Yang’s Master Chapter 8.3 - Rebel

“Very well, if you say so, we’ll postpone it to next time…”

Earl Berkshire finally nodded in reluctant agreement. Still wearing a look of lingering desire, he reached out to touch Yang Euijoo one more time, but Cheon Yeomyung deftly pulled Yang Euijoo into his arms, thwarting the attempt.

Cheon Yeomyung, with a subtle maneuver that left it unclear whether he sensed the earl’s clumsy grab as a distasteful mistake or deliberate, adjusted his hold on Yang Euijoo and offered a farewell.

“We’ll meet again next time. Before you’re sent back to England, I promise to return the favor.”

“Fine. I’d prefer to see you as soon as possible. If that’s not feasible, just use some drugs to bring him along!”

After bowing to the earl’s shrill demand, Cheon Yeomyung hoisted Yang Euijoo over his shoulder like a sack and walked out.

“Liar.”

Yang Euijoo’s mocking whisper was ignored. The thin medicine bag in Cheon Yeomyung’s pocket seemed to rustle loudly, but Cheon Yeomyung had no choice but to return to the mansion.

🐑

Mei Wood, urgently summoned and waiting at the mansion, let out a short cry upon seeing Yang Euijoo return in tatters. Why were his carefully bandaged fingers in such a state? The middle-aged woman, wearing a distressed expression like a young girl, treated his fingers again, slathered sticky ointment on his lips and cheeks, and then turned to Cheon Yeomyung.

“How could you treat someone like this? Here, apply this regularly.”

A shiny gold ointment container dropped into Cheon Yeomyung’s hand. He flipped it over to check the label before responding.

“Tell him to apply it himself. It won’t come off leather if it gets on it.”

“Oh, there you go with your refined talk again.”

Mei Wood clicked her tongue, planting her hands firmly on her hips.

“Losing a pair of gloves won’t hurt you, will it? Apply it properly. How can you let such a pretty face get so scarred? Oh, my heart aches. If you’re going to drag a patient out and leave him in this state, you might as well lock him in a room!”

Spitting out her lecture in rapid succession, Mei Wood gathered her medical bag and stood. Yang Euijoo, his face flushed with fever, managed a thank you to Mei Wood. She gave him a sympathetic pat, feeling the rough texture of his tangled hair, and clicked her tongue again.

“Goodness, Mr. Euijoo, you need to take better care of your hair. What is this mess? It’s not like all the nutrients drained out to make it this color, is it? Looking at your hair, one might think you’re the same age as someone from Yirang.”

“I’ll keep that in mind, so please leave. I’ll do as you say, just stop nagging.”

Cheon Yeomyung exclaimed, as if fed up. Only then did Mei Wood shoot him a look, like a grandmother scolding a pitiful grandson, before striding out with dignified steps. As soon as the door slammed shut, Cheon Yeomyung covered his face with his palm and let out a deep sigh. His puffed-up shoulders slowly deflated, and he looked inexplicably tired.

“Haa…”

Unlike Yang Euijoo, the man’s attire was nearly as pristine as when he’d left the mansion, save for a slightly wrinkled shoulder where Yang Euijoo had clung. Cheon Yeomyung, ruffling his previously slicked-back hair, cast a glance filled with irritation and confusion. His eyes glinted through his disheveled hair. Those radiant, sun-like eyes were different from usual. Yang Euijoo, clutching the sheets with bandaged fingers, remained silent.

“Why did you do that?”

At Cheon Yeomyung’s question, Yang Euijoo scoffed. Was he asking because he genuinely didn’t know, or was it deliberate? Yang Euijoo shot back.

“Why did you open the door?”

Yang Euijoo’s strength and stamina were pitiful. No matter how much he resisted a fat pig who could barely manage his own body, he would’ve eventually been subdued, bound, and violated. Yet Cheon Yeomyung couldn’t ignore Yang Euijoo’s cries to the end. He gritted his teeth. He never thought Yang Euijoo would be obedient. When had Yang Euijoo ever learned to submit?

But he hadn’t expected such defiance. Cheon Yeomyung didn’t know Yang Euijoo. It was only natural—they’d known each other for less than a year, making true understanding impossible.

“Resisting like that.”

Cheon Yeomyung, barely containing his anger, pressed Yang Euijoo. Glaring with a face that looked like it wanted to strangle the pale, fearless man, he demanded.

“Acting like that, what were you going to do if you got attacked in return!”

“…Ha.”

Yang Euijoo was too stunned to laugh. Cheon Yeomyung seemed unaware of what he was saying or how foolish he appeared. Only Yang Euijoo sensed the twisted rage in Cheon Yeomyung’s stifling menace. The man’s contradictory hatred and anger grated on Yang Euijoo’s nerves.

“Do you remember who put me in there?”

His venomous face lashed out at Cheon Yeomyung.

“Why, now you’re worried?”

Glaring into the man’s ferocious eyes, Yang Euijoo shouted in rage. The ointment-smeared cheek reflected the light. His wet, ash-gray eyes blazed with savage anger.

“Get attacked in return? Don’t I look beaten up already? What’s the difference between violence and rape?”

“Shut up.”

A rough breath escaped Cheon Yeomyung’s lips. His enraged eyes glared at Yang Euijoo. Seeing that Cheon Yeomyung’s only defense was “shut up,” Yang Euijoo twisted his lips bitterly.

“Why not just drug me and throw me back in there?”

“…”

“Or did you think I needed more training?”

At Yang Euijoo’s venomous mockery, Cheon Yeomyung sighed and lowered his hand. He stood and walked off somewhere.

“You’re right.”

The man, picking up a cane hung on the wall like a decoration, strode back. His piercing eyes still gleamed with light. Yang Euijoo glared back. Idiot bastard. Cheon Yeomyung, still oblivious to his own flaws, turned his edge on Yang Euijoo.

“Seems you still need more training.”

The man coldly affirmed. Yang Euijoo agreed. Cheon Yeomyung’s oppression had failed.

Mei Wood’s repeated warnings to prevent the wounds from festering were useless. The once-fragrant bathroom was now chaotic. One side of the teal curtain was carelessly drawn, the other half-untied, draping over Cheon Yeomyung’s head like a saint’s veil. A loud splash echoed in the bathroom. Yang Euijoo, arms bound behind him with a tie and forced to kneel, felt familiar water rush into his nose and mouth, expelling bubbles with a gurgle.

Cheon Yeomyung pressed Yang Euijoo’s back with one foot to prevent resistance, forcing his head underwater. Counting seconds was second nature. He waited a few extra seconds after the bubbles stopped before pulling Yang Euijoo out.

Rolling across the slick bathroom floor, Yang Euijoo vomited the water he’d swallowed. The ointment had already washed away. Where Berkshire’s slap had left a vivid bruise, the tip of a thin leather paddle, black as Cheon Yeomyung’s gloves, lightly touched. Yang Euijoo instinctively flinched.

Being struck with the paddle hurt more than a hand slap. On the ship, captured runaway slaves were sometimes whipped as punishment, but Yang Euijoo, luckily, had always avoided it, thanks to his role as a ticket boy where appearance mattered.

Cheon Yeomyung, after Yang Euijoo spat water onto the floor, pressed his hunched back and tapped the paddle against his own palm. The man, impeccably dressed in a suit, looked fitting even holding the paddle. The gold sun emblem on the flat paddle appeared and vanished within his palm.

“Breathe.”

Cheon Yeomyung coldly ordered Yang Euijoo, who was coughing sporadically, unable to breathe properly. Yang Euijoo, learning the useless fact that wet silk becomes heavy, sucked in air. What was a beauty wrapped in drenched black silk? Cheon Yeomyung gave a short laugh, eyeing the decadent-looking Yang Euijoo. If Berkshire had seen him like this, he’d have forced drugs on him. It was that kind of sight. The legs, exposed through the long slits, bore red marks from the paddle’s strikes.

It was deliberate. Cheon Yeomyung had subdued the struggling Yang Euijoo, bound his hands and feet, exposed his thighs in the most humiliating pose, and whipped him until tears and snot flowed. Even striking lightly, Yang Euijoo wailed, rolling on the cold floor.

“Breathe again. You chose this, so we’re not done.”

“Hnng, hng…”

Yang Euijoo, eyes unfocused, wheezed. His breathing, barely stabilized, was rapid with fear.

“Until… when…”

Hearing the mumbled words, Cheon Yeomyung laughed.

“That’s not for you to decide.”

Grabbing the trembling Yang Euijoo, who showed no intent to rise, Cheon Yeomyung spoke. Without hesitation, he pressed the quivering body over the filled tub.

“Until I’m satisfied.”

The man, who treated torture like an old friend, varied the repetitive, tedious act with precision. In less time than Yang Euijoo expected, Cheon Yeomyung pulled the soaked body from the water, licking the ravaged lips. His own clothes were wet from Yang Euijoo’s dripping water, but it wasn’t unpleasant. Too weak to resist, Yang Euijoo let the man’s hot tongue roam his mouth limply.

The soft, warm kiss melted his fear-frozen body. Yang Euijoo didn’t enjoy kissing the man, but he was relieved that Cheon Yeomyung didn’t torture him during it. The man, pressing his lips firmly, soon pulled away.

“Ha.”

Cheon Yeomyung sighed shortly, looking down at Yang Euijoo, sprawled at his feet, breathing faintly.

“So, get hit again or go back in the water. Choose.”

“Damn it.”

Yang Euijoo giggled, blinking. An eyelash stuck in his eye, stinging. Blinking rapidly, he stuck out his tongue at Cheon Yeomyung, a playful, taunting expression. His defiant face still held vitality.

“Do whatever you want. You will anyway.”

Before he finished, his limp body was yanked up. Yang Euijoo marveled at Cheon Yeomyung’s terrifying strength, but before he could dwell on it, he saw the paddle graze his cheek and shut his eyes. In the darkness, just before the leather’s tip struck, he was thrown to the floor. Instead of the expected violence, his body was plunged into cold water. The long silk hem tangled around his legs. Submerged, Yang Euijoo resembled a black goldfish—long-tailed, fluttering, fragile, dying quickly out of water.

Cheon Yeomyung stepped on the struggling Yang Euijoo’s back, sitting on the tub’s edge. Pretending to check his watch, he didn’t need to count seconds. As Yang Euijoo’s strength waned, faint resistance leaked out weakly. Time shortened noticeably. Cheon Yeomyung, soaking his pant cuffs, pulled the limp Yang Euijoo up.

Water poured from his parted lips. The unconscious body didn’t vomit water. Without hesitation, Cheon Yeomyung thrust his fingers deep into Yang Euijoo’s throat. Water gushed out, fouling the tub. After repeating the violation, Cheon Yeomyung shook off his hand. Yang Euijoo still breathed faintly. Looking at him with slight pity, Cheon Yeomyung hoisted the limp body and carried him out.

“Funny… pathetic… bastard…”

Yang Euijoo, thought unconscious, whispered a curse. The water from his clothes soaked Cheon Yeomyung’s suit, as if an adult were stabbed and bleeding out. Cheon Yeomyung stood still, feeling Yang Euijoo’s weight.

Despite getting his way, he left the bathroom in a foul mood, gaining nothing.

“Boss.”

Rose Rock was in the room, her expression calm despite hearing the bathroom’s commotion.

“Earl Berkshire called. He’s asking when you can meet again.”

“Put it off as long as possible. Say Yang Euijoo caught a cold.”

“…You’re really delaying it?”

Rose Rock glanced at the unconscious Yang Euijoo. Her bobbed hair was tied back with a large pin, adorned in a cheongsam. The green dress suited her red hair, but Cheon Yeomyung found it oddly displeasing. Dripping water onto the floor, he ordered Rose Rock.

“Change into something else.”

“But I have a party soon.”

“Cancel it. I’m tired.”

“Boss.”

Rose Rock stepped toward Cheon Yeomyung but stopped at his menacing expression.

“…You’ll do it properly, right?”

“Do what.”

Cheon Yeomyung asked indifferently. Rose Rock, meeting his eyes, clicked her tongue, her gaze cold like one watching immature kin.

“The business, obviously. Haven’t you been a mess lately?”

At her remark, Cheon Yeomyung’s eyes widened. Was I? Water dripped endlessly from his pant cuffs as he muttered. Rose Rock let out a sigh or scoff, considering his anger but still nagging.

“If you’re going to dote on him, go back to normal. What is this? You barely sleep, hardly eat… You know Linlin’s been anxious lately, right? If you’re unstable, the organization is too. Or just stop this nonsense and deal with him. Honestly, it’s not good behavior. You know that.”

“Do I look that unstable?”

Cheon Yeomyung, feeling Yang Euijoo’s weight too light, asked. Rose Rock stared at him. She often pitied Cheon Yeomyung, having watched him since childhood. There were two types: those who, seeing his cruelty from youth, accepted and pitied him, and those who shuddered at it regardless.

“I’m saying this before you become unstable. I’m worried you’ll end up like you were at twenty-three.”

Only Rose Rock could say this to Cheon Yeomyung. Swallowing his anger out of care for her, he nodded at her rational advice.

“Set up a meeting with Dudley. I need to check things before seeing Berkshire again.”

“Do as you like.”

Rose Rock nodded, glancing at Yang Euijoo, water dripping from his hair. She’d heard he’d split Berkshire’s forehead. Looking at the unconscious Yang Euijoo, she asked casually.

“Why not use sedatives? Didn’t Mei Wood prescribe some?”

The medicine in Cheon Yeomyung’s pocket had likely dissolved in the bathroom’s cold water. He answered Rose Rock calmly.

“Lost it. I’ll ask for more.”

He surely would.

🐑

Yang Euijoo opened his eyes as a long needle pierced his vein. Seeing Cheon Yeomyung administering it, he jolted, jerking his arm. Naturally, the needle missed the vein.

“Can’t you stay still?”

Cheon Yeomyung, irritated, pulled out the needle. The half-injected syringe left a bruise on Yang Euijoo’s arm instantly. Clutching the wound, Yang Euijoo glared at him, eyes full of wariness.

“What did you do?”

“What? I was putting medicine into that frail body.”

Tossing the syringe, Cheon Yeomyung roughly wiped the antipyretic dripping from his fingers. Yang Euijoo seemed unaware of how much he’d suffered overnight. Cheon Yeomyung, nagged by Mei Wood summoned again for his fever, had nursed him and administered antipyretics. Annoyed, he yanked the towel around Yang Euijoo’s neck. Yang Euijoo belatedly noticed the basin and scattered towels by the bed.

“Giving me a disease and then the cure. Or is that your thing?”

No thanks came. Yang Euijoo sneered, pressing near the bruise. The antipyretic mixed with blood stained the clean sheets. Instead of arguing, Cheon Yeomyung slumped into a chair by the bed.

“Gotta keep you alive to use you somehow.”

“Sure, sure.”

Yang Euijoo stared, pushing back at the golden eyes. The man, hair disheveled, sleeves rolled up, looked tired, his pupils oddly dilated.

“…Are you on drugs?”

Yang Euijoo asked. Cheon Yeomyung, rubbing his dark under-eyes, paused. He looked at Yang Euijoo, surprised.

“Stimulants.”

He answered calmly.

“Mei Wood got mad, saying I was too rough with my lover and to take responsibility for nursing him…”

Mei Wood’s massive misunderstanding about the bathroom chaos aside, Yang Euijoo couldn’t fathom a man who took her nagging literally and used stimulants to follow through.

“Had to catch up on work too.”

Muttering an excuse, the tired man rubbed his eyes. His gloves, as always, clung like skin. Yang Euijoo couldn’t look away. The glove tips, stained with dried ointment, were speckled. Noticing, Cheon Yeomyung scraped at the hardened ointment, then stood, removing the dirty gloves.

“Need to get more antipyretics.”

Rising, Cheon Yeomyung flinched at Yang Euijoo’s half-wide-eyed, dumbstruck face. He belatedly realized his careless mistake. Was it due to his guard dropping while handling an unconscious Yang Euijoo, or the stimulants taken to keep his nerves intact? He pulled the half-removed glove back on.

Yang Euijoo, stunned by the man’s gesture of removing his gloves, forgot what he meant to say. All that remained was the trivial thought that Cheon Yeomyung had actual skin on his palms.

“…The gloves.”

Yang Euijoo spoke to the man gripping the glove’s edge. A brief silence fell. The moments of being called a lover, mocked, pimped to a fat pig, or struggling in cold water vanished for that instant.

“Why do you wear gloves?”

The yellow eyes looked at Yang Euijoo. He expected anger or a sarcastic retort, but the response was different.

“Only now you ask? Your interest in me is sorely lacking.”

Wrong. Yang Euijoo had avoided mentioning it, thinking it too sensitive for Cheon Yeomyung. Was it trivial, or truly germaphobia? He blinked, watching Cheon Yeomyung sink back into the chair. Unexpectedly, the man seemed willing to talk. Cheon Yeomyung was always a good conversationalist, unless he outright refused.

“Want to see?”

Cheon Yeomyung raised both hands. Though unintended, Yang Euijoo’s question caught him after days of sleeplessness, pipe-smoking, and a loosened state from drugs. Instead of anger, the half-out-of-it Cheon Yeomyung tried to answer. The bed’s draped canopy swayed gently in the breeze. The morning sun pierced the canopy, flooding the bed. Leaning from the chair, Cheon Yeomyung looked at Yang Euijoo, pinned to the bed. The shadow over Yang Euijoo was as dignified as a baptism.

His fingers slowly peeled off the glove, which often irked Yang Euijoo. The black leather, never removed even during sex, had prompted silent mockery about refined germaphobia. Yet he’d delayed mentioning it. Now, the glove peeled off like a shell before his eyes, falling quietly, peacefully.

But what was revealed wasn’t peaceful. Deep scars etched both of the man’s palms, clashing with his elegant appearance. Unlike the dense cuts across his body, the scars, as if pierced by something sharp and thick, were stark.

“I was twenty-three when Quan caught me. Do you remember that basement where I went to find the teacher?”

In the subdued voice, Yang Euijoo recalled a shimmering red wave. It was as if something was faintly remembered from that horrific scene where blood bubbles seemed to ripple and fall.

“Ah, should I start from before that? This goes back to when I was a kid…”

Cheon Yeomyung, with his bare hands exposed, felt so unfamiliar that Yang Euijoo thought he was talking to someone else. The scar in the center of his palm was so gruesome that it remained repulsive even after it had healed. It was a wound so large that it was astonishing he could move his fingers properly at all.

“If I were to summarize a long story briefly, it started with my father, who was deeply immersed in a cult religion and believed in resurrection.”

“…”

“My father intended to offer me as a sacrifice to God when I turned twenty. In the end, I killed him, so it all fell apart, but three years later, Quan decided to test that damned resurrection theory my father believed in and nailed me to a wall to hang me. Oh, there’s an identical scar on my foot, but you can see that next time.”

Cheon Yeomyung said with a chuckle. His dusty eyelashes fluttered. Yang Euijoo barely recalled it. The wave-patterned wallpaper in the basement where Quan had been, the thick marks of nails driven in at regular intervals on both sides, and the dark red, aged stains of something that had seeped down below them…

Yang Euijoo covered his mouth. He felt like he was going to vomit.

“I was rescued by my subordinates who came to save me just before I died, but I lost a whole year to rehabilitation and mental illness. I don’t forgive Quan. Have you ever thought about what the petty mercy and morality the teacher possesses might bring about?”

Cheon Yeomyung, naive enough to be kidnapped by Quan. To Yang Euijoo, who remembered how the man now mocked Quan, it was an unbelievable story. Cheon Yeomyung took Yang Euijoo’s confused expression lightly and sat down on a chair. He let out a short sigh. The bare hand exposed to the air felt quite unfamiliar even to Cheon Yeomyung himself. He didn’t try to overcome his trauma or his depressing past. Fighting to conquer it was a waste of time. Instead, Cheon Yeomyung stared at his trauma and fueled his anger.

All he needed to do was instill the same deep hatred and despair he felt into his opponent. His father, broken in the face of hope, had been like that, and Quan, who had lost all his children, was destined to follow. Cheon Yeomyung closed his eyes, picturing Quan’s wrinkled face, and then slowly opened them.

In front of him was not the resentful, hateful face of an old man, but someone else’s face. Pretty but neurotic. Distinctive ash-gray hair. There was a time when he was so filled with rage from head to toe that he wanted to take revenge until the corpse was crushed, but at some point, even that anger had completely dissipated and cooled.

“What you were trying to say back then…”

“Yeah.”

Yang Euijoo’s melancholic realization followed. Cheon Yeomyung narrowed his eyes. After being assaulted, Yang Euijoo looked pitiful, as if even his soul had been torn apart. In that state, covered in bruises and wounds on his face and body, he stammered.

“Cha, Lari, if you had told me that story honestly…”

Cheon Yeomyung found this aspect of Yang Euijoo peculiar. How could Yang Euijoo learn nobility from such a filthy place? It was the opposite of Cheon Yeomyung, who was born with a noble mission and learned filth.

The bare hand, feeling the outside air for the first time in a while, caressed Yang Euijoo’s dirty face. The fingers, so beautiful they seemed favored by Christ, pressed Yang Euijoo’s cheeks, leaving behind a gruesome, indelible scar. His body was still warm, despite the fever reducer administered at dawn. Cheon Yeomyung had planned to give another dose, but because of Yang Euijoo’s brazen misunderstanding, he wasted the fever reducer, and the mark remained as a grand bruise.

It felt a bit unpleasant, as if that was the result of all the actions Cheon Yeomyung had taken against Yang Euijoo.

“If I had told you? Were you going to pity me? No, you would have run away anyway. You probably thought saving a woman and a child was more justified.”

Am I talking to some fortune-teller chasing clouds now? Cheon Yeomyung grumbled like a back-alley thug and shrugged his shoulders. Perhaps because he hadn’t used his throat for a long time, Yang Euijoo’s voice came out hoarse and worn, even after just a few words.

“Even if you had claimed revenge was justified, I might have found another way.”

“Ha, so it’s my fault?”

In the noisy emotional argument, Yang Euijoo panted frantically. His ears felt muffled. Cold eyes looked at Yang Euijoo. But what they were really looking at wasn’t Yang Euijoo, but something else. It was a gaze of disgust, as if looking at an insect.

“You’re the one who betrayed me.”

“Betrayal.”

Cheon Yeomyung muttered the word firmly, as if hearing it for the first time. It was a familiar word.

“It’s only natural that there’s no trust between us.”

The sunlight, creeping in without tact, finally surged and enveloped the two of them.