Three Eight-Chapter 4

Hongju turned his gaze toward Mukyung. His hair was slicked back, revealing a smooth forehead, but he didn’t look that old. Older than Hongju, probably, but definitely younger than Gubing or Yang Siljang. He seemed closer in age to Choi-goon, who was in his early thirties.

"......Isn't it obvious? I got hit."

He had taken his time picking his words carefully, making sure to leave out any curses or hints of irritation. Just as the corners of Mukyung’s lips lifted and he seemed ready to respond, a sharp voice cut through.

"Hey, Hongju! Bring some beers if you're here!"

Yang Siljang poked his head out from one of the rooms, motioning with his hand.

Screech.

The chair scraped roughly against the cement floor as Hongju stood. He stacked several cans of beer onto a tray. Even as he moved, he could feel Mukyung’s persistent gaze following him. Had he never seen a beaten-up face before? What was so damn fascinating?

Before stepping into the hallway, Hongju briefly turned his head. Mukyung was still sitting in his spot, resting his chin on his hand like he had all the time in the world.

"......."

Well. He wasn’t a gangster, from the looks of it. A guy that rich and well-dressed probably didn’t get many chances to see someone’s face beaten to a pulp. Hongju tore his gaze away and walked off.

The gambling house was even louder than usual. Hongju stuffed a stack of bills into the drawer and glanced outside. The snow was still falling so thickly that visibility was nearly zero. When he had arrived earlier, it had already reached his ankles. By now, it had probably piled up even higher.

"Guess that's why it's so damn loud in here."

He sniffled, scanning the room once before picking up his tray again.

Before he could even put it down, someone was already calling for him.

For hours, he ran back and forth. He cleaned up after drunks who threw up all over the place, mopped up the mess after fights broke out, and carried ◈ Nоvеlіgһт ◈ (Continue reading) endless trays of drinks. It was only much later that he finally had a moment to breathe.

"Hah."

Yang Siljang had joined a game himself, leaving Mukyung to claim the seat by the heater for the entire night. Amid the noisy rooms and the chaotic hallway, the two of them sitting there together was an oddly mismatched sight.

As Hongju rubbed at his stiff knees, a thug came by and set two cans of coffee on the desk.

"Gubing says to drink up."

With that, he walked off, cigarette in hand, heading downstairs.

Mukyung reached into the inner pocket of his suit jacket and pulled out a handkerchief. Hongju, who had just been fiddling with his can, glanced over.

Mukyung carefully wiped the opening of the can before cracking it open. He emptied the entire thing in just a few gulps, then effortlessly crushed it in one hand before tossing it into the trash bin. Every movement was precise, with no wasted effort.

"Not drinking?"

"......No. You want it?"

"I'm good."

Hongju withdrew the can he had been holding out. He stared at the dust-streaked rim of the unopened can, rubbing at it absentmindedly. He had never really thought about how dirty the tops of these cans were before. So, they had to be wiped down, huh?

Well, he didn’t usually eat or drink anything while at the house anyway. Still, thanks to Mukyung-sajang, he had learned something new today.

"You any good at this?"

Hongju lifted his head at the sudden question.

Mukyung gestured with his chin toward an unopened deck of hwatu cards on the table.

"I picked up a little just watching, but I’m not very good. Are you a player?"

Mukyung reached into his suit jacket pocket again. This time, he pulled out a cigarette.

"I don’t mess with that kind of low-class shit. Just came for the smell of money."

The white filter slipped between his lips as he smirked. Something about that grin made Hongju shudder involuntarily. He ran a hand over his exposed nape.

"You smoke?"

"......."

It was obvious he was bringing it up because of what had happened yesterday.

Hongju gave a small nod and let his eyes drift toward the noisy hallway. But despite his outward composure, all his attention was focused on the man beside him. Every time Mukyung moved, even slightly, their elbows brushed. The fabric of his expensive coat was unbearably soft against Hongju’s cheap, worn-out jacket. The contrast was unsettling. He curled his frostbitten fingertips into his palm.

"Uncle, here. A fresh deck and two bottles of Ssanghwatang."

A woman peeked her head out, flicking a few bills onto the floor between her fingers.

She could’ve just handed it over later. Did she really have to be so fucking irritating about it?

Hongju swallowed down the curses pressing against his bitten lips and got to his feet.

Before he could walk off, Mukyung picked up one of the unopened hwatu decks and slipped it into Hongju’s pocket.

"......Thanks."

Mukyung didn’t reply, just exhaled a slow stream of smoke.

Hongju grabbed the drinks and made his way down the hall, picking up the scattered bills before stepping inside the room.

Seated at the table were familiar faces. Yang Siljang was there, along with a man Hongju had been relentlessly hounding for payment not too long ago.

"Ah, who was it this time? Who borrowed money from Hongju for snacks and didn’t pay up? Beat him up real good over a few measly bucks, huh?"

"Right? If people just paid up on time, our Hongju wouldn’t have to get his face smashed in."

Yang Siljang snickered as he pulled a pile of chips toward himself. His remaining right eye gleamed with greed.

"Babe, is he a player?"

The woman who had tossed the money earlier was the one who asked. She slowly scanned Hongju up and down.

At that moment, a man sitting nearby reached out and smacked Hongju’s ass.

Even through the thick padding of his jacket, the greasy touch made his skin crawl.

Hongju’s hands, which had been unwrapping the hwatu cards, momentarily stilled.

"Nah, just the debt collector. Doesn’t look it, but he’s fucking persistent, this little shit."

A man wearing a gaudy ring tapped Hongju’s cheek twice.

The same guy who had beaten him over a debt not even worth much.

Hongju clenched his teeth but swallowed his anger.

His wounds hadn’t even healed yet. He didn’t have room for more.

"Yeah? Whatever, deal me in. Tired of sitting around while you guys play with your dicks."

Every time Yang Siljang laughed, the gold-capped tooth near his canine flashed.

"Fine, fine. Hongju, hand the lady a fresh deck."

As he passed the hwatu cards over, her long nails brushed against his dry fingers.

With practiced ease, she picked out the cards she wanted, then spread them out on the table before shuffling with both hands. The color of her nails nearly matched the backs of the hwatu cards.

"Let’s raise the stakes. Ten points?"

"Madam, that bag you brought must be heavy. We should make sure you leave with lighter hands, huh?"

"It's expensive. The leather’s naturally heavy."

Despite Yang Siljang’s sarcastic tone, the woman didn’t back down for a second.

Hongju wanted no part of the conversation and quietly moved toward the door. But this time, the woman spoke to him directly.

"Wanna play a round?"

The way she shuffled the hwatu cards was fast and smooth, practiced.

"No, we’re short on hands."

"Mm."

He turned to leave, but before he could step out, the woman stretched out her hand, holding the stack of hwatu toward him.

"Then be a sweetheart and cut the deck for me. Help noona win some money, yeah?"

Hongju grabbed the neatly arranged stack of cards with his frozen fingers. The cards slid smoothly between his fingers, without him even applying pressure.

"......."

He recalled the way she had shuffled them earlier.

She had probably slipped in a rigged card.

For a brief moment, he debated saying something.

One word—just one—about what she had done, and the whole room would explode into chaos. Especially with Yang Siljang in the mix—if there was money on the line, he'd lose his mind.

But Hongju didn’t want to deal with it.

He didn’t care who won or lost.

Without a word, he let the cards slide onto the table. His gaze met the woman’s.

"Thanks, sweetheart."

Her lips, painted bright red, curled into a slow smile.

Hongju gave a small nod and left the room.

She was going to clean them all out.

At least one or two would end up borrowing money again after getting wiped.

And since they sure as hell wouldn’t go to Mukyung for that, it’d be Hongju’s problem again.

Sighing quietly, he walked down the hallway.

Just as he passed one of the rooms, Gubing stepped out.

"Hey, empty the trash in there."

As he spoke, he shoved his hand under Hongju’s padded jacket and grabbed his ass roughly.

A sickening sensation spread as four fingers pressed against him.

Hongju’s face twisted, and he quickly stepped to the side.

"Your ass is getting better by the day, huh?"

Giggling laughter trailed behind him.

Hongju clamped his right hand over his ear, blocking out the sound.

Finally, it was quiet.

After dumping the trash and washing his hands, he returned to his seat.

Mukyung was still sitting there, legs crossed, staring at his phone.

What a leisurely bastard.

"Where'd Gubing run off to?"

"Dunno."

Some people were running around until they were sweating, while others just sat around basking in the heat.

He couldn’t even bother to keep an eye on who was coming and going?

Hongju shot him a sideways glare.

As always, Mukyung looked perfectly put together. But today, he wasn’t wearing gloves. His long fingers, neatly kept but rough-looking, were fully visible.

"You wanna kill Gubing, don’t you?"

"What?"

Mukyung had been looking at his phone the whole time, and now, out of nowhere, he said that.

Hongju’s brows furrowed.

Mukyung smiled faintly and reached out.

Hongju flinched, squeezing his eyes shut, expecting the same rough handling as the day before.

But the fingers that touched his bruised eyelid were unexpectedly warm. Soft, even.

"Your eyes say it all."

Mukyung’s low voice made Hongju slowly open his eyes.

His eyelashes trembled slightly.

Mukyung’s expression was unreadable, like he could see right through him.

"......."

Truthfully, Hongju thought about it every day.

He had tried to run away.

Had tried to kill himself.

Had even grabbed a knife and lunged at Gubing once.

Because he didn’t want to live like this, all because of a debt he’d never even touched a cent of.

But all that ever came of it was relentless, brutal violence.

Beaten so badly he nearly died, only to regain consciousness and be beaten again.

That was how he lost the hearing in one ear.

Day after day, being hit made one thing clear—Gubing had no intention of killing him.

Fifteen years of this.

By now, all that remained was resignation.

He had no idea how many more years he’d have to endure this, but the only thing on his mind was escaping this shithole of a gambling house.

"......Aren’t you supposed to be at work? You keep saying you’re a boss, right?"

He deflected, unwilling to answer.

Because he couldn’t say "no."

"I’m not a boss."

He had said the same thing yesterday.

His hands, though—they looked like they’d been through a lot.

Hongju glanced over him indifferently.

"Then... are you a gangster?"

Ha.

Mukyung suddenly let out a sharp laugh.

Looking at him like this, he was nothing like the hollow-eyed gamblers roaming around the house.

Big, intimidating, sure—but the kind of face people turned to look at at least once.

"Do I look like one?"

Mukyung rubbed his chin absentmindedly.

Hongju’s gaze lingered on his flawless skin and clean-cut fingers.

"I don’t do anything that crude."

The low voice brought him back to his senses.

How long had he been staring?

Hongju quickly turned his head and straightened in his chair, dragging it forward to sit properly.

Screech.

The chair legs scraped against the cement floor, leaving a faint white line.

This time, Mukyung leaned in, resting his elbow on the table and bringing his large frame closer.

The sudden proximity made Hongju instinctively shift back.

"You think I’m a conman, don’t you?"

Despite all the cigarettes he had smoked, he didn’t reek of tobacco.

Instead, he smelled... nice. A scent that didn’t belong in this place.

"No."

"No, huh? You’re a terrible liar."

Hongju stubbornly kept his eyes fixed on the end of the hallway.

Even through the background noise, Mukyung’s soft chuckle was distinct.

"A real hustler can tell just by looking."

"......."

Didn’t he say gambling was beneath him?

And now he was calling himself a hustler?

Being accused of something like this by a scammer was beyond irritating.

Hongju didn’t respond.

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For once, he actually wished someone would call him away for a chore.