Underpainting Chapter 9.1 - Pentimento (1)

It had been fifteen days since Kwon Dawon disappeared. A long time in this world since he became a dead man. And exactly fifteen days since Dawon, who had vanished a month prior from Choi Beomsik and Seo Gihyuk, had finally disappeared from Ryu Taehan as well.

“…Mr. Ryu.”

Gwangwoo, opening the hotel room door, frowned at the pungent smell of alcohol wafting out. The scent was so strong that the entire room seemed steeped in it.

At Gwangwoo’s call, the man, the source of the alcohol fumes, slowly raised his head. Gwangwoo wondered if the man before him was truly the Ryu Taehan he served.

The hair, always neatly slicked back and held in place with pomade, was disheveled. The jacket and shirt he wore seemed to be the same ones he’d worn yesterday. His tie was gone, his clothes wrinkled and reeking of alcohol and cigarettes.

After Dawon’s disappearance, Taehan had refused to return to his previous suite or the two-story house, and had moved rooms. This smaller room became a nightly mess of liquor bottles and crumpled pieces of paper. Gwangwoo, frowning, entered the room respectfully.

“Did you drink all night again?”

“I couldn’t sleep.”

“Even so, drinking like this every day… It’s still morning, isn’t it? I’ll order room service. Is there anything you’d like?”

“I don’t know. Vodka or… something strong.”

“Mr. Ryu, you’ll really make yourself sick!”

Gwangwoo raised his voice, unusually, at the sound of Taehan asking for alcohol first thing in the morning. Although Taehan didn’t tolerate insubordination, he seemed indifferent to Gwangwoo yelling at him now.

Taehan stared blankly into space. This was more concerning than his disheveled appearance. The eyes that had always been sharp, merciless, and even cruel were now empty.

He fumbled in his jacket pocket with trembling fingers. The cigarette pack he pulled out was empty. Tossing it aside irritably, Taehan muttered,

“I’m already sick.”

There was no emotion in his low whisper. He moved his lips as if about to say something, then fiddled with a napkin neatly unfolded on the table. That napkin, covered in doodles, was the only thing Taehan treasured these days.

“Does it look unsightly? I can’t help it. I can’t live without it. I just… I can’t bear it.”

His parched words were desolate, as if about to burst into flames. The raw pain transmitted itself to Gwangwoo, who swallowed hard.

In the fifteen days since Kwon Dawon’s disappearance, Taehan’s life had fallen apart. Everything he’d built up over the years beneath his rigid mask had crumbled in an instant.

When had the collapse begun? The moment he clearly remembered was then. When he’d rushed back to the hotel room, driven by a chilling premonition, only to find Dawon gone.

Taehan, momentarily lost in thought, clenched his fists and went to the next room where Mangchi was. At Taehan’s insistent questioning about where Dawon could have gone, Mangchi looked genuinely bewildered.

〈What? The bellboy brought his lunch to that room a little while ago. Wasn’t he eating?〉

Seeing Mangchi’s confusion and insistence that he hadn’t taken his eyes off the CCTV monitor covering the hallway, it didn’t seem like it had happened while he was distracted.

There was no time to assign blame, so Taehan hurriedly contacted the building management team and dispatched security personnel to all entrances and exits. He wanted to prevent anyone resembling Dawon from leaving.

Next, it was time to review the CCTV footage in reverse. The CCTV covering the deserted hallway showed no movement for a long time. Someone appeared thirty minutes ago.

Taehan’s face contorted the moment he saw the figure from behind, dressed in a shirt, vest, and slacks. Mangchi nonchalantly pointed at the person on the screen and said,

〈See? After the bellboy, or whoever that guy was, brought the food and left, not a single ant dared to come near!〉

〈…Does that look like a bellboy to you?〉

Taehan recognized Dawon at a glance. Although the CCTV footage was low quality, and for some reason, he was wearing a hotel staff uniform, the figure from behind was undoubtedly Dawon.

In the reversed footage, Dawon walked back from the end of the hallway and entered the room, but in reality, it was a scene of him escaping Taehan’s domain.

As Taehan’s mind froze, the footage rewound further, showing the actual bellboy bringing the food. Mangchi, still oblivious to the situation, mumbled nonsense,

〈Isn’t that the same guy from before? Then where did this guy go?〉

Taehan increased the playback speed and played the footage in the original direction. About five minutes after the bellboy brought the food to the room, Dawon came out pulling an empty trolley. Another five minutes passed, and at the edge of the screen, near the entrance of the room at the end of the hallway, the legs of a man in slacks could be seen moving in the direction Dawon had disappeared.

‘A hotel employee? Did that guy bring him clothes and secure an escape route?’

Taehan glared at the man’s feet, his eyes burning. He briefly considered whether to interrogate the hotel employee or Mangchi first.

〈Mr. Ryu, what’s going on?〉

Gwangwoo, who had parked the car and followed Taehan, entered the room with a bewildered look. At that moment, Taehan snapped out of it. It wasn’t the time to be angry, but to act quickly.

〈Mangchi, you stay in the next room. He might come back. Gwangwoo, check on Seo Gihyuk’s movements. See if there’s any evidence of his involvement in this.〉

He’d brought up Seo Gihyuk’s name out of suspicion, but in reality, Seo Gihyuk had already lost interest in Dawon and the art business. He’d seemed to be searching for Dawon right after his disappearance, but he’d been misled by the traces Taehan had left and concluded that Kim Namkyu had taken Dawon overseas.

Seo Gihyuk was currently busy setting traps to get rid of Taehan. Moreover, since sycophants vying for the second-in-command position after Taehan’s expected downfall were eager to meet him, there was no way he would be concerned with finding Dawon now.

Taehan knew this all too well. Judging from the footage, Dawon hadn’t been taken away; he’d left of his own volition. He felt ridiculous for trying to blame some innocent outsider, even though he himself had deeply hurt Dawon and ignored his repeated pleas to be let go.

Just like Seo Gihyuk’s delusion that Taehan would naturally want Seo Chang Construction, Taehan had also indulged in naive and foolish beliefs about Dawon.

Controlling his surging emotions, Taehan headed to the building’s security room. It had been thirty minutes since Dawon left the room. Even with his difficulty walking, it was enough time to leave the building.

Although he might be too late, he had to confirm the situation to determine which direction to pursue. If he started searching in the wrong direction among the numerous exits, it would be a wasted effort.

‘Which way did he go?’

Arriving at the security room, Taehan stood before the building’s live CCTV feeds with the administrator’s cooperation. Twenty or so small, split screens. His already dizzy head spun even more.

Considering there were many more feeds he couldn’t see at the moment, the number of possible routes Dawon could have taken was countless.

Dawon wouldn’t have left on a mere whim. Being a calm and intelligent boy, he would have surely chosen the most efficient escape route.

‘Focus. I need to think straight.’

Judging by his confident movements in the hallway, Dawon seemed to have realized that this building was familiar to him and how Taehan had been monitoring him.

Taehan retraced the building’s layout, recalling every detail of when he’d shown it to Dawon. Dawon had headed towards the staff elevator after leaving the hotel room.

The nearest exit he could reach after taking that elevator was Exit A2 to the south, but to get there, he would have had to pass through a spiral staircase, which would have been difficult for Dawon. Moreover, he felt that Dawon would have chosen the route he knew best, the one with the fewest variables.

〈There’s also CCTV in the arcade near the east exit, right? Can you rewind it to about 30-40 minutes ago?〉

At Taehan’s request, the administrator played the footage of the shopping street. Taehan’s breath hitched the moment he saw the screen. The CCTV covered the entire long, wide arcade, and the people passing through looked as small as fingernails. It would be no easy task to pick out a single person from such footage.

‘Is that the exit? Even if he passed through here, only his back would have been captured.’

It wasn’t ideal, but there was no other way. Taehan sighed softly and narrowed his eyes, focusing on the screen. Just like Dawon, when tasked with tracking down a fugitive.

Although he didn’t possess the monstrous observation skills of Dawon, Taehan’s desperation gave him an edge. Despite feeling nauseous from the wave-like flow of the crowd, he stared at the screen without even taking a deep breath.

〈Should I keep playing this, sir?〉

〈Yes.〉

After ten minutes of watching the same footage in silence, the administrator asked, puzzled. Taehan replied firmly, but he was growing increasingly anxious. He was thinking he should check other footage soon, considering the time it would take to move, when…

‘Huh?’

Among the wave of people, a small silhouette caught Taehan’s eye. A small man in a white shirt and dark pants. Even though countless people wearing similar clothes and of similar build had passed through the screen, Taehan’s gaze was fixed on him.

Even if he’d taken off his vest, his movements were different from the way Taehan remembered Dawon walking. He seemed somewhat weak, but he wasn’t limping.

‘But he walked quite straight in the CCTV footage in front of the room as well. Was it not because he was holding onto the trolley? Could he walk like that if he tried?’

Despite the uncertain speculation, Taehan felt an instinctive certainty about that small figure from behind. It was him. The person Taehan had to catch, had to keep by his side.

〈That’s enough. Thank you.〉

The time stamp on the CCTV footage showing Dawon was twenty-five minutes ago. Dawon would have already left the building and gone quite far. Taehan rushed out of the security room and headed towards Section C. The thought that he might lose him if he wasted any more time made him frantic, and he ran without even realizing he was out of breath.

However, the moment he exited through Exit C3 and saw the scene outside, Taehan froze. The secluded alley across the main road looked like an ordinary slum on the outskirts of the city, but anyone involved in the underworld knew that it was territory controlled by a Chinese gang.

It was suicidal to enter carelessly, as they had clashed with Seo Chang Construction several times. Taehan, with a troubled look, glanced back and forth between the block across the street and the one he was standing in, then turned back towards the block he was in.

‘He’s a smart and perceptive boy. He wouldn’t have taken a risky path.’

With a desperate prayer, Taehan searched the block thoroughly until late that night. Gwangwoo joined him later, but despite their best efforts, they couldn’t find Dawon.

Even as he returned to the hotel, shoulders slumped, at Gwangwoo’s suggestion to try other methods, Taehan still had some hope and determination.

‘I’ll find him. I have to.’

For the past week, Taehan had used every means at his disposal. He’d entrusted Gwangwoo with all his ongoing projects and dedicated himself to finding Dawon.

He’d reviewed every CCTV footage from the building, thinking that the figure he’d seen might not have been Dawon. He’d searched on foot for any place Dawon might be staying within a few kilometers of the hotel and checked all accessible CCTV footage in the vicinity.

However, Dawon was nowhere to be found, and there was no news of him. Since he’d lived such a secretive life, it was natural that he would disappear without a trace if he’d decided to leave.

The hope that had kept Taehan going slowly withered. He felt like he’d been cast into the deepest hell. He was gasping for air in a vacuum, swimming in a bottomless swamp.

‘Please, please.’

Even though he didn’t believe in God, Taehan repeated his prayers. At first, he prayed for Dawon to be returned to him, but his wish gradually diminished, and now, his greatest desire was for Dawon to be safe, wherever he was.

Dawon had never experienced normal life in society. Even if he’d disappeared in a healthy state, Taehan would have been frantic with worry, but Dawon was pregnant. Moreover, he would be unaware of his pregnancy and in an extremely vulnerable state.

‘Nothing dangerous… happened. It can’t have…’

Chilling thoughts, freezing his heart, crept into Taehan’s mind whenever he sat still. When he finally drifted off to sleep, he was haunted by horrifying nightmares.

Taehan could no longer find peace in any form. He’d wander around all day, searching every place that came to mind, returning to his room exhausted, only to be unable to sleep until late at night. Even drinking himself sick didn’t provide any relief.

“Haah…”

Taehan ran a hand through his messy hair and looked out the window. Every time he saw the particularly gloomy area controlled by the Chinese gang in the corner of the bustling cityscape beyond the window, his insides felt like they were rotting and crumbling.

The thought that he should have searched that area on the first day Dawon disappeared, regardless of the risks, and the desperate hope that Dawon hadn’t gone there, were painfully intertwined.

Seo Chang Construction’s conflict with that gang wasn’t just about territory; it was fundamentally because they were the kind of people they didn’t want to associate with.

If Dawon had gone there, the worst-case scenario couldn’t be ruled out. The gang in that area didn’t hesitate to engage in activities far more dangerous and vile than the usual thuggery of smuggling, drug trafficking, gambling, and loan sharking. They even dealt in human and organ trafficking.

‘No, that didn’t happen. It couldn’t have.’

Taehan stroked the small napkin again. It was the napkin Dawon had doodled on during their first and last outing together. He hadn’t known that the trinket he’d lightly picked up, simply not wanting it to fall into someone else’s hands, would become his only treasure now.

Looking at the doodle brought back memories of that day. Dawon’s delighted expression at the unfamiliar sights, the way he’d looked directly at Taehan, his insistence that he wasn’t drunk, his fresh, alluring scent.

The reason he’d put away the portrait Dawon had intentionally left for him and clung to this small, doodled napkin was simple and pathetic. Taehan wanted to turn back time. If only he could somehow go back to that day.

Lost in his foolish thoughts, he heard a knock, and the hotel room door opened. Every time the door opened, Taehan would look up, hoping, against all odds, that it was Dawon returning.

“…What’s that?”

“You need to eat.”

Gwangwoo had apparently ordered breakfast without asking. The hotel employee who brought the food seemed taken aback by the state of the room but calmly set the table. He’d likely heard about his colleague who had recently lost his job for offending Taehan at this very hotel.

“I don’t want to eat.”

“You have to eat, even if you don’t want to. You have a lot of places to visit today, don’t you?”

Gwangwoo, his face also haggard, repeatedly urged Taehan to eat. At his worried voice, Taehan remembered Dawon refusing to eat before him.

Back then, Taehan had grabbed the pitiful, frail boy’s face and forced food into his mouth. It was a disgusting act. Would things have been different if he had spoken gently, like Gwangwoo was doing now?

The thought made his mouth taste bitter, almost bloody. After pretending to take a few bites, Taehan put down his spoon.

As Gwangwoo had said, he would be wandering around all day, but for the past few days, he hadn’t been moving with any real strength or purpose, just drifting like a ghost filled with only rage.

“It would be better if you ate more. You might not remember, but you have an appointment with Prosecutor Shin this evening.”

Gwangwoo carefully brought up the matter. Although it was something Taehan had dedicated his life to, he’d completely forgotten about that plan. Taehan muttered in a bitter voice,

“I see. I have a lot to do. Do I really have to go…?”

“Didn’t you say it was an important appointment, Mr. Ryu?”

“Don’t call me Mr. Ryu.”

It was a title he would lose anyway after the Seo Chang Construction board meeting tomorrow. Taehan cut off Gwangwoo’s words with disgust, but Gwangwoo looked at him with concern.

Gwangwoo was right. Having come this far, Taehan had to see his plan through, unless he wanted to die a meaningless death. Moreover, Gwangwoo had served Taehan for so long because he, too, wanted to see the plan come to fruition.

Revenge, anger, a bit of responsibility. These were the emotions that had sustained Taehan throughout his life. All of that seemed insignificant compared to the grief and fear he felt now, but he had things he had to do, whether he liked it or not.

Taehan sighed and got up, starting another fruitless day. He struggled painfully until sunset but found no clues about Dawon’s whereabouts. As he headed to his appointment in the evening, a lonely sorrow filled his face.

“You’ve arrived, Mr. Ryu.”

As he entered the quiet private room of the restaurant, a man in a suit greeted him with a smile. Suppressing the urge to yell at him not to call him Mr. Ryu, Taehan responded with a mask-like smile.

“It’s been a while, Prosecutor Shin.”

He had first connected with Prosecutor Shin, who worked at the Seoul Central District Prosecutor’s Office, seven years ago. Around that time, Chairman Seo Changgyun, failing to read the times, had made a large donation to a corrupt politician, a rotten lifeline, and become embroiled in a bribery scandal.

It wasn’t just a matter of being accused of bribery; there was a risk that the dirty work he’d done at the request of politicians would be revealed, potentially uprooting the entire organization.

It was Taehan who had stepped forward and negotiated with Prosecutor Shin. Taehan had offered information not only about the corrupt politician already under investigation, but also crucial information about a corruption case involving an opposition party leader close to him, in exchange for the prosecution not expanding their investigation into Seo Chang.

The secret deal resulted in a satisfactory outcome for both sides. Seo Chang Construction successfully cut off its tail with minimal punishment for a low-level employee, and Prosecutor Shin, who had been languishing in insignificant positions despite his competence due to lack of connections, rose to become one of the top prosecutors of his class.

Even after the case was closed, Prosecutor Shin would occasionally obtain information he needed for investigations from Taehan. Taehan, too, had maintained his connection with Prosecutor Shin, believing it would be crucial someday.

“Thank you for taking the time out of your busy schedule.”

“Don’t mention it. When I told my wife I was meeting with you, she insisted I go. She asked me to send her regards.”

This was likely an indirect expression of gratitude for the gift Taehan had sent to Prosecutor Shin’s wife. Taehan smiled gently, but his shadowed face still held a trace of sorrow.

“And aren’t you the busier one, Mr. Ryu? With the new chairman taking office, I expect Seo Chang Construction will be ramping up its business activities.”

Prosecutor Shin added in a suggestive tone. He would have already heard the rumors about the falling out between Seo Gihyuk, the new chairman of Seo Chang, and Taehan, yet he was still testing the waters.

He was a calculating and hypocritical man. The fact that he maintained his relationship with Taehan despite knowing that Seo Chang Construction was just a front for a violent organization was proof enough.

Taehan knew that while Prosecutor Shin always got what he needed from him, he also looked down on him. Normally, he would have despised such behavior, but Taehan was currently so consumed by self-loathing that he didn’t have the capacity to despise anyone else.

“Well. We’ll talk later. Let’s eat first.”

Taehan simply smiled faintly and engaged in meaningless small talk over the expensive food. About the weather, golf, politics, and the economy; words that no one would remember after the meeting ended.

All the while, Taehan continued to drink. Prosecutor Shin, who had initially kept pace, began to look concerned and tried to stop him.

“Mr. Ryu, aren’t you drinking too much?”

“Am I? I apologize. The alcohol tastes sweet today.”

Even though his mouth tasted bitter as if he’d swallowed poison, Taehan told the usual lie. His eyes, as he took another drink, were so sorrowful that even Prosecutor Shin looked at him with pity.

“It seems something is troubling you.”

Taehan let out a sigh laced with the smell of alcohol. The purpose of this meeting was to sway Prosecutor Shin. Prepared to appear pathetic, Taehan opened his mouth.

“Prosecutor Shin, I think… I’ve lived my life wrong.”

His raw feelings spilled out. He was surprised by his own words, but once he started, he couldn’t stop.

“You wouldn’t understand this feeling, Prosecutor. I prided myself on struggling and striving all this time. But now I realize everything I’ve built has only pushed me further into the abyss.”

Since Dawon’s disappearance, Taehan had thought about it every day. How this had happened. Where it had all gone wrong. The more he thought about it, the further back the root cause of this disaster seemed to go.

This had happened because of the way he’d lived. He’d been deluded into thinking he could control everything, trying to solve problems with force and coercion. He hadn’t been able to let go of his arrogance, even as he destroyed everything with his own hands.

“Mr. Ryu, don’t be too disheartened… Life has its ups and downs, doesn’t it?”

Prosecutor Shin seemed to have interpreted Taehan’s lament as being about his conflict with Seo Gihyuk or his position within Seo Chang Construction. Although Taehan was genuinely in pain, he had also calculated that his suffering would be perceived in this way.

He was disgusted by his own cunning and tenacity, using even this excruciating pain as part of his plan. Taehan’s face hardened further, and ironically, the more he did so, the more pity Prosecutor Shin seemed to feel for him.

When the groundwork had been laid, Taehan lowered his voice and whispered to Prosecutor Shin, as if afraid someone might overhear, “…This is just between you and me, but if something were to happen to me suddenly, I want you to know it would never be by my own volition.”

“M-Mr. Ryu, what are you talking about?”

“I hope nothing like that happens, but… if it does, I have a favor to ask. You’ll understand what I mean when the time comes.”

Prosecutor Shin nodded, his face even more serious than Taehan’s. He, too, seemed troubled and remained mostly silent until the end of the meeting. He seemed to have completely bought Taehan’s words.

He’d perfectly achieved the purpose of today’s meeting, but Taehan’s mood remained somber. Back at the car, he silently smoked a bitter cigarette. The rising smoke felt unusually murky today.

Gwangwoo, who had been waiting for the meal to end, cautiously approached. He would usually ask if the conversation with the prosecutor had gone well or nag him not to drink anymore, but he simply stood there silently, his hands clasped behind his back, which was strange.

When Taehan finally looked up, he noticed Gwangwoo’s unusually grim expression. A premonition flashed through his mind.

“What’s wrong? Something happened, didn’t it?”

Gwangwoo just moved his lips, as if struggling to speak. His hesitation made Taehan’s heart burn with anxiety.

“Tell me quickly. Is it about Dawon?”

“It’s not confirmed, but… we received a report of someone matching Mr. Kwon Dawon’s description.”

Gwangwoo’s voice trembled as he finally spoke at Taehan’s urging. Although it was the first news he’d heard of Dawon, Taehan felt more anxious than relieved.

“Was it in that area?”

He’d asked, hoping it wasn’t, but the answer was only more depressing.

“It’s… about two weeks ago, someone reported seeing a boy matching his description collapse in an alley and being taken away in a car belonging to the Chinese gang.”

Taehan’s vision swam. Not just his vision, but the ground beneath his feet, the entire world, seemed to shake and crumble beneath him.

“What… what does that mean…?”

“It’s not, not confirmed. Someone just reported seeing that, and it’s something that happens often in that area.”

As Gwangwoo said, the gang members in that area would often pick up and take away anyone who looked vulnerable or like they wouldn’t cause trouble if targeted.

Most of those taken disappeared without a trace, and it was extremely rare for them to escape that area on their own. Some gangs would even dispose of their enemies by knocking them unconscious and dumping them in the alleys of that district.

“I’ll send more informants to that area.”

Gwangwoo added, as if trying to soothe the pale Taehan, but Taehan couldn’t respond. If the person in the car was indeed Dawon, the chances of him being safe were slim.

What good would it do to send more informants? Should he tell them to find Dawon among the human trafficking vehicles that left that area every day? Or among the mangled corpses they secretly dumped outside their illegal operating rooms…?

“Ugh…”

The horrifying thought made Taehan nauseous. He ran to a corner of the parking lot and vomited. He’d only consumed alcohol, so only bile came up.

“Ugh, uh… ugh…”

“Are you alright? You drank a lot today…”

Taehan wasn’t alright at all. Whether it was a hangover or some other kind of pain, his head was spinning, and his stomach and esophagus felt like they were being scraped with nails.

However, Taehan’s pain was irrelevant. Until this morning, he’d found some comfort in Gwangwoo’s concern, but now, he felt disgusted by his own need for comfort and even angry at Gwangwoo.

What was the point of worrying about him? When no one knew what was happening to Dawon. That small, pitiful, precious boy.

“Ugh, haah…”

Taehan, whose job practically revolved around hurting others, had often witnessed people fainting. Some people fainted from the sheer psychological shock, even without being physically struck.

Seeing them moan and collapse as if they’d been beaten, Taehan used to mock their weakness. He wondered how they’d managed to maintain consciousness in their everyday lives if they could lose it so easily.

But now, Taehan understood how they felt. The relentless thoughts, the act of breathing and being conscious, were so agonizing that he wanted to just lose consciousness.

“…Not going to the hotel.”

After taking several ragged breaths, Taehan finally managed to speak. The nausea didn’t subside even as he stumbled back to the car and slumped into the back seat.

He didn’t clearly remember the ride back to the hotel. He just floundered in despair, time crawling by at an agonizing pace. When they reached their destination, Taehan silently got out of the car, and Gwangwoo quickly followed.

“I’ll accompany you to your room.”

He seemed worried that Taehan might do something rash in his room. Taehan pushed him away with a gloomy but firm voice.

“Go back. I want to be alone.”

Even though he stopped as ordered, Gwangwoo continued to watch Taehan with a worried expression.

He didn’t know what Gwangwoo was worried about, but Taehan intended to smash everything he could get his hands on as soon as he got to his room. The furniture, the curtains, the liquor bottles. He thought destroying, crushing, and obliterating everything would provide some relief.

However, the moment he entered the room and closed the door, he realized, in the empty silence, that he was too weak to do such a thing.

“Haah, uh… ugh.”

Unable to even moan, Taehan slowly sank to the floor. The air, several times heavier than usual, pressed down on him, making it impossible to stand.

Soon, he felt breathless, as if someone was choking him. He gasped painfully, but it only became harder to breathe. It felt like a huge lump, impossible to swallow or spit out, was lodged in his stomach.

He wondered if vomiting, like he had earlier, would make him feel better, but it was no use. Even pressing his body flat against the floor, his hands supporting his weight, didn’t bring any relief.

“Ugh, uh…”

Before he could even comprehend what was filling his head and chest, it spilled from him. The stinging sensation in his nose, the heat on his cheeks.

He was bewildered by the fact that he was crying. For a very long time, Taehan hadn’t cried. He’d chosen to laugh coldly or make others cry instead.

“Sob, ugh.”

Was crying this agonizing? It felt like he wasn’t shedding tears but the ashes of his burnt heart, mixed with the pus squeezed from festering emotions.

He’d entertained the idle thought of destroying the things in his room; even now, Taehan was foolish. There was nothing left to destroy; his world had already shattered.

〈Mister.〉

After sobbing silently, unable to cry openly, Taehan drifted off to sleep. When he opened his eyes, he saw Dawon beside him and realized he was dreaming.

Dawon in his dream had a gentle expression. He was smiling brightly at Taehan, bathed in white sunlight. The sight made Taehan’s heart ache even more. He’d never made Dawon smile like that when he was actually with him.

〈Kid.〉

Even though he knew it was a dream, Taehan pulled Dawon close and embraced him. His chest swelled with the soft, warm sensation. He stroked Dawon’s back, nuzzled his fragrant hair, and called him as gently as he could.

Holding Dawon like this, Taehan understood what he hadn’t done, what he’d missed. He should have held Dawon tenderly like this from the start.

Instead of inflicting pain with insults and coldness, he should have protected him, shielding him from any harm in this world. He should have cherished him. He’d done terrible things because he didn’t know how to cherish something precious. Because he didn’t even know what was precious.

〈Kid, Dawon.〉

Even as he held Dawon tightly, basking in his warmth, Taehan felt a devastating sadness. The dream would soon end. No matter how desperately he called out, his voice would only echo in the empty dream.

“Haah, ugh.”

Taehan woke up with a choked sob. His body, heavy as a wet rag, hadn’t even made it to the bed; he was slumped against the floor beside it. He’d cried himself to sleep, only to wake up in tears again.

He felt no self-pity for the pain he’d brought upon himself. His chest felt hollow with an overwhelming sense of loss. Taehan reached out and touched the napkin on the table. But nothing could be undone, and all that remained for Taehan was the terrible reality.

Only after reaching the ruins of his collapsed world did Taehan finally understand. He could finally acknowledge the name of the emotion he’d so desperately denied. He loved Dawon. Deeply and passionately, beyond anything he could ever trade it for.

“Mr. Ryu. Oh, no, Boss.”

Morning, the start of another day. Gwangwoo, as always, came to Taehan’s room. Every morning, he would open the door with an anxious expression, as if worried about Taehan’s well-being, then breathe a sigh of relief upon seeing him. And at the same time, he would look dejected.

Taehan, who had been frantically searching for Dawon, neglecting all other tasks, had stopped his efforts three days ago after hearing that someone resembling Dawon had been seen in the Chinese gang’s territory.

He’d now entrusted the search to Gwangwoo and others, confining himself to his room. As if he was afraid of reaching an unbearable conclusion if he continued to investigate Dawon’s disappearance himself.

“…Did you get any sleep?”

Taehan didn’t answer the carefully chosen question. Not out of spite, but because he couldn’t find the words.

Every night, Taehan would drift through hazy nightmares, unsure whether he was asleep or just losing and regaining consciousness. Even alcohol no longer dulled the pain, so he didn’t drink anymore.

Facing the silent Taehan, Gwangwoo hesitated and sighed. After a moment of contemplation, he put on a calm expression and spoke soothingly,

“Um, you might not remember, but today is the Seo Chang Construction board meeting. Since you’re not feeling well, I think I should attend in your stead.”

Taehan’s eyes widened. He checked his phone; it was indeed the day, as Gwangwoo had said. Taehan asked in a low voice,

“In my stead? What are their movements?”

“Their movements are as expected, as is the situation with the workshop. They seem to be planning to strike as soon as the board meeting ends.”

“Aren’t we prepared? Then…”

“We can’t guarantee your safety if we execute the plan in your current state. It was a risky endeavor from the start… If I attend in your place today, they’ll likely revise their plan. It’s not the only day, we can find another opportunity.”

Gwangwoo’s voice trembled slightly. Taehan knew how much effort he’d put into preparing for this. His willingness to postpone the plan, despite the risk of it falling apart again, was purely out of loyalty to Taehan.

Seeing Gwangwoo trying to hide his disappointment and frustration, Taehan recalled a word he’d almost forgotten. Revenge. It was the sole purpose that had sustained his life, devoid of joy or peace.

‘Right. I have to do it. That’s what I have to do.’

Even though everything seemed too late now, Taehan still had something to do. He clenched his loosened fists and got up.

“No. I’ll go. We’ll proceed as planned.”

“Boss, but…”

“I sowed the seeds, so I should reap them.”

Gwangwoo looked at Taehan with anxious eyes, but Taehan added firmly,

“The board meeting starts at two in the afternoon, right? I need to get ready. Finding a place to die isn’t easy.”

The cynical words weren’t just a figure of speech. Today was Taehan’s final day, the one he’d meticulously prepared for. Eight hours remained until his death.

1:50 PM. Taehan arrived at Seo Chang Construction headquarters. Usually, on meeting days, the executives would arrive at the conference room early and compete to flatter the chairman, but Taehan no longer needed to do that. He had no intention of flattering Seo Gihyuk, nor was he in the mood for small talk.

As he reached the building, the atmosphere felt even colder than when he’d been summoned by Seo Gihyuk a few days ago. Everyone in the company seemed to know that he would be dismissed today.

As he entered the conference room, he was met with openly hostile gazes. Surprised by his haggard appearance, some of the directors whispered among themselves or to Seo Gihyuk.

Taehan was reminded of the time when he was summoned by Chairman Seo Changgyun and first lived in the main house. Faced with hostile glares, young Taehan had vowed to become stronger than anyone and rise to the pinnacle of power.

He’d once come close to achieving that vow, but now, it all seemed meaningless. It was time for everything he’d built since that day to turn to ashes.

“With the majority vote of the attending directors, the motion to dismiss Director Ryu Taehan has been approved. Any objections?”

Without any real discussion, the attendees proceeded with the vote as planned. The only item on the agenda was Taehan’s dismissal, and since everyone except Taehan was going to vote in favor, there was no need to prolong it.

“Then, this concludes the Seo Chang Construction Extraordinary Board Meeting.”

As the moderator announced the end of the meeting, the people around the table stirred, their eyes darting around. They seemed eager to approach Seo Gihyuk and flatter him, not wanting to miss this moment of his triumph.

“Thank you for your hard work. I’d like to talk more, but I have something urgent to discuss with Mr. Ryu Taehan. Please excuse us.”

Seo Gihyuk, beaming, waved his hand, feigning the magnanimity of a chairman. As the other directors filed out of the conference room, leaving only him, Taehan, and Gwangwoo, Seo Gihyuk’s expression turned smug and arrogant, as if he’d cast off a mask.

“Don’t take it too personally, Taehan. I’m responsible for the organization now, and even with our past relationship, I can’t let you act so presumptuously forever.”

“…”

“Besides, you were the one who crossed the line first. You put the money you sent to Hwang Jeonmu’s daughter back into the account, didn’t you? Too little, too late. That doesn’t erase what you did.”

Did he misunderstand the reason for Taehan’s grim expression as shock over his dismissal? Seo Gihyuk’s face was flushed with premature victory. Judging by his gloating words, he still seemed unaware of Taehan’s plans, apart from the matter of Hwang Jeonmu’s money.

“Anyway, let’s settle things cleanly and part ways. We need to do the handover. Whether it’s people or things, you should leave everything you used at Seo Chang behind, right? Is Director Lee the only one left under you? How did you manage your men?”

Seo Gihyuk beckoned Gwangwoo to his side, as if calling a dog, and spoke condescendingly, as if about to cut off Taehan’s hands and feet.

“And that two-story house you used as a workshop, you need to empty it and return it to the company. I heard you still have your belongings there. While we’re at it, clean it all up today.”

Seo Gihyuk spoke rapidly and called someone into the conference room. The man who entered looked familiar to Taehan.

“It’s been a while, Boss.”

Seo Gihyuk patted Mangchi’s shoulder, grinning, as if he thought Mangchi’s appearance would shock Taehan.

“Our Mangchi has been working hard these days. Do me a favor today, too. See Taehan off. He was your boss once, wasn’t he?”

Mangchi nodded readily, as if they’d prearranged this. The atmosphere was clearly suspicious. Gwangwoo looked at Taehan with a mixture of worry and tension, but Taehan, leaving him behind, silently got into the car driven by Mangchi.

Even after starting the car, Mangchi repeatedly exchanged messages with someone, checking the situation. Once he finished, he began glancing at Taehan in the rearview mirror with an excited look. He seemed eager to see if Taehan was suffering, feeling humiliated and enraged.

However, Taehan’s expression remained neutral. He didn’t even seem surprised. Disappointed by his unexpectedly calm reaction, Mangchi finally spoke, his words laced with insolence, deliberately trying to provoke Taehan.

“Mr. Ryu. No, Mr. Ryu Taehan. How are you feeling? Didn’t you give me some advice when I first went to that house? You said I should keep my wits about me, or I’d get my nose bloodied.”

“…”

“Anyway, fucking hell, so much talk for nothing. Who do you think got their nose bloodied now, me or you, Mr. Ryu Taehan?”

It was hard to suppress a chuckle at those words.

‘Wits. Right, I should have kept my wits about me.’

At Taehan’s seemingly amused expression, Mangchi gripped the steering wheel tightly and drove recklessly. The car soon arrived at the two-story house. The place where Taehan used to smoke, and where Dawon would watch him from afar.

The flood of memories made Taehan’s chest ache. He even thought he could smell the faint remnants of Dawon’s scent.

As they passed the entrance where Dawon had left barefoot, Taehan had to swallow the surge of pain. Mangchi, disappointed by Taehan’s indifference, became visibly excited at finally seeing him react. He strode into the living room and pointed towards the kitchen.

“I’ve gathered all your belongings over there, Mr. Ryu Taehan. Go finish up yourself.”

Mangchi’s tone was triumphant, yet strangely theatrical. His stiff demeanor was comical, but it was time for Taehan to get serious.

Taehan took off his jacket, tossed it onto the sofa, and rolled up his sleeves. It was the same posture he’d assumed when he was “working.” He then straightened his back and walked towards the kitchen, as Mangchi had indicated.

Neither too fast, nor too slow. Mangchi followed Taehan, his eyes narrowed like a predator stalking its prey. When the distance between them closed to within striking range, he pulled out a black, hard metal rod from his inner jacket pocket.

The veins on Mangchi’s hand, gripping the metal rod, bulged. He swung the weapon with all his might at Taehan’s unguarded back.

If Dawon hadn’t walked out to meet Taehan at his eldest uncle’s two-story house, he would still be across the street, watching the house. A terrifying house that swallowed screams and quarrels without a sound.

Countless horrific things had happened there, yet from the outside, the house always seemed quiet and peaceful. If it hadn’t been for Dawon’s observation skills, he wouldn’t have even sensed anything amiss.

But today was different. Twenty minutes after Mangchi’s attack, an unmistakable commotion erupted from the house.

Boom. A loud explosion shook the ground, and all the kitchen windows on the first floor shattered, spewing black smoke. The explosion immediately ignited a fire. Red flames, with their savage tongues, quickly engulfed the entire house.

The two-story house, which had been a tomb for some, but a refuge and a new world for Dawon. The place where the foolish Taehan, unknowingly, began to harbor love. It was burning.

‘Stop. I want to rest.’

Everything was dark. The wavering air was unfamiliar, but at least he could slump against something and relax.

The darkness, blurring his consciousness, was more comforting than frightening. If he just sank into this swamp-like darkness, he felt he could soon let go of everything. Or rather, he’d already half-let go.

Dawon just wanted to rest. His short life had been excruciatingly long, and the journey and pain of the past month or two felt more exhausting than the rest of his life combined.

‘I said stop.’

It was time to rest. Dawon deserved to rest. So why did someone keep bothering him? A large hand gently shook him, and Dawon frowned deeply.

He even heard unintelligible mumbling. Although it was a clear voice, he couldn’t understand the meaning of the words. The strange sounds mixed together, muddling his mind.