The Evolution of Species – Chapter 5.2 – Hola!

Author: nicotine

“There’s no time now. If you don’t want to die, follow me.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“What? What’s going on?”

Even while bickering in harmony, the two somehow managed to follow me. I gestured toward them as if zipping my mouth shut (of course, I didn’t forget to flash the gun), and they quieted down.

This mansion is like the back of my hand.

I came out to the garage through the geranium garden. Avoiding the CCTV was as easy as eating cold onion soup. I should probably give Dad some advice about the CCTV blind spots someday.

In the garage was Daniel’s flashy, out-of-place silver classic Benz. Further inside would be Mom’s supercar and vintage Ferrari, but I didn’t touch those out of conscience. I pressed the smart key to unlock the car and slid into the driver’s seat.

After a brief standoff over the passenger seat, Shin Jihun quickly opened the door and hopped in first. I could hear Kwon Jaewoo grumbling. Pathetic idiots.

I started the Benz. With a somewhat loud, old-fashioned internal combustion engine roar, the headlights flashed on, and the automatic garage door began to rise. I hit the accelerator and sped out of the garage, racing down the private road paved with grass and tiles.

“So, where are we going?”

Kwon Jaewoo, the idiot, stuck his face between the passenger and driver’s seats to ask. I was so startled I nearly smashed his nose.

“Hey, you jerk! Don’t just shove your head in like that!”

Shin Sangpalpa cursed on my behalf.

“Your guts must’ve grown, huh? Feeling good after coming to Mexico?”

Kwon Jaewoo sneered, and the two started a pointless power struggle.

I kindly mediated between them.

“Let’s set one rule. Every time you two exchange glances, you each get one punch from me.”

“What kind of bull—”

“Shi—”

They started to yap but shut up when I slammed the accelerator.

Peace lasted only a moment.

Kwon Jaewoo stuck his head in again.

“But seriously, where are we going? Sinwoo hyung is probably at the airport by now… Are we going to the airport?”

Before I could answer, Shin Sangpalpa spoke up.

“Are you crazy? Why would he meet Vice President Kwon?”

“Why meet him? Because they—”

Kwon Jaewoo glanced at me briefly before continuing quickly.

“Because they didn’t part ways properly, so they’re meeting.”

“Stop spouting nonsense. The best thing to do with a psycho like Vice President Kwon is to cut ties fast.”

“What? Psycho? This guy’s done talking.”

“Don’t you get it just by looking? Who chases an ex all the way to Mexico? You came here on your own two feet, and you don’t get what’s wrong with that?”

“For a broke loser like you, coming to Mexico might be a big deal, but for hyung, it’s not. Flying to Mexico on a private jet or driving to Busan—it’s all the same to him.”

“How is that the same? The time’s different, you idiot. This guy’s totally lost it too. Hey, Yoon Hakyung. Think straight. Unless you want to ruin your life early, you’d better ditch a psycho like Vice President Kwon fast.”

“You done talking?”

“Not done, so what? Do you seriously think Vice President Kwon would marry him? All those chaebol bastards are the same, damn—”

“Whether they marry or not, don’t they at least need to talk it out?! What about the kid?!”

“Yeah, damn… Fine, you’re right. What about the kid? If things go wrong, the kid’ll live as a bastard forever and end up in some messed-up situation. You think I don’t know how this dirty world works?”

“My family’s not like that!”

The two were practically filming a K-drama.

I picked up the handgun I’d placed on the console.

The two idiots shut up immediately.

“Listen up.”

From now on, I’m the only one who talks. What a peaceful and efficient rule.

“I’m going to stop Dad and Kwon Sinwoo from meeting.”

In the rearview mirror, I could clearly see the two exchanging frantic glances. But since I was still holding the gun, they didn’t dare open their mouths.

“That’s all. Questions?”

Could there be a simpler, clearer explanation? But the moment I gave them permission, the two idiots started making a fuss.

“What kind of nonsense is that?!”

“How are you gonna do that? Did hyung agree to this?”

“Explain it properly!”

“So where are we going now? Where are we headed?!”

I opened the window and fired a shot. Peace returned.

Truly, a gun is the best solution to every problem.

On well-maintained top-notch driving experience on well-maintained roads or circuits, but in other conditions (unpaved roads, traffic jams, heavy loads: for example, two Alphas, etc.), the classic (in other words, “old and outdated”) Benz is less efficient in every way. We drove for a whole hour, enduring all three of the conditions listed above… Luckily, we reached our destination before running out of gas.

The skyscrapers disappeared, and the wide roads turned into narrow, steep uphill paths. On either side, small buildings stacked like matchboxes formed a residential area.

I parked in front of a green garage.

“When I signal, come into the garage.”

With that, I got out of the car.

“Me! Me! I’ll drive!”

I ignored Kwon Jaewoo’s voice from behind.

I retrieved a key from under a wilted, cracked poinsettia pot and opened the garage door.

The garage smelled of dust, gasoline, faintly rotting wood, and earth. It was about 20 pyeong in size, with a gray pickup truck parked inside and a few 20-liter fuel cans next to it.

I inspected the area near the garage entrance and the window with wooden shutters. Lowering my gaze to the window frame, I checked the gap between the glass and the shutters. A faint trace of thread glinted under the angle where light cast a shadow. Hmm. Booby trap intact. All clear.

I turned and stepped out of the garage.

I gestured for them to come in, and Kwon Jaewoo smoothly parked the Lamborghini next to the pickup truck. Well, his parking skills weren’t bad.

“Where is this place?”

Kwon Jaewoo got out of the car, looking around curiously. He walked toward a long metal shelf and cabinet mounted on one wall, reaching for the cabinet door.

I kindly warned him.

“There’s a booby trap there.”

He quietly backed away.

I opened the fridge. It was stocked with 500-milliliter water bottles and beers. I grabbed a beer bottle. Instantly, Shin Sangpalpa rushed over.

“Are you insane? A pregnant guy drinking beer?!”

He snatched the bottle from my hand.

I was dumbfounded.

“I wasn’t going to drink it, you know?”

But he didn’t seem convinced.

I’m not completely out of my mind. I know that a beer during pregnancy won’t kill the baby, but it’s better to abstain.

“I’ll drink it. Does Mexico even do DUI checks? Doesn’t seem like it.”

Kwon Jaewoo grabbed another beer bottle from the fridge. They’re having a grand time. I pulled out a water bottle and tossed it to them.

“Move these.”

I pointed to the pickup truck.

Kwon Jaewoo’s eyes turned into question marks. Shin Sangpalpa was a bit quicker. He started tossing water bottles into the back seat of the pickup. I hate to praise Shin Sangpalpa, but in this moment, it was proven that Shin Sangpalpa the idiot is a better sidekick than Kwon Jaewoo the idiot.

Meanwhile, I walked over to a tall sliding metal door that covered an entire wall. I hooked my fingers around the handle, gave a strong pull, and the heavy door began to slide open with a grating, screeching sound.

“Hey! Are you crazy?”

Kwon Jaewoo shouted.

“A pregnant guy doing something insane like that?!”

He rushed over, and Shin Sangpalpa joined him.

The two idiots made a commotion, clinging to the door. Thanks to them, the door slid open easily. I let go and slipped into the dark interior.

“Do you know the early miscarriage rate for Omegas?”

Kwon Jaewoo, the idiot, huffed beside me, rambling about something or other. I ignored him. Shin Jihun, the other idiot, chimed in.

“What’s wrong with you? Do you have no sense? Damn… I mean, ugh, fine. If you had any sense, you wouldn’t be doing this kind of thing…”

I groped along the inner wall, found the switch, and flipped it. Click. The bulb flickered briefly before glowing steadily, casting a dim light over the room. The two whining idiots shut their mouths.

Panzerfaust 3, RPG—7, AK—47, M10, G36C, and more… Submachine guns, assault rifles, and rocket launchers gleamed polished and pristine, neatly arranged. Clean items, not even serial numbers. It took quite some time to collect them. I strode forward, my fingertips brushing lightly over the shiny lethal weapons as I passed. M72 LAW. Nice, but slightly lacking in penetration. RPG—7. A bestseller. But its accuracy is terrible… Panzerfaust 3. If you can afford a thousand bucks per warhead, there’s nothing better. I lifted the Panzerfaust 3 with a flourish.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa!”

“W-Wait! Just a second!”

At that moment, Shin Jihun and Kwon Jaewoo simultaneously threw their hands forward and stumbled backward.

“Y-Yoon Hakyung. Think this through…”

“Y-Yeah. Calm down and think. This can’t be the only way. There’s got to be a more peaceful solution…”

What are these idiots blabbering about?

When I turned to look at them, they both flinched and took a huge step back.

“You don’t have to k-kill hyung to keep him from meeting your dad, right?”

“E-Exactly. Why not try talking it out first? If Kwon Sinwoo sees this, he’ll probably agree to break things off…”

“What are you talking about?”

I shrugged and set the Panzerfaust 3 down.

Only then did the two idiots’ expressions shift to relief.

Korean people’s imaginations are truly baffling… Must be from watching too many Korean dramas. What kind of lunatic would fire a four-kilogram anti-tank rocket at a single person? What a waste…

I strode to the opposite wall and opened the lid of a flimsy wooden crate. Pushing aside layers of scrap paper, I revealed a black titanium box lid. I opened it. Three 110-millimeter warheads. Since I’m not dealing with a tank clad in slat armor or reactive armor, this should be enough.

I lifted the box and held it out toward the idiots behind me. They flinched in unison, as if choreographed.

“Move it to the car.”

“What are you using it for?”

“Not on living people.”

I reassured the cowards. Kwon Jaewoo glanced at me suspiciously, while Shin Sangpalpa cautiously lifted the box.

“You planning a war or something? Drug cartel? Your family’s a cartel, right?”

“No.”

Really.

Though I do have some relatives in a cartel.

“Listen up. Dad has a farm in Tula. And tomorrow evening at 8 p.m., he’s meeting Kwon Sinwoo there. I’m going to stop it.”

At my explanation, the two idiots stared at me blankly before shifting their gaze to the anti-tank rocket launcher in my hand.

I smiled and nodded.

“Yeah. I’m going to destroy the farm.”

The farm in Tula.

A vineyard of about 7,000 pyeong on the northern outskirts of Mexico, with a small winery attached, though it doesn’t sell wine. The wine produced here is bottled with special labels and gifted to friends, family, or partners. Mostly Sauvignon Blanc or Malbec, but… it’s not exactly Guadalupe Valley quality. Honestly, it’s pretty bad… but it’s symbolic, you know.

The farm has a quaint, cozy house and guesthouse, about 100 pyeong in total, used for weddings or family parties.

And Dad rides horses here, talks business, meets people, and sometimes kills them. Usually politicians, big-shot businessmen, arms dealers, drug cartels, foreign royalty, and occasionally even U.S. agents.

And this time, he’s meeting Kwon Sinwoo.

Not sure if he’ll kill him yet…

But it definitely won’t be a peaceful meeting.

I was now in a low shrubland about a kilometer away from the secret meeting place of Dad and Kwon Sinwoo (a phrasing I really don’t like).

I parked the pickup truck behind a thicket of wild papaya leaves and turned off the engine.

“Crazy bastard, crazy bastard…”

“Destroying a farm? What’s this, burning down the house to catch a bedbug?”

“Breaking a promise by destroying the meeting place? Is that a real solution?”

“Isn’t this illegal? Won’t the cops come?”

In the back, the two idiots kept harmonizing. My ears were aching. I opened a water bottle, chugged half of it in one go, and turned to them.

“Hey. If you’re not going to help, both of you get lost.”

Come to think of it, I didn’t need help from these idiots.

“No, just get lost. I don’t need your help.”

“Who said we’re not helping?! Just… think it over.”

Kwon Jaewoo bristled, his voice trailing off.

I got out of the car. I opened the trunk and lifted out a titanium case about a meter long. The two idiots scrambled out of the car and followed.

“Hey, give it here. Hand it over.”

Idiot 1 snatched the titanium case from me, and Idiot 2 pulled the warhead box from the trunk. If they want to play pack mules, no need to stop them. I left them to it and took out infrared binoculars to scan the farm.

The farm, cloaked in darkness, was silent. No signs of activity. I turned my head slightly. The vineyard, its branches still green, came into view. Turning the other way, I saw the quaint house built of granite and terracotta bricks. No lights, just the sound of crickets and an owl hooting.

Good. Looks like no one’s spotted Daniel yet.

I put the binoculars away and gestured to the two pack mules.

We advanced to a flat area about 600 meters from the target. I’ve hit a target at 900 meters before, but it’s nighttime, and there’s no need to risk wasting ammo. I stopped at a flat spot with low bushes nearby. I took the titanium case from Pack Mule 1. I opened the lid. With a whir, the lock disengaged, revealing a sleek black anti-tank rocket launcher inside. I picked it up. The metal barrel felt perfect in my hand. I caressed the barrel once and set it down. Pack Mule 2 placed the warhead box beside it.

Truth be told, I don’t have much experience using this kind of thing. Twice, maybe three times. Four? Whatever. The point is, that doesn’t mean I’m unskilled at handling it. Attaching the launch tube to the launcher, loading the shaped charge warhead, and shouldering the roughly 15-kilogram rocket launcher—12 seconds. Not bad.

I knelt on one knee, braced the other foot against the ground to steady myself, and peered through the sight. An improved dynamic range sight. No serial number, perfectly clean. This was hard to get, but the warheads were even harder. A thousand bucks a pop. Tandem warheads that punch through concrete and cause a secondary explosion inside are double that. And even those are hard to come by… Hmm, wait. Didn’t SR start producing compatible 110-millimeter warheads for this?

I turned to Kwon Jaewoo, the idiot.

“Your company makes tandem warheads, right?”

“Even if we do, we wouldn’t sell them to you!”

The idiot snapped.

Yeah, what do you expect from an HR assistant?

I turned back to the sight. The target was in view. Dad’s pretty farm. The farm drifted back and forth between the sight’s crosshairs. For about five seconds, I watched it, slowly adjusting the launch tube to center the farm perfectly in the crosshairs.

A thousand bucks per warhead. Three shots, three thousand bucks. Cheap for destroying Dad’s farm.

I pulled the trigger.

I caught a glimpse of the two idiots, standing far back, covering their ears and ducking. Idiots. The backblast on this isn’t even that bad.

The moment the launch tube fired. A 0.1-second that felt like three, the heat, the acrid smell of gunpowder, the deafening blast. And my instincts picked up a tiny sound within it. The click of an assault rifle’s trigger, the hammer striking the magazine in rapid succession—thunk! thunk! thunk!

“Damn… it!”

I yanked the still-hot Panzerfaust with one arm and threw myself toward the direction where the car was parked.

“Hey! Get down!”

The two idiots just rolled their eyes.

The next moment, bullets hit the ground—thud, thud, thud!—one after another.

A massive boom! The shaped charge warhead struck the granite block wall, its explosion drowning out the gunfire.

I scrambled behind the pickup truck’s trunk. Shin Sangpalpa, barely keeping up, grabbed my arm, cursing under his breath.

“What the hell is that?! Please, don’t tell me it’s your dad!”

“We’ll find out soon enough.”

I tossed him an M16. Shin Sangpalpa caught it instinctively, looking like a caveman handed a flint axe. No way…

“You do know how to shoot, right?”

“I know!”

Shin Sangpalpa snapped back instantly. Good.

Thud, thud, thud, thud! Bullets rained down, embedding themselves in the pickup truck’s body.

“Damn it, this thing’s bulletproof, right? It’s bulletproof, yeah?”

Shin Sangpalpa clicked the magazine in and out, shouting. I didn’t bother answering such an obvious question—my mouth was too tired.

I gazed at the side mirror on the opposite side. Light glimmered from the side mirror. While roughly estimating the direction from which the bullets were coming, I jumped off the trunk.

“Are you crazy?”

As Shin Sangpyo shouted from atop the trunk, Kwon Jaewoo let out an identical scream from beneath the car body at the same time.

“Are you crazy? Why are you getting out of the car!?”

I cast a disdainful glance at Kwon Jaewoo, who was lying flat under the car, and crawled forward, dragging my belly across the ground.

“Damn it…!”

Shin Sangpyo, holding a gun, came chasing after me. While lying prone, he fired back toward the direction the bullets were coming from. Hmm…. I slightly narrowed one eye and stared at him. His shooting skills were pathetic, but it might provide some cover, at least.

While the rookies bickered and exchanged bullets, I crawled toward a crate of warheads lying on the ground. Bullets struck near my feet—thud, thud! I’m not some novice who’d get hit by blind bullets fired recklessly in the dark.

I pulled out the second warhead from the crate.

This was flat terrain, with only papaya trees and a pickup truck for cover. Judging by the speed and direction of the incoming bullets, there were at least eight enemies. We wouldn’t last long anyway.

It was a waste to use such a warhead on people, but when it came to survival, cost didn’t matter.

I loaded the warhead, knelt on the ground, and raised my upper body.

“Are you craaaazy!?”

From behind, either Shin Sangpyo or Kwon Jaewoo—one of those idiots—let out a scream.

If only they’d shut up and provide cover….

I aimed at the direction the bullets were coming from, adjusted the firing angle, and pulled the trigger without hesitation. The heavy recoil slightly shook my shoulder. Heat grazed my cheek. The acrid smell of gunpowder filled the air. A scream rang out from somewhere. A thermal blast whipped my hair upward. The gunfire paused for a moment. One second that felt like silence. I knew this one second would save my life.

I immediately stood up, slammed the lid of the warhead crate shut, and grabbed it.

Then I sprinted toward the farm.

“Don’t go aloooone!”

Kwon Jaewoo shouted desperately as he followed me. At least he had some sense, which was a relief.

The gunfire, which had stopped, resumed. But it was noticeably less intense than before. It seemed I’d taken out at least three of them.

I vaulted over a low mud-brick wall and immediately dropped flat to the ground. Bullets whizzed over my head—zip, zip, zip. The sound of grass tearing and dirt being gouged followed.

I turned to the two idiots rolling on the ground beside me and asked, not expecting much, “Any experience in urban combat?”

“Do you think we would!?”

If you don’t have any, just say so—why the whining?

Without further ado, I snatched the rifle from Shin Sangpyo. This time, he made a face like an ape whose banana had been stolen.

I waited briefly, then took advantage of a gap between the gunfire to climb onto the wall and shoot. The familiar recoil of the M16.

“Hey, hey! Damn it, what do we do! Damn it, what is this!”

Kwon Jaewoo, plastered with mud and grass on his face, clung to my side and freaked out.

“Hey! Damn it! I think someone’s dead! I think I killed someone!”

“Shut up. Is this your first time killing someone?”

“Of course it’s my first time! What kind of nonsense is that!”

Kwon Jaewoo wailed.

I mean, if it’s your first time, just say so—why the whining….

“It’s okay. Everyone has a first time. You’ll soon become a fine hitman….”

“Why would I do that kind of thing!”

He reacted to my kind consolation with indignation. I just pushed the face of this useless idiot away with my elbow. Sorry, but the odds of his blind bullets hitting an enemy two hundred meters away in the dead of night are close to zero. So, the odds of him becoming a competent hitman are also close to zero.

I returned fire a few times before ducking down.

“Let’s get inside the building. There’s no solution out here.”

A chorus of “damn it” came back in unison. Good. That’s the spirit.

Half-crawling, half-rolling, we made it to the farm. Shin Sangpyo, running ahead, kicked the door. Bang! The hinges gave way, and the door dangled. He charged inside. It wouldn’t have been surprising if he’d become a human bullet sponge with that level of caution. Fortunately, three seconds later, there was no sound of him being riddled with bullets. I was impressed by his sacrificial spirit, volunteering as a human bullet sponge to confirm it was safe, and I followed him inside.

I was familiar with the layout of this house.

Centered around a large living room and reception area with a fireplace, there was a kitchen and dining area further in, and beyond that, two bedrooms overlooking a vineyard. The windows weren’t large.

“Haa, haa, damn it. What now? What do we do?”

Kwon Jaewoo, who’d only been running but had the expression of someone who’d taken down a hundred enemies, asked.

In situations like this, there aren’t many options.

First: Kill.

Second: Be killed.

I headed toward the kitchen. The living room’s open layout didn’t offer much cover. In contrast, the kitchen had a large island counter and a variety of German kitchen knives ready.

As soon as I entered the kitchen, I grabbed a stool from in front of the island bar and threw it toward the kitchen entrance. Shin Sangpyo quickly caught on and ran to help me. Kwon Jaewoo, predictably, was a beat late. The guy had no sense at all.

We stacked six stools haphazardly to create something resembling cover and rummaged through the sink. I pulled out kitchen knives one by one. Then I opened the bottom drawer. Underneath the manuals for the blender, mixer, and dishwasher, there was a handgun. I took it out.

“Hey, hold on. I’ll call the police. What’s the police number here? 112? You call them. You speak Spanish well, don’t you?”

As Kwon Jaewoo spouted such idiotic nonsense and fumbled for his phone, the sound of something shattering and rough footsteps came from the living room. Kwon Jaewoo froze, phone in hand.

Tch. No time to set a booby trap.

I loaded the handgun and crawled under the island counter. This sturdy island counter, made of granite instead of marble, surely had some of Dad’s intentions behind it. Just like this Beretta handgun under the sink drawer.

“Hey, Yoooon!”

At that moment, a shrill, hissing voice called my name from the darkness outside the kitchen. It sounded like a voice with a couple of holes in its vocal cords. Familiar.

“Been a while, huh? Hmm? You listening? Bet you didn’t expect to see me in a situation like this! Heh, life’s what makes things interesting!”

Camargo. Luna Camargo, to be exact. Though the nickname “Albolado’s idiot” suited him better.

I responded, holding the handgun.

“Albolado’s moron! Do you even know where you’ve barged into?”

“Who cares about that! It’s probably one of your safe houses!”

Hmm. Fair enough. Few people knew that this farm in Tula was “Sir Martin’s” secret playground. Of course, Camargo, the idiot, wouldn’t know. That’s why he’s never been a big shot despite his notoriety.

“What? You know each other? Friends?”

Kwon Jaewoo whispered to me with a slightly hopeful look. I stared at him, dumbfounded.

“Does this sound like a conversation between friends to you?”

“Tch… I can’t even understand what you’re saying, so it could be.”

I just gave up on responding.

I racked my brain.

There’s no way Luna Camargo came looking for me for a peaceful chat. What’s going on?

As if answering my question, Camargo started blabbering.

“You’re backing Edmundo, aren’t you? Because of that bastard, I went through some really shitty times….”

Ah. The Edmundo situation.

The bad blood between Edmundo and Camargo started four years ago.

Luna Camargo was notorious as a drug mafia, but his influence didn’t match his reputation. He was once a high-ranking member of a cartel that controlled northern Mexico City, but after serving a year and seven months in Albolado Prison for assault and drug possession four years ago, even the connections he had were severed. Now, he’s just a mediocre street dealer.

And the Albolado Prison sentence was Edmundo’s doing. Messing with a drug mafia was, frankly, insane. If it weren’t for our prior relationship, I wouldn’t have helped Edmundo either… but, well, I handled it professionally 🙂 Anyway, it was a big deal back then, splashed across newspapers multiple times. Headlines like [Justice Triumphs Against Drug Cartels!] adorned dozens of d ailies, weeklies, monthlies, quarterlies, and even American media.

But Edmundo’s victory was insignificant, and the cost was greater. He still carries a gun everywhere and avoids public transportation. Surviving this long is impressive, honestly. Of course, about ninety percent of that is thanks to me.

“That was years ago, and you’re still holding a grudge? Don’t people call you petty? That’s why you’ll never be a big shot.”

At my taunting, Camargo’s breathing grew faster.

“Shut up!”

A brief bout of steam-engine-like huffing followed.

“Hmph… No matter how much you fly and crawl, you’re done now, and so is that bastard Edmundo.”

“Guys who talk like that always end up done first.”

That’s been my experience.

“Shut uuuup!”

Luna Camargo snorted.

Even in the darkness, his bull-like breathing was vivid. Honestly, it was a bit disgusting. Like the revulsion of locking eyes with a boss flossing at their desk after lunch.

But I was more preoccupied with another question.

There’s no way he had the resources to track down this farm in Tula and ambush me. Twenty men? He doesn’t have that many followers left, and even if he did, where would he get the money to arm such a crew? Even if twenty was an exaggeration, the guys who attacked us earlier were at least eight.

My question was answered the next moment.

Bzzzzt! Bzzzzt! A familiar vibration cut through the darkness. An awkward silence settled as we pointed guns at each other across the cover. The vibration was the only sound, loud in the silence.

And it was coming from very close by.

My eyes, along with Shin Jihoon’s and Kwon Jaewoo’s, briefly met in the air before slowly shifting toward the source of the sound. Specifically, toward Kwon Jaewoo’s pants….

His phone was buzzing—bzzzzt, bzzzzt—in his pocket.

Kwon Jaewoo, mouth agape, hurriedly pulled out his phone. His jaw dropped further. He scrambled to end the incoming call, but I saw it first.

[Youngwoo Hyung]

That bastard Kwon Youngwoo!

I snatched the phone from Kwon Jaewoo’s hand like lightning.

As soon as I answered, the expected unpleasant voice came through.

[Hey, Yoon.]

The omega fetish creep laughed with the confidence of someone who didn’t doubt I’d pick up.

[Like my gift?]

“How did you know?”

[Haha, did you think I’d be helpless just because the platform’s down? Cute.]

“You’re really getting on my nerves. What do you want from me?”

[Want something? Me? From you? No way.]

Kwon Youngwoo laughed heartily, as if he’d heard a hilarious joke. An irritating laugh.

[Just wanted to say thanks. Seems like you really screwed over Sinwoo for me.]

What?

I narrowed my eyes and glanced toward the other side of the island counter. Camargo and his crew, hiding behind the corner wall in the darkness, were strangely quiet.

[Thanks to you, Sinwoo lost it and flew off to Mexico, didn’t he? Honestly, I was a bit nervous. I mean, come on. That ledger… it’s not exactly favorable to me, as you know. So let me say it again: Thank you. Sincerely.]

He prattled on cheerfully.

[Oh, and pass this on to Director Kwon, who’s too busy swooning over Omega. I’ll handle the Management Innovation Department, so he can focus on selling bullets to the Mexican mafia.]

Gotta make that money, he added with a snicker.

[So, let’s see. I’ve said my thanks, so is it time for goodbyes?]

It was the same voice he used when talking about the time bomb on the yacht in Manila Bay. Not what I wanted, but it let me vividly recall this bastard’s sly, snake-like eyes and vile smirk.

[Oh… the chairman’s gonna be so disappointed….]

He dragged out the end of his sentence, as if genuinely disappointed.

[Kidding me? Went to Mexico to sell bullets and got caught up in a drug cartel fight? Haha. What’s he gonna tell the Ministry of Defense? All those tax breaks they get every year as a defense contractor.]

A low, sinister chuckle followed.

[Of course… whatever happens there has nothing to do with me….]

I hurled the phone at the opposite wall. Crash! The sound of the phone shattering was followed by Kwon Jaewoo’s scream-like groan.

At the same time, I shouted toward Camargo’s crew in the darkness.

“Hey, Luna Camargo! These two are Koreans! Mess with them, and it’ll just be a hassle, so let them go!”

“Done with your last call?”

Camargo, who’d kindly waited until my call ended, responded.

“Sorry, but I can’t let witnesses walk away. Heh heh heh hahaha!”

He burst into laughter.

“You’ve been strutting around like you’re hot stuff, but now you’re gonna die betrayed. Don’t feel too bad, though. It’s common in this world, right?”

“Exactly. Like how you got ratted out by your own guys and had a blast in Albolado.”

“You Chino bastard, until the end…! Kill him! Kill him! Kill him!”

With Camargo’s enraged scream, bullets rained down. Windows shattered, ceiling lights exploded and fell, and flashes of light flickered.

Shin Sangpyo, lying next to me, cursed.

“Damn it, break up properly with Kwon Sinwoo. No, cut ties with the entire Kwon family.”

I was just thinking that would be a good idea.

Taking advantage of a lull in the bullet storm, let’s sum up the situation.

Luna Camargo is here. He’s blaming me for his failure to kill Edmundo and unloading his hatred and bullets on me. And he found me thanks to Kwon Youngwoo’s help. Why did Kwon Youngwoo bother dragging Camargo into this? My sharp mind quickly found the answer.

Even if Luna Camargo’s past his prime, he’s still part of a drug cartel. There’s no better bait to drag someone into a cartel fight. Someone: obviously Kwon Sinwoo.

Kwon Youngwoo’s aiming to get Kwon Sinwoo caught up in this mess. If he gets injured or even dies, that’s a bonus. Either way, it buys time to deal with the platform’s ledger, so Kwon Youngwoo loses nothing.

It’s common. Fighting over family business ownership. Like my dad and older Ascending to the throne, it’s nothing new. Of course, the safety of the two idiots caught up in this mess means nothing to Kwon Youngwoo. Even if one of them is his cousin.

Then, a brief gap opened between the gunfire. I quickly leaned out from the island counter and fired. Bang, thud, ugh! The sound of a heavily armed body collapsing followed.

“Damn it! Get inside! Kill that bastard!”

I calmly turned to the two idiots.

“When I signal, run for the window.”

“Can’t we just stay here?”

Kwon Jaewoo said something stupid.

I shook my head. Dragging around two amateurs was no small hassle.

“They’ve got more numbers than I thought. If they split up and come through the windows, we can’t hold out here.”

“Then what do we do?!”

Kwon Jaewoo screamed.

“Run for the window.”

I kindly repeated.

And then shouted.

“Now!”

Shin Jihoon and Kwon Jaewoo roared like hungry bears and threw themselves toward the window.

It was clear Camargo’s idiot goons hadn’t been trained for group firefights. They should’ve staggered their reloads, but their random shooting meant several of them reloaded at the same time. A perfect example of what happens when you give automatic weapons to untrained fools.

One second. More than enough time for me.

The sudden charge by Shin Jihoon and Kwon Jaewoo threw off their focus. They swung their empty muzzles toward the window, then back to me, fumbling. Taking the chance, I aimed over the island counter and shot two of them in the head.

“Monster bastard…!”

“Keep shooting! Shoot more!”

Thankfully, our idiots proved less idiotic than theirs. Shin Sangpyo fired at a spot between the ceiling and a pillar. The ceiling, already half-torn by rocket fire, collapsed, granite shards flew, and dust billowed. Someone coughed, someone shouted.

I seized the moment and dove through the broken window. I rolled three times on the stone tiles, then propped myself up with one hand, half-standing. I crawled forward quickly.

At that moment, a ting pierced through the gunfire and screams, hitting my eardrums. A sound I’d heard thousands of times. The safety pin of a grenade being pulled.

I sprang up, rushed to Shin Sangpyo and Kwon Jaewoo, and grabbed them by the backs of their necks. They yelped—gah! keh!—and tumbled backward.

“Are you insane!”

“What are you doing!”

A grenade, pin pulled, rolled to where they’d been standing. I lightly kicked it back with the top of my foot, politely returning it. The grenade arced back where it came from. Boooom! An explosion and screams erupted. Tile shards and concrete chunks flew. Nice shot.

I leaped over Shin Sangpyo and Kwon Jaewoo, who were sprawled on the ground, dazed. They scrambled up and followed me.

Bullets rained from behind.

As I ran, I thought.

Unless Daniel breaks free on his own (and that’s never happening), it’ll take a bit for Dad to hear about this. So, I have to handle it. These guys are a ragtag bunch, but I’m a CQB pro. If I use the winery, stables, and stone walls as cover and pick them off one by one….

At that moment, from my right, along the gently rising flat terrain, a heavy diesel engine roared—gugugugung—accompanied by the sound of tires pounding the ground and shouts. An old, open-top four-wheel jeep was charging toward us. The four haphazardly modified wheels moved independently, and the exhaust sound was ominous. It wouldn’t be surprising if the jeep collapsed at any moment, yet, aside from the driver, six men were onboard, each wielding a machine gun. Six muzzles spewed fire in our direction.

Dirt and grass were torn up, scattering, and clouds of dust rose thickly in all directions.

Just how much money did that bastard Kwon Youngwoo throw at Camargo? With this number of men and this level of armament, a couple of million pesos wouldn’t even come close to covering it.

The nearest winery building was about four hundred meters away. The jeep, barreling through a flimsy fence, would cover seven hundred meters faster than we could.

I immediately threw myself to the ground. Fortunately, the two idiots had enough sense to rush to my side and return fire. I hoisted the Panzerfaust onto my shoulder and loaded the last remaining high-explosive round. The jeep, swaying like a drunkard, charged toward us as bullets rained down from all sides. A few grazed my shoulder and thigh. I stayed still, waiting for the moment when the computer aligned the crosshairs with the target. Since childhood, in moments like these, one second felt like a minute, or even longer. The air around me became soft and calm. I pulled the trigger.

With an explosion, the jeep bounced off the ground. Metal and human debris scattered in all directions.

But relief was short-lived.

Beyond the burning road, more vehicles approached in a line. The headlights of modified jeeps and pickup trucks glared fiercely.

“Damn it….”

Either Shin Sangpyo or Kwon Jaewoo—someone beside me—muttered a curse under their breath.

Hmm. I counted the vehicles, stopping at five. Behind us, Luna Camargo and his men were charging, cursing and shooting, while ahead, jeeps loaded with machine-gun-wielding thugs rushed toward us like a pack of starving coyotes.

I turned and ran toward the winery. My grazed shoulder burned, and every time my foot struck the ground, a pain like my thigh bone was being twisted gripped me. It might be a through-and-through wound, or, in the worst case, a bullet lodged in the bone.

The two idiots followed, screaming.

“What do we do now!”

“Dying in a place like this doesn’t make sense!”

I once climbed Fuego Volcano with five 9mm bullets lodged in my back. I remembered the pounding of my heart back then. My breath caught at the base of my throat, my neck and shoulders stiffened, my muscles twitched, adrenaline surged, making my scalp burn while the back of my neck felt as cold as if ice had been pressed against it. Time slowed, the air became vivid, and every single hair standing on my skin felt distinct.

At that moment, a red laser guide beam sliced through the air. The world went silent, as if time had stopped, and then bullets poured along the laser beam that had cleaved the darkness in two.

My steps slowed and came to a halt. My ears rang, and my heart raced, ready to burst from the adrenaline. Screams, shouts, the sound of pouring bullets, the steam storm caused by the thermal pressure rounds, and the blinking lights of drones circling in the dark.

But more striking than all that was the calm face of the Alpha in front of me. The hot steam wind fiercely tousled his hair and sleeve cuffs. My gaze lingered on the hair fluttering above his refined forehead before shifting to his soft lips.

“You… what are you doing here?”

Kwon Sinwoo tilted his head slightly and smiled.

“Hmm. Shall we say I’m conducting a weapons demonstration?”

In the emergency room, the sound of sobbing groans came from somewhere beyond the curtain, mingling with low curses, the rapid speech of doctors, footsteps, and the sound of dragging IV stands with wheels, creating a noisy atmosphere.

I was sitting on a bed.

Curtains were drawn around me, providing minimal privacy.

A nurse was preparing an IV with antibiotics and painkillers by the bedside, while a short woman, who appeared to be an interpreter, spoke fluently in Spanish to a doctor specializing in gunshot wounds. The doctor listened attentively, scribbling something on a chart. Words like gunshot, abrasion—probably those kinds of terms.

To my left, Kwon Sinwoo sat on a small folding chair pulled close to the bed. With each breath he took, a soft exhale was faintly audible, and through the taut buttons of his dress shirt, the scent of cologne mixed with gunpowder wafted. Combined with the hospital’s antiseptic smell, it created an oddly alluring fragrance.

My head instinctively tilted toward him. I barely stopped myself just before my nose touched his chest. I looked up. The Alpha’s composed face. I took a slightly deeper breath.

“You should’ve given the nuclear button to that idiot Kwon Jaewoo instead. Getting yourself caught up in a fight was exactly what Kwon Youngwoo was aiming for. Didn’t you know?”

At my jab, Kwon Sinwoo’s brow furrowed slightly, a crack forming, and the tail of his eyebrow twitched. He gave an embarrassed smile, furrowing his brow.

“Well. Even if it were World War III, I wouldn’t send Jaewoo with the nuclear button….”

The corners of his eyes softened.

“To be honest, I prefer taking action myself.”

I stared at him quietly. A soft silence followed, which I broke.

“Do people usually demonstrate weapons like that?”

Kwon Sinwoo gave a small smile.

“Usually, it’s more legal….”

He lowered his voice slightly, as if sharing a secret, and narrowed his eyes delicately.

“But sometimes, it’s less legal.”

Pfft, I burst out laughing. What’s less legal than bombarding a ten-kilometer radius with combat drones in the middle of the night?

I reached out and placed my hand on the back of his. He looked down at me without changing his expression, but I felt his body briefly tense the moment my fingertips touched him.

“What were you planning to talk to my dad about?”

A deal. I don’t buy that kind of talk.

My dad isn’t as big a player in weapons as some Middle Eastern or African warlords, at least.

Kwon Sinwoo didn’t answer. I tilted my head and looked up at him. His dark eyes were steady, unshaken.

“In Korea, do people usually visit each other’s parents even for a brief fling?”

This time, I felt his unease through my fingertips.

Suddenly, Kwon Sinwoo turned his hand and gripped mine tightly. It was a crushing strength. His hand was slightly rough, dry, neither cold nor warm. The temperature I remembered.

“Did you want to keep it a brief fling?”

I expected this question. I grinned and pulled his hand tightly in return. His upper body followed, and seizing the moment, I gave him a quick kiss on the cheek. Kwon Sinwoo’s dark eyes locked onto me.

“No, you. You’re kind of obsessive.”

“….”

He was silent.

I said it again.

“Installing a tracker on my phone, having people follow me, changing the CCTV at your apartment entrance….”

The black of his pupils deepened. He stared at me intensely. His expression didn’t change, but I could read the tremor in his dark eyes.

After a long silence, he finally spoke.

“That was….”

“That was?”

“I won’t do it anymore.”

I looked at him, holding back a laugh, but I couldn’t stop the corners of my eyes from crinkling.

Kwon Sinwoo, somewhat urgently, grabbed my other hand tightly with his free one.

“I’ll make an effort.”

Before I could ask what kind of effort, the doctor approached.

“Let’s remove the bullet quickly. We’ll know more after an X-ray, but general anesthesia might be necessary.”

The interpreter relayed the doctor’s words to Kwon Sinwoo. Kwon Sinwoo listened quietly, then looked at me again.

“Will you be okay?”

“What’s there to worry about? It’s not my first time.”

Then I realized, turned to the doctor, and said, “Oh, by the way, I’m pregnant. Is general anesthesia okay?”

“General anesthesia isn’t inherently dangerous for the mother or harmful to the fetus. Thiopental or propofol have been safely used for pregnant women for decades… The X-ray is more of a concern. Let’s do an abdominal ultrasound first and check. How many weeks?”

“Just over four weeks.”

The interpreter relayed the doctor’s words to Kwon Sinwoo.

Kwon Sinwoo’s grip on my hand tightened briefly before loosening.

He stood up calmly, his face composed. After taking a few shallow breaths, he spoke to me gently.

“I’ll step out for a moment.”

After excusing himself, he pushed aside the curtain and left.

A thud followed. Then, “Director?!” came the panicked scream of his secretary, followed by nurses and doctors rushing out in alarm.

The area beyond the curtain erupted into chaos.

Through the slightly parted curtain, I watched the doctors, nurses, and Kwon Sinwoo’s frantic secretaries in a daze, feeling strangely dreamy.

Time slowed, and various words swirled in my head. My mom’s warning not to get involved with obsessive Alphas. Kwon Youngwoo’s advice not to trust Sinwoo. Shin Sangpyo’s urging to break up with a psycho quickly. And at some point, all that chatter faded, leaving nothing behind.

In the corridor outside the VIP ward, that idiot Kwon Jaewoo was pacing like a flustered broom.

Spotting me, he clutched his head and yelled. Is he crazy?

“Yoon Hakyung!”

He rushed at me, trying to grab my collar. I easily dodged and flicked his forearm outward. He stumbled, yelping.

“Why’d you hit me!”

“Who’s the one trying to grab my collar first?”

“Are you crazy? I wasn’t trying to grab your collar! I was trying to support you! Why would I grab your collar! Are you nuts?!”

Ignoring him, I strode toward the ward. The bandaged leg was slightly inconvenient, but not enough to need support. He followed, whining annoyingly.

“This is all your fault. Because of you, Hyung’s ruined, I’m ruined, everyone’s ruined. Damn it, what if Grandma finds out? I’m suing you. I already contacted a lawyer. I’m gonna sue you. Hey! Are you listening?”

Of course, I wasn’t.

I ran into the doctor coming out of the ward.

“Oh, I was just coming to find you. How’s the patient inside?”

The doctor looked me up and down, then smiled.

“Don’t worry. Your husband’s fine. Stress-induced gastric ulcer and mild malnutrition. He’s on an IV with nutrients, so after it’s done, he can get a prescription and be discharged. Call a nurse if you need anything.”

With that, the doctor gave a slight bow and passed by.

“What? What did they say? What was that about! Don’t speak Spanish in front of me!”

Kwon Jaewoo threw another fit behind me.

Ignoring him, I opened the ward door and entered, making sure to close it before he could follow.

“Argh, damn…!”

His face disappeared with the closing door. I quickly locked it.

I turned around.

The VIP ward again.

A Monet replica hung on the wall, and with a 75-inch latest-model TV and luxurious goose-down bedding, it felt more like a four-star hotel than a hospital room.

Kwon Sinwoo was sitting up, the head of the bed raised. He wore a dress shirt without a tie instead of a patient gown. He looked refined, not like someone who’d vomited blood. I took a moment to appreciate the sight.

Then Kwon Sinwoo turned his head.

His eyes found me and crinkled warmly.

He got out of bed, holding the IV stand with one hand, and walked slowly toward me. With his other arm, he gently wrapped around my shoulder.

“Are you okay? Can you walk?”

Of course, I can walk. I walked all the way here, didn’t I?

I tossed the crutches aside and lightly pushed Kwon Sinwoo’s chest.

“Back to bed.”

His eyes narrowed. I chuckled, stood on my toes, and quickly nipped his cheek. Kwon Sinwoo’s shoulders stiffened briefly before he wrapped both arms around my waist.

“No way.”

“What?”

“It’s early.”

“Don’t think dirty thoughts.”

Giggling, I pulled him back to the bed and sat him down. I’m not such a heartless Omega as to keep a patient with an IV standing for a conversation. Then I hopped onto the bed myself. Because I’m also a patient with bandaged limbs.

I began observing Kwon Sinwoo closely.

His jawline was sharper than before. His brow bone and nose bridge stood out, his eye sockets were sunken, but his forehead was smooth, and his lips were perfectly balanced—not too thick, not too thin—giving a calm, cool impression rather than a rugged one. I rested my chin in my hand, noting how his jaw and cheek lines had grown sharper.

Then Kwon Sinwoo spoke in a calm, low voice.

“I heard the bullet was removed successfully. Fortunately, there’s no damage to the bone, they said. The doctors mentioned you’ll need some rehabilitation, but I know an excellent rehab specialist. They’re also an expert in trauma counseling for gunshot wounds, so if you’re okay with it, I’ll arrange for them to come.”

“Hmm….”

I tilted my head slightly with a light smile, listening to the patient worry about me. Kwon Sinwoo paused. Silence followed.

Finally, he couldn’t hold back and spoke.

“The baby….”

“Is healthy.”

I answered cheerfully. Four weeks. Healthy. Good temperament. And made from just one knotting—lucky, too. I decided right then to call this kid my lucky baby.

Kwon Sinwoo closed his mouth again.

But his brow had faint creases, his eyebrows were drawn, and his eyes were narrow. A face deep in thought, piling thought upon thought. Cute. But I held back from saying it. Half-expecting, half-anticipating what he’d say next.

A minute, or maybe an hour, passed before Kwon Sinwoo finally spoke.

“Please let me at least cover child support.”

I barely held back a laugh. Was this the “effort” he meant?

But he remained serious. School fees, food, pocket money if needed, and if possible, occasional visits….

I cut off his pointless talk with a smile.

“Don’t you want to live together?”

Kwon Sinwoo quietly closed his mouth. He pressed his lips shut, saying nothing, and looked at me with resentful eyes.

I finally started laughing.

And I looked at the Alpha who reacted exactly as expected. A kind, innocent, ridiculously sensitive Alpha who collapsed from a gastric ulcer, malnutrition, and sleep deprivation because of my absence.

Whether he found the platform’s laptop, what he did if he found it, how he handled other urgent issues, what he planned to discuss with my dad—obvious questions, and I already knew the answers, so no need to ask.

“Well, then….”

Instead, I came up with a very clever question that covered them all.

“Instead of just living together, want to get married?”

It was quiet. Only the clink of silverware against plates sounded. Light from the crystal chandelier softly flowed over the dining table, and the chef kept bringing out dishes. Crispy roasted chicken, Argentine shrimp ceviche with tangy lemon sauce, followed by the main course: Pampas tenderloin steak with chimichurri, accompanied by beef kidney pâté, pumpkin puree, grilled corn, and bell peppers.

The chef brought Napa Valley Malbec and Syrah, but sadly, non-alcoholic champagne sat in front of me.

I spread pâté on a baguette while observing the table.

The long rectangular table was covered with a cloth adorned with ornate red and gold patterns, and in the center sat a basket of flowers and decorative fruit alongside silver candlesticks engraved with the Virgin Mary.

At one end of the table sat my dad, at the opposite end Kwon Sinwoo, and I was in the middle.

Not exactly a great seating arrangement.

The atmosphere was far from warm and friendly.

Dad didn’t say a word, nor did Kwon Sinwoo. Their expressions were neutral, but the chef, anxiously darting in and out, managed to empty two bottles of wine in less than thirty minutes. If Mom were here, it might’ve been different, but sadly, she was off at a yoga class in Baja California.

As the third bottle’s first glass was sipped, Dad finally spoke.

“I’ll keep this short.”

His Korean, honed through pen-pal exchanges, was top-notch. Probably thanks to Mom, who, even after marriage, refused to speak Spanish. (Dad chose to learn more Korean rather than hire a 24-hour interpreter.)

“Set the earliest possible date, and have the wedding in a church. I’ll find a priest to officiate, so don’t worry about that. For the honeymoon, choose between Cancún, Baja California, or Acapulco.”

I tuned out Dad’s words.

Because I knew the nagging would go on for at least an hour.

“The baby will be born here, baptized at the Metropolitan Cathedral, and you can send them to school in Europe or the U.S., but until then, raise them here. If it’s a girl, the name….”

Blah, blah, blah.

“I’m sorry to interrupt,” Kwon Sinwoo said with a smiling face. His wine glass had been refilled several times, but he didn’t seem drunk.

“That seems like something Hakyung and I should decide together.”

I tensed for a moment, worried Dad might shoot Kwon Sinwoo.

Fortunately, Dad didn’t pull a gun. Instead, he began glaring at Kwon Sinwoo with icy eyes. Kwon Sinwoo kept his smiling face. A silent battle of wills between two Alphas ensued, like watching the most boring wrestling match ever.

I speared grilled corn kernels one by one with my fork and cut the steak into big chunks, swallowing them heartily. My stomach was full. The chef hadn’t shown up in a while.

“Why should I trust you?”

Dad’s response wasn’t rational. It wasn’t the right answer to “That’s for Hakyung and me to decide.”

Dad wasn’t aiming at that meaning.

Pointing the tip of his steak knife at Kwon Sinwoo, Dad said, “Setting up something like that at a deal location means you don’t trust us either, don’t you?”

“It was a legitimate weapons demonstration.”

“Was that meant as a threat?”

“No way.”

At that moment, Kwon Sinwoo laughed for the first time.

“Why would I do that?”

In that instant, I saw a vein bulge sharply on my dad’s neck.

“How am I supposed to trust a guy who can’t even handle a family feud properly to take Hakyung to Korea?”

That’s a fair point.

But can’t I just take care of it for him?

“Family’s always a headache. But I’d prefer to use the most peaceful methods possible. They’re still family, after all.”

And with a smiling face, Kwon Sinwoo subtly jabbed at my dad.

My dad, who had resolved a family feud in a far less peaceful way, gripped the steak knife tightly. (I briefly wondered if he might stab Kwon Sinwoo with it.)

Soon, my dad spoke to me through gritted teeth.

“Yoon Hakyung. Step out for a moment.”

It was a perfectly timed suggestion, so I immediately stood up and left the dining room.

Not far from the dining room door, the chef was pacing nervously. When he saw me, his face lit up, and he asked, “Is it okay to bring in dessert now? How’s the atmosphere in there?”

“Hmm, no. Give it an hour. Actually, no. Just share the dessert in the kitchen with everyone. Take home whatever’s left. You’re done for the day.”

The chef grinned as if he’d been saved and hurriedly left the dining room area.

I hummed a tune as I descended the stairs. Dialing an international call on my phone, I climbed into a car parked in the lot. Before long, the call connected across the Pacific.

“Hey, it’s me. Been doing okay? It’s not a big deal, but I need you to track someone down for me. No, it’s not dangerous. I just need to have a quiet chat.”

I’m waiting for someone while admiring a stunning oil painting.

A gradient flows from red to white lines, reversing from white to end in deep navy. It resembles the sun seen from space more than a sunset over the sea. There’s no title or signature.

The wait isn’t boring.

This massive studio, probably at least six hundred square feet, feels more like a gallery than a home. One wall offers a view of Seoul’s downtown skyscrapers, while the opposite end features a striking wooden dining table, an elegant chandelier, and a large wine cellar in another corner. There are no plants, but three or four large oil paintings adorn the otherwise empty walls.

It’s not exactly great interior design, but the paintings aren’t bad. The style is consistent, as if painted by one person. If they’re for investment, it’s a poor choice, but if it’s a hobby, I’ll give credit for taste in this one thing.

The wait isn’t long. Eight in the evening. The light at the entrance flicks on. I don’t bother dragging it out.

“Hey.”

As I greet him, the shadow stepping inside freezes.

For a brief moment, a tingling tension flows between the hallway and the living room. I smile brightly, waiting for him to collect himself.

Fortunately, it’s not a long wait.

“Well, look who it is. When did you get to Korea? Don’t tell me you came to see me first thing after arriving? Should I feel honored?”

As expected, his tongue is sharp as ever. Well, I can give him credit for that, at least. I smile at Kwon Youngwoo.

Kwon Youngwoo saunters over casually, as if nothing’s wrong, and continues, “Want something to drink? Wine? Cognac? Or shall we pop some champagne to celebrate the reunion?”

He starts walking toward the wine cellar.

Sorry, but I’m not in the mood to waste more time. I’ve waited long enough.

“So, I was thinking.”

At my words, Kwon Youngwoo’s hand pauses briefly before moving again to open the wine cellar. He pretends to browse for a bottle.

I grin.

At the same time, I lunge like lightning and grab the back of his neck. Thud! Crash! His body lurches outward, and a handgun slips from his fingers. I immediately kick it away. The gun skids into a dark corner with a clatter.

“Ugh…!”

Kwon Youngwoo groans and swings a punch at my cheek. He’s not a complete amateur. But his punch is light. I lightly slap his wrist outward and yank his collar hard, choking him with his shirt.

“Gah….”

I choke him until his face flushes red, then ease up just enough for him to breathe. When he claws at my shoulders with both hands, resisting, I tighten the choke again.

“Hmm. Where was I? Anyway, I was thinking. You’re here in Korea, and Kwon Sinwoo’s still in Mexico, right?”

Kwon Youngwoo coughs and wheezes but manages a smug grin. Not bad. I continue.

“So, whatever happens here has nothing to do with Kwon Sinwoo, does it?”

I release his throat.

“Gah, urgh! Cough, hack!”

He coughs violently, his back heaving.

I don’t particularly like the drug mafia’s methods. But they can be efficient sometimes.

“Listen up. I don’t like family feuds.”

Sorting out family feuds is my dad’s specialty, but that doesn’t mean I can’t do it. Because soon, Kwon Youngwoo and I will be family, won’t we?

“So let’s make sure we don’t have any reason to fight going forward. Because it’s kind of sad when family disputes escalate beyond words, don’t you think?”

My dad wrapped things up by sending my older brother to prison, but I’m not stopping there.

I casually stand and walk to the wine cellar. After a quick look, I pull out a bottle of Bollinger. A bit predictable, but classic. Perfect for a celebration.

“I’ll take this for the reunion.”

I hold up the bottle to Kwon Youngwoo and lightly hop over him.

I leave the studio.

As I take the elevator to the first floor, a call comes in. International. It’s Kwon Sinwoo.

[Hakyung.]

His syrupy voice. I want to pop open the Bollinger right now, but I hold back.

“Did your talk with my dad go well?”

[Thirty hours ago.]

“I mean, did it end peacefully?”

[Of course.]

Even to my teasing question, Kwon Sinwoo responds calmly. Listening to his tingling voice, I suddenly get curious.

“So, I killed the platform.”