He kept tying and untying his necktie when a message arrived. It informed him that approximately three million won in loan principal and interest had been repaid. He exhaled a quiet sigh. Between his father’s hospital bills and his remaining family’s living expenses, he’d been buried in debt since his mid-twenties.
While others had time to study, he worked part-time jobs — and becoming a prosecutor hadn’t changed a thing. The debt was still ongoing. His mother worked while nursing his father, but what she earned was nowhere near enough to cover their living costs. If only his brother would get his act together. He felt resentment toward him — the eldest son, living like a ghost — then pity, then resentment again. His feelings were always tangled up like that.
After some deliberation, he settled on a blue necktie. He was shrugging on his coat when the doorbell rang. The face on the old intercom screen was the man he’d seen at Im Gyeong’s house — long hair pulled back into one, wearing glasses. Even through the grainy screen, his eyes flashed with a sharp intensity.
“The young master sent me.”
He told him to wait a moment, then put on his coat and stepped outside. The man said nothing the entire walk to the parking garage. He was even more tight-lipped than Heesin had expected. As the old elevator descended, the man’s gaze drifted to an illegally plastered flyer on the wall.
It was an ad for a newly opened gym nearby — sign up for three months at once and get a discount on the membership fee. Not long after becoming a prosecutor, Heesin had once fallen for an ad just like that and bought a membership. In the end, his packed schedule had meant he couldn’t even finish one month, and all he’d done was line someone else’s pockets.
When they reached the parking garage, a black limousine was waiting. An ultra-luxury vehicle you rarely saw in person. He’d come across the same model last year while tracking embezzled corporate funds from a certain conglomerate.
The man opened the rear door and gestured politely. Heesin dipped his head in a slight nod and got in, and the door shut immediately behind him. The interior was immaculate to the point of perfection — the moment the door closed, it felt as though he’d been completely sealed off from the outside world.
The car was spacious and fitted with every amenity imaginable. Curious, he started pressing things here and there, and the seat reclined. He let out an impressed oh — and caught the driver’s eye in the rearview mirror. He flashed a grin and gave a thumbs up, but the man’s expression didn’t budge.
A moment later, the car pulled out of the parking garage. At a traffic light intersection, the pedestrians crossing the street turned to look. Watching some young people taking photos from a distance, he felt a brief, ridiculous swell of self-importance — as if he were someone important. He felt embarrassed about it almost immediately.
After about an hour of driving, they arrived at a secluded back alley in a market district. The kind of place that had been all over the news for clashes between hired thugs and merchants. By now, most of the visitors and vendors had cleared out, leaving nothing but a row of empty storefronts.
The car stopped, and the man got out and opened the door.
Heesin stepped onto the ground and straightened the front of his jacket.
“Nice car.”
At his words, the man gave a faint smile and gestured toward the front. Already parked in the pitch-dark alley was another car. The flashy red sports car — it was obvious whose it was without anyone saying a word. The man guided him inside, into what turned out to be a restaurant that had shut down long ago.
“You made it?”
Im Gyeong was inside, leaning back in a chair and waving. Behind him, a man in an apron was walking in through the back, carrying a large fish in a landing net. The bald man had stripped off his shirt and wore nothing but the apron — his back was covered entirely in tattoos and knife scars. They were obviously not the kind of scars you got from slipping while filleting fish.
Inside, there were two more people prepping the fish, and they carried the same unsettling air. The fact that Im Gyeong — someone Heesin had only thought of as some rich young heir — was the son of that man finally hit him, belatedly.
“I picked the menu myself — that’s fine, right?”
Heesin pulled out a chair and sat down. The restaurant had a musty smell, and there were no CCTV cameras. The same had been true of the route here. He’d seen places like this in movies and dramas — venues where secret meetings were held, the kind where someone could disappear without anyone ever knowing.
He was slightly on edge, and to hide the stiffness creeping up the back of his neck, he deliberately sat up straighter.
“Why did you call me somewhere this ominous?”
“Did you figure it out? I was going to kidnap you and drag you here if it came down to it.”
“You picked the wrong person. I’ve got nothing to my name.”
“That’s not true. From where I’m standing, you have plenty.”
Avoiding Im Gyeong’s oddly smiling gaze, Kang Heesin changed the subject.
“When is the person you said you’d introduce me to arriving?”
“Got a message saying they’d be here in ten minutes. Want a drink?”
He picked up the jug beside him and poured into a bowl. Heesin’s expression flickered with a slight grimace at the sight of the milky makgeolli. He personally didn’t like makgeolli. When he was young, it had been his father’s drink of choice alongside soju. The stale, musty smell that had permeated the house stayed with him well into adulthood. He didn’t drink it — just stared at it — and Im Gyeong asked:
“Not your taste? Should I get you something else?”
“It’s fine.”
He said so, but his hand wouldn’t move toward it. Im Gyeong was already on his second bowl of makgeolli. For someone who looked like he’d only ever touch top-shelf spirits, he was drinking it just fine. He set down his bowl and wiped the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand.
“My maternal grandfather loved this drink. When I was little, I’d sometimes have a sip beside him. My mother hated it.”
He’d answered the unspoken question as if he’d read Heesin’s mind. Not wanting to just sit there staring blankly, Heesin picked up the jug with a neutral expression and poured him a refill. As Im Gyeong accepted the drink, he suddenly clicked his tongue.
“Pour with two hands. I’m your elder.”
Oh, look at him.
“Bear with me. I’m not married yet.”
He smiled and kept pouring with one hand to the very end, then set the jug down.
“Well, I suppose no one can know whether you’ll ever actually get married.”
“Sounds like you’re hoping it falls through.”
“Why would I. I like Kang Heesin. You’re quite endearing. They say there’s no helping someone who’s endearing — this is a problem.”
“Just call me obnoxious, it’s easier.”
“I mean it.”
What was his angle, calling a grown man endearing? Was it connected to what he’d said when he handed over the cookies? Im Gyeong had stopped drinking now and sat with his arms folded on the table, leaning forward, watching him steadily. Even setting aside the fact that they were both men, being looked at like that was uncomfortable.
“Kang Heesin. You must hear a lot that you’re good-looking.”
“Yes.”
“Same here.”
“……”
“Let’s get along well, the two of us — handsome men among ourselves.”
Rather than dignifying the childish wordplay with a response, he drank down the makgeolli in front of him. His throat was drier than usual. He got up to grab some water, and a sharp-eyed staff member promptly appeared with a bottle of Evian. Makgeolli, kimchi, and Evian. He had no idea what kind of combination this was supposed to be.
He cracked open the water and was wetting his throat when he heard voices from behind.
At the same moment, Im Gyeong rose from his seat to welcome someone.
“You’re here?”
Heesin turned around without thinking — and nearly spat out the water he’d just swallowed. Representative Choi Donghyeon? He hadn’t misread it. His aide was standing behind him, hands clasped behind his back. The aide, a former journalist, played no small role in winning over voters with his polished looks and eloquent speech.
“It’s been a while. Have you been well?”
“Yes, thanks to you. Ah, and this is the friend I told you about.”
Im Gyeong gestured toward Kang Heesin. Kang Heesin suppressed any sign of bewilderment and greeted him politely, extending his hand. Instead of introducing himself as a prosecutor, he simply gave his name: Kang Heesin. Just those three syllables. Nothing good could come from meeting a member of the National Assembly in a place like this — especially not one who was a key reference witness’s father.
“Ah — Seoul Central District, right?”
But the other man had no intention of playing dumb.
“I’m honored you recognize me.”
“Of course I do. Saw you on TV a few times. I thought the camera was just flattering, but you’re even better in person. Let’s sit — running into each other like this is its own kind of fate.”
Once they were seated, Representative Choi continued.
“I was curious who our Representative Im had in mind, and it turns out it’s Prosecutor Kang. Ha, small world. Truth be told, I’d been watching you on TV and thought to myself — here’s someone worth bringing on board. That’s the kind of talent you want in your corner. Isn’t that right, Jihun?”
He addressed the aide. The aide didn’t deny it — just answered with a smile. His words were warm, but Representative Choi’s eyes were methodically sizing up Kang Heesin. His aide was doing exactly the same.
“If you’ll excuse me for a moment.”
While Im Gyeong and Representative Choi exchanged pleasantries, Heesin slipped away under the pretense of using the restroom. The moment he stepped into the worn-out bathroom, a curse escaped him.
Choi Donghyeon was a seven-term member of the National Assembly. He was getting on in years now, and this year he’d been edged out of the presidential race through a unification vote — but he was still a formidable voice within the opposition. The bigger problem was that he was Choi Yuno’s father. Running into someone like that here was the last thing he’d ever imagined.
On top of that, Choi Donghyeon and Chairman Yun — Yun Sena’s father — were not on good terms. Though it hadn’t always been that way. Chairman Yun had been indicted on charges of funding the rival party’s election campaign, and in the process, Representative Choi’s side had unleashed a barrage of media attacks, completely severing the relationship between the two.
The charges had ultimately been dismissed for insufficient evidence, of course.
He splashed water on his face to clear his head, then stared at his own reflection in the mirror.
“Damn…”
He couldn’t tell whether this was a stroke of luck or a disaster. If things went badly, this meeting could come back to haunt him. After turning it over in his mind again and again, he finally organized his thoughts and stepped back outside.
The two men were remarkably at ease with each other despite the gap in age. Watching them exchange idle small talk, it was clear they’d kept up a friendship for quite some time. On the blue table sat a platter of thick, freshly sliced raw fish. Representative Choi picked up a piece of sashimi with his chopsticks and lifted his bowl.
“Ahh, this is it.”
A smile spread across his face.
“Prosecutor Kang. Our Representative Im is very thoughtful, you know. Do you know what this makgeolli means to me?”
He brought up a childhood story. After his father, who had run a brewery, passed away suddenly, the family had fallen into hardship — and the brewery eventually passed into someone else’s hands. He mentioned that the same village still brewed the drink, generation after generation, and that Im Gyeong brought a supply from there every time he visited.
He praised Im Gyeong, saying that beyond his qualities as a businessman, he was a genuinely magnetic person.
“Now that we’ve been treated to such fine drink — shall we get down to business?”
At Representative Choi’s signal, his aide retrieved two document envelopes from his bag and placed them side by side on the table. Heesin watched in silence. Representative Choi’s hand moved to the first envelope.
“This one — my son, Choi Yuno.”
His finger shifted to the other.
“This one — Chairman Shim Eunseop.”
What? His eyes widened before he could stop himself. Shim Eunseop? There had been rumors circulating recently about Shim Eunseop, chairman of a construction company. Apparently, a finance director who had worked under him had fled abroad with a substantial volume of documents, and Shim Eunseop was desperately trying to track him down. The rumor was that the finance director’s files might contain records related to slush funds — including entertainment expenses and election funding tied to several lawmakers.
“What is this?”
He prodded cautiously, half-disbelieving, and Representative Choi mimed jabbing a finger toward the sky.
“The key to sending our prosecutor right up there.”
Kang Heesin smiled soundlessly.
“Isn’t it a little early for me to be going to heaven?”
“Ha, you have a sense of humor too.”
Without a word, he turned the first envelope upside down — a USB drive fell out. Same with the other envelope. One black, one white. He set them on the table and stared them down. Representative Choi leaned forward.
“Go ahead. Choose — whether you’ll go after my son, or whether you’ll go after Chairman Shim.”
