The Evolution of Species Chapter 1.1 - Deal

The truth is, I have no memory.

It’s not like I had none from the start…

At the point when strangely good card hands kept coming my way, no, a little further than that, a bartender fluent in English brought me drinks. Unlimited, he said. Free, he said. Did I drink about three glasses? Four, maybe? Yeah. From there, I have no memory. From that moment until now.

A voice reached my ears.

“Man, he’s really pale… Is, is an omega, like, all this pale?”

A stupid voice was spouting stupid nonsense.

“But, like, why isn’t he, you know, waking up? Was the drug, like, too strong or something?”

“No way… Hey! Wake up!”

A rough hand tapped my cheek. It didn’t feel great. Of course, it was nothing compared to the headache that felt like my skull was splitting open.

I opened my eyes.

Everything in front of me looked fluorescent yellow.

“Is he, like, really okay?”

“I said he’s fine! Damn it, he’s not even human, so what, you think he’d croak from a little rat poison? Hey, hey! Get up!”

A guy who looked like a snakehead fish crouched in front of me, grabbed my hair, and shook it. Fireworks exploded before my eyes, and the fluorescent yellow snakehead turned into a purple snakehead. He pulled me up. My knees wobbled. The pain was comparable to the hangover I had the afternoon after chugging five bottles of tequila.

The snakehead dragged me somewhere. It was a narrow hallway. A red metal door stood at the end of the corridor, and a red catfish was sitting in front of it. The catfish poked at my chest.

“What’s this? Is he okay? He doesn’t seem to be all there.”

“See, see! I told you, man, the drug was too strong…”

“Shut up!”

The snakehead, the catfish, and the stammerer raised a ruckus. The three of them bickered and made a fuss. Meanwhile, my headache started to fade bit by bit, and my vision, which had been flashing in dazzling technicolor, began to return to its original colors. The first thing I registered was the state of my body. My hands were tied behind my back. I tugged slightly, but they didn’t budge, so it must be reinforced plastic handcuffs. The good news was that my legs were fine.

“Is he really an omega?”

“He is! He said so himself!”

Did I say that?

I vaguely recall that when someone asked me that in front of the slot machine, I didn’t exactly deny it… Now that I think about it, wasn’t that guy the one who lured me into the card game?

“Is he safe?”

“Yeah! I saw his passport, and he’s a Filipino.”

When did that bastard see my fake passport?

“Hmm. Alright…”

The catfish kneaded my shoulder while twitching his mustache. It wasn’t a pleasant sight.

“This’ll be a fun show tonight. Real or not… he’s got a look to him…”

He smacked his thick lips. It was still an unpleasant sight.

“Go in.”

The catfish pointed at the red door with his thumb. His other hand was still kneading my shoulder.

The snakehead yanked me forward.

The door opened.

A thunderous roar poured out from inside.

The small room was packed with people. There must have been about a hundred of them. Under the dim blue lighting, the faces of the screaming crowd all looked like zombies. A small stage was set up in the center of the room, about the size of two king-sized beds. The zombie-like people gripped the metal bars surrounding the stage and shook them violently.

The smell of blood hung in the air. Alcohol… marijuana, ecstasy, familiar scents.

This place seemed to be some kind of illegal fighting ring. But is there such a thing in Korea? Isn’t Korea peaceful… with a functioning police force… a nation of law and order?

My headache was now faint.

If it weren’t for the handcuffs binding my wrists, I might have been in a pretty good mood.

The snakehead dragged me toward the stage. I climbed about ten steps. At the top, a woman in a glittery purple suit was holding a microphone and bellowing at the top of her lungs.

[A neeeeew! Challeeeeenger!]

The microphone buzzed so much it was hard to make out her words.

The snakehead pulled open a barred gate and shoved me inside. Thud, clang! The gate slammed shut quickly, and two guys standing on either side, grinning ear to ear, swiftly wrapped chains around it and locked it with a padlock.

“Hurry up and stick your hands out!”

The snakehead reached through the bars and yanked at my cuffed wrists. I complied obediently. He was holding a key, after all. He inserted the key into the cuffs and turned it. The plastic cuffs came off silently. At the same moment, I reached through the bars, wrapped my arm around the snakehead’s neck, and squeezed.

“Gurghhh!”

In less than ten seconds, the snakehead was frothing at the mouth, squealing like a pig being slaughtered, and rolling his eyes back. Another guy screamed and bolted. The zombies’ shouts, the fast-paced rock music, and the general uproar were so loud that his scream was drowned out.

I let go of the foaming snakehead and turned around. Behind me, he crumpled to the ground, and the zombies trampled over him as they surged forward.

The emcee in the glittery purple suit stretched her hand toward me. A spotlight poured down on me.

Aha. So that’s what this is.

“Yoon.”

[Yoooooooon!]

The way she pronounced my name sounded more like “Yoooong.”

But it didn’t matter.

The zombies stomped their feet and went wild, and the spotlight shifted from me to the opposite side of the stage.

A giant with red-dyed hair appeared, raising both arms high. The music changed. A tremendous cheer erupted.

The emcee in the glittery purple suit screamed until her throat seemed ready to burst.

[Our chaaaaaampion!]

Blah blah blah… I couldn’t quite catch the guy’s name, but he was apparently the champion. I looked up at him. He seemed about 2.3 meters tall.

[The rules are the same! The winner gets all rights over the loser! A deathmatch that doesn’t end until someone diiiiies!]

A deathmatch that doesn’t end until someone dies… Does that mean the winner gets the right to claim the loser’s corpse? If so, this was a pretty boring game.

“Rape him!”

“Teach that omega punk a lesson!”

“Take him from behind!”

The corpse?

Or during the match?

Either way, it was pretty hardcore.

I shook my head a couple of times. My wobbly vision steadied. A foul smell hit me. Sweat, alcohol, nicotine, the stench of blood mixed with urine, a damp, putrid odor. I looked up at the champion.

“Huh?”

The word slipped out unconsciously.

The next moment, a deafening bell rang across the stage. [The match begiiiiins!] The emcee shrieked. At the same time, the champion charged at me.

His log-like arms wrapped around my waist. My feet lifted off the ground, and in an instant, my view shot upward. He spun me around in the air before hurling me down. I rolled a couple of times on the springy mat. It didn’t hurt. I was just a little disoriented.

The crowd’s cheers grew louder.

“Kill him!”

“No, strip him first!”

“Damn it! Just take him!”

“Show us a gut punch, champion!”

The champion charged again.

“Raaaargh!”

He roared as he came.

I planted my hands on the ground and sprang to my feet. The champion was surprisingly agile. Not a champion for nothing, I guess. But, wait…

He tackled me from behind, wrapping his arms around me. The zombie crowd went berserk.

I craned my neck to look up at him.

“You’re not a variant, are you?”

I’d never heard of a normal human in an illegal fighting ring. As a surprise show, it was lame, and as a special performance, it was underwhelming.

The champion panted hoarsely behind my back.

“You little bitch, begging for a taste of alpha…”

“No, I mean, you’re not even an alpha.”

He didn’t respond further, just snorted more roughly and slammed me face-down onto the mat, pinning me. The zombie crowd shouted for rape, for taking me, for all sorts of pornographic demands.

That’s when it hit me.

This was a seriously vile, truly vile…

The champion’s hand tore my shirt halfway off.

…illegal porn shoot. And I was the star.

Of course, I’d never agreed to star in this kind of depraved porn flick, nor had I been paid for it. If I’d taken an advance, that would’ve been awkward, but fortunately, I hadn’t. (At least, I don’t remember doing so.) So there was no reason to let my clothes get torn off here.

I grabbed the champion’s arm, which was clamped around my chest, and pried it off. His eyes turned bloodshot.

“Hrrgh…!”

He stuck out his tongue and panted.

I seized his arm, spun my body around, and slammed him to the mat. Thud! With a heavy sound, the giant crashed onto the mat.

The zombie crowd fell silent for a moment before erupting into even greater chaos.

“You idiot!”

“Kill him! Kill him!”

“Show him who’s boss! Tear that bitch’s hole apart!”

“Champion! Champion!”

It was absolute pandemonium.

No, if they really wanted to see my hole get torn, shouldn’t they have at least brought a variant instead of a normal human?

“Grr, grrr, hrrgh, you damn biiiitch!”

The champion sprang up from the mat, hunched slightly, and charged at me. Thud, thud, thud, thud—each step sounded like a bull charging.

Perfect. Just the right stance.

I spread my arms and met the charging champion head-on. The moment his shoulder slammed into my chest, I wrapped my arms around his waist and hoisted him up. Hawkins. Nice weight. About 140 kilos, probably. I lifted him clean over my shoulder and threw him down toward the mat. Boom! The mat shook, and dust flew. I leaped into the air, spinning five… six times, and landed a corkscrew shooting star press!

Astonishingly, it worked. Six spins! I’d failed about thirty-five times in high school and given up, but I’m clearly built for the real thing.

I glanced down, and the champion, pinned beneath me, was out cold, eyes rolled back.

Victory was mine. As always. Naturally. No surprise there. If I kept count, this would be my 1,357th win.

I sprang to my feet.

I raised both hands in a victory pose and flashed a wink at the now-silent zombie crowd.

A thunderous applause… didn’t come, of course, but isn’t this way more fun than some predictable snuff film?

[Ah… ah… aaaaah… A new, a new champion is booooorn!]

The emcee clutched the microphone and practically sobbed.

[Our neeeeew chaaaaaampion, Yoooooooon!]

This time, it was definitely “Yoooong.”

Bikini-clad women rushed out, showering me with fake flowers and glitter. Big guys carried out a chair. Dozens of hands sat me in it and even placed a floral crown on my head. They went all out.

“Yoon! Yoon! Yoon! Yoon!”

The zombie crowd was now chanting my name.

Huh, this doesn’t feel half bad.

[And nooooow! The winner’s! Judgment! Over the loser! Begiiiiins!]

“Kill him! Kill him! Kill him! Kill him!”

The zombies shouted in unison.

Of course, I had no interest in claiming the loser’s corpse, so I politely declined.

Two days passed.

I counted how many times I felt hungry, so it’s probably accurate.

The door opened, and a boy pushed in a large cart. After just two days, his face already felt familiar. The boy limped slightly as he slowly approached me. Clank, clank—the rusty cart wheels rolled. The smell of food hit me already. My nose twitched involuntarily.

The boy started setting food in front of me. All kinds of dishes kept coming. There was chicken, pork, beef, lamb, duck, that sort of thing, with some greens mixed in, fish, soups, and stews. And my favorite, steamed rice. Everything was served in paper containers. Pretty smart, aren’t they?

I pulled a paper spoon toward me and sat at the table.

The boy glanced at me.

“What are you looking at?”

At my question, his shoulders stiffened.

Hmph.

I shoved a heaping spoonful of rice into my mouth and shot him a sidelong glance. For an alpha, this kid was timid. Usually, variants around his age, especially alphas, are so reckless they’d break eighteen arms and legs— theirs or someone else’s—without batting an eye, but this one was oddly docile.

Anyway, the boy kept sneaking glances at me but didn’t speak. Maybe he wanted to talk but couldn’t bring himself to. Did he have a crush on me? That’s awkward. Minors are off-limits, minors…

“Sit there.”

I pointed at the chair across from me with my spoon.

The boy hesitated but eventually sat.

“Um…”

It took a while, a really long while—by the time the beef, chicken, and duck were gone, the lamb and pork were half-eaten, the fish were just bones, and the vegetables were reduced to sauce—before the boy finally spoke in a barely audible voice.

“I want to be strong like you… How do I do it?”

“Hm?”

I nearly bit through the spoon in my mouth.

That was an unexpected question.

It was also a question I couldn’t even imagine hearing from an alpha his age.

I blinked a few times.

The boy’s face turned red.

“S-sorry.”

He stammered hurriedly and lowered his head.

“No, no. What’s there to be sorry for? Nothing to apologize for. Hm. But why are you using informal speech? Aren’t you a minor?”

“…I’m sorry.”

The boy’s bowed head was practically steaming. Even the back of his neck and the tips of his ears were red. This kind of innocence was also unlike an alpha his age.

“Hmm. How old are you? Thirteen? Fourteen?”

“Sixteen…”

“Oh, really?”

I looked him up and down, a bit surprised.

“You’re short, huh?”

At my words, the boy’s face flushed red again.

“It’s fine. You’ll grow. Even if you’re small now. You’re an alpha. In five or six years, you’ll shoot up at least fifty centimeters. Then you’ll get strong naturally.”

Then I added with a grin.

“Of course, not as strong as me.”

“So, how do I get as strong as you?”

“Yoon.”

The boy blinked.

I shrugged.

“That’s my name. Call me Yoon.”

“Yoon hyung…”

Hmm. That wasn’t bad either. I set down my spoon and grabbed the boy’s wrist. It was thin. I could feel the bone. Well, that happens. During growth spurts, muscles and flesh sometimes can’t keep up with bone development. But even so, this boy was scrawny.

“Do you eat picky?”

The boy turned red again.

“Just kidding, obviously.”

I shrugged. It was a tired, obvious story. I’d been locked in a room with a lead door for two days, and the whole reason I ended up here was because I was drugged and kidnapped. Plus, yesterday, I heard about the next match’s schedule. They’re clearly planning to use me like some ancient Roman gladiator slave. And a boy working for the kind of people who kidnap perfectly fine folks to use as gladiator slaves? Way too predictable.

“Don’t they feed you well here?”

“It’s not that…”

I nodded slightly toward the table.

“At your age, you should be eating twice this much.”

The boy didn’t respond.

Instead of saying more, I touched his wrist for a moment. Little muscle, thick bones but not much flesh. And his fingers. The tips of both thumbs were cut off.

“Toes too?”

Silence followed instead of an answer.

Well, I didn’t need to hear it to know.

Why would an alpha at an age when they’re supposed to be running wild like a mad dog be limping? Either they jumped off a five-story building to prove their courage, or their big toes were cut off to keep them from running fast.

I sprang up from the chair.

I grabbed the boy’s shoulder and pulled him toward me.

“You’re still growing, so you lack muscle strength. And not having thumbs is a pretty big handicap. You can’t grab your opponent properly. But even if you don’t grab them, you can still subdue them in plenty of ways. Watch closely.”

I bent my elbow to demonstrate.

“If you jab the solar plexus, most people will pass out. Even if you don’t have much strength, if you jab accurately, you can immobilize them for at least ten seconds. Don’t think of it as hitting. Think of it as stabbing. Pressing.”

The boy rolled his eyes blankly.

“And choking. You choke their neck with the inside of your arm. Like this.”

I showed him the motion.

“You can also squeeze their chest with your thighs. Climb onto their back, clamp their chest with your thighs, and choke their neck with your arms. Either their ribs break, or their neck snaps. Usually, the neck snaps first. Well, since you don’t have much strength, just knocking them out should be enough.”

For someone who was just rolling his eyes blankly, the boy followed along pretty well. It felt quite rewarding. No wonder people become teachers.

“What do you do, hyung?”

“I do all sorts of things. I find stuff, get rid of stuff, move stuff.”

“Why are you here?”

“It wasn’t exactly my choice. I’ll be out soon.”

Probably around the next match? No need to be champion twice…

That’s what I thought to myself.

The boy quietly gathered the empty bowls and placed them on the cart.

“Um, Yoon hyung.”

He was pushing the cart out but turned back to look at me.

“You move anything?”

“Yeah.”

“People too?”

“There’s an extra fee for living things…”

And then I looked at the boy.

“But since you’re small, I’ll waive it.”

The boy’s eyes sparkled like stars.

“How much is it?”

“Depends on the destination.”

So the boy told me his destination. Honestly, I didn’t know where it was. It sounded Korean, and Korea’s small, not too far, and judging by the snakehead and catfish, getting out of here didn’t seem too hard. Anyway, it didn’t feel like I’d need to charge much.

Dinner was a bit later than usual. I was planning to show the boy the full extent of a starving omega’s ferocity. And when that ferocity hit “extremely intense,” I heard the familiar sound of a rusty cart being dragged from outside: clank, clank. I leaped out of bed.

I went to the door.

I waited about three seconds.

Normally, the door would open by now, but it didn’t.

I moved to the side of the door and pressed my back against the wall.

Creak, the cart stopped on the other side of the door.

“Ugh, damn.”

A voice came from outside. An unfamiliar voice. It sounded like a scheming villain from a Korean drama. Definitely not the boy who’d been bringing me food the past few days.

“For a nobody, he’s getting a damn twelve-course meal.”

Apparently, this villainous voice had serious complaints about my menu.

“Such a pain. Can’t we just toss him some wooden chopsticks and tell him to eat?”

The sound of plastic being torn followed. The rustle of paper rubbing together.

“A paper spoon? Good luck eating rice with that.”

The grumbling continued.

“Hey, you didn’t see that match. He smashed the champion in one hit, I’m telling you.”

Another voice responded. This one I recognized.

Hmm.

Where had I heard it? Then I remembered—it was the catfish who’d brought me into the room where the fight took place.

“No way… An omega, right?”

The villainous voice asked.

“Stop watching so much porn. Not those fakes doped up on pig aphrodisiacs. Real omegas, real alpha bastards, they’re different.”

The catfish answered.

And the two carried on with their cheerful conversation.

“Didn’t they say that half-crippled kid was an alpha too?”

“That guy? Pfft. That guy’s literally a cripple. You think a dog trader’s gonna let a variant roam free? He’s missing these, you know, these. All four. Haven’t you seen how he walks?”

“Oh… But the boss still got spooked and took care of him?”

“Is the boss’s cowardice news to you? Let it go. Even if they cut off his arms instead of his thumbs, variants are scary. We got a few good years out of him, didn’t we?”

“What about the guy in there?”

“He’s an omega.”

The catfish chuckled.

“Let him fight a few matches, draw a crowd, then dope him up with aphrodisiacs and put him in a show. It’ll be a hit. Real omega getting passed around? Perverts who don’t care about money aren’t exactly rare.”

“Damn… Shit. That’s hot. When’s it happening?”

“Won’t be long. For now, just do what the boss says.”

“Ugh, damn it, with that half-crippled kid gone, there’s no one to do the heavy lifting. Shit. Why bother mourning a kid who’s dog food now, pfft. When’s the dog trader coming?”

“Day after tomorrow. Said he’s bringing a few. Some girls too. Guess he’s not bringing variants anymore. They’re pricey, right? Heh, that coward. If it were me, I’d cut off a few more fingers and still use variants…”

Clank, clank.

I silently listened to them fiddling with the key in the lock. Tick, the sound of the lock’s spring snapping, thud, clank. Creak.

“Goddamn, this door’s heavy as hell…”

I grabbed the front of the cart and yanked it hard into the room. Crash! The eyes of the villainous voice pushing the cart widened. I seized his neck and flung him across the cart to the other side. The catfish’s mouth dropped open. I kicked his side, shoving him inside the door.

I turned around. On either side of the room, the villainous voice and the catfish were coughing and wheezing. Creak… The iron door slowly closed behind me.

Nice. A locked room, right?

“Wh-what the hell…”

The villainous voice mumbled something as he tried to get up, so I lightly kicked the tip of his chin. He let out a squawk and collapsed again. He must’ve bitten his tongue, because blood and a front tooth dribbled out of his mouth.

“Urgh, ugh… Hrr, hrrgh…!”

He fumbled for the tooth fragment on the floor with both hands.

“You bitch…!”

The catfish charged at me. He was holding something like a jackknife in one hand. The gleaming tip of the jackknife came stabbing toward my face. I twisted my body to dodge it while simultaneously striking the catfish’s elbow downward. Crack—the sound of his elbow breaking.

“Aaagh!”

The jackknife fell to the floor, and the catfish flopped beside it, writhing.

I leisurely bent down and picked up the jackknife. I flicked the blade with my fingernail. It was quite sharp. Well-maintained. It had tasted plenty of blood, it seemed. I didn’t exactly need a knife for what I was about to do, but it couldn’t hurt to have it.

I flashed a grin and turned to look down at them. I twirled the jackknife and drove it straight into the back of the catfish’s hand. Crunch. The blade tore through soft bone and flesh, embedding into the tiled floor.

“Argh, aaagh…!”

His scream lacked creativity.

I left him and turned to the villainous voice. He was squirming on the floor, trying to crawl away from me.

“Wh-what! Why’re you doing this!”

Without his front teeth, it was hard to understand him. But it wasn’t completely unintelligible, so it was fine.

I grabbed the back of his head and slammed it into the wall. No scream this time. Instead, his body jolted like he was having a seizure.

“When’s the dog trader coming?”

“Wh-what…”

I slammed him again. The sound of his nose breaking rang out.

“When’s the dog trader coming?”

I asked again.

“Day, day after tomorrow…”

“Where’s he meeting?”

“D-don’t, I don’t know…”

Oh, maybe I should’ve gone for the catfish instead. I let go of his head and turned around. The catfish, clutching his punctured hand, freaked out when he saw me.

“Cosmos! At Cosmos! Ten at night…!”

I strode toward him.

“He said the deal’s happening there! The boss is going there too, with the underlings, ugh, please spare me!”

The catfish wailed, tears and snot streaming down his face. I tapped his cheek with the tip of my foot.

“Where’s Cosmos?”

“A r-room salon. Incheon… Ugh…”

“How many people are going?”

“Ten or twelve… Not, not more than that… The place is small…”

“Any variants among them?”

“F-far as I know, none. Variants are expensive, so, none, none, probably none. The boss hates variants…”

Ten. Or twelve. No variants. Well, I should assume there might be one or two mixed in.

I tilted my head slightly, then shrugged. I hopped over the paper bowls scattered on the floor and headed for the door. Day after tomorrow. Plenty of time to prepare. Let’s see. How far is Incheon from here?

I grabbed the door to open it but paused. Behind me, I heard stifled sobs and ragged breathing.

Hmm.

I slowly turned around.

“You know, now that I think about it.”

The eyes of the villainous voice and the catfish shook violently.

“If you guys killed him, that means I can kill you too, right?”

Clank, clank, the rusty cart wheels rolled down the hallway. Eight limp limbs kept spilling out of the cart. Each time, I bent them back and shoved them inside.

The hallway smelled of the damp naphthalene typical of basements. I passed a few storage rooms that looked like prison cells. From somewhere beyond the walls, I heard the sound of people moving. Not hurried footsteps. The thumping of fast-paced music… Sounds like a fun party. Of course, whether the owner of this building hosts illegal fight clubs, shoots real porn, or throws tea parties, it’s none of my business.

At the center of the hallway was a freight elevator, stopped at the second floor above ground. Let’s see. This must be the first basement level, if the scribbled marker sign is correct. I tapped the elevator door lightly, and it echoed. Judging by the sound, the elevator went down to at least the third basement level. There might be floors it doesn’t reach, but for now.

I pulled the cart past the elevator.

At the end of the hallway was a small door. A barely visible emergency exit sign hung above it in the dim light. The door wasn’t locked. The stairs were narrow and steep. I put strength into my arms and pushed the cart up the stairs. The cart thudded. The rusty wheels creaked like they might break, and the catfish and villainous voice, stuffed inside, bobbed up and down expressionlessly. Thud-thud, creak-creak, bob-bob. It had a nice rhythm.

I climbed one floor and stood before the emergency exit. I checked that it was quiet and opened the door. A short hallway, about three meters long, stretched ahead. The bulbs must’ve all burned out, because no lights were on, and there was no sign of anyone. At the end of the hallway was a large double door.

I pushed the cart.

When I opened the door, a cold wind slapped my cheeks.

My eyes stung with tears. Korea’s wind is too harsh for me.

Sniffling, I looked around.

It was dusk.

At the edge of a wide concrete lot stood a warehouse, about six meters tall. One large door hung half-open, rattling in the wind. I pushed the cart toward the warehouse. On one side, bricks were stacked, next to them a few drums rolled around, and on the other side was an old cement mixer. Hmm. Yeah. Very cliché and practical. I pushed the cart past the cement mixer and stopped in front of a large meat grinder.

The meat grinder looked relatively new compared to the cement mixer. A strong stench came from inside. Blood and protein. I inhaled the repulsive yet familiar smell as I stuffed the catfish and villainous voice into the grinder’s chute. Staring into the catfish’s wide, glaring eyes, I pressed the start switch. Rumble, rumble. The catfish was sucked inside and disappeared.

The air was chilly. In the distance, I heard the sound of a luxury sedan slowly rolling over bumpy concrete. The wind carried laughter. The sound of the meat grinder mixed with it.

I listened to the familiar noise and waited for the grinder to stop. Perfect time for a cigarette, but sadly, I didn’t have one.

The catfish’s car was, oddly enough, a white Audi. I tossed the car key into the air, caught it, and slid into the driver’s seat.

The interior was filthy. A golf bag was loaded in the back seat, and dirt particles rolled around on the floor. It reeked. I wanted to open the window, but since I catch colds when the temperature drops below 10°C, I held off.

The GPS showed my rough location. Pocheon… No idea where that is, but on the map, it’s north of Seoul. No wonder it’s cold. But something else occurred to me. What kind of drug did they give me that kept me knocked out like an idiot from the middle of Gangnam to here, carted like luggage? Drugs like that aren’t common. Most require prescriptions, and many are illegal.

Anyway.

“Incheon, Incheon… Let’s see, the address…”

I fumbled with the GPS touchpad. ㅇ… ㅣ… ㄴ… ㅊ…. Nearly gave up a few times, but thankfully, I got it. The location popped up. Two hours and three minutes. Not too far, luckily.

As I pulled out of the parking lot, I glanced in the rearview mirror. A four-story building with its lights on reflected in the mirror. I stared at it for a second before stepping on the gas. True to its price, the car sped off smoothly.

Honestly, working in Korea makes me a bit uneasy.

I don’t know the local scene well. Locals probably don’t like some outsider stirring things up. I don’t have any partners here. The only reason I stayed in Korea after my last job was for sightseeing…

But taking care of a small fry like this? The locals probably won’t care.

The sunset was falling over the gray concrete building.

The nondescript three-story building blended in with the other ordinary buildings like Waldo. Every window was covered with opaque cellophane, making it impossible to see inside. I couldn’t tell if the lights were on or off. A pink sign hung at the first-floor entrance: 〈Cosmos〉. And a thick-lipped icon. A crimson shadow fell over the forest of buildings, then quickly darkened. Streetlights flickered on one by one, illuminating the dark alley.

I was on the rooftop of a five-story building a block away. A guy smoking had been glancing at me for the past fifteen minutes. Either an unlucky office worker who couldn’t go home, bored out of his mind, or a chain-smoking addict. There were six cigarette butts at his feet, and I’d seen him light up three since I’d been watching. Not someone worth worrying about. Potbelly. Hunched neck. Curved back. Flabby arms. Normal human. I ignored him and kept my eyes on Cosmos.

Ten more minutes passed.

“Hey.”

The guy spoke to me. I ignored him.

“Hey!”

He raised his voice slightly. At the same moment, a black sedan caught my eye, turning into a narrow, 90-degree alley. Three angular sedans, out of place in the tight alley, filed in one after another. Like Vienna sausages linked tail-to-tail, the three sedans snaked through the alley and stopped in front of the Cosmos building. Bingo. I leaned a bit closer to the rooftop railing. The sun had set, but the pink Cosmos sign was bright enough to make out the faces stepping out of the cars. Pig one, pig two, pig three… Not worth distinguishing.

“You bastard, I’ve been watching you, and you’re ignoring me…”

The guy started whining. Or tried to. I snatched the half-burned cigarette from his hand and pressed it into his forehead. Before he could scream and draw attention, I lightly tapped his chin upward with the back of my hand. He let out a grunt and collapsed.

I turned my gaze back over the railing.

The pigs were entering the Cosmos building. Thanks to pig n holding the door, I caught a glimpse inside. No elevator. Instead, there were stairs going up and down. A pink Cosmos sign glowed above the stairs leading to the basement.

Pig one, the pig boss, unexpectedly took the stairs going up, against my prediction.

The other pigs followed in a line. Pig n, who’d been holding the door until the end, gave the outside a quick scan before closing it. Then he crossed his arms and stood in front of the door in a self-important pose.

Aha. So that’s what “meet at Cosmos” meant.

I raised my gaze slightly. A row of cellophane-covered windows. And an empty rooftop.

No snipers, it seemed. At least not within my line of sight.

I turned around, stepping over the twitching guy on the ground.

The alley was cloaked in darkness.

In Mexico, sometimes you need to handle things loudly. (Actually, most of the time.) But this was the opposite. I chose the quiet approach. I circled to the back of the building, where a concrete wall was tangled with messy air conditioning wires and gas pipes. I tapped the gas pipe with the back of my hand. The metal pipe was firmly attached to the wall. I grabbed the upper part with my left hand, applied light pressure, and pulled myself up. My right hand caught the pipe above. My body climbed smoothly.

At about the third floor, I stopped, resting my foot on a small window ledge. It was a boiler room. The window was slightly open, and the smell of musty dust and mold wafted through the gap.

I checked the situation inside for a moment.

No footsteps, but there was the distinct hum of a crowd gathered. The smell too. Lukewarm sweat and body odor. Pig stench.

I slipped one hand through the slightly open window. My fingertips touched the lock, which was set to only allow the window to open halfway. I pushed my arm deeper. I pulled the lock. Snap. Now the window opened fully. I lifted it all the way up and slid my feet in first. If I were five centimeters taller or five kilograms heavier, I wouldn’t have fit.

My feet safely touched the floor.

The floor was thick with dust, and the loud hum of the gas boiler filled the air.

I took two steps and pressed myself lightly against the door. Dim light seeped through the narrow crack. A heavy shadow loomed. Huf, huf—pig breathing. I counted the breaths.

Three, two, one.

I kicked the door outward with all my strength.

Crash!

“Urk!”

The pig standing at the door let out a squeal like a slaughtered animal, jumping up and collapsing. Behind the fallen pig were pigs 1, 2, 3, 4…

“You bastard…!”

Screams mixed with curses, or perhaps the other way around, erupted.

I charged at the nearest pig and slammed my fist into his solar plexus. He collapsed, foaming at the mouth, and from behind him, another pig rushed at me all at once. Of course, they were full of openings. I ducked to avoid the third pig’s charge, grabbed his thick torso with both arms, hoisted him up, and slammed him down. Boom! The fourth and fifth pigs pulled knives from their pockets. Then, with their belly fat jiggling, they rushed at me.

“You bastard!”

“Die!”

With roughly those kinds of shouts, gleaming blades came rushing toward me. I ducked to dodge the blades stabbing at me from both sides and struck one pig’s arm from the inside out. His body couldn’t handle the impact and spun in the air. The knife he dropped lodged somewhere in the wall. I grabbed the wrist of the other pig, whose blade was aiming for my ear, and twisted it. The sound of his wrist and elbow snapping simultaneously was crisp.

“Aaaagh!”

The pig—whether it was the fourth or fifth, I couldn’t tell—clutched his arm and crumpled to the floor. I grabbed the back of his neck, dragged him along, and ran toward the door in front of me. I kicked the door open.

Crash!

Pfft!

The sound of a silenced magazine spinning.

A pig wailed.

“No! Don’t shoot…”

Pfft, pfft, pfft!

Probably a homemade pistol. I waited until the sound rang out more than ten times, and on the eleventh, I hurled the limp pig’s body forward and charged. One guy, pinned under the dead pig’s body, shouted.

“What the hell are you doing, you bastard!”

I trampled over the pig’s body that had fallen on him and leaped to the other side.

“Gurgh!”

The guy pinned underneath let out a toad-like croak.

I jumped onto the sofa. Then I snatched the back of the neck of the pig boss, who was cowering behind the backrest.

“Sp-spare me…!”

The pig boss screamed.

“Die!”

Another shout came from behind me.

The guy with the gun was aiming the muzzle at me again. Getting shot wasn’t on my list. I leaped behind the pig boss, hooked my elbow around his neck, and squeezed. His bulky frame was big enough to hide about five of me.

“Don’t shoot! Don’t shoot, don’t shoot, don’t shoot, don’t shoot, ugh, don’t shoot!”

The pig boss wailed.

The muzzle wavered.

I immediately shoved the pig boss aside and charged.

I stretched out my hand and grabbed the fist holding the gun. The sound of the bones in his hand shattering rang out. The gun fell to the floor, and I kicked it away.

“Argh, aaagh!”

The guy who dropped the gun sobbed, tears, snot, and drool streaming down his face.

It was noisy from both sides.

Hmm. As I said, in Mexico, sometimes you need to handle things loudly. Like now.

I put my hands on my hips and looked down at the two wailing pigs. Let’s see. The pig boss who got out of the sedan earlier must be the “boss,” and the other one must be the “dog trader.” Which means, obviously, this one…

I glanced back and forth between the two.

Red faces. Folded necks. Hunched backs. Jiggling bellies. Both pigs.

Which one… which one is it?

Distinguishing the boss, whom I’d only glimpsed faintly from afar once, between two snorting pigs was no easy task. I opted for a simpler method.

“Hey. I’ve got a question. Which one of you is the ‘dog trader’?”

The two pigs exchanged breathless glances.

“You, you, who the hell are you? What’s your deal? What are you after…?”

The pig who’d dropped the gun clutched his broken hand, panting as he asked. Answering a question with a question wasn’t exactly polite. If this were Mexico, such a grave offense would’ve cost him a finger or an ear.

Plus, I hate repeating the same question.

“Let me ask again. Which one’s the dog trader?”

Luckily, I could still keep my voice cheerful. Well, we’ll see how it goes on the third question.

The pig’s gaze darted toward the desk. The corded phone on it. Of course, it wouldn’t be surprising if he had a smartphone hidden in his back pocket.

“The only ones you could call are the cops. Wanna call them?”

I gave the pigs their options.

In Mexico, calling the cops usually just makes things worse. I don’t know about Korea, but these guys didn’t seem like they were on great terms with the police either.

Then the pig who’d been rolling under the sofa jerked his head up and pointed at the other pig.

“Him! That guy!”

His thick neck turned purple, and the veins at his temples looked ready to burst.

“That bastard’s the dog trader, damn it! I don’t know what grudge you’ve got against him, but it’s got nothing to do with me!”

“Aha, got it?”

I flashed a grin.

“So you’re the ‘boss,’ then?”

The boss pig’s face went blank.

I picked up the pistol from the floor. Judging by the weight in my hand, there were about three rounds left. The silencer made things easier.

A moment later, I was rolling the magazine, now down to two rounds, between my fingertips while looking down at the last pig—the dog trader.

The dog trader, eyes bulging like they might pop, gasped, “Hic, hic.”

“You, you, you, I, I get it now.”

“What, what, what do you get?”

I mimicked him, and he glared at me. His eyes were bloodshot.

“The item, that’s why you’re here, right? You came for that thing, didn’t you?”

…Item?

“I don’t know anything! I just, I just did what the platform told me to!”

The dog trader frothed at the mouth, flailing.

The platform, huh?

I let out a “hmm” and flicked the muzzle with the tip of my index finger, and he spilled the rest on his own.

“I’m just a middleman… Damn it, I don’t even know what the item is! I just did what I was told! To begin with… I didn’t handle much! I don’t know what happened to the item… not at all…”

The dog trader suddenly clamped his mouth shut. His shoulders heaved, and drool dripped from his lips.

“You, you, you damn bitch… The platform, that bastard… sent you, didn’t he? To kill me?!”

Then, like a rabid dog, he started trembling and convulsing.

“You’re the one who’s been hitting the laundromats lately, aren’t you?! The platform told you to kill everyone to shut us up, huh?! That’s how it works in this business…”

He was loud. I tapped his cheek once with the muzzle. His face smashed into the wall, and blood gushed from his nose. Losing some bad blood seemed to clear his head. He regained his senses and started sobbing.

“Hic… Ugh… I, I don’t know. I don’t know about the platform… Just a few deals, that’s all. Just, just a little help this time. I’m done with it now! The stuff that guy deals in always has consequences. Last time, with the runaway kids, the cops got wind of it because of that, so we had no choice…”

Stuff with consequences.

Like underage alpha kids with their fingers and toes cut off.

What a petty job.

The dog trader’s face turned bright red. Tears rolled from his bulging eyes, and his belly fat quivered.

“Sp-spare me, spare me, spare me. Please. I’m, I’m innocent. I’m innocent.”

“No. You’re not innocent.”

I could say that with certainty.

“Because you don’t even know why you’re dying.”

And with thanks to the silenced pistol, I turned around. I lightly brushed my hands off and looked around the room. Three bodies. One silenced homemade pistol. The pig underlings who’d collapsed outside had either fled or gone to get backup, as they were nowhere in sight. Which means they probably had no intention of involving the authorities either.

Anyway, I’m not exactly in Korea legally.

I hopped over the bodies and approached the desk. There were three drawers under it, two of which were locked. I yanked them open with a tug. Nothing special. A stamp, an expensive-looking fountain pen, cigarettes, a few live rounds… I wasn’t keen on carrying live ammo in Korea, so I ignored them. I opened the bottom drawer. A small safe. I pulled it out. I held it to my ear and shook it lightly. Something rattled inside. I examined the safe’s lock. Heh, idiot. A master key and a flimsy battery-powered fingerprint scanner.

I carried the safe back to the dog trader. I grabbed his wrist, lifted it, and pressed his bluish thumb firmly against the touch panel. Click. The sound of the lock releasing.

I sat on the dog trader’s thick belly and opened the safe. A stack of cash. Thanks, I’ll put it to good use. And underneath, a notebook.

I tossed the safe to the floor and examined the notebook. A cheap faux-leather cover, ordinary. The pages were slightly yellowed from heavy use, and the inner cover was puffed up. I flipped through the pages. Numbers, numbers, letters, letters, numbers, numbers. Some looked like dates, some like amounts, and some like names.

“A ledger?”

That’s when I heard it. Footsteps outside. Steady, evenly spaced steps.

I sprang to my feet. I stuffed the notebook into my jacket and ran to the window. I placed one foot on the sill and slid the window open with both hands. A cold wind whipped through. For a brief moment, it erased the smell of blood. I leaned out the window. No gas pipes on this side. Instead, I stood on the sill. Jump down or climb up? I hesitated for a second. The footsteps were getting closer, now right at the door. I bent my knees and leaped upward. I grabbed the window frame above with both hands. I pulled myself up with my arms. The upper window frame was even more precarious than the one below. It was old, on the verge of falling off, and there was nowhere to step. I considered climbing higher but gave up. The aluminum frame was so worn that even a slight movement would likely make it creak loudly. I wedged my toes into a crack in the wall tiles and held onto the frame, relatively stable, and decided to observe the situation for a bit.

“We’re a step too late.”

Someone spoke below me. A woman’s voice.

A rustling sound followed for a moment.

“It’s gone. The ledger’s either been disposed of or taken.”

A ledger?

I held my breath and listened closely.

“What about this side?”

A new voice.

At that moment, a chill ran down my spine. A tingling sensation brushed my ears, and the fine hairs stood on end.

“One of them is Choi Seong-ho, but… this one.”

The woman’s voice paused.

“It’s a face I don’t recognize. I’ll look into it.”

“No need.”

A low voice responded. I shivered. A low, calm tone brushing past my ears. My earlobes kept tingling.

“If it’s a face Secretary Kim doesn’t know, there’s no need to dig further.”

“What should we do with this?”

“Let’s at least report it.”

“Yes.”

The sound of footsteps approached below me.

Two hands reached out. Ten sleek fingers, veins visible on the backs. Neatly trimmed nails, relatively thick knuckles. A beautiful hand. Objectively. Those two hands lightly gripped the window frame.

“Three bodies. Yes. Well, I’m not sure of the details… Yes. Please come quickly.”

From behind, I heard the woman talking to the police.

And below, the two hands gripping the frame lightly pulled the body forward, and a head poked out the window.

Two cowlicks on the crown… And as the head tilted slightly, two eyes turned toward me. Long, dark eyes. A pale, clean face.

I stared back at him without blinking.

A cold wind gently rustled his hair. A few strands softly brushed across his smooth forehead.

Three more seconds passed.

I still had a gun with one round left. But I didn’t feel much like pulling it out.

The man wasn’t threatening at all. He didn’t shout, panic, or show fear. Instead, he let go of the window frame. His long eye corners folded slightly. His lips, just the right thickness, tilted at the same angle as his eyes. He reached into his jacket, pulled out a small cardholder, opened it, and slipped a business card into the window crack.

That was it.

He turned around.

“Secretary Kim, let’s go. No need to keep staring at dead faces.”

“Vice President, you head back. I’ll stay here.”

“It’s fine. The prosecution knows I’m busy these days anyway. There won’t be any trouble.”

I listened to that voice. A soft tone that almost felt like it was fluttering. A low voice with barely any pitch variation, sounding only calm. My spine tingled.

Their footsteps faded away.

I waited until the sound was far enough, then quickly climbed back down. I slid both feet through the window and lightly jumped inside. I turned around. A crisp business card tucked into the window frame caught my eye. I stared at it for a few seconds before abruptly reaching out and grabbing it.

[Kwon Sinwoo, Chief Director, Advanced Design and Development Division

Seoran Defense Systems]

What’s that supposed to mean?

…

Thankfully, the back had English.

[Sin Woo Kwon, Chief Director, Planning and Advanced Development

SR Defense, Space & Security]

I flipped through the notebook page by page. Tiny letters and numbers filled every page, flashing by. Years’ worth of ledgers. Numbers filled both sides, and the letters were in Korean as far as I could tell, but most were coded. I searched for the word “platform.”

I closed the notebook. Then, tapping the worn cover with the tip of my index finger, I sank into thought. Hey, kid. How much was the price of your life, which they said was pretty expensive? Enough to pay me for a job?

Either way, the answer was probably in this notebook.

I pushed the notebook to the other side of the table and pulled the business card from my jacket.

Hmm…

I flipped it over a few times.

With no contact information, just a string of incomprehensible words like “defense,” “division,” and “systems,” this business card was the real mystery.

Was it even that guy’s card to begin with? Well, carrying someone else’s card and casually handing it out would be pretty funny too…

I grabbed both corners of the card with both hands and stared at it intensely. That guy. The guy with beautiful hands, gentle eyes, and a tingling voice.

He was probably after this ledger. But not for the same reason as me.

Thinking further felt like a hassle.

Even if our goals were slightly different, if the path to the destination was the same, he wouldn’t be a bad partner.

I tucked the card back into my jacket, pulled the notebook toward me, and stood up. “Goodbye!” The enthusiastic farewell from the café barista echoed behind me as I left. Goodbye, the coffee was awful.

Edmundo’s voice was sleepy.

Come to think of it, what’s the time difference between Medellín and here?

[What the… At this hour, so rude… Ugh. Then again, when are you ever polite? So. What’s up, Yoon?]

“Hook me up with someone.”

[Someone? Who?]

“A Korean. Name’s…”

[Hey!]

Edmundo shouted.

[Why are you asking me about a Korean?! Are you messing with me right now?]

“I’m in Korea, so I don’t exactly have other contacts.”

[And it’s a Korean in Korea? Why are you asking me?! Am I Facebook?]

“Just hook me up. I’ll pay you back.”

[Forget that crap and pay me back first!]

“I’ll pay with interest.”

[Bastard! You’ve been saying that for…]

“Next time, I’ll take care of Camargo.”

[…Hundreds of times… Really?]

“Have you ever seen me lie about something like this?”

Edmundo went quiet for a moment. A little later, he asked in a softened tone.

[You’ll take care of it for sure? Make it so he can’t pull that crap again?]

“Of course. You know my style, don’t you?”

Edmundo let out a groan, like he was in pain.

[Well, yeah…]

Of course.

In the end, he surrendered.

[Fine. Got it. Send me the details of who he is to my email. Man, I’ve seen it all… Why come to me for a Korean in Korea, you damn… Hey! By the way, Gabriel was looking for you. You promise him something? He was acting like you owe him. Dave and Trejo caused some mess in Tijuana, and he says you’ve gotta go with them…]

He grumbled. Gabriel this, Gabriel that. If I let him, he’d ramble forever. So I hung up.

It got quiet.

Now, all I could feel was the cold, damp air, not the hot, dry winds of the Medellín highlands or Edmundo’s sweaty face. Definitely below 10°C. I missed Santa Elena. Specifically, the rich, tangy coffee at Café Jerás, arepa bread slathered with condensed milk, ceviche loaded with squid and shrimp, creamy strawberry tarts, milhojas, cool aguapanela with ginger and lime… Forget it. I was hungry.

I wandered like a starving lion prowling the savanna, then slipped into a small shop that caught my eye. My mood improved instantly.