Three Eight-Chapter 57

"Shit, so you’ve totally switched over to President Mu-gyeong now? Look at you glaring like you’ve got some bigshot backing, huh?"

When he pretended to be begging and slipped away through the crowd, when he snuck out in the dead of night saying he was going to find his father, when he doused the House with gasoline swearing he’d kill Guppping—Guppping had looked at him the same way then, too. That look like, “A fucking insect like you dares crawl up at me?” That exact expression.

"Just try opening your mouth. Fuck, I swear I'll kill you."

What came next didn’t even need seeing. Guppping shot to his feet and slammed Hongju to the ground. He ripped off his jacket and roughly rolled up his sleeves. ...Even showing concern gets you shit. As the kicks rained down, Hongju clenched his teeth.

"How you gonna pay it back? I’m selling your ass to a bar, you fucker! Not even a virgin, so they can run you dry!"

Hongju bit down on his lip until he tasted blood. Not a single sound escaped him from behind the scarf. He was dragged by the hair, punched, kicked. Even as he was getting beat senseless, Hongju wrapped his arms around his head.

Thud, thud—only the sound of dull impact filled the room, occasionally mixed with Guppping’s heavy panting.

"Fucking shameless, just like your damn father."

His eyes, fixed on the floor in silence, turned bloodshot. The word "father" shattered whatever emotion he’d barely kept buried. His tightly shut mouth finally opened.

"Get off me!"

Hongju started screaming. He pushed himself up, yelling until his throat burned. Guppping’s eyes widened in surprise and darted toward the door. Hongju didn’t miss the moment—he pushed off the ground and stood.

"Don’t just run your fucking mouth—go ahead, sell me! I’m not even scared anymore!"

He screamed until veins popped in his neck and shoved Guppping hard in the shoulder.

"Fuck, this little shit has a cycle or something?"

Guppping cursed as he stumbled into the sofa and toppled over the table. He grabbed the first thing his hand landed on without even looking.

"What the hell now?"

Before he could swing it, the door burst open. Thugs entered the room. Their eyes ◆ Nоvеlіgһt ◆ (Only on Nоvеlіgһt) swept over Hongju’s soiled padded jacket, then landed on the vase in Guppping’s hand.

"You were told not to make a scene."

At the low voice, Guppping, still seething, awkwardly lowered his arm. Hongju, panting, never took his eyes off Guppping.

"You stay here."

"The fuck! He came at me first!"

The thug ignored it and hauled Guppping out. Both arms restrained, he kicked and flailed but was dragged off easily.

"Haah."

His whole body throbbed, but Hongju didn’t shed a single tear. He tugged off his loosened scarf and threw it onto the sofa. He slumped into the backrest, breathing hard. His ears rang with a relentless pounding.

"......"

Why does it always set him off when that comes up? Threatening to sell his body—he was used to that. Getting treated like filth—he could stomach it by now. But every time it’s about his father, he can’t hold it in. That’s why Guppping keeps using it to provoke him. Hongju took a long time to calm his breath, swallowing the burn rising in his chest.

The once quiet House slowly filled with staff again. They said Guppping had called them, but the man himself didn’t show for a while. When he finally did, he looked a bit deflated as he spoke.

"We’re shutting this place down until the renovations are done."

"Guess we’ll come back once the gossip dies down. Still, we were making decent money."

At Doksu’s comment, Yang Siljang clicked his tongue in irritation.

"Don’t think you’re on break until then. Go out for collection. Scrape everything and clear the books."

At that, Yang Siljang headed for the safe. Choi and the gangsters looked clearly annoyed. The thought of having to do the collection work Hongju always handled alone was enough to piss them off.

"Ugh, I hate going out into the field..."

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"It’s nothing. If they don’t pay, scare them a little. If they hit you, take it. If they threaten to sue, collapse and play victim. Even better if you can squeeze hush money out of them."

That was Hongju’s usual collection method. It might’ve sounded offhand, but Guppping meant every word.

There was that time with the elementary school teacher, too—scared of getting reported after roughing up Hongju, she ended up paying way more than what she owed. Hongju had set some of it aside to go to the hospital, but somehow Guppping found out. He took everything, leaving only a few ten-thousand-won bills. The wounds that went untreated left permanent scars.

"......"

"Keep your heads on straight. If the House goes under, so do you."

It was the same damn line he’d heard for fifteen years. Hongju stared at the piece of the ledger tossed in front of him, choking down the familiar feeling of suffocation.

"Move fast and bring it in. Compared to working nights in the House, this is easy money."

Even though he was drowning in debt, Guppping talked like it wasn’t his problem. Playing boss, avoiding the hard work.

"Tch, fuck. Just need one good setup and we’ll be fine. While you're out collecting, keep an eye out for any good games."

"Fuck that, collection already sucks. Like I’ve got time to go scouting."

Doksu snapped. Guppping started to raise a hand, then thought better and lowered it.

"......"

He never hesitated to beat him. Doksu, though—he was useful, so he got spared. Hongju felt a bitter emptiness crawl in.

Each of them was handed three collection jobs. Hongju gathered the papers with practiced fingers and headed for the bathroom. Through the door’s closing crack, he could hear Doksu and the gangster grumbling. Leaning against the door, he pulled out the phone Mu-gyeong had given him. The moment he turned it on, a short vibration buzzed.

[Chill the fuck out lol]

It was a message from about twenty minutes ago. Probably around the time he’d been pacing and trying to calm himself down. How did Mu-gyeong know to send something like this then? Tilting his head in thought, Hongju recalled the thug stationed in the hallway. Maybe he talked. Hongju knew full well that the man assigned to watch him under Mu-gyeong’s orders wasn’t the only one—but still, he pressed down hard on the keypad.

[They said to just stick to collections for now. Looks like Guppping’s staying at the House.]

He hit send and stared at the screen for a long time.

"......."

Only when the loud banging on the door came did he finally power the phone off. He zipped up his pocket with no hesitation. He knew now—there wasn’t going to be a reply.

Since then, he only saw the other staff once in a while when they came to return their collected money. And since Hongju had been staying at a hotel, run-ins with Choi or the gangsters became even rarer.

"How long are you planning to stay out?"

"...I don’t know."

After Guppping handed over the IOU, contact had dropped off, and his face hadn’t shown around much either. Even so, every time Hongju came to the House, he habitually glanced over at the spot where Mu-gyeong’s car had always been parked.

"Hey, they ordered jjajang. Let’s eat before we go."

"I’m not hungry."

"Tch. You’ve got a damn bird’s appetite. Just sit down. You might as well rest under the excuse of a meal—when else do you get to?"

Choi dragged Hongju over without waiting for a reply. Hongju, shoving his cold hands deep into his pockets, stepped inside the House.

"Man, what are we supposed to do about Guppping going off like that? When’s he gonna come to his senses?"

"Is it the first time? He was worse when I first came here."

While they waited for the delivery jjajangmyeon, the topic of the moment was Guppping. Even after gambling had ruined him, he was still obsessed with finding a new Hwatu table to leech onto. That one big win—that delusion. Like every other gambler, he believed everything could change with one hit.

"Seriously, though. Isn’t he beyond recovery at this point? Totally wiped out, dead broke. That’s why the temp House closed too—everyone’s saying it."

"He poured money into this place. People’ll come back out of curiosity just from seeing the new building."

The gangster still seemed to be pinning his hopes on the new House being built. But could anyone even pay back a debt that large—tens of billions? To recover the money Mu-gyeong had invested alone, Guppping would have to run himself into the ground for at least another fifteen years. Sitting in a corner, Hongju rested his chin in his hand.

Not long ago, this was where the Hwatu tables had been laid out. Now it was just a place for the employees to eat. The savory smell filled the air, but maybe because it was the House, the hunger never quite followed.

"By the way, those guys outside... Are they gangsters or what?"

"Probably just private security, right? You think President Mu-gyeong has ties to gangs?"

Chewing on a slice of pickled radish, Doksu tilted his head. The gangster tapped his chopsticks against his bowl to draw attention.

"I heard Manager Yang looked into President Mu-gyeong again—came up with nothing. Isn’t that even weirder?"

"Weirder how?"

"Come on. Even if he’s some chaebol heir, loaning out over four billion like it’s pocket change, driving a top-tier car, hiring meatheads like that—and his record’s squeaky clean? That doesn’t add up."

"Hmm. Maybe he’s from a gangster family that laundered their identity."

Doksu slowed his chewing of the sweet-and-sour pork. Choi didn’t seem all that interested, quietly crunching on raw onions. Then the gangster turned to probe Hongju’s thoughts.

"You don’t know anything, Hongju? You and him, you know, aren’t you... close?"

"We’re not."

Hongju shot back instantly, frowning. "Close," my ass. They’d exchanged a few things—services, money—but that was it. A transactional relationship. He didn’t even do him favors. People talked without knowing anything.

"Still! You got nothing?"

Even after seeing Hongju scowl, the gangster pushed on. Something about the question felt too persistent. Not like the usual him. Was Manager Yang pulling strings behind the scenes? Grinding his molars quietly, Hongju shook his head.

"I don’t know anything either. Haven’t seen him in a while."

He had to say it several times before Doksu finally stepped in, snapping, "He said no. Why keep pushing?"

"Because it’s weird. If he’s rich, he should be inheriting some company or something. Why the hell’s he doing this kind of shit for money?"

"The ones who already have it are usually worse. They scrape up dirty cash like it’s nothing."

Even Doksu, who had seemed a little interested, lost enthusiasm and went flat. The conversation dissolved. Hongju’s eyes drifted to the cement floor, exposed where the old linoleum had peeled away.

What did that man really do?