One Day, A Gangster… Chapter 2.1

♥ Congratulations on the Grand Opening of Baek Pilsung’s Office ♥

Pilsung stood on a raised platform, a red carpet laid across it, a large banner hanging behind him. He raised a hand, and the fifteen men gathered around the round tables, chatting amongst themselves, erupted in cheers, clapping and banging their spoons against the tables like a pack of howling beasts. Pilsung surveyed the scene, a satisfied smirk wrinkling his smooth forehead.

He tapped the stand microphone, testing the sound, then, with a slight curl of his lip, began his short speech.

“Uh… I’m not much for long speeches. Wouldn’t expect anyone here to be either.”

The men in matching black suits chuckled and shuffled their feet. Pilsung waited for the noise to die down, briefly pulling away from the microphone, before continuing.

“Thanks for coming. Let’s not forget our purpose.”

“Yes!”

Pilsung raised the glass offered by a man in the front row. Without the microphone, he bellowed, “One hundred!”

The men roared back, completing the toast, “Certain victory!”

Having enthusiastically chanted the slogan derived from his name, the men began emptying their glasses, starting with the tables closest to the platform, like a wave following Pilsung’s lead. They all grimaced as they downed the straight shots of bourbon.

Pilsung stepped down from the platform, heading towards a nearby table to join the men, when his phone vibrated in his jacket pocket.

🍃

Sitting in the passenger seat of a car heading towards Yangwon City, Pilsung rested his elbow on the windowsill, his forehead in his hand.

“That fucking bastard, Nam Heejai.”

The curse did little to quell his anger. He should have known something was up when the prideful Heejai offered his own body as collateral for a loan.

Two months ago, when Heejai had come to him, Pilsung had advised him against resorting to loan sharks, considering their shared history. But Heejai had been desperate, threatening to sell his organs if Pilsung refused. Pilsung had relented, drawing up a simple loan agreement for thirty million won, presented as a personal loan, not from his business. Under normal circumstances, money never left Baek Pilsung’s pockets so easily. But he had been preoccupied with setting up his new office.

Predictably, Heejai disappeared. And today, Pilsung received news that Heejai had been found. Burned to death in Yangwon.

🍃

Heavy rain poured down since dawn. Pilsung, having spent the night at a motel near Yangwon University Hospital, walked towards the parking lot, a large umbrella in one hand, swishing mouthwash.

According to the private investigator he’d hired, Heejai had gone straight to Incheon after receiving the money. But he’d then spent two months wandering around the Incheon area as if his plans had gone awry, before ending up in Yangwon just two weeks before the fire.

Whatever the reason, Incheon was a good place to disappear, whether by air or sea. It was clearly a desperate attempt to escape his life. Heejai had always complained about being a “sled dog,” always saying he’d cut loose and disappear if he had the chance.

Though he had to confirm if the bastard was actually dead.

Pilsung spat out the mouthwash and got into the passenger seat. Gidong, in the driver’s seat, bowed his head.

“Did you have a good night, sir?”

Pilsung glanced at him, tossing his dripping umbrella into the back seat. “Can we go now?”

“Yes, sir. I went this morning. The weather’s bad, so there aren’t many reporters.”

“Let’s quickly confirm whether he’s putting on a show or actually dead, and then head back.”

As Gidong replied, “Yes, sir,” the black sedan smoothly exited the motel parking lot and merged into the rainy traffic.

Sled dog. That’s what Heejai always called himself. He complained so much about being a sled dog, pulling his brother’s life along, that everyone in Pilsung’s territory knew him as “Sled Dog Nam Heejai.”

Heejai’s dream of cutting loose and disappearing was a running joke. A story brought up when there was nothing left to talk about, like a bland, tasteless bar snack.

Pilsung fastened his seatbelt and frowned at the rain pounding against the window.

And now that same guy, after disappearing with thirty million won of Baek Pilsung’s money, had returned as a corpse. Was Nam Heejai’s bizarre death, in a fire just one day before the monsoon season, real or fake?

Lost in thought, Pilsung arrived at the university hospital, a ten-minute drive from the motel. As Gidong had said, only three or four reporters lingered outside, all from local news outlets, not Seoul. Pilsung relaxed slightly.

Anywhere outside of Seoul was outside his territory. Local news coverage wouldn’t cause him any trouble. Gidong, knowing this, flicked his cigarette butt onto the ground.

“Looks like no one from Seoul came.”

Pilsung, shielding his face from the rain with the umbrella, took a long drag of his cigarette, his eyes fixed on the reporters. He exhaled a cloud of smoke.

“A guy dying in a goshiwon isn’t news in Seoul anymore. No one’s coming all the way to Yangwon in this weather for that.”

He was about to switch the umbrella to his other hand and signal Gidong to move when he heard a faint mewing from the flower bed by the parking lot. The kitten’s cries, piercing through the sound of the rain against his umbrella, made him stop. He bent down, his large, 190cm frame hunched over, to peer into the flower bed.

A small kitten, barely weaned, stumbled out of the bushes, its fur soaked, its tiny eyes blinking as it mewed pitifully at Pilsung. There was no sign of its mother.

Pilsung looked at the tiny creature, trembling in the rain, and muttered, “Looks dumb…”

“Should we take it and raise it, sir?” Gidong reached out as if to pick up the kitten. Pilsung kicked him lightly.

“You idiot. Let’s go confirm Nam Heejai’s identity first.”

Gidong sulked as he followed Pilsung.

He had been with Pilsung for five years, a silver medalist, if not gold, in terms of service.

He knew that Pilsung’s “dumb” meant pitiful and cute. And from what he’d observed, Pilsung had a soft spot for such creatures.

A kitten lost in the rain, a squirrel that occasionally begged for food outside his house, a mascot doll that had been sitting unsold in a convenience store for two years, an owl-shaped cigarette holder with sleepy eyes, a dandelion gone to seed… The things Pilsung called “dumb” ranged from living creatures to inanimate objects, mostly small and cute. And he always said it with a faint smile.

He’d thought he’d get praised for recognizing Pilsung’s fondness for the shivering kitten, but instead, he got scolded. He felt unjustly treated.

Pilsung walked past the reporters and clicked his tongue, hearing Gidong’s slow, sulky footsteps behind him. He scowled.

“Don’t just pick up strays, you idiot.”

“Cats are clean. They don’t carry deadly diseases,” Gidong retorted sullenly.

Pilsung stood in front of the elevator, hands in his pockets, his expression serious. Seeing Pilsung’s grim face, Gidong bowed his head.

“I apologize for talking back…”

“Haah…” Pilsung sighed, seeing Gidong’s remorse.

“Its mother might be looking for it. You’ll separate a family.”

With Pilsung’s unusually gentle tone, the two men, exuding a menacing aura, continued their surprisingly tender conversation.

“But it’s raining so hard. What if it dies?”

“If it’s still there after we confirm that idiot Nam Heejai is actually dead, then we’ll take it. We’ll stop by an animal hospital on the way back to Seoul. Got it?”

“…….”

“Fuck, straighten your shoulders.”

Pilsung patted Gidong’s slumped shoulders and turned his head just as a patient, who had been glancing nervously at them, gasped and scurried away, pushing his IV stand.

Pilsung’s face hardened as he watched the patient flee.

“Fucking hell, I should gouge out their eyes.”

“What’s wrong, sir?” Gidong, sensing something amiss despite Pilsung’s usual gruff demeanor, looked around. “Are there reporters from Seoul?”

“Tsk, forget it. Let’s go.”

As the elevator doors opened, Pilsung pushed past the people trying to exit and stepped inside. Those who were about to protest his rudeness took one look at his scowling face and quickly retreated. “Fuck,” Pilsung muttered, watching them flee.

He was in a foul mood. The way the stranger had looked at them, with suspicion and fear, even as they were talking about a kitten, had ignited his temper.

Down in the morgue level, Pilsung strode down the hallway, leaving Gidong to pay off the bribed staff member. He took off his jacket, pulled out a small pill bottle from his pocket, and popped a few of the remaining purple pills into his mouth.

“Fuck…”

He shoved the bottle back into his pocket. He manufactured and distributed these pills himself, and they were the best tranquilizer when his temper flared.

He clenched his jaw, grinding the pills between his teeth, then threw open the morgue door.

“…….”

Pilsung had never lived a day without tension. His harsh upbringing had hardened him, turning his heart to stone. Nothing fazed him anymore.

But the moment he saw the young man in the morgue, his limbs went weak and his hardened heart skipped a beat. He felt his soul leave his body, as if the empty body lockers were meant for him.

Drooping eyes, tear-soaked lashes, flushed cheeks, a pouting lower lip, a small, clenched jaw. The young man, soaked from the rain and crying, looked exactly like the kitten he’d seen in the flower bed, perfectly fitting Pilsung’s peculiar taste.

Their eyes met for a fleeting moment, but it felt like an eternity to Pilsung. He took in the young man’s wet hair, his thin frame in a simple t-shirt, his narrow waist.

His gaze lingered on the smooth calves exposed below the hem of his shorts before returning to his rain-slicked collarbones. This was Nam Heejai’s younger brother, the one he always complained about.

Pilsung tore his eyes away and shook his head, as if waking from a dream. He had a job to do. He pulled himself together and strode towards the morgue bed, letting out a wail.

“Oh! Nam Heejai! Heejai-hyung!”

He grabbed the young man’s arm, holding him firmly in place. He’d take him out for a meal later. And he’d also tell him that the charred corpse on the bed wasn’t Nam Heejai.

Feigning grief, Pilsung examined the corpse’s left hand. Despite the burns, all five fingers were intact. The day Heejai had come to him for money, he’d been missing a finger on his left hand, a blood-soaked bandage wrapped around his palm, begging for a loan before he resorted to selling his eyeball. Pilsung looked up at the detective.

“Detective, just out of curiosity…, both corneas are melted, right?”

Before the detective could answer, he heard a whimper beside him. He tightened his grip on the young man’s arm as he sobbed quietly, his head bowed. The choked sobs grew louder. He’d meant to signal for him to be quiet, that he’d handle the detective, but it seemed he’d miscommunicated.

He squeezed the soft flesh of the young man’s arm a few times, leaving red marks, before letting go. The young man trembled, clutching his arm. He couldn’t see his face clearly from his height, but his ears and neck were flushed crimson with fear.

People often feared him based on his appearance. It usually fueled his rage. He hated being judged and feared. But the way this young man trembled was… endearing.

Pilsung handed his business card to the detective, who was demanding his identification, and then pushed the young man’s shoulder.

“Hey. Get out.”

“Huh… ugh…”

“Wait outside. And stay put.”

A staff member, sensing the situation, approached the young man and handed him a pen and a form. He signed it without even properly looking at the body, like a seasoned con artist.

Typical. Pilsung thought, glancing at the name scrawled on the form: Nam Wooyoon. He knew Heejai had a younger brother, but the name was unfamiliar.

He watched Wooyoon leave the morgue with the box of belongings, a strange feeling stirring within him.

“Baek Pilsung? So, who are you? What’s your relationship with Nam Heejai?” The detective, having examined the card, tapped his taser, demanding his identification.

Pilsung raised a hand in a mock salute. “Baek Pilsung, I run an office in Seoul.”

The detective eyed him suspiciously. “What kind of office?”

“All kinds.”

“You’re an Alpha, right? Registration card.”

The detective’s hand hovered over his taser. Pilsung’s smile faltered.

“…I’m not an Alpha.”

The detective scoffed.

“Another unregistered one. Alphas and Omegas, always breaking the law…”

Pilsung grabbed the detective by the collar and yanked him forward. The stainless steel bed screeched as it slid sideways, hitting the refrigeration unit.

“Detective, you seem like a well-bred Alpha from a good family… do I smell like one to you? I said I’m not an Alpha, so why do you keep insisting?”

“Y-you…!”

Pilsung’s hand, gripping the detective’s collar, was so large it pressed against his throat. The detective instinctively pulled out his taser and aimed it at Pilsung’s chest.

“How dare you, you gangster scum, lay your hands on a police officer?”

“…….”

Pilsung glanced down at the taser aimed at his heart and pursed his lips. He seemed to consider something for a moment, then released the detective’s collar and bowed his head respectfully.

“Ah, my apologies. I thought there might be a misunderstanding, so I wanted you to get a closer sniff. I’m at a passionate age, so I have trouble controlling my strength.”

“You gangster thug, putting on an act…”

“But is it right for a police officer to judge people by their appearance?” Pilsung interrupted, as the detective reached for his radio, presumably to call for backup.

“Just the other day, there was a report about police in… where was it? Right next to Yangwon? Or was it Yangwon? Anyway, they rounded up a bunch of differentiated individuals based on assumptions and conducted an excessive investigation, only to be reprimanded.”

It sounded like a question, but his eyes held a clear warning. The detective stared back, then holstered his taser and radio.

Seeing the detective back down, Pilsung relaxed his stance and pointed at the charred corpse. “I’ll take care of this. You have enough on your plate without this. And…”

“…….”

“I’m a gangster, yes. But I’m not an Alpha.”

He reiterated his status, then turned and left the morgue.

“…Haah, fucking hell.”

Stepping into the empty hallway, Pilsung frowned and cursed. The waiting chairs were empty, only the box of personal belongings remained. He bit his lip and exhaled in frustration. Gidong came running from the end of the hallway, peering into the open morgue.

“Sir, was it Nam Heejai?”

Pilsung scratched his forehead. “Have the guys take care of the body and send it to Seoul. Find Nam Wooyoon. Where is Nam Wooyoon?” he whispered to Gidong.

“Yes, sir. But who’s Nam Woo…”

“The sled owner.”

Gidong blinked, then said, “Ah, Nam Heejai’s brother? I saw someone leave just now. Was that him? Should I go after him?”

“Just do what I told you.”

He smacked Gidong on the head and walked away, hands in his pockets, clicking his tongue. He was annoyed that he’d let Wooyoon slip away.

He needed to find Heejai’s brother and gently persuade him to reveal Heejai’s whereabouts. And he wanted to… have a meal with him.

Outside the hospital, Pilsung searched the flower bed, his umbrella shielding him from the rain. But despite checking every bush, the kitten was gone.

Both the kitten and Nam Wooyoon had disappeared. He could have taken them both back to Seoul.

He clicked his tongue and crouched down by the flower bed, lighting a cigarette. The image of Wooyoon’s tear-filled, downcast eyes lingered in his mind.

Fuck… I wanted to ask for his number during dinner…

🍃

He slicked back his long hair with wax, smoothing it down from his forehead to the crown of his head. He patted down his close-cropped sides with the remaining wax and checked his shave, rubbing his chin with his ringed left hand.

Satisfied, he turned around and raised a hand as if to strike Gidong, who was staring at him in disbelief. Gidong sulked. He didn’t understand why Pilsung was preening after receiving Nam Heejai’s address.

Of course, he knew why. He’d assumed Pilsung wanted to find Nam Wooyoon to interrogate him about the missing thirty million won. But now, watching Pilsung spend thirty minutes in front of the mirror, he realized something else. Nam Wooyoon, with his pitiful appearance, perfectly fit Pilsung’s peculiar preferences.

He understood the reason for the preening, but he still didn’t get it. He’d always thought Pilsung’s fondness for pitiful and cute creatures didn’t apply to humans. Pilsung cherished all vulnerable beings, but he’d never included humans in that category. Until now.

Pilsung put on his jacket and adjusted the lapels. “Let’s go.”

“I finished the job this morning, so stop by the workshop and ship ten large boxes and distribute five small boxes in our territory.”

“You came back from Yangwon at dawn and you’ve been working since then without any sleep?”

“The early gangster gets the cash.” Pilsung chuckled, twisting the proverb into a playful rhyme. Gidong sighed, watching Pilsung, practically giddy with anticipation of seeing Wooyoon.

“What about today’s collections? Should I go, or should I send the guys…?”

“Hey, Gidong.” Pilsung’s jovial tone vanished, replaced by a low growl. His dark eyes, narrowed menacingly, fixed on Gidong.

“Did I say, or did I not say, that I’d handle collections, come hell or high water? Why are you worrying about my collections, huh?”

“…I apologize.”

Pilsung stared at Gidong, who bowed his head in apology, then clicked his tongue and left the office.

Pilsung was a man who believed in clear boundaries. He’d learned early on from his father that protecting your territory was essential for survival. No matter how loyal and trustworthy Gidong was, he couldn’t tolerate interference in his domain. Trust was a separate issue.

He’d clawed his way to the top by fiercely guarding his territory. It was rare for a gangster from the bottom rungs to run an office bearing his own name. He owed it all to his father’s harsh but effective upbringing. Pilsung always carried a sense of gratitude for him.

That gratitude was the reason he hadn’t called for help when his father had collapsed a few years ago, dying from a sudden seizure. He’d figured his father would prefer a quick, peaceful end to a life of relentless struggle.

He hadn’t held a funeral. He’d thrown his father’s body into the sea. His father had been terrified of water his entire life, so Pilsung figured he’d give him a chance to finally experience it in the afterlife. Gidong, who had been there, had looked terrified of the dead man’s wrath, but Pilsung hadn’t cared. He was simply returning the favor his father had shown him as a child.

Parking in the alley Gidong had pointed out, Pilsung scratched the long scar on his neck, a memento from his father. It itched whenever he thought of him. Was his father’s spirit residing there?

He chuckled to himself and turned off the engine. He swallowed two purple pills from his jacket pocket.

He stepped out of the car and looked up at the sky. It wasn’t raining, but the clouds were gathering. The news he’d briefly seen before dozing off in his office this morning had reported that the rain clouds were moving from Yangwon to Seoul and that the monsoon season would officially begin in Seoul tomorrow afternoon.

Pilsung reviewed his plan: cremate the fake Nam Heejai before the rain started, officially declaring him dead, and then, free from police scrutiny, find and deal with the real Nam Heejai. He wanted to catch Heejai before rumors spread about a two-bit hustler running off with Baek Pilsung’s money. He’d feel much better once he’d gouged out the bastard’s eyes, just like he’d always threatened.

He crunched the pills between his molars and kicked at the rusty metal gate. It was locked from the inside. According to Gidong, Nam Heejai lived in the semi-basement. He kicked the gate a few more times, but no one answered.

“What a shithole. Doesn’t even have a doorbell.”

He clicked his tongue, then a smirk spread across his face as he remembered Wooyoon.

Judging by the signed identification form, the kid had believed the charred corpse was his brother. He’d run away in a blink of an eye; he had more guts and acting skills than Pilsung had given him credit for. But when Gidong reported that Wooyoon had returned to Seoul and was holed up in his apartment, Pilsung found himself charmed by the kid’s stupidity. He hadn’t been acting; he was just naive.

He doubted Wooyoon knew anything about his brother’s whereabouts. He just wanted to have a meal with him, to get a closer look at that endearingly dumb face. And he wanted to ask him what he thought he was signing with that identification form. Did he realize that his hastily scrawled signature had effectively ended the police investigation?

Spotting the stairs leading down to the semi-basement, Pilsung whistled and bounded down the rain-slick steps, his agility surprising for his large frame.

He stopped in front of the apartment door and picked up a lone sneaker sitting on a makeshift shoe rack. It was still damp from yesterday’s rain in Yangwon. He turned the small, worn shoe over in his hands, then tossed it back onto the rack.

Who else but Nam Wooyoon would run home? Even if he had nowhere else to go, why would he hide in the most obvious place, instead of sleeping on the streets?

“…….”

He narrowed his eyes and pressed his ear against the door. Gidong had confirmed that Wooyoon was inside, but he couldn’t hear a sound.

He bent down and peered through the peephole. A mound of blankets lay in the middle of the room, like a makeshift grave.

Who hides under blankets in this heat?

He couldn’t see clearly what was going on inside. He pressed his eye harder against the peephole. A pale shape, either a hand or a foot, protruded from under the blankets, motionless.

…Did he kill himself because he thought his brother was really dead?

“Shit…” he muttered, and banged on the door.

“Fuck! Did you croak already? Hey! Open the door!”

He pounded on the door again.

“If you’re playing dead or actually dead, you’re really gonna die! Open the door!”

He briefly considered breaking down the door, then turned and walked back up the stairs. He kicked the side mirror of his car, parked by the gate. It snapped off, dangling precariously from a single wire.

He ripped off the dangling mirror and crouched down by the semi-basement window, which was half above ground level. He yanked open the unlocked window and shoved the mirror inside.

He adjusted the angle, and saw toes wiggling under the blankets. Good, he wasn’t dead.

Relief washed over Pilsung, and a smirk spread across his face. “Hey. Get out of the blankets. Stop playing dead.”

It was stupid to try hiding when his feet were visible. He narrowed his eyes and shouted, “I’ll count to three. Show your face. One, three!”

A sweat-drenched head popped out from under the blankets. Pilsung chuckled, seeing Wooyoon’s disoriented, blinking eyes. He decided to tease him.

“What’s with the face? Not happy to see me?”

“…….”

Wooyoon didn’t react, so Pilsung used the mirror to reflect the streetlight onto his flushed face. Wooyoon flinched and tried to shield his eyes.

Dumbass.

“Little shit…”

He chuckled, enjoying Wooyoon’s flustered expression, then tossed the crumpled paper with the crematorium address into the room.

“Cremating Nam Heejai tomorrow morning.”

“The funeral…?”

Wooyoon shuffled closer to the window, mumbling about his brother’s funeral. Pilsung leaned forward, resting his chin on his hand.

“Seriously? Be grateful I’m even cremating the deadbeat. A funeral? He probably doesn’t have enough mourners to collect any decent funeral money.”

“…….”

Perhaps feeling a pang of guilt, Wooyoon stopped complaining. Pilsung peered into the window. He couldn’t see Wooyoon’s face, but he could see his disheveled appearance from the neck down.

He was wearing the same t-shirt as yesterday, the stretched neckline revealing his collarbones.

“Sniff… sob…”

“…….”

Judging by the sniffling, a meal together seemed unlikely today. He stared at the reddening skin of Wooyoon’s neck as he choked back sobs. It looked surprisingly alluring. Not exactly a turn-on, but not unpleasant either. He lingered by the window, listening for a while longer, then returned to his car.

He spent the rest of the night collecting payments from businesses in his territory. By the time he returned to his office, Gidong had apparently spread the news, because the men greeted him with knowing smirks. A few, either brave or clueless, asked, “Are you really dating?” and received a punch to the gut for their trouble. He didn’t deny the dating part, just warned them not to get any ideas.

“Sir, what happened to your car?” Gidong asked, entering the office and noticing the missing side mirror. Pilsung smacked him on the lips. Gidong covered his swelling mouth and muttered, “You’re supposed to spread the word for these things.”

“Who said that? You’ve never even dated, dumbass.”

“Neither have you, sir,” Gidong retorted, pouting.

Pilsung chuckled. “Gidong, even among the inexperienced, there are those who are naturally gifted. It’s in the blood.” He ran a hand through his hair confidently.

Gidong was speechless. Blood? Genetics? Differentiation? Those were the words Pilsung despised the most. He wisely kept his mouth shut. Several of his colleagues had already received a beating for their comments today.

🍃

Pilsung paced the crematorium lobby, checking the entrance repeatedly, making small talk with his men. Heejai’s cremation had already begun, but Wooyoon was nowhere to be seen. He’d expected him to show up, even after running away from the morgue, especially after he’d given him the address. It seemed he wasn’t coming after all. His plan to have a meal with Wooyoon was falling apart.

He was contemplating paying another visit to that dilapidated semi-basement when he spotted Wooyoon entering the crematorium, looking around nervously. Pilsung burst out laughing.

Wooyoon was wearing a different black t-shirt today. He’d probably chosen black for his brother’s cremation, but the design was hilariously ridiculous. Whether bought by Nam Heejai or picked up from a dumpster, the oversized “NASA” logo and the image of a rocket about to launch screamed tacky. Even elementary school kids wouldn’t wear it.

He was happy to see the face he’d been waiting for, but the sight of Wooyoon, looking lost and adorable in that ridiculous t-shirt, was even more amusing. He strode towards him, a wide grin on his face.

He grabbed Wooyoon’s chin, tilting his face up, taking in the features he’d been wanting to study more closely.

Wooyoon looked less gaunt than he had under the harsh morgue lighting, though his eyelids were puffy, making his eyes seem smaller. But the endearingly down-turned corners were still there.

“Wow… you really don’t look anything like Nam Heejai. Why do you look so dumb?”

He pressed his thumb against Wooyoon’s cheek. He watched, amused, as Wooyoon’s lips parted slightly, as if he wanted to say something, but couldn’t quite manage it.

“I… want to… see my brother…”

“And yet you ran away after ditching your dead brother.”

Pilsung chuckled, his hand still gripping Wooyoon’s trembling chin. Wooyoon clamped his mouth shut and frowned, tears welling up in his swollen eyes.

Wooyoon took a deep, shuddering breath, then said, “Let… let go of me…”

“Sure, I’ll let go.”

He released Wooyoon’s chin. The trembling lower lip was cute, but he needed to secure that meal, so he decided to stop teasing. Making him cry wouldn’t be helpful. He didn’t want their first meal together to be overshadowed by grief. Although, for Wooyoon, who believed his brother was burning in the furnace, it was a funeral.

He heard his men snickering behind him. Baek Pilsung’s love life was apparently a source of great amusement for his crew, stuck in their monotonous routine.

“Fucking bastards.”

He understood their amusement, but he glared at them, silencing their laughter. Wooyoon was already trembling; he didn’t need their jeering to make it worse.

Pilsung sat in the waiting room, feigning boredom, scrolling through “date spot recommendations” on his phone, while stealing glances at Wooyoon. He yawned widely. The designated time for receiving the urn was still a while away. He didn’t understand why cremation took so long. Things burned quickly enough with a little gasoline.

Unlike Pilsung, who couldn’t even muster a tear despite his exaggerated yawn, Wooyoon sat with his head bowed, sniffling.

God, he’s a crybaby…

Pilsung pocketed his phone and got to the point. “Aren’t you hungry?”

“Sniff…”

“Let’s… go get some yukgaejang.”

He scratched his cheek, watching Wooyoon’s reaction carefully.

A meal. Sharing food in their world meant bringing someone into your inner circle. Just as he never shared food with outsiders, an invitation to eat wasn’t a casual offer. It was an invitation to become one of Baek Pilsung’s people. Essentially, a date.

He’d wanted to have a meal with Wooyoon since the moment he saw him. He’d wanted to date him, this endearingly dumb creature. He wanted to bring him into his world and observe him more closely.

“…….”

“…….”

Oh, fuck.

Pilsung frowned. He heard his men chuckling at the entrance of the waiting room. He glared at Gidong, who was smirking knowingly, and stood up. He needed to salvage the situation before he became a laughingstock for boasting about his dating prowess.

He stood in front of Wooyoon, blocking his view. “I’ll have them take care of Nam Heejai’s ashes. Get up.”

Wooyoon didn’t react. Pilsung felt a flicker of panic. He could feel his men’s eyes on him.

If he got rejected here, he’d never live it down. He could beat them into submission, but he couldn’t erase the image of himself being turned down from their minds. And more importantly, he really wanted to have that meal with Wooyoon.

He clenched his jaw, staring at the top of Wooyoon’s head, and blurted out, “Three!”

Thankfully, Wooyoon jumped to his feet. He’d been playing hard to get. Pilsung’s mood instantly brightened. He chuckled.

“Do you drink? Your brother was a drinker.”

He’d asked because alcohol was a good social lubricant, but he saw a flicker of defiance in Wooyoon’s wide eyes.

“My brother didn’t drink or smoke.”

“…….”

Pilsung’s brow twitched.

The sled owner had no idea about the sled dog’s true nature. He clearly didn’t know that Nam Heejai constantly complained about his brother being a burden, that he was a chain smoker, that he often got kicked out of bars for spending his meager earnings on alcohol, or that he was a hustler who sold himself to Alphas, even though he wasn’t an Omega. He knew nothing. That’s why he could cry for his runaway brother.

Pilsung had planned to tell Wooyoon the truth during their meal. That the cremation was a ruse to throw off the police so he could find the real Nam Heejai, that he shouldn’t waste his tears on that scumbag.

But looking at Wooyoon, so blindly devoted to his brother, he didn’t know where to begin. He sighed and turned away.

He ate his yukgaejang, washing it down with soju, then glanced at Wooyoon’s bowl. The rice was untouched. There was just a bit of reddish broth around the edges.

His plan to gently reveal Heejai’s true nature during the meal, and then persuade Wooyoon to contact him if Heejai ever reached out, was failing miserably. Every time he tried to bring up Heejai, Wooyoon would just stare at him with those downcast eyes.

Fuck, I can’t even bring it up.

He wanted to yell at him, but he couldn’t, seeing Wooyoon’s trembling hands. He figured it was Wooyoon’s fate to be betrayed by his brother. Giving up on the conversation, Pilsung decided to focus on their “date.”

He tried to sound friendly, putting on a playful smirk. “Your brother borrowed three million won, principal only. The cremation cost five hundred thousand. How are you going to pay it back?”

He chuckled at his own lie. The cremation hadn’t cost anywhere near five hundred thousand; it was closer to one hundred.

“Aren’t you going to answer? Why aren’t you answering?” he asked, grinning. Wooyoon stared at his soju glass, then downed it in one gulp, meeting Pilsung’s gaze.

“…….”

“…….”

Whether he was holding back tears or just tipsy from the few drinks he’d had, Wooyoon’s eyes glistened. A strange feeling washed over Pilsung. He felt a warmth spreading through him, a pleasant buzz from the small amount of alcohol he’d consumed. The desire he’d felt since their first encounter in the morgue stirred within him.

Wooyoon fidgeted with his empty glass, his gaze fixed on Pilsung, who was licking his lips. He mumbled, “Can you… take my kidney… just one kidney… instead of my eyes…?”

Pilsung was amused that Wooyoon had somehow guessed his intention of claiming his eyes. He replied, “No. Why would I?”

He didn’t understand why Wooyoon was offering his organs, but one kidney wasn’t enough. If he was offering, he might as well offer his lips and his body too.

He waited, curious to see what Wooyoon would do next. Wooyoon held out his glass.

“More…”

Wooyoon’s hand was trembling. Pilsung chuckled, amused by his trembling in the summer heat. He poured him another drink and scooted closer.

“Do you… like coffee?” he asked casually, having decided on a bakery café in Seongsu-dong as their next destination.

“I like instant coffee,” Wooyoon replied softly.

“The fuck? What café serves instant coffee? Ah… do you want to go to a motel with me?”

Pilsung burst into laughter, burying his face in his hands. After a while, he glanced up at Wooyoon, curious about his reaction. Wooyoon, seemingly oblivious to the joke – instant coffee being commonly found in motels – just stared at him with a slightly confused expression.

“Oh, fuck…”

Embarrassed, Pilsung ran a hand through his hair and coughed, looking away.

Silence fell between them. Wooyoon finished his drink. He’d initially refused, claiming he didn’t drink, but now he was readily accepting refills. Pilsung leaned back in his chair, amused.

He rode to Seongsu-dong with Gidong, Wooyoon sitting beside him in the back seat, reeking of soju, his eyes closed. Pilsung stared at him throughout the journey. Everything about him, his eyes, his nose, his mouth, his entire frame, seemed so small compared to Pilsung, making him appear even more vulnerable.