Into The Thrill-Chapter 12.5

He didn’t want to get into another draining argument with his stepmother. But it wasn’t like he had the money to immediately spend a hundred and twenty thousand dollars on a painting either.

“What would you like to do?”

“The one I bought before didn’t go up much.”

“But you’re not someone who buys purely for investment, are you? Hanging a painting like this at home says everything about your taste and sophistication.”

“I don’t have any money.”

“Ah.”

Haewon looked at the curator, then turned his eyes back to the painting. She offered a polite “please enjoy the rest of your visit,” then disappeared without him even realizing it.

He stood in front of the painting for quite a while before turning away.

This would probably be the last time he’d ever see this painting with his own eyes. He didn’t have the funds to invest a hundred and twenty thousand dollars, but it wasn’t like he wanted it so badly he could die for it, either. So he just stared his fill and left the gallery.

∞ ∞ ∞

Woojin opened the office door a little later than usual. Chief Hwang and the deputy were chatting over coffee in paper cups.

“You’re in, Prosecutor. Looks like you had a long night yesterday.”

“I’m a bit late.”

“There’s a fraud case the Criminal Division couldn’t handle, and it got pushed over to us.”

“Leave it on my desk.”

Woojin entered his office, took off his jacket, and hung it on the rack before sitting down. As soon as he powered on his laptop, Chief Hwang came in carrying the case files.

“Should I bring you some coffee?”

“I already had some.”

“Aren’t you worried?”

“About what?”

“They say all the key investigations were handed off to Team 1. We’re only getting these leftover cases. You’ve been working hard all this time, isn’t this going a bit too far?”

Chief Hwang grumbled about how unfair the world was. He was throwing in unnecessary words to try to comfort Woojin.

“Sometimes it’s like this, sometimes it’s like that. You can go.”

Woojin replied flatly. Smacking his lips as if he still had something to say, Hwang left when Woojin didn’t even look up at him.

Woojin closed the files without even glancing at them.

He wasn’t only seen as a cut-off kite inside the Central Prosecutors’ Office. Still, thanks to the way he’d acted drunk last night, the deputy chief’s mood seemed to have softened a little.

Arrogant and sharp, like nothing could pierce him, Woojin somehow earned people’s leniency when he got drunk and stumbled around or made a scene. It loosened their guard.

His phone was vibrating. He picked it up, frowning slightly at the number on the screen. It had been calling persistently since the morning two days ago.

When he didn’t answer, Haewon had shoved the vibrating phone in his face and asked who it was, why he wasn’t answering, and insisted that he pick up, as if Woojin were cheating on him.

Instead of answering, Woojin had taken the phone from Haewon’s hand.

When Haewon pressed further, demanding why he wouldn’t answer if he had nothing to hide, Woojin—without context—suddenly wanted to kiss him.

And so he did, a long, breath-stealing kiss on those lips that kept resisting, which made him miss the call.

He stared at the phone for a moment, sighed, then finally answered.

“Yes, this is Hyun Woojin.”

―Hello, Prosecutor Hyun. This is Attorney Choi from the law firm Bareum—I contacted you previously. I hope I’m not bothering you by calling again.

“What is it?”

―It happens I’m at the Prosecutors’ Office today for some work. If you’re in, I’d like to stop by and say hello.

Woojin frowned at the unexpected statement that the man was already here. He had no intention of taking the call or meeting him. He hated wasting time like this.

Especially when it came to lawyers. Woojin had an almost pathological hatred of both the profession and the people in it—so much so that he’d leave windows or doors open if forced to share a room with one.

He wanted to refuse. But if people found out he had flatly turned away a much more senior alumnus to his face, all his drunken efforts last night might go to waste.

“I’m in the office, so come on up.”

―Room 1014 in the main building, right? I’ll be up shortly.

Attorney Choi from Bareum, one of the country’s top law firms in revenue, cheerfully answered despite Woojin’s curt tone and hung up brightly.

A few minutes later, he knocked on Woojin’s door.

Woojin had the window wide open and guided him to the seating area in front of the desk. Attorney Choi handed over a business card. Woojin gave it a cursory glance and tossed it on the desk.

“Would you like something to drink?”

“Water would be fine.”

Woojin poured a cup of water into a paper cup and set it on the table before sitting across from him.

Attorney Choi met Woojin’s blunt stare without losing his smile and took a sip of water.

He was a partner at Bareum, a top-tier law firm in Korea, and had taken off his judge’s robe ten years ago.

Despite being a far senior alumnus, Choi acted with exaggerated politeness—a calculated move to put pressure on Woojin.

“I heard you’re preparing for Kim Jung-geun’s appeal trial? The second trial is going to confirm guilt again, and taking it to the Supreme Court might actually work against him, don’t you think?”

The imprisonment of the HanKyung Group’s chairman was a hot topic everywhere. And the story of Woojin and his deceased fiancée was so well known in legal circles that anyone even remotely informed had heard of it.

Woojin had already guessed the visit had to do with Kim Jung-geun, so he reacted indifferently.

“Sorry, but the chairman isn’t changing his legal team. We’ll proceed as planned. And even if it’s Bareum, I doubt you can overturn this. Even with a sentence deal, it won’t be less than five years.”

“We’re not looking to take over the case.”

“......”

Woojin looked at the older man with puzzled eyes.

Maybe it was habit, but Attorney Choi had deep smile lines around his eyes even when he wasn’t smiling, like someone used to putting on a trustworthy expression.

“Kim Jung-geun probably won’t recover. His corruption, even his management ability, has been exposed for all to see. Public opinion won’t allow him to take over the company again after release.”

He was narrating the future Woojin had already predicted for Kim Jung-geun.

“What exactly are you trying to say?”

“I’ve heard that you’ve been delegated voting rights for Kim Jung-geun’s shares. You won’t be tied in as an accomplice, but there’s no way the prosecutors don’t know. As long as you’re in the same office, you’re basically a walking liability for them. They won’t know what to do with you.”

Despite the difference in seniority, Choi stuck to formal speech, but the content was blunt. Woojin always distrusted people who stayed overly polite.

When Woojin didn’t respond and simply stared, Choi gave a full smile and got to the point.

“We’re offering a starting salary of two billion won. Incentives are on top.”

It was an offer for Woojin to resign as a prosecutor and join the firm as a lawyer.

A completely unexpected, out-of-the-blue proposal.

From the outside, it might have made sense. Woojin was tied to HanKyung Group, which made him a thorn in the side of the upper ranks of the prosecution now at odds with the conglomerate. The only strange thing was that he hadn’t already been pushed out to a local office.

That was how the prosecution system worked. Woojin knew that, and that was why he’d made the effort to show up drunk last night, sitting at the edge of the table pretending to be wasted.

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“You seem to know a lot for an outsider.”

“No prosecutor at Central wouldn’t know. Didn’t you sit right next to Chairman Kim at that HanKyung fundraiser last year?”

“......”

“You must be in a tough spot. But it’s not like you can just quit on a whim, right?”

Just as Chief Hwang had worried, Woojin—who used to handle only major investigations in the Intelligence Division—was now left processing low-level fraud indictments that were nearing their deadlines.

He wouldn’t be getting any big cases assigned to him anytime soon. For now, his goal was just to avoid being transferred out to a regional office.

That was why Woojin had loosened the deputy chief prosecutor’s stubborn attitude last night. As long as he held onto HanKyung’s bribery ledger, no one could touch him carelessly.

“You seem to be under quite a few misconceptions.”

It was a laughable offer. Woojin couldn’t help but let his emotions show. Attorney Choi, who had kept a kindly smile throughout, stiffened when he saw Woojin scoff.

“This is the downfall of Kim Jung-geun as an individual. HanKyung Group’s stock has taken a hit, sure, but HanKyung hasn’t collapsed. It’s just that Chairman Kim has been removed. From the company’s point of view, the owner being imprisoned is actually a benefit. He’s a criminal, and his management and crisis response skills are severely lacking.”

“...What are you saying?”

“For a company with a market cap of ninety trillion won, Kim Jung-geun is more of a burden. Him disappearing like this is doing it a favor. Regardless of my standing in the prosecution, I have no intention of resigning. You’ve wasted your time coming here.”

Woojin stood up. He pointed toward the door, silently telling Attorney Choi—who was staring in disbelief—that he could go now. Woojin returned to his desk and got to work without paying him another thought.

A faint vibration near his chest prompted Woojin to pull his phone from inside his jacket. Climbing into his car parked in the garage, he started the engine and answered the call.

―Prosecutor, this is Team Leader Song.

“Go ahead.”

―The Chairman keeps asking when you’ll be back in Seoul, says he wants to see you. What should I tell him?

“Tell him I’ll come by soon. And what about the matter I mentioned the other day—will it be ready tonight?”

―The Planning and Coordination Office is working on it. I’ll stop by with the managing director.

“I’ve opened a temporary office at H Hotel. Let’s meet there. I’ll be there by eight.”

―Understood.

As soon as the call with Song ended, a text came in—as if it had been waiting.

The magnet attached to Haewon had reported.

Unlike ordinary office workers, having to report to work on weekdays was still burdensome for Haewon, who’d lived as a freelancer. Even though it was something everyone else did, it felt like a struggle for him.

At least once or twice a week, Haewon would skip orchestra duties with whatever excuse he could come up with. Anyone else would’ve been kicked out by now.

Somehow, the orchestra’s concertmaster, having learned about Haewon’s connection to Seo Ok-hwa, made no comment about his frequent absences. In fact, he seemed to walk on eggshells around Haewon. Haewon once remarked in passing how good the concertmaster was being to him lately, wondering if maybe people really do change just before they die—even though he was far too young for that.

In any case, Haewon firmly believed it ◈ Nоvеlіgһт ◈ (Continue reading) was perfectly fine for him to slack off, and acted accordingly—not because of Seo Ok-hwa, but because that was just how he was.

He’d been drained of energy earlier that morning, supposedly unable to move, yet somehow his stamina turned out to be stronger than expected. Everything Woojin had done that morning had been a waste. Haewon was already out and about, enthusiastically engaging in his hobbies.

Maybe it was because he was an artist.

Besides listening, Haewon was especially sensitive across all five senses. It was part of his refined pursuit of beauty.

According to the magnet’s report, Haewon was currently at a gallery viewing artwork. Even though he often reported his own schedule, that wasn’t enough. It had to be more thorough, more airtight.

Perfect control was born from transcendence.

Woojin checked the time and stepped on the accelerator. Having been pulled off all major investigations, he wasn’t under any looming deadlines, which allowed him to take care of personal matters as freely as he liked.

His gray car exited the prosecutors’ office garage and merged onto the road.

About an hour later, he stopped at the entrance to the correctional facility. He made a call. Normally, releases happened early in the morning, but scheduling issues had pushed it back. Due to a fabricated “administrative processing error,” the man’s release was being carried out in the afternoon.

“This is Hyun Woojin from the Central Prosecutors’ Office. You can let him out now.”

After ending the call, he got out of the car and walked toward the gate, which stood firm like it was forbidding anyone from entering.

Ten minutes passed.

The area was especially still and dim, with no cars or people passing by. Then the prison gate—solid and unmoving—finally creaked open. A man walked out, a wrinkled suit hanging awkwardly on his frame and an old sports bag slung over his shoulder, as if he’d been shoved outside.

Woojin stubbed out his cigarette on the ground. The sunlight beyond the prison walls couldn’t have been that different, but the man raised a hand to his forehead, squinting like it was blinding.

His eyes, narrowed against the sun, scanned the surroundings as though he were facing a reality he hadn’t expected.

Woojin walked up to the middle-aged man. As someone approached, the man’s gaze naturally turned toward him.

“Hello.”

“...Who are you?”

“It’s been a long time, Executive Director.”

“You’re... Ha-yeong’s fiancé? The one who said he was a prosecutor?”

The man, looking far older than his actual age, furrowed his brow, trying to recall.

“Yes, that’s right. You look healthy. I hope you’ve been well.”

“What happened to Ha-yeong was unfortunate. As you know, I couldn’t be there. Is your mother doing well?”

“Soyoung went to study abroad in the U.S., and she went with her. They’ll be back soon, but I think they’ll be going back and forth.”

Before the second trial, Soyoung had left for the U.S.

Seo Ok-hwa had accompanied her, saying she needed to care for her daughter. On the surface, it was about education—but in truth, it was an escape.

They were shareholders of HanKyung Group’s core subsidiary and also its board members. There were plenty of things that could be considered problematic, but the prosecution had focused solely on Kim Jung-geun.

“How’s Soyoung doing?”

“It’s not easy for her. A lot has happened, inside and out.”

“I saw the news about your father-in-law.”

“That’s how it turned out. For now, let’s get in the car.”

Woojin pointed to his car. The man stood there for a moment, then took a long breath. The look on his face as he inhaled the outside air showed his thoughts on being released. He turned to glance once more at the cold gray prison behind him, then slowly walked forward.

Kim Jung-woo, the executive director, was Kim Jung-geun’s half-brother, and unlike Kim Jung-geun, he had a real talent for business. He was rational and had gone after his brother’s corruption as part of a strategy to secure management control.

It had been five years since Kim Jung-geun had pinned his own embezzlement crimes on him and sent him to prison—and the one who had orchestrated it was Woojin.

Jung-woo had even lost the measly stocks he’d had left. No one in the company remembered him anymore.

He had lost the war between brothers and vanished like a crown prince erased from history.

There had been multiple chances for parole, but each time, it had been blocked—by Kim Jung-geun. Even in that state, he’d kept Jung-woo in check, a testament to just how competent Jung-woo was as a businessman.

Unlike his brother, he had studied management formally and professionally, and had leadership skills. That was precisely why he had to be removed.

Jung-woo looked out the window at the quickly receding world, his expression naïve and unfamiliar with the outside. It had only been five years, but clearly, the world had changed a lot in his eyes.

Without looking away from the scenery, he asked,

“What the hell happened to my brother?”

“He picked a fight with the prosecution first, and things escalated from there.”

“Even so, would he really get taken down that easily?”

“The Prosecutor General, the Minister of Justice, and even the VIP were involved. There was no choice. The second trial will proceed as it is.”

“Where are we going?”

“We’ll go to the hotel for now.”

“I’m going home.”

“Your wife sold all the stock holdings a year after you went in and liquidated the assets. She immigrated to Canada. Same with the house—you no longer own it.”

It wasn’t enough that he had been completely abandoned by the family. He had also been scattered apart from them. His wife had never once visited him during his sentence, and when she finalized the asset liquidation, she also formally removed him from the family registry. They had been legally strangers since five years ago.