hall — this time setting his shoes neatly aside before stepping in. Yieum’s gaze trailed after those heavy footsteps and came to rest on the cigarette stub wedged in the incense burner.
Thinking about it, both Mom and my stepfather were heavy smokers. So does that mean they’re sharing a cigarette between them now. Maybe that’s why it burned away so fast — he was still caught in that thought when Chaehyeok’s finger poked at his cheek.
Even for a smoker, there was no trace of cigarette smell on his fingertips.
It suddenly struck Yieum that his own body was probably steeped in that acrid scent.
Chaehyeok gave a casual chin-tilt toward his slow, drifting gaze.
“Good to go.”
Not sure how to respond, Yieum gave only a small nod.
It was strange. He was unmistakably a gangster — and yet he no longer seemed like one. Even meeting those fierce eyes head-on, Yieum felt no fear rise up in him.
Chaehyeok had already moved on, walking naturally toward the reception room ahead of him. Yieum followed without thinking, then caught sight of the empty tables and spun around on instinct.
It had only just come back to him — they had cleared everything away because no more guests were expected.
He turned to go quickly, and felt a hand catch his collar from behind. Not tight enough to choke, but firm enough that he couldn’t easily pull free.
“Running away?”
A complete misreading of the situation. Yieum shook his head urgently and fumbled out an explanation, afraid of coming across as rude.
“I was going to get the yukgaejang……”
“Kid stays here. Hojang, get the drinks set up.”
One of the heavies following behind bent at the waist and headed straight for the kitchen. Only then did Chaehyeok release his collar and take a seat first.
But sitting directly across from him felt somehow uncomfortable. Yieum had pulled out the chair but was just standing awkwardly beside it — until Hojang returned, carrying trays stacked with practiced ease.
“I should be the one doing this sort of thing……”
“They’re better at it. How many people do you think die around them.”
True to that, the hands moved too fast to even offer to help. By the time Yieum had edged uncertainly into his seat, Hojang had already finished setting the table, bowed, and stepped back.
Chaehyeok slid a can of cola in front of Yieum, then reached casually for the bottle of soju and twisted the cap off.
Clear liquid poured steadily into the small glass. Yieum, blinking those large eyes, carefully hooked a finger around the pull tab of his cola can.
Click, click. After two fumbled attempts — tshhh — the sound of carbonation escaping spread through the air, bright and crisp.
“How old are you, kid. Elementary school?”
“Middle school.”
“Same thing.”
“……”
Those are extremely different things.
He swallowed the protest and only thought it. Then he sneaked a sideways glance at the heavies busily setting up their own table.
Their ages varied. But all of them looked considerably older than Chaehyeok. Even so, Chaehyeok spoke down to all of them without any hesitation, and they all seemed accustomed to it.
He didn’t know much about it, but it seemed like gangsters had their own hierarchy that took precedence over age. The fact that Chaehyeok couldn’t tell middle school from elementary school was proof enough of that.
“The guys are pretty rough to look at, huh?”
Chaehyeok had noticed Yieum’s gaze wandering and smirked as he spoke. But Yieum didn’t catch his meaning and repeated the word back.
“Darai……?”
“Their faces. Ugly mugs.”
Chaehyeok laughed and even waved a hand in front of his face to demonstrate. It was only then that Yieum realized he’d been insulting his subordinates’ looks — and Yieum ducked his head without answering.
Did he really have to say it like that. The only thought in his mind was that he had no interest in spending any more time around a person who talked like this.
Meanwhile, Chaehyeok had already knocked back his soju and was lighting another cigarette.
Chain smoker.
That too he kept inside. Yieum poked at the dried squid strips with his chopstick tips for no real reason. His mouth felt bored, but he had no appetite.
Chaehyeok drew a long, deep drag with an audible pull — and for once turned his head to exhale to the side. Even so, it seemed the nature of a gangster couldn’t be helped.
As if to prove it, his scar-marked fingertips tapped cigarette ash over the yukgaejang.
Yieum’s brow furrowed hard at the sight of ash falling into the food.
He couldn’t just sit there and watch. He cleared the dried snack plate, layered a few tissues in it, poured a little water in, and switched it out with the yukgaejang bowl — and Chaehyeok looked down at the makeshift ashtray in silence.
Catching the meaning in that look, Yieum added evenly —
“My mom was a heavy smoker.”
I always thought she’d go early from lung cancer. I never imagined she’d go even sooner in an accident.
Chaehyeok let Yieum’s flat words pass without remark. He tipped back another glass of soju and slowly refilled it.
“Did you know what Bongwoo did for a living before you called him Dad?”
“I didn’t know the details, but I knew it was illegal.”
“How.”
“He never used his own card. His bag was always stuffed with rubber-banded bundles of cash. Sometimes he’d come home with split skin on his knuckles and his lips at the same time. And there were several long sutured scars on his body.”
Beyond that — the car that changed frequently under the name of a corporation, carrying multiple phones of different models — there was no shortage of irregular circumstances.
But while he was alive, Yieum never dwelt on any of it.
