Three Eight-Chapter 9

"You again, you fucking bastard. I told you I’d pay, didn’t I? Shit, what a goddamn nuisance."

"You won money at Gwang-pal’s house. I know you did. Pay up."

“...What?"

The man hesitated for a moment before stepping past the gate. He was massive—not as much as Mu-gyeong, who was still waiting in the car, but tall and thick for his age. His rough, gravelly voice didn’t stop spewing curses. His shoves against Hongju’s shoulder came just as relentlessly.

"You little shit, you spying on me now? You got your ass beat last time, and you still don’t get it?"

A hand the size of a pot lid slammed across Hongju’s cheek. The first sensation was a sharp sting, then a searing heat, as if he'd been burned. Then, warmth trickled past his lips. He didn’t have time to check if his lip had split or if he’d bitten the inside of his mouth before more heavy punches rained down.

“Ugh—”

Hongju staggered back, but the man lunged at him, grabbing a fistful of his hair. He yanked his head back and struck his face again, three or four times in quick succession. Smack. Smack. Every hit sent a harsh sound echoing through the air, and Hongju’s cheeks darkened with bruises.

"Fucking disgusting. I said I’d pay, and yet you’re tailing me like some goddamn beggar?"

The man spat at Hongju’s feet before turning away. Hongju wiped the wetness from his lips with the back of his hand and took a step forward. Just as the man was about to step past the gate, Hongju grabbed him by the hair and shoved him against the wall. He was so much smaller in comparison that the force nearly knocked him off balance, but he managed to stop the man from walking away.

"You son of a bitch!"

The man rubbed his arm where he’d hit the wall and glared viciously.

"Who’s a beggar? Pay your damn debt."

A twisted grin curled Hongju’s bloodied lips. His teeth were stained red, making the sight even more unsettling. But the man fixated on the word beggar, his face twisting in rage.

"You—fuck—!"

The massive palm came down on his face again and again, each hit swelling the bruises that had barely started to fade.

"You crazy fucker, why do you keep coming here?"

This wasn’t the first time. Last time, too, every time Hongju rang the doorbell, the man stormed out in a fit of rage. And after a few days of being harassed, he’d always throw the money at him like he was sick of it. If he was going to pay anyway, why bother beating him? Was it just to vent his anger? That seemed likely. Hongju let out a breathy chuckle.

"If you pay, I won’t come back."

"Shut the fuck up!"

This time, the man’s fist smashed into his jaw. A sharp pain shot through his bones like they had been wrenched out of place, and Hongju collapsed onto the ground. The only fortunate thing was that the thick layer of snow cushioned his fall.

“Kh... ugh.”

When he coughed, blood-mixed saliva splattered onto the snow. Spitting out the sticky red fluid, Hongju let out ragged breaths and looked up at the man. He stomped back inside and slammed the front door behind him.

I need to ring the bell again.

But he couldn’t move yet. Every breath sent sharp pain through his ribs and under his jaw.

"Haa... ha."

He kept his lips parted as he tried to steady his breathing. The metallic taste of blood churned his stomach, but before he could react, a soft thud landed on his thigh. A handkerchief. Even at a glance, the fabric looked expensive, and he recognized it immediately.

"Are you putting on a show for me, or is this really how you collect money?"

There was laughter laced in the words, as if Mu-gyeong found this amusing. Hongju clenched {N•o•v•e•l•i•g•h•t} the handkerchief tightly and struggled to sit up.

"You have to be just as crude with crude bastards."

Mu-gyeong didn’t move. He stood a step away, arms folded, watching. Hongju held out the handkerchief to return it.

"I don’t need it. He’s just going to hit me again anyway."

No point in wiping the blood if it’s just going to come back. After a few more rounds of this, the guy would eventually pay—maybe not the full amount, but at least some of it.

"Gu Madam’s training? That’s exactly his style."

Why was he suddenly bringing up Guppping? Hongju had just been about to ring the bell again when he turned to look at Mu-gyeong. His gaze was lowered to the ground. The snow, darkened by passing footsteps, was now speckled with fresh blood.

"...What?"

"It’s pathetic."

His words were more of a mutter than anything else. And then, silence. No follow-up. Just as Hongju was about to turn away, Mu-gyeong grabbed his shoulder. Forcing him to face him again, he roughly wiped the blood from under Hongju’s nose and lips with the handkerchief. The movement was harsh enough to sting, but Mu-gyeong didn’t seem to care. Once the blood was smeared away, he shoved the fabric into the opening of Hongju’s padded jacket, stuffing it under his chin. The scent that brushed past his nose was pleasant.

"I was curious about what your face looks like without all the bruises."

Mu-gyeong muttered, scratching his eyebrow absently. His leather-gloved fingers moved slowly, as if he was thinking about something. Hongju pressed the back of his hand against his throbbing cheekbone and looked down. The handkerchief, awkwardly stuffed under his chin, fluttered slightly in the wind.

"Wait in the car for a bit."

"Why?"

"How the hell do you plan to get anything from him at this rate? At this pace, you’ll still be chasing after him when you’re old and gray."

Mu-gyeong waved him off as if this was all a hassle. Hongju hesitated, unable to step away so easily. Then Mu-gyeong pushed him lightly by the shoulder.

"Quit being a damn nuisance and get in the car."

Reluctantly, Hongju started moving. It wasn’t more than a few dozen steps to the car, but he kept glancing back. Each time, Mu-gyeong was standing still, arms crossed, staring right back at him.

“.......”

I don’t know. He brought this on himself.

Hesitating, Hongju climbed into the passenger seat. Unlike the bitter cold outside, the inside of the car was still warm. He pulled the handkerchief from around his neck. The luxurious fabric, embroidered with intricate patterns, was now soaked in his blood. He could feel fresh warmth trickling from the split in his lips, but he couldn't bring himself to press the handkerchief against it.

"This looks expensive."

He said it just in case Mu-gyeong might tell him to throw it away and buy a new one. Hongju glanced around the car, but there was nothing suitable for wiping off the blood. In the end, he simply used the sleeve of his padded jacket to dab at his lips before lifting his gaze.

Mu-gyeong was standing in front of the man's gate. He was tall enough that his head poked slightly over the iron bars. With his gloved fingertips, he pressed the doorbell a few more times. This time, unlike before, the door swung open immediately. The man came charging out, gripping a broken wooden club.

At the sight of Mu-gyeong, he faltered. Whatever Mu-gyeong said to him made his face contort instantly.

"You motherfuckers!"

His enraged shout was loud enough to reach the passenger seat. Hongju’s stomach twisted with unease. If Guppping found out that the boss’s money supply had gone to collect debts in his place and gotten beaten up, he wouldn’t take it lightly. There was even a chance Mu-gyeong would put his hospital bill under Hongju’s name.

Maybe I should have just taken the beating myself.

Fidgeting, Hongju gripped the handle of the door, poised to jump out.

And then—

The man swung the wooden club with full force, but Mu-gyeong sidestepped effortlessly. His movement was light, almost casual.

It wasn’t just the man who was caught off guard—Hongju, too, froze with his hand still on the door handle.

Mu-gyeong evaded a few more swings, dodging the man’s fists like it was second nature. Then, as soon as an opening appeared, he slammed the man against the wall. Pressing his arm firmly against the struggling man’s throat, he didn’t budge. Only when the man’s face turned red, veins bulging against his skin, did he finally let go.

The man collapsed onto the ground. Mu-gyeong drove his foot into the man’s head, sending him sprawling backward, blood spraying into the snow. And then—violence rained down, relentless and brutal. A couple of passersby glanced in their direction, startled.

"You said you weren’t a gangster."

If he wasn’t, how could he handle himself this naturally? Hongju recalled the way Mu-gyeong had curiously observed his bruised face earlier. He had seemed like someone completely removed from violence.

Hongju gripped the bloodstained handkerchief tightly.

Mu-gyeong yanked the man up by his collar and slung an arm around his shoulder. The man, now beaten to his senses, hunched over as they crossed the gate together.

And then—nothing.

Mu-gyeong didn’t come back out.

"...Why isn’t he coming out?"

If Hongju hadn’t seen him throw punches just now, he might have worried that he was the one getting beaten up in there.

Should I check?

He pressed a palm to his aching cheek, debating. Just then, Mu-gyeong stepped out, his gait light and unbothered. His hair was still neatly in place. The only difference was that his gloves were nowhere in sight.

His coat flared slightly with each step as he approached the car.

"The bastard was gonna pay anyway, so why fight it?"

As soon as he got into the car, Mu-gyeong pulled a wad of cash from his coat pocket and tossed it onto Hongju’s lap. The stack of fifty-thousand won bills felt heavy against his thigh.

"Count it. That fucker—ah..."

He trailed off, then suddenly let out a quiet laugh.

"I looked pretty gangster just now, didn’t I?"

It wasn’t just his tone that was the problem—it was his actions. But Mu-gyeong didn’t seem to realize that.

"...Are you really not a gangster?"

"Nope."

He simply gestured with his chin for Hongju to count the money already.

Hongju set the handkerchief aside and picked up the bundle. His rough hands flipped through the bills.

"It’s right. Eight hundred."

"Got anywhere else to go?"

Only then did Mu-gyeong fasten his seatbelt and start the engine. Hongju’s gaze landed on the reddish bruise forming along the back of his hand.

"No. That was the only one for today."

"Then back to the house?"

"Yeah."

Hongju nodded and followed suit, clicking his seatbelt into place.

"See? No one’s as helpful as me. Keep sending me those little texts, and I’ll keep helping out."

The image of Mu-gyeong mercilessly beating the man replayed in his mind. Even his playful smirk didn’t seem the same anymore. The words didn’t sound like a joke—they were starting to feel like a threat.

And it wasn’t just his imagination.

"So don’t even think about pulling any funny business."

"..."

"Or you’ll end up just like that guy. Got it?"

Mu-gyeong’s voice dropped to a whisper as he lightly patted Hongju’s swollen cheek. The warmth of his palm made his raw skin sting with each touch. Hongju’s eyelashes quivered.

He finally understood.

Mu-gyeong hadn’t helped him out for his sake.

It had all been to put him in his place.

The handkerchief he had been clutching the entire ride back—he never found the chance to return it.

—

When they stepped into the gambling house together, the first person they saw was Yang Siljang.

He took the collected money and began counting, his expression unusually stiff.

Something must have happened while they were out.

If there were more collections to do, Hongju could have at least spent more time outside. He sat down in an empty chair, feeling uneasy.

"How are the new guys working out?"

"They’re doing well."

They exchanged a few more words about the two employees Mu-gyeong had provided.

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Yang Siljang, however, remained visibly displeased.

But Mu-gyeong didn’t seem to care. He casually dusted off the desk before perching on its edge, one leg crossed over the other.

Just as Hongju was wondering if he hadn’t sat directly on the desk because the handkerchief was still with him—

Guppping stormed into the hallway, his face flushed.