The Evolution of Species Chapter 4.4 - Fox Hunt 2

Thud! I barely rolled to avoid my head smashing like a watermelon. There was no time to lie there. The other guy reached for me, grabbing my collar. A choke using the shirt. Judo? I quickly struck his wrist upward from below.

“Grr…!”

He let go.

I immediately rolled to the side. A terrifying heel strike landed where I’d been sprawled moments ago. Thud! Cement dust flew. If the ground had been any less solid, I’d have been done for.

I sprang up, extending my arm to slam my elbow into the middle of his thigh.

“Argh!”

A scream erupted.

I leaped over the guy clutching his shattered thigh, rolling on the ground. No time to hesitate. The last guy charged. His fist grazed my cheek. Pretty fast. I barely dodged. But I couldn’t avoid the second hit. The follow-up strike slammed into my side.

“Ugh…!”

If I hadn’t twisted my body to deflect it, my ribs would’ve snapped.

Of course, I wasn’t just going to take it.

I stretched both arms, grabbing his collar. He quickly slipped his elbow between my wrists, breaking free. Punches and kicks exchanged a few times. As always, I had the last word. I struck his side with my right hand, then swiftly jumped, landing a spinning left kick. Crack! My left foot perfectly connected with his right temple.

He collapsed to the ground, drooling, without a sound.

Clang, behind the fallen guy, the final enemy appeared, trembling with a gun. My gaze locked onto him. Our eyes met. Instinct sent adrenaline surging.

“Eek!”

He screamed preemptively, aiming the gun at me. I lunged toward the shaking barrel. His eyes and mouth opened in slow motion.

“Fucking bastard, this is why I hate Manilaaa!”

I was faster.

Bang! Crack!

Humming softly, I pried open the container lock with the crowbar. The distant sounds of ship horns and trailer truck honks drowned out my noise.

As expected, the trailer was nearly empty. A few pallets were stacked, and three or four nailed wooden crates lay scattered inside. I went to a crate, used the crowbar to pull out the nails, and opened it. Five tightly packed lumps wrapped in thick cardboard emerged. I tore one open. A familiar polyester seal pack, filled with finely refined, clean cocaine powder.

I tossed it up and caught it midair. Shaking it a couple of times, I gauged the weight. Just under two kilograms. Five lumps, so roughly ten kilograms. Exactly right.

Hmm. I sank into thought.

Isn’t the security a bit lax for ten kilograms of cocaine?

An uneasy feeling crept in.

Without hesitation, I ripped open the polyester bag. I dipped my middle finger into the cocaine and tasted it. The familiar taste of refined cocaine on my tongue…

“Ptoo.”

I spat it out.

Standing, I tossed the bag aside.

The cocaine bag burst on the ground, white powder spilling. I stepped over it carelessly.

It was fake.

Opening the container door, I saw the hot sunset sinking behind the towering container buildings. I hooked my foot onto the container ladder, sat, and stared at the sunset.

Alright. Time to think, Yoon Hakyung.

Was my instinct wrong?

That’s rare.

Let’s go over the situation again.

Kwon Sinwoo was trying to lure the platform, and Seo decided to screw him over by selling drugs to the platform on purpose.

Kwon Sinwoo, in turn, set up a fake deal to ambush the drug trade…

And the drugs here are fake again.

Hmm…

I don’t know what deep history those two Alphas share, but this is a pretty creative and convoluted way to screw each other over.

Anyway, it’s definitely a fox hunt. The problem is, there’s one fox but multiple hunters.

And then there’s me.

A professional contractor, another hunter chasing the platform to complete a job.

I came here to snatch the drugs before Seo could sell them to the platform, but now that it’s come to this, what do I do?

That’s when it happened.

Amid the distant waves and ship traffic, a familiar sound caught my ear. A faint clanking, like a metal spoon hitting iron bars. I’d heard it somewhere…

A flash of realization hit like lightning.

I sprang up, jumped off the container, and, weaving through the containers, pulled out my phone to call Edmundo.

The ringtone went. Once, twice, five times…

[What!]

A slightly breathless voice.

“Hey, Edmundo. Sounds like you’re in the middle of something busy?”

[Fuck, the time difference between there and here…]

“Where were you last time we talked?”

[What’s this nonsense? Last time when?]

“When I asked about Manila. March 21st or 22nd.”

[21st? March? Manila? Uh, uh…]

Edmundo’s heavy breathing paused, then cut off.

[21st, 21st. Oh, right! Fuck, I remember! I was on vacation! On a yacht! Having a great time in Cancún until you…]

Port… yacht!

The sound of raising an anchor! The electric windlass motor whirring!

That was it!

[What? What’s up?]

Edmundo asked, snorting.

“I’ll explain later. Thanks anyway.”

I thanked him sincerely and hung up.

Then I called someone else. The coolest computer expert I know.

“Hey. Can you check something for me? It’s a bit urgent… I’ll pay extra.”

This time, a crisp reply came back.

[I won’t take extra. Isn’t this the same job as last time?]

Hmm. Yeah. We’re friends, so a discount like this makes sense.

I nodded and stated my purpose.

A ship with an electric windlass motor. Sailing records near Manila between March 21st and 22nd. It made a call, so it’d have communication equipment and probably a computer. It’s the “platform,” so it’d have that kind of setup.

When the platform called me, I heard that clanking noise behind the creepy modulated voice. The sound of a metal spoon hitting bars… it was the windlass motor pulling up the anchor.

The platform is in Manila, but not on land. He’s on a ship.

“Can you find it?”

I asked, and Youngjin answered.

[Yeah.]

“How long will it take?”

[Super urgent?]

This time, I said, “Yeah.” He paused, then continued.

[Got it. I’ll do it as fast as I can. It’s you, Hakyung.]

So I mentally moved Youngjin from the “special deal” folder to the “half-price” folder.

“From now on, any job I do for you, I’ll do at half price.”

Pros help each other out.

First. A waterproof pack big enough for a 15.7-inch laptop, and a backpack to fit that pack. It’s water-resistant, but don’t expect too much.

Second. Lightweight, snug mesh shoes.

Third. A small pocketknife, foldable, with a saw blade on the other side for versatility.

Fourth. A bottle of cola. With lemon.

I sat at an outdoor table of a small diner in a bustling alley, sipping cola. About 30% tourists, the rest locals. English and Tagalog mixed in the air. The weather was muggy, with lukewarm sweat trickling down my neck and back. Heat radiated from the tightly packed shops.

An old flat-screen TV, probably from the early days, played the news. It was in Tagalog, so I couldn’t understand, but subtitles were in English and Tagalog. Something about maritime military drills. I tuned out the news, finished my cola, and chewed the ice. A passing waiter asked with a friendly smile if I needed anything else.

I hesitated. Not for any reason, just debating what to order. Misreading my pause, the waiter eagerly started recommending food.

“How about fish and chips? Delicious. The soy sauce barbecue is great too. Pansit’s good. Know pansit? Filipino noodles.”

Aggressive sales? That’s pro mindset.

So I ordered everything she suggested, plus a glass of bourbon whiskey.

The food came out in order. Crispy fish and chips with thick-cut fries first. Then a sizzling plate of pork barbecue, with grilled paprika and avocado on the side. Glossy fried noodles followed. And a double-shot glass brimming with bourbon.

I downed the bourbon in one go. The fiery alcohol warmed my esophagus and stomach.

Then I dug into the food.

Everything was greasy, properly salty, and plenty for an Omega. I ordered more barbecue and the shrimp dish the waiter recommended.

Later, they brought fried bananas as a freebie, dusted with cinnamon and sugar, torched, sickly sweet, and delicious.

I paid with Kwon Jaewoo’s card. His first—and probably last—moment of usefulness as a sidekick. I snapped the card in half and tossed it with the receipt onto the street.

Then an email from Youngjin arrived.

Opening it, I found a short link attached.

[Found all the ships matching the conditions. Sending a map for easy viewing.]

I tapped the link. The screen zoomed into a digital nautical chart. About a dozen blue dots moved within it. Touching one lit it up, showing its path on the map.

Making this map in three hours? Truly a computer expert.

I tapped each dot, marveling. Dense paths unfolded.

One stood out. Since February, it had been repeatedly circling a specific route. Not docking at the port or heading anywhere, just slowly sailing along a particular channel in the Philippine Sea. Round and round. That was it. My instinct screamed the platform was there.

Alright.

The sun was down, and my stomach was full.

One whiskey wasn’t enough to get a cool Omega drunk but plenty to warm the body.

I left the alley.

I walked through the dark, past grimy, rundown houses. Mosquitoes buzzed in the bushes, and the salty sea smell was everywhere.

The internet’s a great world. I rented a 23-foot fishing boat. The lender was a teenage-looking girl with dark skin and calloused hands from pulling ropes. Her hair and clothes reeked of fish. A fisherwoman, not one to turn down extra cash.

The boat, with a small cabin and a hold for fish, was old, at least 30 years, Japanese-made. Not bad.

I checked Youngjin’s digital chart again. I memorized the blinking dot’s position. This old boat had nothing “digital,” so avoiding currents, reefs, and other ships was on me.

It brought back memories.

I once crossed the Mona Passage from Caracas, Venezuela, to Aguadilla, Puerto Rico. The motor broke halfway, so I rowed. Not a bad experience. I was carrying a stunning ruby-encrusted necklace, a colonial relic.

This boat was the Titanic compared to that one.

At least it had a motor.

I set out.

A lighthouse flickered at the distant port, and the night sky was packed with even brighter stars.

I sailed for about two hours, then stopped. I cut the engine. The chugging stopped, replaced by silence. The rhythmic waves, a fish leaping somewhere, the wind.

I dropped the anchor. The heavy metal tore through the water, splashing. The small boat rocked side to side with the waves and wind.

Under a cloudless night sky, the stars glittered, making the water less dark. Humming softly, I changed. Narrow swim trunks to my knees. A tight black long-sleeve shirt. Sturdy gloves. I strapped on a backpack, tying the straps tightly around my waist with a buckle to avoid losing it in the sea. Then the pocketknife. A 7.5-meter camping rope. A titanium carabiner. And, of course, cable ties.

Finally, I slipped swim fins onto my feet.

Prep done.

I stretched both arms upward, took a deep breath, and dove into the black water.

My body felt sucked beneath the surface. Currents pushed from both sides, spinning me lightly twice underwater. I quickly regained balance. A slight kick, and I shot forward.

It’d been a while since I used fins. My body sped along.

Luck was with me. The current helped. I swam fast with little effort. I dove, surfacing occasionally to breathe deeply. The sea wasn’t calm but not rough either. The water was warmer than Mexico’s coast, and shimmering silver jackfish occasionally brushed past my feet.

Since I wasn’t deep diving, a waterproof case for my phone was enough. I paused to check the time, and by the next check, I’d reached my destination.

About 20 meters away was a yacht, roughly 70 feet.

Not a superyacht, but it looked pricey.

Lights were on, but not bright, and the white hull was half-shrouded in darkness. I could read the name on the hull. Radames. Kind of an ominous name, no?

I clicked my tongue, then dove again. Even underwater, Radames’ hull glimmered faintly, like the white underbelly of a whale shark. I glided forward, pressing both hands to the hull. I moved sideways slowly. The hull felt smooth under my palms, and though it couldn’t be, it seemed to hold some warmth. I reached the stern. I unhooked the rope from my belt, flicked the titanium carabiner with my fingertip, and tossed it upward. It glinted once in the dark, arcing narrowly and catching the fence. I yanked the rope sharply. The carabiner spun, wrapping around the fence. I tugged hard a few times to ensure it was secure, then pulled myself up, gripping the rope.

The water resisted, pulling me back. I grabbed higher on the rope, bent my elbow, and my body shot upward.

Water dripped off me.

I climbed the hull quickly.

In under 30 seconds, I was onboard. I vaulted the fence. Water streamed off me. I wiped myself down, shaking my head twice. Water sprayed from my hair.

I removed the fins and shook my feet.

I pulled dry shoes from the bag.

As I slipped them on, I scanned the surroundings. It was quiet. I moved silently, circling the deck. The walkway led to a deck with a small pool, and in the center was a staircase to a two-level cabin. The staircase door was open but unlit, dark.

Hmm. At least the deck was empty. Odd. By now, a couple of goons should be wandering, shouting “Who’s there!” and pointing guns at me…

Then it happened.

Something hurtled toward me from above.

I sensed a flash of killing intent.

Instinctively, I threw myself forward. My upper body nearly caught on the fence, but I powered through, jumping to the other side. The attack followed. An iron fist sliced the air, aiming for my solar plexus. I dodged. Next was a kick. I blocked with both arms, but the impact—clang—rattled my bones. Punches rained down, each heavy. I couldn’t redirect them easily. I twisted my neck to dodge one, and his thumb grazed my ear, drawing blood with a sharp sting. A razor-like punch. A trained killer.

Adrenaline surged, my vision sparkling. My heart raced, breathing quickened, and my head spun.

The guy, half-melted into the darkness like a shadow, was 15 centimeters taller and 30 kilograms heavier. Not that it put me at a disadvantage.

My body moved on instinct.

I thrust my elbow toward his face. He crossed his arms to block, and I landed a knee strike. Thud! It felt solid, but he quickly pulled back, reducing the impact, and countered with a front kick. His toes grazed my chin. A close call—my head nearly flew off.

Instead of retreating, I leaped at him. At his nose, I bent my knees and kicked his shin inward to outward. As he staggered, I spun, striking his other shin outward to inward.

His knees hit the deck.

“Grr…!”

He reflexively reached to grab me. Before he could, I pressed both hands on his shoulders and slammed my knee into his jaw.

A satisfying crack rang out instead of a scream.

But he didn’t back down. He reached for me. My forearm was caught. Crushing pain hit as he slammed me toward the deck. I glimpsed the sky, the fence, and the twinkling night waves beyond. Thud! My body rolled. Without proper breakfall, my 24 vertebrae would’ve shattered.

No time to linger on thoughts.

He charged.

I rolled reflexively. Thud! Thud! Thud! Vicious heel strikes followed. On the fifth, I sprang up like a coiled spring. He aimed a straight punch at my collarbone. I deflected his wrist with my palm, diving into his chest.

“Ugh!”

He gritted his teeth, trying to pull back. I was just faster.

I kneed his lower abdomen, grabbing his collar with one hand. At that moment, the yacht’s dim stern headlight reflected off a wave, briefly illuminating his face. Blood streamed from his nose, staining his lower face red. And his blazing eyes.

It was a familiar face.

My body reacted before my brain could process it.

My legs sprang up, both knees slamming into his chest as my elbow hooked around his neck. The heavy body toppled backward. Thud! Just before snapping his thick neck, my brain barely stopped me.

Instead of twisting his neck, I pressed my elbow against his Adam’s apple.

Instead of gasping, he writhed with his massive frame. When I applied steady pressure to his arm, the writhing turned into convulsions before subsiding.

“Hey?”

I waited for that moment to greet him.

Shin Sangpyeong, pinned beneath me, glared up, his shoulders heaving.

“Didn’t expect to see you here. Nice to see you anyway. It’s been a while, huh?”

He seemed to have a lot to say but said nothing. Or rather, he couldn’t.

I pulled out a cable tie with my other hand. Noticing it, he struggled, but when I pressed harder with my elbow, he quieted down.

I quickly bound his wrists with the cable tie.

“Alright. I’m going to ease up on your arm now, but if you attack me, I’ll use a more comfortable method than a cable tie. Got it?”

After a long pause, the panting guy gave a barely perceptible nod.

I slowly released the pressure on his Adam’s apple and stepped back. Immediately, he started coughing violently.

“Did Kwon Youngwoo send you?”

I tossed the question casually, waiting for his coughing to subside. Well, the answer was obvious. This guy, who owed Kwon Youngwoo about ten million pesos, wouldn’t be lounging on vacation off Manila’s coast. Especially not on a fancy yacht like this.

“Where’s the platform?”

This question was a bit less obvious.

I anticipated a few responses. “You’re too late,” or “He’s not here,” or… well, these things happen in this line of work.

But the answer came from an unexpected source.

Suddenly, lights blazed on from all sides of the yacht. The deck lit up like daylight as rows of lights along the deck flared to life. The pool lights sparkled, and the jacuzzi motor churned, bubbling furiously.

And then, music started playing from somewhere. Wagner. Ride of the Valkyries. London Philharmonic version. Quite the show.

“Bravo!”

A grating voice boomed from the cabin staircase.

Clap, clap, clap, applause followed.

“Absolutely bravo!”

I turned toward the voice. Under the glaring lights, a scrawny man slowly ascended the stairs. At the top, standing in the middle of the staircase fence, he grinned and spread his arms wide.

“To think you’d take down even Shin Jihoon. Even Director Kwon probably didn’t expect you to go this far? Haha, hahahaha!”

Who’s Shin Jihoon?

“It was a bit unexpected for me too. Even as an enemy, you’re impressive! I salute you.”

What nonsense?

I scanned the yapping lunatic up and down. Short and scrawny, with a potbelly like a tadpole, his thighs so thick his slacks looked like ill-fitting skinny jeans, and the bottom of what seemed like last season’s Versace T-shirt protruded over his gut. Unless he was holding a nuclear bomb switch, he wasn’t threatening at all. Honestly, seven seconds would be enough. Maybe three… But I opted for caution. Because, you know, he might actually have a nuclear bomb switch.

So…

This guy…

Must be the platform.

“Wanted to meet you, Yoon.”

The platform pulled his lips into a sleazy smile and spoke.

At that moment, the music hit its climax. The Valkyries’ booming laughter rang out. In sync with their laughter, I nearly gagged.

He clasped his hands behind his back and tilted his chin up about 25 degrees. It was a haughty pose, but his protruding belly only made it pitifully grotesque.

“Let’s put digging into your backer on hold for now.”

He grinned again. Ugh.

“We can do that anytime…”

His attempt at sounding ominous fell flat. He looked like a mule that had spent 18 years hauling carts in the Andes highlands—nothing he said carried weight. Versace or Vacheron Constantin couldn’t save him.

“Let’s get to the point. No one likes wasting time, right?”

He raised his wrist, flaunting the problematic Vacheron Constantin, and continued.

“How much do you need?”

The platform smirked and asked again.

“How much do you want? Ten million? A hundred million?”

Hmm. Just a tacky nouveau riche. Probably fattened his thighs living large in a peaceful country like Korea.

I tilted my head slightly. I didn’t forget to flash a gentle smile.

“What if I name a price?”

Ten million? A hundred million? Even a billion or ten billion—does he think that could replace a life?

“Haha, hahaha! Bold! You’re the first to act like this in front of me! Fine. Name your price. I’ll write the check right noooow!”

I hurled my knife at him. The glinting blade grazed his cheek.

“Eek, eeeek! Crazy, you crazy bastard…!”

He clutched his cheek, freaking out.

I kicked off the deck and charged.

“W-wait! Whatever you want, I’ll… aaargh!”

Seventeen meters, ten meters, six meters…

Screaming, he stumbled, turned, and fled down to the cabin. I launched myself at his wobbling back.

Bang!

He narrowly slipped through the door, and my shoulder slammed hard into the closed door. The door rattled. I took a big step back, then charged again.

Bang!

I repeated.

Bang!

“Eeeeek!”

A scream leaked from inside.

“Crazy bitch! Stop! This is steel!”

“Looks like it. Not reinforced metal or titanium, though.”

“Haha! You think you can break this? Stupid bitch! Even if you’re an Omega, it’ll take hours! By then, others will show up! Ha! Haha, hahahaha! Right! There’s a deal soon! The Filipino mafia…”

“Oh, the drugs?”

I grabbed my slightly throbbing right shoulder with my left hand, rolled it in a stretch, and continued.

“Sorry, but that’s not happening.”

“What…?”

The platform asked, dazed.

I smiled brightly. From the heart. Too bad he couldn’t see it.

“It was a bit unexpected for me too.”

“What, what…?”

He kept dumbly repeating “what?”

“The fake drugs. Honestly, it’s really dangerous stuff. You’d end up with three hundred holes in your torso, and would it stop there? Your spouse, lover, kids, even your great-great-grandmother if she’s alive—they’d hunt them all down.”

“Stop the nonsense! No way the drugs are fake… Cocaine stuck in Manila is definitely real…”

“There’s probably real stuff somewhere. Just not for your deal.”

Cocaine is in Manila, that’s true. It’s also true that Japanese funds bought cocaine, and the amount and quantity roughly add up. Edmundo confirmed it, didn’t he?

Not my concern, though.

“Nonsense! Lies!”

The platform freaked out from behind the door. At the same time, lightning cracked the humid night sky. Plop, plop, fat raindrops hit my shoulders. Krrroom, thunder followed. The sparse drops quickly turned into a downpour. A monsoon squall. Rainclouds brought wind. Waves rocked the yacht heavily.

The opera continued. By now, it should’ve been Wotan’s Farewell, but it was mid-Magic Fire Music. Probably a lazily edited album of famous tracks.

Rainwater flowed from my crown, down my brow. I slid my fingers through my bangs and flicked them back. Raindrops pelted my exposed forehead.

I checked the door’s hinges. As mentioned, not titanium or reinforced metal. I lightly tapped the door with my fist. Eeeek, a scream and the sound of something tumbling came from inside.

Honestly, I don’t have all the time in the world either.

The drug deal is fake, but Kwon Sinwoo doesn’t know that yet.

Military drills. Ostensibly for show. In reality, a plausible pretext for raiding the platform’s drug deal—a move only a seasoned arms dealer could orchestrate.

If drug mafias are linked by a tight net, arms dealers have symbiotic ties with nations. States are their biggest clients. There was plenty of room to negotiate with the Philippine government.

I could easily imagine what would storm this place at the scheduled drug deal time.

I stepped back about three meters and threw myself at the door.

Thud!

“Eeeeek!”

Thud!

“Stop! Stop it!”

Thud!

“Crazy bastard, stoooop!”

His screams mixed with the sound of hinges breaking. I kicked the wobbling door lightly to check, then grabbed the handle, pushed with force. Crack, screeeech, the slow sound of the hinge’s internal lever snapping and bending followed.

At the last moment, I gripped the handle tightly, steadied the door, and rammed it with my shoulder.

Kuuuung!

As the hinges tore from the frame, my body surged inside like it was sucked in.

Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! Gunshots rang out. Bullets hit the door I was carrying, the vibrations shaking my body. I hurled the door toward the source of the shots.

“Aaaargh!”

Three more shots followed but stopped with a clatter. I kicked off the deck, leaping lightly onto the fallen door.

Kweeeek! The sound of a frog being squashed flat echoed beneath.

I hopped a couple more times for good measure.

“Ugh, grrr…”

I stepped off the door. Bending down, I grabbed one corner and flipped it up. The flattened platform writhed inside. I reached out, grabbed the back of his neck, and yanked him out. He flopped, dragged across the floor.

His face was bloodied, lips torn or nose bleeding.

“Eek, eeeeek, what, who are you!”

The platform scrambled backward on his butt, trying to get away. With a smile, I took a big step, closing the distance he’d made.

“Who’s, who’s behind you! Who, who ordered this!”

“Not so much an order as a commission.”

“W-who, who’s the bastard! Gervandi? The Triads? Did Subang’s boss send you?”

He glanced sideways while staring at me. I smiled, pretending not to notice.

“Fuuuck!”

As he lunged for the gun rolling on the floor, I leaped, stomping his hand and the gun’s barrel simultaneously.

“Aaaargh!”

The scream was louder than the sound of his hand bones crunching.

I kicked the gun away with my toes and stomped his crushed hand again with my heel. Another scream.

“Huff, ha, huff, huff…”

Clutching his shattered hand, he crawled and looked up at me. His wet eyes glistened.

“I don’t know how much they offered, but I’ll double, no, name any price, I’ll pay!”

He gasped, shouting.

“I still have the platform! I can restart anytime! The client list is intact… and the cash, if I just handle the cash! Yes! Let’s partner up! Hmm? 70-30… no, 50-50! Even 50-50’s fine!”

“Not interested.”

I shrugged.

His eyes went blank for a moment.

“D-do you know what this can do? It’s a goose that lays golden eggs! If you and I team up, yes! You’re way better than that idiot partner I had! Together, we could do anything! We could rule the woooorld!”

I grabbed the back of his head and slammed his face into the floor to snap him out of it.

“World domination’s not my thing either.”

I didn’t forget to answer kindly.

“Huh, heh, hehehe…”

He suddenly started laughing. His bloodied lips twitched.

“I know guys like you… killing machines… hitmen. No brains, just following orders.”

A typical stereotype about contractors. But “killing machine” felt a bit like a compliment. Of course, I don’t take assassination jobs. My specialty is transport or retrieval. Depends on the commission.

Whatever I was thinking, the platform kept muttering to himself.

“Do you know why your client wants me dead?”

“No, that’s…”

“Because they’re scared of me!”

A misunderstanding.

“Because I might screw them over again! Like when I hijacked those weapons!”

His eyes were bloodshot, practically glowing red.

“Those weapons! Do you even know what they were? Heh, hehehe… Listen… they were weapons of mass destruction. I stopped those bastards from selling them! Me! I prevented World War III! I’m on the side of justice!”

The nonsense had reached stratospheric levels. I felt a duty to stop him before he started quoting Brave New World or 1984. So I did.

“Urk!”

I lightly tapped his cheek. He stopped, spraying blood from his nose. I kindly explained.

“Get a grip. You’re not on the side of justice. Justice doesn’t do human trafficking.”

At my words, his eyes widened.

“Ha… haha! So it’s petty revenge!”

Petty revenge. Aeschylus wouldn’t think so.

Instead of pointing that out, I grabbed the back of his head and slammed his face into the floor a couple more times. Soon, he was sobbing, bleeding, and apologizing for disrespecting every Greek tragedian.

“S-sorry. I’m sorry! Huff, huff, ha, urk!”

He spat blood and a molar.

“I was wrong… Who was it? Y-your friend? Someone you knew? N-no way it was your kid, right?”

When I didn’t answer, his words sped up.

“I-I’ll get them back! I’ll find them! There’s nothing I can’t find… You know what I have! What I can do!”

His words brought back the meat grinder’s bloody stench, the cold wind blowing through Pocheon’s empty lot.

“It was unavoidable!”

He shouted, spitting blood.

“F-from the start, we couldn’t grab big clients, so the early platform… had to do those petty jobs… no choice! To climb up, to bring the platform to this point…!”

Unavoidable.

Petty jobs.

Not wrong. Human trafficking is as petty as it gets. The value of a human, once bought and sold, is cheaper than weapons of mass destruction, cocaine, or this yacht. That’s why I’m no longer curious about that boy’s life’s worth.

“You think killing me makes you justice or some shiiiit!”

Reading my expression, he thrashed. His bloodshot eyes were red, his face smeared with blood, and veins bulged in his neck. A desperate face. I smiled brightly at him.

“What are you talking about? I’m not justice.”

Obviously. I’m not some naive kid. I have no interest in uprooting the world’s injustices or punishing evil.

“I’m just here to collect payment.”

Because I’m just a contractor.

“Not in cash, of course.”

🙂

I thoroughly searched the cabin.

It was furnished with expensive sofas, tables, and beds but was filthy, reeking of mildew. The table was littered with instant food scraps, and the floor had clumps of dirty socks and underwear rolling around. I stepped over the mess and opened a door across from the desk. Bingo. Several large monitors glowed in the dark.

Humming, I approached.

Some monitors showed blank black screens, others displayed surveillance feeds of the yacht’s corners.

“Hmm…”

I scanned the surveillance feeds.

Empty corridors, the helm, the engine room… nothing looked dangerous.

I shifted my gaze to the desk. Tangled wires led to a thick laptop, probably a model from 30 years ago. I lifted it with one hand. Heavy. It looked more like a brick than a laptop.

I checked the cabin for anything else. Thankfully, no desktop. No need to dive into the sea with a desktop on my back.

I yanked out all the cables connected to the laptop. The thick wires writhed like snakes. I may not know much about computers, but I know a laptop doesn’t need monitors. Without hesitation, I shoved them aside and stuffed the brick laptop into the waterproof pack.

I stepped outside.

Splat, I accidentally stepped in a pool of blood. I lifted my left foot. Sticky blood clung to the sole, stretching. Not rare, but not pleasant either. Whatever, I’d be back in the water soon…

That’s when it happened.

Classical music, arranged for a movie soundtrack, played from somewhere.

I paused.

I looked around for the source. Found it quickly.

A crumpled heap of flesh on the cabin floor (too bad there’s no meat grinder here). More precisely, the phone I’d tossed beside the heap.

Hmm.

The phone was stubbornly playing music.

I leaped over the blood puddle. Bending down, I picked up the phone, sticky with bloodstains. An unfamiliar, unsaved number flashed on the screen. I tapped the green button and answered.

“Yes, this is the platform.”

I said cheerfully.

Even though the platform had already been reduced to a lump of flesh, if he were still alive, wouldn’t he have wanted to maintain a professional demeanor until the end for whoever was tracking him down?

“Sorry, but the platform isn’t taking jobs anymore. If you’re an existing client, thank you for your business so far. If you’re a new client, I can refer you to another pro. They’ll handle anything. Well, depends on the job, but…”

[Oh. It’s a shame the platform’s no longer in business.]

I froze at the sound of that voice.

A sly, slimy voice, like a snake.

It was Kwon Youngwoo.

[This other pro you’re referring new clients to—is that you? Quite the business mindset.]

A small chuckle followed.

[Well, well. No dealings at all with existing clients?]

I let out a “hmph” and shrugged.

The job was done. The platform was dead, and I’d grabbed his laptop at the last moment out of loyalty to a partner. Not because I particularly like Kwon Sinwoo.

Anyway, that meant I no longer had to deal with this creepy Omega-fetish pervert.

“Yes, we don’t do business with existing clients. There’s a code of ethics in this line of work, you know. Goodbye.”

I was about to hang up.

[I called because I have something to tell you. Of course, I knew you’d pick up.]

A small twinge of instinct jabbed the back of my neck.

Instead of hanging up, I decided to listen to Kwon Youngwoo’s nonsense for a bit.

“What do you have to tell me?”

[Just a little kindness from me.]

And he let out a “huh-huh” laugh.

[The platform was becoming a headache for me too. I figured Sinwoo wouldn’t give up on him, but I didn’t expect him to catch him this fast… And I definitely didn’t expect him to drag in Director Seo. That guy’s a pain, you know. Oh! Have you already met him?]

He said he had something to tell me, but all he was spouting was nonsense.

[Let’s see. What time is it… Oh, less than 30 minutes left. 29 minutes, 34 seconds, 33 seconds… Well, anyway. That’s plenty for you, right?]

In that instant, my spine prickled like a cat whose tail had been yanked.

The phone slipped from my hand.

My body instinctively turned the other way. In a flash, I was passing through the shattered doorframe out of the cabin. Torrential rain immediately began pounding my body. I turned to sprint toward the deck corridor I’d climbed earlier.

That’s when it happened.

At the edge of the rain-soaked deck, between the lit-up pool and the passageway, a black heap caught my eye. It was Shin Sangpyeong. He was writhing on the ground, struggling to break the cable ties binding his ankles and wrists. Each time his hunched shoulders and the shape of his scapula, exposed by the rain-soaked clothes, jerked convulsively in the darkness, the fresh scent of blood rose from the torn skin of his wrists and ankles. He looked like a pet dog abandoned in the middle of a highway. Though he probably didn’t see it that way.

I leaped toward him.

“You…!”

Just before he could yell at me, I grabbed his shoulders with both hands and hoisted him up. He was heavy. Probably around 100 kilograms. I slung him over my back and started running again.

The rain-soaked deck was slippery.

I reached the stern of the Radames, skidding to a stop.

Rain poured onto my head and shoulders, and steam rose from my body heat.

“Can you swim?”

“I can…”

“Swim,” I anticipated the rest of his sentence, grabbed the back of his neck, and flung him over the fence.

“Aaaaaaa…”

His scream faded. Then, splash.

Good. I kicked off my shoes, snatched the fins I’d carefully set aside earlier, and vaulted over the fence. A few meters below, black waves churned. White foam bubbled up in the rain. Without hesitation, I threw myself in.

My body tore through the waves, plunging downward.

A brief shock. The rough current, churned by the storm, tossed my body like a rollercoaster. The waves were stronger than I’d expected. I ditched the fins. In a sea this rough, they’d only get in the way. The waves eagerly snatched both fins away. I was about to use both arms to swim out of the current’s grip and dive deeper.

Beyond the black waves, something large bobbed up and down repeatedly. At first, I thought it was a shark or a sea turtle, but no. It was Shin Sangpyeong, flailing. So the rest of his “I can…” was “I can’t swim.”

I swam toward him.

I grabbed the back of the flailing idiot’s neck. He opened and closed his mouth at me. It seemed he desperately wanted to say something. Obvious, isn’t it? Probably “I can’t swim” or something like that.

But I’m kind enough to save a drowning idiot.

I pulled him along and pushed forward.

Frothy sea foam, like a mermaid’s tail, brushed my cheeks.

The waves tugged at my feet, and the yacht’s flashing lights above the surface counted down.

I swam underwater for about seven minutes.

I surfaced. I thrust my head above the foam and took a deep breath. I yanked Shin Sangpyeong’s neck to let him breathe too. As he sputtered water from his nose and mouth, trying to say something, I dove back under.

The sounds of thunder, waves, and wind vanished, replaced by the silence beneath the surface.

About 20 meters below, I saw reefs and coral colonies. Schools of fish swam quietly under the current’s influence.

I swam nonstop for 15 minutes.

Finally, I saw my boat. My lovely little fishing vessel. The anchor, plunged into the seabed, swayed back and forth. I shot up along the anchor to the surface. The damp night breeze rushed over my wet head, and above, stars poured down.

I grabbed the railing with one hand and tossed Shin Sangpyeong up first with the other. He flopped like a freshly caught blue marlin, still spewing water from his nose and mouth. I climbed up after him. I was slightly out of breath. Panting a bit, I spat. Salty. I’d need a low-sodium diet for a while.

Shin Sangpyeong was still thrashing on the deck, face down. He’d clearly swallowed a lot of water.

“Y-you, you, fuuucking bastard…”

He managed to say that before gurgling more water.

“Even if I could swim, you think I could in this state!”

Only then did I think of the cable ties binding his hands and feet.

“Oh…”

I looked down at him, flopping like an actual blue marlin on the deck. With about a gram of guilt, I offered.

“Uh. Need CPR?”

“No way!”

My kind offer got a less-than-kind response.

“Even if it’s not for the Director, you, someday, I’ll definitely kill…”

At that moment, a blinding flash tore through the night sky. The explosion was barely audible. A high-pitched ringing deafened my ears, and the boat rolled like a leaf, sending my body tumbling too. I slammed into the deck railing. The anchor’s weight couldn’t withstand the waves. I barely grabbed Shin Sangpyeong’s neck as he was about to be flung overboard. He made a choking sound, but I ignored it, wrapping one arm and both legs around him while clutching the mast with my free hand.

The boat rocked violently a few more times.

Waves crashed over my head. Foam soaked my crown.

After about 15 minutes, the shaking subsided enough for me to stand. I let go of Shin Sangpyeong, grabbed the railing, and stood up.

In the direction I’d swum from, flames lit up the dark sky.

The aftershock of the explosion still roiled the sea, and this fragile fishing boat swayed like a reed.

I turned my gaze to Shin Sangpyeong, lying on the deck. He stared, dazed, at the fiery wreckage of the poor Radames.

I understood his shock, but it wasn’t exactly rare. After all, aren’t there as many power-hungry types who treat their underlings’ lives like flies as there are grains of sand on Nobile Beach?

I leaped across the heaving deck toward the helm. But after two big strides, flashing lights from the Philippine mainland caught my eye.

One, two, five, twelve…

The flashing lights approached rapidly. At that speed, they’d be overhead in two or three minutes.

Not many things can move that fast in this wind. Probably military helicopters. A few specific models…

Definitely not just the coast guard.

Well, it’s the kind of thing an arms dealer would pull off.

I thought of Kwon Sinwoo’s dark, long eyes, the gentle smile beneath them, his pretty lips, and his tickling whispers.

“What… the police?”

Shin Sangpyeong asked me then.

I shrugged.

“Nope.”

“Then…”

He let out a scoff. There was something self-deprecating in that laugh.

“Must be Executive Director Kwon Sinwoo. Pointless. The Director’s not here anyway, and with the ship blown up, even the evidence the platform left…”

His words stopped. His eyes landed on the backpack strapped to my back. His wet pupils dilated, glowing white, then—

“Ha!”

With a sharp laugh, they dimmed.

He started cackling.

“Did Executive Director Kwon Sinwoo predict even this and send you?”

“Uh. No?”

“…What?”

His cackling stopped, confused. I ignored it and asked him.

“Can you swim?”

“…What?”

He asked again.

“I said, can you swim? If your hands and feet were free.”

“W-well, I can, but…”

“Good. Honestly, I don’t think I can drag you along this time. I’d have to swim a lot more than before.”

“W-what are you talking about?!”

I cut the cable ties binding his hands and feet with my pocketknife.

He stared up at me, dumbfounded.

“What’s your plan?”

“I’m ditching the boat.”

“What? Isn’t that Executive Director Kwon Sinwoo coming?”

“Yeah. Uh. Probably? Yeah, probably.”

I glanced absently at the black waves churning beyond the deck.

“What the hell’s your deal? Aren’t you with Executive Director Kwon Sinwoo?!”

“My mom…”

“What nonsense?”

“She told me not to deal with obsessive Alphas.”

“What?”

I unstrapped the backpack and tied it to the mast. I wrapped it several times and secured the knot with a carabiner.

This was professional courtesy as a partner. Anyway… I’d achieved my goal, so Kwon Sinwoo should too, for the partnership to mean anything, right?

“You’re ditching the boat? What’s the plan?”

“I’m swimming.”

“To Manila?”

“Idiot. There are closer places than Manila. Pipe Finger Cove, Kamaya Coast, or maybe I’ll hit another island on the way.”

“You, you, are you really from the Philippines?”

I didn’t bother answering that stupid question. Why waste time explaining the need for prior research to an idiot? Instead of lecturing a moron about a pro mindset, I said shortly.

“Do whatever you want. Stay here and wait for Kwon Sinwoo. He probably won’t kill you.”

“W-wait!”

He scrambled to his feet.

“What? Wanna come? Just so you know, I’m a great swimmer. If you can’t keep up, I’m leaving you.”

“Fuck, don’t cry and beg to come with me!”

Shin Sangpyeong barked.

I shrugged once and leaped onto the railing. The Caribbean’s beautiful emerald waves, white sand, and the cold dawn air of a 3,000-meter plateau came to mind. Soon, the black waves enveloped me.