Chapter 62

Seo Mu-yeong tilted his head up with a gentle grin. “Are you worried about me, Section Chief?”

His heart, hardened like a spiky pineapple rind, cracked open to reveal its tender flesh. Before Choi Yook could utter another word, Seo Mu-yeong sprang up and shoved the box into a corner. He even peered carefully around the burner heads to see if any stray scraps of cardboard had fallen inside.

Seo Mu-yeong looked back at him with an expectant smile. “All cleared away. Didn’t I do well?”

“This is what you call the bare minimum, not doing well,” Choi Yook retorted coldly.

Choi Yook brushed a hand down his tattooed neck, sweeping his eyes over the table. Over a memorial spread devoid of a single photograph, bearing only convenience store snacks, candy, and a solitary can of beer.

The luxury watch wrapped around his thick wrist caught the yellow kitchen light, gleaming subtly. Lowering his arm, Choi Yook turned his head toward Seo Mu-yeong.

“This is better than the ostentatious, extravagant spread they set up at my house,” Choi Yook murmured.

Seo Mu-yeong blinked in mild surprise. “Why? Because it’s more cost-effective?”

Choi Yook shook his head slightly. “No.”

Gazing down at Seo Mu-yeong, Choi Yook tilted his head with an unreadable expression.

His dark eyes held Mu-yeong’s. “Because it looks like you fucking need it, Seo Mu-yeong-ssi.”

Seo Mu-yeong remained silent. “……”

“At least it isn’t as ridiculous as rubbing your hands together and bowing like a madman, begging to ward off grudges and strike it rich,” Choi Yook said dryly.

Seo Mu-yeong could not tear his eyes away from him. His long-hollow heart thumped heavily against his ribs.

A person who could point a finger at Choi Sijin’s family and laugh with him. Someone who, at the very same time, understood the state of mind that had driven him to lay out this memorial spread.

Such a person was standing right before his eyes. To a memorial rite set to summon a ghost, an uninvited guest had arrived.

“You came here tonight because you suspected me, didn’t you?”

Seo Mu-yeong asked the question, and Choi Yook offered an effortless nod of confirmation.

“Your report was late, and your voice sounded bizarre,” Choi Yook replied.

Seo Mu-yeong kept his mouth shut, unable to deny it. “……”

“You sounded completely drained on the phone, mumbling ‘I’m sorry, I’m sorry,’ so I came to see whether you were stringing someone up by the neck or planning to surrender your own. But here you were at home after all.”

Seo Mu-yeong looked up at him, a quiet lilt in his voice. “So you were worried about me after all.”

Choi Yook let out a dry scoff. “You’re overly optimistic, Seo Mu-yeong, and positive beyond reason. Is that why stalking comes so naturally to you? Reading deep meaning into every insignificant little signal.”

A faint smile curved Seo Mu-yeong’s lips.

“I don’t assign meaning to just anyone, either.”

Choi Yook sneered faintly. “I should certainly hope not. Otherwise, normal daily life would be impossible for you.” He slipped the phone he had placed on the table back into his trouser pocket. Stepping past the reach of the kitchen lamp, he turned halfway toward the entryway.

“Starting tomorrow, deliver your reports on time and do it properly. Don’t make me waste my energy punching directions into the navigation to come all the way out here.”

Seo Mu-yeong did not miss the detail hidden within his words.

“Did you drive here yourself?”

Choi Yook met his eyes squarely. “Yeah. Even Seo-yoon has a precious family waiting for him, so I have to let him off early once in a while.”

Which meant that although he had harbored heavy suspicions, he had also worried—at least a little—and that was why he had taken the wheel and driven all this way himself.

The void in his chest swelled and overflowed in an instant. His thumping heart was so overwhelmingly full that his throat stung. It felt as though the yellow light shining from behind was gently shoving him forward.

Seo Mu-yeong lunged forward and threw his arms around Choi Yook just as the man was about to turn away completely. The abrupt motion was forceful enough that their chests collided with a heavy thud, yet Choi Yook did not shove him off. Instead, he merely looked down at him, as though waiting to see what he would attempt next. Keeping his head bowed low, Seo Mu-yeong scrambled to force out words.

“You know, Section Chief, I looked up what you mentioned last time. You told me that if I didn’t know something, looking it up myself was the only way it would stick. Back when you were talking about methanol. I really did look it up, and I haven’t forgotten it since. I wanted to tell you earlier, but it only just came to mind.”

When Choi Yook offered no answer, Seo Mu-yeong asked softly, “You meant kidneys, not the spine, right? Right here, on the back. The things a human body has two of. The ones used as loan collateral too.”

Awkwardly embracing Choi Yook, Seo Mu-yeong spoke without daring to lift his gaze. His heart pounded fiercely. He felt as though his transparent ploy would be discovered at any second. In truth, the man had probably seen right through it already.

Sweat gathered against the palms pressed to the man’s back. Choi Yook looked down at Seo Mu-yeong. Then, he brought both hands up to rest on Seo Mu-yeong’s back—at a point slightly higher than where Mu-yeong was holding him.

“This is where they are. The kidneys.”

His low voice was as dry as a tutor instructing a clumsy pupil. Yet he did not harshly lay bare Seo Mu-yeong’s true intentions. Nor did he point them out and sneer.

Like rainwater seeping through cloth, warmth spread along his spine. Seo Mu-yeong rolled his lower lip between his teeth, averting his eyes. Choi Yook’s gaze locked onto that very movement.

Seo Mu-yeong shrank his chin as his pupils trembled. As though pursuing Seo Mu-yeong’s evasive gaze, Choi Yook tilted his head by slow degrees. With every fraction of motion, the weight of his stare deepened. The suffocating air pressed heavily against Mu-yeong’s chest, making each breath an effort.

Seo Mu-yeong’s eyelashes fluttered in a fine tremor. It was the precise instant he managed to raise his eyes to look at Choi Yook.

Bzzz. The muffled vibration of a cell phone buzzed. The noise came from the pocket of Choi Yook’s suit trousers.

Drawing in a sharp breath, Seo Mu-yeong pulled his hands away from the man’s back. For several seconds, the vibration rattled through the silence. Then, Choi Yook answered the phone at an unhurried pace. One of his hands remained resting on Seo Mu-yeong’s back.

“Yeah, my Sijin.”

His gaze remained fixed firmly on Seo Mu-yeong’s face as he uttered his younger brother’s name.

“Why the hell are you making such a dramatic scene in the middle of the night?” Choi Yook demanded coldly. “What is it?”

Seo Mu-yeong caught his breath. Straining to make out what was being said on the other end, he couldn’t discern the words clearly. No matter how fiercely he concentrated, only fragmented syllables filtered through.

Mu-yeong’s brow furrowed faintly, his heels lifting almost imperceptibly. Taking in every subtle shift in Seo Mu-yeong, Choi Yook’s jaw tightened. The hand resting on Mu-yeong’s back fell away with a dull drop.

“……Got it. I’m heading over right now, so quit barking.”

Ending the call, Choi Yook headed straight for the entryway without a word of explanation or so much as a goodbye. Seo Mu-yeong scrambled after his retreating steps in sudden agitation.

“Did something happen to Sijin?” Seo Mu-yeong asked urgently.

“That’s none of your business, Seo Mu-yeong.”

His features hardening in an instant, Choi Yook turned and drove the point home with chilling finality. The icy coldness in his eyes barred Seo Mu-yeong from stepping any closer.

Choi Yook leveled a harsh glare at him. “You have no reason to worry and no need to care. It’s my family’s business, so stay out of it.” He extended his leg to slip on his dress shoes. Seo Mu-yeong watched him, biting the inside of his cheek. Then, darting over to the table, he snatched up the plastic box of okchundang candies and thrust it out toward the man with both hands.

“Take this with you at least,” Seo Mu-yeong pleaded quietly. “It’s for you, Section Chief.” As Choi Yook stared down at the offering in silence, Mu-yeong added, “It’s brand-new; I haven’t even broken the seal yet. You said earlier that it wasn’t bad. I’m offering this because I’m grateful you looked out for my family affairs. A person like that is…” Looking him dead in the eyes, Mu-yeong whispered, “……Because until now, Section Chief, there’s never been anyone else.”

Whenever he said things like this, Choi Yook’s reaction was always the same: telling him not to fish for sympathy, that he wasn’t pitiful in the slightest, and sneering whether he thought the man wouldn’t see right through him playing tricks to slip out of trouble.

Yet tonight, Choi Yook uttered no rebukes. He stared down at the plastic container filled with vivid rainbow candies, then held out a hand. Seo Mu-yeong stepped a fraction closer and extended his arms. Without a word, Choi Yook snatched the box from his grasp and strode out the door.

The digital chime of the door lock latching shut rang out. So did the sound of brisk, heavy footsteps descending the stairs. Seo Mu-yeong remained frozen in place, standing blankly until the entryway sensor light clicked off into darkness.

The sensation of being left behind felt strange. Had he been alone from the start, he wouldn’t have felt this way; now, it felt as though a breach had opened in the apartment where none existed before, letting a cold wind whistle through. All at once, he felt he finally understood what it was that Choi Sijin possessed.

So Choi Sijin can receive comfort even in moments like this.

That cannot happen. That is something even I cannot have.

Seo Mu-yeong let out a dry scoff. When Choi Sijin lost the weight of his name and plummeted, not a single person should remain by his side—even if that person had taken no part in the crime.

Seo Mu-yeong moved toward the window. Down below, the black sedan was pulling out of the villa’s parking lot.

Seo Mu-yeong snapped a photo of that faint, dark silhouette with his phone. Tearing his eyes away from the rapidly receding sedan, he stared intently at the photograph.

There were countless things he wanted Choi Sijin to lose: the adoration of fans, overwhelming stardom, and the vast fortune amassed from appearance fees and commercial contracts……

Yet among them all, aside from the single thing he had owned from the very beginning—his name—not one held any appeal. Every last bit of it was useless and dizzyingly chaotic.

Consequently, he had never harbored the slightest desire to claim them for himself. His only plan was to shove them into the trash bin and smash them to pieces—all while demonstrating to Choi Sijin that the very things he had craved so desperately held zero value to Seo Mu-yeong.

Yet now, even among those things, something he desired had emerged.

Walking back toward the dining table, Seo Mu-yeong plugged in his earphones. He played an audio file recorded roughly a month ago, skipping swiftly through the uninteresting sections. Soon, the low, familiar baritone that had filled this room only moments ago began to play.

—“Don’t go pitying him. He might act docile and smile sweetly, but the bastard is fueled by sheer malice.”

The digital candle on his phone screen burned steadily, its glow vivid and still. Setting Choi Yook’s words on infinite repeat, Seo Mu-yeong ate the pineapple chunks and drank his beer—just as a Buddhist chanter endlessly recites a sacred mantra.

The assessment delivered by the man he intended to seize was cold, yet profoundly accurate.

And for that very reason, he liked it.