Yang’s Master Chapter 4.2 - The Lamb

“You don’t know who I am.”

Quan laughed, revealing a grin with scattered gold teeth.

“Well, you’re so young, you might not know this face…”

Quan’s gaze scanned Yang Euijoo’s entire body. Yang Euijoo instantly felt a wave of disgust, as if he’d been doused in sticky, filthy muck.

“No manners, but that’s something education can fix.”

With a hoarse, turbid voice, Quan muttered words that completely ignored Yang Euijoo’s will, picking up a torpedo cigar. He sliced the end off with a cutter. As the thick cigar’s tip was severed, Yang Euijoo swallowed hard, gripped by an eerie feeling that his own neck was being cut.

In comparison, Cheon Yeomyung almost seemed humane and kind. At least that man pretended to disguise his killings with politeness. He didn’t use living people as footrests or kill until the wallpaper changed color.

“This old man’s name is Quan. Ever heard of it, kid?”

Quan. Yang Euijoo slightly moved his tongue in his mouth. He remembered Cheon Yeomyung mentioning it. The boss of Hongryong, the father of the child in Mei’s womb. Realizing who the limping guy intended to offer him to, Yang Euijoo’s face paled. Quan, watching him, picked up a heavy lighter. His trembling fingers fumbled a few times before the cigar finally lit.

“So, what’s your name?”

“…”

“I really hate guys who don’t answer questions right away.”

A thick, wrinkled finger holding the cigar pointed at the wallpaper. Yang Euijoo looked at the red, sticky, corpse-scented wallpaper.

“That’s why some ended up smeared on the wall. You look young, but I’m too merciful to shoot a bullet through your head.”

Yang Euijoo pressed his lips tightly at Quan’s words, which seemed to redefine mercy in his own way. The fear of imminent death erased even the throbbing pain in his toes. Cold sweat ran down his pale cheeks and dripped onto the floor. Yang Euijoo trembled as the tiny droplets hit the ground, the sound unnaturally loud.

“Oh, my mercy was too great, so I didn’t kill that guy and let him be.”

The deeply wrinkled face, full of creases, closed its eyes, belatedly recalling the past. Yang Euijoo, panting and understanding only half of Quan’s words, felt his throat tighten with rising fever. Dizziness and pain pounded his head, suffocating him. He felt like he was being strangled. Hunger didn’t even register. Impatient water dripped from the ceiling above his aching head.

Quan, sensing it too, looked up and fired a shot at the ceiling. A small sob came from the silent footrest, an anguished cry as if he knew he’d soon die from a bullet.

“What a shitty house. I got scammed by a contractor and bought this so-called mansion. A place that leaks every rainy season, and they call it a house…!”

The old man growled, his eyes gleaming. He staggered like a scrawny lion with visible ribs, then leaned back in his chair, breathing heavily.

“Oh, no. It’s fine. Kill them all, and it’s over.”

The old man, eyes closed, breathed deeply, inflating his chest. He looked visibly unhealthy. Yang Euijoo gripped his sweat-soaked hands tightly. Could he overpower Quan if he took the gun? Even if he did, could he escape the mansion? Yang Euijoo clenched both hands. His wrists bore raw, chafed marks from being roughly tied.

“What are you doing? Don’t just stand there. Come closer.”

Quan, puffing slowly on the cigar, called to Yang Euijoo. Faced with violent eyes that seemed ready to shoot if defied, Yang Euijoo reluctantly stepped forward. Comparing his life to a body that was surely less valuable was impossible.

Why had things gone so wrong? He cursed himself for dragging his sick, cold-ridden body out just to crave oranges. Quan looked at Yang Euijoo with satisfaction.

The old man, whose limbs occasionally stiffened, turned his rigid neck to look at Yang Euijoo. His drab hair and eye color weren’t great, but his features were captivating. Quan muttered, cigar in mouth.

“Hmm, you look much better up close. No, no, really good. Dirty, but I like it. Wujung brought me an interesting gift. If that bastard hadn’t lost that girl, I’d have praised him, but he’s a bastard to chew up and kill. A bastard to skin alive…”

Yang Euijoo swallowed hard, hearing Quan curse the limping guy. The old man was dangerous, in a completely different way from Cheon Yeomyung. Quan’s mere gaze made Yang Euijoo feel defiled, as if filthy muck was strangling him.

“No, what’s lost can be taken back. What are you doing? Come closer. Hurry up here…”

The old man pointed at his feet, commanding. Yang Euijoo couldn’t defy Quan’s order. With each slow step, he felt the pulsing stench of blood, pus, and corpses. The room was so filled with death that he could almost see the ghosts of the slain. He took a few steps, then stopped. The chandelier hung above his head.

Quan, seeing his trembling lips, imagined Yang Euijoo with chandelier shards embedded in him. He didn’t know where he came from, but the more he looked, the more he liked him. The inability to bear children was a flaw, but Quan liked men too. The vivid spark in those ashen eyes was especially appealing. What kind of scream would he make if ash were flicked into those eyes? Quan chuckled briefly, feeling pleased. His laughter was so horrific it gave chills just to hear.

“Crawl from there. I don’t have a hobby of looking up at someone while sitting.”

“…”

Yang Euijoo bit his lip. The man didn’t see him as human, treating him like a piece of meat to toy with. It was revolting.

“What are you doing?”

The sound of Quan tapping the table with his Browning forced Yang Euijoo to lower his body. As his weight shifted forward, pain like his toe bones shattering surged through him. “Ugh,” Yang Euijoo groaned faintly.

Then the ceiling above them shook loudly. The chandelier trembled. Footsteps and shouts echoed from above. The ceiling creaked as if it might collapse. Forgetting Quan’s command, Yang Euijoo looked up. Blood splattered even on the high ceiling, evidence of torture and killing. The red fabric on the chandelier now looked like a strangulation mark.

“Tch, such vulgar behavior. Do they think this old man is a joke now?”

Quan, annoyed by the sudden noise, clicked his tongue and shook a long cord beside him. With an old-fashioned gesture, someone burst through the door into Quan’s room.

“Boss, big trouble!”

A man with a long scar on his cheek shouted. Quan, irritated by the underling, pointed at Yang Euijoo and warned.

“Shut up! It’s too loud. I caught the rat, so quiet the others.”

“It’s not that…!”

Before the frantic subordinate could finish, a man approached and struck his neck with a gloved hand. He held a pistol similar to Quan’s. Kicking the limp man aside, he slowly entered the room. Others followed, guns raised, silently standing on both sides, aiming as a warning.

Light footsteps echoed on the uncarpeted floor, deliberately casual. The man was tall, dressed entirely in black, like he was walking through the night. His face exuded a chillingly intense presence. His hair was swept back, revealing a handsome forehead, and he wore a tuxedo as if heading to a party. The tailored suit clung to him, but it wasn’t light or short like modern trends.

He wore a double-breasted jacket favored by gentlemen during a brutal world war, its long hem covering his hips, yet his height was unmistakable. He detached an empty magazine, letting it fall, and loaded a new one. With a cheerful click, his radiant face spread a smile like scattering talents.

“Sorry, but that’s not a rat. That’s my lover. Mind your words?”

The lively voice echoed in the rotting, corpse-scented room.

Quan kicked the man used as a footrest and tried to stand, but dizziness made him stagger. The old man, too frail to support himself, was far too old. Someone snickered at his pathetic movements.

“You, why are you here!”

Quan slammed the pistol grip on the armrest, shouting. The hated face before him made his eyes burn with pain as he trembled.

“Why? I came to pick up my lover.”

In a situation where a bullet could hit his head, Cheon Yeomyung nonchalantly hugged Yang Euijoo tightly from behind, unbothered by his dirty, ragged state. He even kissed Yang Euijoo’s cheek in front of Quan, then looked puzzled.

“Babe, have you been drinking? The liquor smell is intense.”

“…”

Unable to explain he’d wiped his face with alcohol, Yang Euijoo stared blankly at the man’s glossy face. Cheon Yeomyung, without a word from Yang Euijoo, asked sweetly, “Really?” and kissed his cheek again. The sweet sound made Izaryang, who’d followed, shrug.

“Cheon Yeomyung!”

Unable to bear the arrogance, Quan roared. Unfortunately, Yang Euijoo was too dazed to care about the gun in Quan’s hand. Instead, he panted at the warmth of the man hugging him tightly. His heart raced strangely, eroding his reason.

“How did you get here…”

“Took exactly 31 hours. I worked hard to keep it under two days. You’ll praise me, right?”

At Cheon Yeomyung’s words, Yang Euijoo forgot what to say. The man had come for him. He couldn’t stop the strange feeling flooding his dazed mind.

Cheon Yeomyung glanced at Yang Euijoo, finding him cute, then turned to Quan. Though his men were with him, letting his guard down in front of Quan wasn’t smart. The old worm, seeing him, trembled with rage. How ugly. Cheon Yeomyung often felt a merciful urge to shoot the greedy, murderous old man dead.

Today, he’d made a bold move, entering Hongryong’s mansion, which he’d avoided due to its size. Learning why his lover ended up in the boss’s mansion was absurd. There was even some fault on Cheon Yeomyung’s part. When a spy in the mansion reported that Reddoor’s pimp brought Yang Euijoo to Quan, he burst out laughing.

Wouldn’t life have been smoother staying on the ship? Cheon Yeomyung chuckled on his way to this vile mansion.

Still, coming to this disgusting place was worth it. Yang Euijoo, apparently trying to escape, was a mess, covered in wounds, but still alive, not a finger missing. He hadn’t been forced to serve the old man and even looked relieved to see Cheon Yeomyung. That made him a caring lover Linlin would approve of. Hoping his relationship score improved, he spoke.

“My lover loves thrilling adventures, so I brought him on an exciting tour. You gotta visit before it shuts down, right? But as you know, night’s for lovers, so it’s time to pick him up and go.”

Cheon Yeomyung grinned, playfully rubbing his cheek on Yang Euijoo’s shoulder. The mix of liquor and other smells didn’t bother him. He spun a Colt on his finger, the barrel dangerously swinging. Quan suppressed the urge to shoot Cheon Yeomyung’s head at his casual attitude. Touching him here would end his line completely.

“That rat’s your lover?”

“Yeah, isn’t he pretty?”

Cheon Yeomyung showed off Yang Euijoo proudly. Quan snorted at the shameless affection.

“You brought your dirty feet into my house to get your lover? Who helped you?”

“Not helped, it’s real. Your dumb lackey didn’t know he was my lover and touched him. Better train them right.”

At the calm reply, Quan lowered his gun and glared. Cheon Yeomyung’s yellow eyes gleamed.

“I’m not here to fight you yet. You don’t want that either, right? Was our grudge worth a single bullet?”

Cheon Yeomyung spoke as if he knew Quan’s thoughts.

“A deal? You, of all people?”

Quan stared, itching to rip out those yellow eyes. Yang Euijoo felt the man’s arm tighten around him.

Cheon Yeomyung, not loosening his grip, tapped his Glock on his thigh.

“A deal? I’m not in a position to make such generous offers.”

“So you barge in, make a mess, and just walk out?”

“A mess? I cleaned up a bit. Why not move, old man? With this leaking ceiling, you’ll have a basement pool every rainy season.”

Quan, furious at the venomous tongue, stood abruptly. Too long since standing on his own, he staggered from dizziness. Izaryang cackled at the sight.

“Wow, the old man can’t even stand and he’s still alive.”

“How dare you!”

Quan, leaning on the table, bellowed.

“Sounds like you’ve still got some strength.”

Sokang, agreeing with Izaryang, spoke. Tired from hours of infiltrating the mansion, Sokang checked his magazine, hoping the boss would wrap this up. Reading Sokang’s intent, Cheon Yeomyung spoke impassively.

“We’ll set up a negotiation table soon, so see you then. And frankly, I’ve done fair retaliation. Consider it your life’s luck I didn’t touch you, or you’d be a eunuch before getting a new kid.”

Cheon Yeomyung signaled his men to stand down and kissed Yang Euijoo’s cheek again, saying playfully.

“Just gonna take? You gotta give me one too.”

Yang Euijoo, still dazed and barely grasping the situation, was nearly collapsing into Cheon Yeomyung’s arms.

“Euijoo.”

Finally, Cheon Yeomyung called his name. Yang Euijoo, in a trance, kissed the man’s cheek as instructed. Unlike the room’s stench of rot and blood, the man smelled fresh, clean, and deep, like he’d used cologne. Yang Euijoo was surprised to feel his nausea slowly subside in Cheon Yeomyung’s embrace.

Cheon Yeomyung, receiving the kiss, beamed with satisfaction. Quan, clutching his chest and panting, glared with bloodshot eyes.

“We’ll take our leave today. See you next time.”

Cheon Yeomyung holstered his gun and bowed politely. Yang Euijoo, moving like a puppet with his master, felt his body sway like paper. He lifted his dazed face blankly.

“You think I’ll talk to you?”

Despite Quan’s furious voice, Cheon Yeomyung looked bored.

“You’ll have to. I’ll invite you to a better place than this disgusting room, so look forward to it.”

Cheon Yeomyung disliked Quan’s lack of humanity and violent temper, but most of all, his thoughtless torture and killing. Humans had irreplaceable value. Didn’t this troublesome lover give him the chance to make Quan die of rage?

But Quan was different. Cheon Yeomyung knew he vented by killing when upset, but seeing Hongryong’s state in person was worse than expected. Known for its reign of terror, the organization’s members barely resisted, quietly stepping aside, fearing their boss might shoot them with a machine gun.

Living like this, it’d collapse soon. But rather than natural death or ruin, wouldn’t destroying it himself be more galling for Quan? Cheon Yeomyung happily imagined ways to make Quan die of frustration.

Of course, this was all thanks to his hardworking lover. Seeing Quan lust after Yang Euijoo, who couldn’t even get it up, improved his mood. Possessing something popular alone gave humans the highest satisfaction.

“Stay healthy until we meet again. Don’t we have some unfinished business?”

Cheon Yeomyung turned away, ending the conversation. Izaryang and Sokang covered their boss as they slowly left the blood-stained room. Quan cursed in an old dialect, firing his gun randomly. The victim was likely the footrest man, but no one cared.

Yang Euijoo, still held tightly in Cheon Yeomyung’s arms, panted hot breaths.

“Boss.”

Sokang pulled a clean, long cloth from his pocket and handed it to Cheon Yeomyung. Seeing the scene through the half-open gate, Cheon Yeomyung took the cloth without hesitation and covered his dazed lover’s eyes. Yang Euijoo, startled by the sudden blindness, struggled but was quickly subdued.

Cheon Yeomyung carefully tied the cloth and patted Yang Euijoo’s back. He felt a bit nostalgic. It was like holding and comforting ten-year-old Linlin. Back then, young himself but older than Linlin, he acted mature.

Am I getting old? Cheon Yeomyung thought dealing with old men made him old-fashioned at times.

“It’s okay. I covered your eyes because there’s something you shouldn’t see.”

“What shouldn’t I see…”

“Ever heard of a covert op? It’s common in Hollywood movies.”

Cheon Yeomyung’s voice was as casual as a stroll on a beach. Yang Euijoo blinked under the double or triple-layered white cloth. He’d never seen a movie. He’d owned a few books but couldn’t read them well due to hard words. Picture books were too precious and expensive for him.

“Never.”

“Then we’ll go see one next time.”

The man replied nonchalantly, lifting Yang Euijoo into his arms. Ruining an expensive suit wasn’t important. Yang Euijoo gasped at being suddenly lifted but soon relaxed, feeling relieved.

For a civilian, he’d endured enough. Should he teach him to shoot? His grit suggested self-defense training wouldn’t hurt. Cheon Yeomyung pondered what to prioritize and whether Mei and her unborn child, hidden away, were healthy.

Quan, met today, looked worse than expected. Cancer, was it? With little time left, his desperate struggle to survive was disgustingly ugly. Those who feared death were all the same. Like Cheon Yeomyung’s father, who blindly believed in resurrection.

God? They’re all just humans. No one obsessed with resurrection or succession was sane. Recalling his father’s pathetic sobbing, asking why God abandoned him, Cheon Yeomyung’s face darkened. Thinking of that time, he still felt inhuman. The moment his sin of bloodshed turned to pleasure came to mind.

“Why did you come to save me?”

A voice, weary with exhaustion and sleep, broke through his stale thoughts. Cheon Yeomyung swallowed a laugh. Walking slowly between his men holding open the garden’s blood-stained path, he answered.

“Because I wanted to.”

“You?”

“What, am I not allowed to show kindness on my own?”

Yang Euijoo was silent for a long time. Exhausted and barely able to move a finger, he managed to speak.

“That’s… not true.”

“…”

“Thank you.”

He was truly grateful. He’d been through too much today. Kidnapped, jumping clumsily from the second floor, facing a mad killer. If Cheon Yeomyung hadn’t come, he dreaded what might’ve happened.

Cheon Yeomyung had no obligation to save him. Yang Euijoo knew how pathetic their relationship was.

With no expectations, Yang Euijoo imagined nothing. He usually handled everything alone. He’d never dreamed of someone solving his dangers. On the ship, people were eager to offload their tasks onto others.

Young, parentless Yang Euijoo was often a target of abuse. Some tried to protect him, but no one stepped up to take his beatings or chores.

If Cheon Yeomyung hadn’t come, Yang Euijoo would’ve crawled at the feet of a mad killer in a blood-soaked basement, selling his humanity to avoid being shot.

In a hopeless, miserable reality, the theatrical arrival of a man made Yang Euijoo feel his world twist. Amid trembling fingers and frozen toes, it was like a strong hand pulling him from below the deck. Unhoped-for salvation weakened a person, especially from a man who’d likely use it as leverage.

Yet Yang Euijoo thanked him. It was genuine. After squeezing out his voice, he buried his face near Cheon Yeomyung’s shoulder.

Hearing the brief greeting, Cheon Yeomyung climbed into the parked car. Sokang, holding the door, wiped blood from his face with a cloth and glanced at Yang Euijoo. The man’s face, with his eyes covered by a white cloth, showed pale, trembling lips standing out starkly. He looked worse than ever, the most disheveled Sokang had seen him. Resembling a corpse being held, Sokang couldn’t help but ask.

“Is he dead?”

“That’s rude.”

Cheon Yeomyung, checking Yang Euijoo’s faint pulse, replied indifferently. With his eyes covered and body limp, Yang Euijoo did look like a sacrificial offering just taken down from a cross. No wonder Quan would lose his mind. When Quan realized the trembling young lamb, pierced with thorns in hands and feet, wasn’t prepared for him, he must have been furious.

“Should we call a doctor? Or go to a hospital?”

“Rose Rock should be enough.”

Though Rose Rock had studied medicine but never graduated, she was treated as a doctor within the organization. Yirang was full of quacks anyway, and Yang Euijoo sold trash as medicine, so Rose Rock, with three years of study, was doctor enough by comparison.

“What do you think of Quan?”

“You saw him, didn’t you? Too old to even hold a gun, trembling, yet clinging to life. Will I get that pathetic when I’m old?”

Cheon Yeomyung, spitting venom about Quan, who made people sick just by looking at him, smirked crookedly. Sokang, seeing the happiest face he’d ever seen from Cheon Yeomyung since working under him, shook his head.

He understood Cheon Yeomyung’s twisted nature from a tumultuous childhood, but the man was inherently a bit broken. A respected boss, but not a moral role model. Still, that was a strength for the organization, so Sokang didn’t judge him.

“Back to the mansion?”

“Yeah.”

“What about him…”

Before Sokang could finish, Cheon Yeomyung put a finger to his lips. A subtle smile called for silence. Knowing Sokang had caught on, Cheon Yeomyung spoke again for Yang Euijoo’s sake.

“You take another car. I think it’s better if it’s just me here.”

A driver was in the car, but neither cared. Yang Euijoo, sensing the presence beside him vanish, sighed deeply in relief. He knew no one was about to harm him, but just having someone nearby triggered overwhelming fear.

He’d been threatened plenty on the ship. Once, bullied by peers, he was locked in a storage room for two days before being found. Back then, Yang Euijoo, despite starving, hunted down his captors, grabbed their hair, and threw punches. He wasn’t in this pathetic state, cradled by someone.

Even white, when layered enough, turns dark as night. Yang Euijoo, still foolishly trying to see through the covered vision, fumbled at the knot. The more he pulled, the tighter it got, hurting his eyes. Yang Euijoo frowned. Cheon Yeomyung, seeing the fierce scowl under his messy, broom-like bangs, clicked his tongue inwardly.

His nails were broken and split, eight of ten fingers bleeding from scratches, yet he didn’t feel the pain, clawing at the cloth to untie it without asking for help.

The pharmacist’s got a weird personality.

Finally, Cheon Yeomyung grabbed Yang Euijoo’s hands before they got worse. Yang Euijoo, slightly panicked, snapped irritably.

“What are you doing? Let go!”

His thin, screeching voice was as frail as the tattered clothes he wore.

“Your hands look like they hurt.”

Yang Euijoo was still angry. With every part of his body aching, he couldn’t grasp why Cheon Yeomyung suddenly cared about his hands. They say you’re braver when you can’t see. Instead of removing the blindfold, Cheon Yeomyung held him tightly to keep him from escaping.

The cheap rum smell was still strong, but bearable. Yang Euijoo, with both arms restrained, groaned in frustration before finally going limp. The man’s scent flooded his nose, the only blue thing in a room of red wallpaper.

“Can I ask how you ended up in that room?”

“…”

“It didn’t seem like you were sent there on purpose.”

No one would send a tribute to the boss in such a filthy, ragged state. Especially to a sensitive Quan, presenting something dirty was like begging for death.

Yang Euijoo, silent, began to speak haltingly. He’d run into the limping guy on his way home, and Cheon Yeomyung, listening to how he escaped that room, sighed audibly at Yang Euijoo’s reckless tale. He knew the man had a fierce streak, but jumping into a thornbush below was unexpected.

“You need a doctor, not Rose Rock.”

At the slightly scolding tone, Yang Euijoo shut his mouth. Feeling unfairly blamed, he protested in a feverish, disoriented state.

“I just wanted oranges.”

To Cheon Yeomyung’s ears, it sounded more like whining than protesting.

“Oranges?”

“I was on my way to buy oranges, and that crazy bastard smashed my head from behind… Damn it, I didn’t even get a slice.”

“You wanted oranges?”

“Wanted to eat them…”

Yang Euijoo’s completely deflated tone brought a slow smile to Cheon Yeomyung’s face, a radiant grin that would make self-proclaimed artists beg him to model.

🐑

Yang Euijoo woke in a familiar room, similar to one where he’d met Mei and rolled around with Cheon Yeomyung. The elegant, vintage room was filled with the scent of oranges. Yang Euijoo saw a pile of fresh oranges on the table, their thick, orange peels and green leaves on the stems swaying in the breeze from an open window.

Like waking from a long dream, Yang Euijoo, dazed, lifted the blanket and looked out the window. Yirang and the sea were visible. Occasionally, an unpleasant smell wafted from there. Yirang, seen from under a precarious plane’s wing, looked like a toy castle made of matchboxes.

Yang Euijoo stood silently, gazing at the scene. Thin curtains fluttered alongside his pajamas. Naturally, they weren’t dirtier than the rags he’d worn. His broken nails were individually bandaged, and the light beige pajamas carried a fresh orange scent.

If Yirang was visible, this wasn’t heaven. Where was he? Yang Euijoo looked around, gripped the windowsill, and leaned out.

Humid wind carried the loud chirping of cicadas. The glare stung his eyes. Shielding them with his sleeve, Yang Euijoo realized the shimmering pool reflecting sunlight was the culprit.

Only one person was in the blue outdoor pool, slicing through the water. Sensing a gaze, the man stopped and looked up. Yang Euijoo, meeting his eyes, flinched.

The man waded out, smiling broadly in just a tight, risqué swimsuit over his wet body.

“You’re up?”

Cheon Yeomyung. Yang Euijoo silently said his name.

“Eaten the oranges?”

At the question, Yang Euijoo gripped the windowsill tightly. The sun was blinding. His lips moved to answer, but his voice wouldn’t come, perhaps from sleeping too long.

It all felt like an illusion. Being kidnapped by the limping guy, entering a blood-soaked basement, and being rescued by Cheon Yeomyung—the short yet endlessly long time replayed slowly in his mind. The man’s warmth, his soothing words…

“I’ll come up, so wait quietly. They said your feet are in bad shape.”

Fearing his words weren’t clear, Cheon Yeomyung walked to the window and raised his voice. His golden eyes curved playfully.

“It’s not just a toe fracture; your ankle’s bad. Doesn’t it hurt?”

“Well…”

He couldn’t remember clearly. Jumping from the window, his whole body hurt, making it hard to tell ankle from back pain. Yang Euijoo shook his head, and Cheon Yeomyung, as if expecting it, gestured.

“Lie down.”

Despite the order, Yang Euijoo didn’t move, watching Cheon Yeomyung drape a towel over his shoulders, handed by a man in a black suit. The sleek body vanished from the pool, reappearing after a little over thirty minutes with a knock.

Perhaps from swimming, Cheon Yeomyung wasn’t in his usual suit. In a casually rolled-up shirt and cotton pants, he sat at the table, picking up an orange instead of greeting.

Never forgetting his gloves, he pulled a small jackknife from his back pocket and peeled an orange, stacking the slices neatly in an empty teacup.

“Don’t just stand there. Sit.”

Having peeled an orange in no time, Cheon Yeomyung called to Yang Euijoo. Only then did Yang Euijoo slowly release the windowsill and approach. His ankle, as warned, throbbed with each step. Bandages didn’t erase the pain. Seeing his unsteady gait, Cheon Yeomyung stood, helped him to a chair, and pushed the peeled orange slices in front of him.

Yang Euijoo hesitated, then popped a slice into his mouth. His empty stomach stung, but the rough mouth refreshed instantly with a strong sweetness. Feeling energized, Yang Euijoo devoured the rest without pause.

“Worth preparing them.”

Cheon Yeomyung tapped the topmost orange, speaking. Yang Euijoo, slightly revived, looked at him. Still dazed, he found the energy to ask.

“Where am I?”

“My mansion. I have one on every island, but this is on the Kowloon Peninsula.”

Since Yirang was in Kowloon, the misty Yirang outside wasn’t a hallucination. Yang Euijoo picked up an orange, inhaling its dizzying scent.

“I’d send you back to Yirang, but as you know, I pissed off Quan, so I brought you here.”

“Quan…”

“You met him, so you roughly know who he is?”

Peeling a second orange, Cheon Yeomyung explained unilaterally.

“A murderous, drug-addled pimp, they call him. I stole something of his, and he’s pissed about it.”

“You steal too, huh.”

Yang Euijoo, speaking, coughed from a sore throat.

“I love stealing the most.”

Cheon Yeomyung replied with a serious face, as if sharing a grand secret, then laughed aloud at Yang Euijoo’s skeptical look. His unbuttoned shirt fluttered with each laugh, revealing his chest. Yang Euijoo looked away from the dizzying sight. Even after seeing that body during sex, it wasn’t familiar.

“Anyway, to continue, Quan, with our deep grudges, wants to tear my lover apart.”

If he’s gonna kill, he’s slow. Cheon Yeomyung laughed again. Yang Euijoo, facing the threat of being torn apart, glared at his glossy face.

“Don’t look at me like that. You think I’d let you get torn apart?”

His attitude suggested he might enjoy it, so Yang Euijoo wasn’t convinced. Unfazed by the harsh misunderstanding, Cheon Yeomyung peeled off orange slices, stacking them in the empty teacup like a diligent shepherd fattening livestock.

“To cut to the chase, stay in this mansion for now. I picked this room so you wouldn’t get homesick.”

Homesick for a place like Yirang? Unlikely, but too tired to argue, Yang Euijoo stayed silent. The ripe orange was delicious, but it felt like the culprit of all this, earning his resentment.

“Should I take that as agreement?”

“What if I don’t agree? Go back and get torn apart?”

“Well, not torn apart. Probably shot.”

He had a knack for making offers sound like elegant threats. Yang Euijoo pushed the teacup of oranges to the center, sighing.

“Fine, I’ll stay here.”

“Good. Then we need to prepare a bit.”

Prepare? Yang Euijoo looked up at Cheon Yeomyung, who lightly tapped the table. The soft sound, half-mixed with air, somehow reached outside, and people rushed in. Dressed haphazardly, they approached Yang Euijoo, not Cheon Yeomyung.

“Young master, shall we get started?”

They called Yang Euijoo by an absurd title. Flustered, he looked at Cheon Yeomyung, who just grinned, enjoying the scene.

“No, what…”

Before Yang Euijoo could mutter, he was half-forced from the chair and stood like a scarecrow in an empty spot. Colored silks and unfamiliar patterned fabrics were held under his face.

“How about this fabric?”

“This bold color suits you well. Oh, smaller patterns look better?”

“Or maybe this one?”

The chattering voices shook his soul like birds chirping. A large full-length mirror appeared before him. Seeing blue silk and ornate embroidery under his face, Yang Euijoo’s expression turned pale. Cheon Yeomyung, seeing his horrified reaction to the unearned treatment, gently soothed him.

“You suffered because of me, so accept everything given.”

Yang Euijoo, fighting the urge to rip off the goosebump-inducing title and silks, barely registered Cheon Yeomyung’s words.

“A house? A car? How about money, or a new identity?”

Perhaps knowing his mind, Cheon Yeomyung spoke excitedly.

“You’re my lover, so ask for anything.”

Yang Euijoo’s face, wrapped in purple silk, crumpled.

Yang Euijoo, staying in Cheon Yeomyung’s beautiful mansion, wasn’t happy at all. Before his wounds healed, nightmares from the kidnapping plagued him. The worst was the hallucination of bloodstains crawling on the walls, lasting longer than the scars of thorns in his body. Hearing of Yang Euijoo’s nightmares and hallucinations, Cheon Yeomyung, returning from an outing, handed his stylish leather coat to a maid and asked.

“Would watching a movie about hallucinations help?”

“Boss, are you crazy?”

Rose Rock, listening, snapped irritably. Cheon Yeomyung glanced at her warily.

“I was serious.”

“Go crazy on your own and get the pharmacist a psychiatrist.”

She’d spent effort setting her short hair with twenty rollers, only for rain to ruin it upon reaching the restaurant, followed by insults from Yankee clients, souring her mood. Slamming her briefcase on the floor, Rose Rock stomped off, heels clacking.

Despite being rebuked, Cheon Yeomyung didn’t get angry, just shrugged. When Rose Rock got mad, there was no fixing it. Linlin, arriving late, picked up the discarded briefcase, shaking her head.

“Why do you always say things to piss off Rose Rock?”

“Linlin, watching Rose Rock get mad is fun.”

“You’re hopeless, boss.”

After her honest opinion, Linlin went to the dining room to find Rose Rock.

“Is that prescription so bad?”

Having decided to give his men freedom after they restrained themselves from strangling a racist businessman, Cheon Yeomyung headed to the second floor. A maid handed him a dry towel. Wiping his wet hair and gloves, he asked.

“What’s the pharmacist doing?”

“Since the shock, he’s been resting.”

“Has he eaten?”

“He had a glass of whiskey earlier…”

The middle-aged maid looked worried. Cheon Yeomyung changed into fresh gloves and removed his suit jacket. Sleek black leather suspenders crossed his firm chest, securing his shirt. The maid took the jacket and cufflinks he offered.

“I’ll check on him. Bring some snacks in an hour.”

“Understood.”

The maid bowed politely, taking Cheon Yeomyung’s items and leaving. He walked down the long hallway, glancing at a mirror with a goat sculpture above it, its long horns like thorns stretching across. Decorations from his father’s time still lingered, grating his nerves.

Yet Cheon Yeomyung didn’t remove them. He wasn’t interested in interior design, and lately, these morbid religious relics felt amusing. He paused on the dark, shadowed stairs, gripping the railing. It was all thanks to the strange pharmacist on the second floor.

Cheon Yeomyung neatly rolled up his shirt sleeves, unbuttoned the top, and loosened his tie. Observing Yang Euijoo lately, he’d noticed the fussy pharmacist felt more at ease with his disheveled look than his formal suits.

Keeping him around but constantly tense wasn’t pleasant. Hoping he looked like a theater ticket boy handing out flyers in Hong Kong, Cheon Yeomyung opened the door.

Yang Euijoo sat by the window, legs up on a large orange single sofa, a glass of whiskey before him. The half-empty whiskey, diluted by melted ice, was a light honey color. Cheon Yeomyung, arms crossed, leaned against the doorframe, watching quietly.

Perhaps relaxed by the alcohol, Yang Euijoo’s usually irritated eyes were softened. Unlike his thin long-sleeve shirt, his loose shorts revealed his knees. His crossed ankles showed prominent bones.

Seeing him like this for the first time, Cheon Yeomyung watched as Yang Euijoo slowly finished the whiskey. The ice clinked. Yang Euijoo, holding the liquor in his mouth, rubbed his eyes with his sleeve. The corners, red from a nightmare-induced nap, stood out.

Cheon Yeomyung lightly knocked, alerting Yang Euijoo, who hadn’t noticed the open door. Startled, he looked at the entrance, spilling whiskey from his glass onto his sleeve—the same one he’d pressed to his eyes.

“How’s your mood?”

Cheon Yeomyung entered, asking. Yang Euijoo, glancing at him, then at the blue ripples of the pool below, answered honestly.

“Fucking awful.”

His face was relaxed, but his tongue was sharp. Cheon Yeomyung, suddenly curious about Yang Euijoo’s mother, sat on the sofa’s armrest.

“Quan’s a bastard, huh? Should I just kill him?”

He spoke of killing as casually as slaughtering a chicken. Yang Euijoo considered retorting that Cheon Yeomyung was the bastard but bit an ice cube instead. His insides burned uncomfortably. Lately, every time he closed and opened his eyes, the walls seemed red. The hallucination of blood covering blue wallpaper made his head throb. Sighing, Yang Euijoo pursed his lips and blew out cold air.

“Forget it, just let me out.”

“No way. Didn’t you hear? It’s dangerous.”

“Not to go back to Yirang…”

Yang Euijoo touched his forehead. The frustration stemmed more from being confined to the room. Cheon Yeomyung checked on him regularly, but seeing his face didn’t ease the claustrophobia. The staff were polite but blocked him from leaving. Showering in the attached bathroom and opening the window were his only permitted actions.

His ashen eyes writhed with intense frustration. His body had gained weight, but his mind was withering. Crunching another ice cube, the whiskey’s strong scent chilled his mouth.