Three Eight-Chapter 29

Hongju went back to his usual tasks, cleaning and running errands without a moment’s rest. Occasionally, he exchanged brief words with the gangsters, nodded in acknowledgment at Doksu—who was busy at the gambling table—and, whenever he had the chance, stole quick glances at Guppping, keeping an eye on his every move. Whenever he passed near the back room, he would peek inside.

"..."

Mu-gyeong was, as always, staring at his phone. Every time Hongju saw him, it was the same—his focus locked on the screen. It was enough to make him curious about what exactly Mu-gyeong was always looking at. But Hongju quickly looked away and turned to leave.

"Just walking away again?"

The voice stopped him in his tracks. Hongju hesitated before turning his head back toward the room. Mu-gyeong still hadn’t lifted his eyes from his phone, but a smirk was playing at the corners of his lips.

"Gu Madam?"

"He's taking a nap."

"Good for him."

Mu-gyeong let out a small laugh before bringing his phone up to his ear.

"Oh, Gu Madam."

Hongju’s head snapped up. Less than thirty seconds had passed since he had said Guppping was sleeping, and Mu-gyeong was already calling him? Was he waking him up on purpose?

"Can you check something for me? No, not that."

Mu-gyeong lazily bounced the tip of his shoe, his posture too slouched and relaxed for someone dressed as sharply as he was.

"I just don’t trust my players."

Hongju, who had been staring at his shoes, slowly lifted his gaze. Mu-gyeong’s voice carried a smile, but his face remained completely expressionless.

At that moment, Hongju felt sure that Mu-gyeong was hiding something. His name, his profession, the way he was using Hongju to watch Guppping—all of it felt deliberate, as if carefully crafted to mislead.

"Thanks."

Ending the call, Mu-gyeong cracked his knuckles with a series of sharp pops.

"Get out."

"...Yes."

Mu-gyeong was truly an unfathomable man. Just last night, he had all but torn open Hongju’s robe, grinding against him as if he was about to force himself on him. But today, he was playing mind games with Guppping and showing interest in his debt, almost as if he was helping him.

"..."

At that moment, Guppping came barreling down the hall, hair disheveled and clutching a stack of papers. Hongju knew those documents well. His contract. The debt agreement that had chained him here for fifteen years, along with the interest payment records.

Guppping kept that paperwork locked away, only taking it out once every few months. And even then, Hongju was only allowed to look at it for a few fleeting minutes, desperately scanning the numbers to make sure the interest deductions were accurate.

"Move, move."

Guppping waved his hand impatiently. Hongju pressed himself against the wall as Guppping rushed past, a gust of air following in his wake.

"..."

Mu-gyeong was unpredictable, but this much was clear: as long as he stayed close to him, there was a chance—a real chance—of escaping the gambling house. The thirst he had endured for so long finally felt like it might be quenched.

"Uncle, a cold Bacchus, please."

Hongju nodded at the request from behind him.

"Got it."

He headed to the partitioned area behind the desk. He poured two bottles of Bacchus into a paper cup, added ice from the mini-fridge, and placed the drink on a tray. Carrying it carefully, he made his way to the center of the hallway.

"Bacchus."

"Oh, thanks, thanks."

The man tossed a few bills onto the table, far more than the drink was worth—likely a tip. Hongju bowed slightly in gratitude and tucked the money into his pocket.

"Uncle’s looking pretty stylish these days. Made some money?"

One of the gamblers at the table spoke up, and instantly, all eyes turned toward Hongju.

"Yeah, even looking fancy now."

Laughter rippled through the group, mockingly. But at this point, Hongju had grown numb to it. All he cared about was calculating how many more tips like this it would take to pay off his remaining debt.

"You think it’s real?"

"Could be. Knockoff brands are pretty convincing these days."

Though their words dripped with ridicule, Hongju didn’t react. He simply bowed his head once more and stepped toward the door.

Just as he was about to leave, the gambler who had spoken earlier called out again.

"By the way, haven’t seen Guppping around. I was hoping to catch up."

"Should I go get him?"

"Yeah. Tell him PC Bang Chairman Kim wants to see him."

"...Understood."

Hongju barely stopped himself from laughing at the ridiculous title. He left the room without looking back. Stepping over the doorframe—there wasn’t even a proper door—felt like finally taking a breath after being suffocated.

But instead of heading straight for Guppping, Hongju turned toward the back of the hall.

"He’s not a complete idiot. He’s managed to survive here for years, after all."

A voice drifted from the room ahead. Someone was on the phone.

Hongju peered inside cautiously.

Mu-gyeong was standing there, looking straight at the doorway. Their eyes met instantly.

Without missing a beat, Mu-gyeong switched the phone to his other hand and reached for a cigarette on the table. He flicked a Zippo lighter against the clean white filter.

"Regu knows what he’s doing. He’s got sharp instincts."

Mu-gyeong held the cigarette between his lips and gestured toward Hongju with his chin.

Between the black gloves on his fingers, the pristine white filter stood out starkly.

Then, once more, he raised an eyebrow at Hongju.

"..."

Lighting his cigarette—was that what Mu-gyeong wanted? Without even thinking, Hongju stepped forward, picking up the Zippo lighter from the table. Mu-gyeong tilted his head slightly, watching him with quiet amusement. The angle revealed his sharp brow, the straight bridge of his nose. With his gaze lowered, the faint trace of a single eyelid fold was visible only on his left eye.

His smooth, unmarred face didn’t suit a man accustomed to violence. Yet, Hongju remembered the rough scars he had traced with his fingertips in the early hours of the morning.

"It takes time, but nothing’s more reliable. Saves money too, doesn’t it?"

A soft click broke the silence. A flame flickered to life, its glow casting fleeting shadows across Mu-gyeong’s face. The filter darkened as it burned, and he took a slow drag, exhaling a long ribbon of smoke.

"And now, I’ve got something fun to look forward to."

Behind the curling wisps of smoke, Hongju felt Mu-gyeong’s gaze settle on him—heavy, unreadable. Fun. He had used the same word to describe what he did to Hongju last night. The memories came flooding back—the rough, rhythmic friction, the forced gasps dragged from his throat, Mu-gyeong’s relentless hands grinding against him, demanding a reaction. The hot release that had spilled over his stomach and thighs.

"..."

Hongju stood frozen, lost in the memory. It was Mu-gyeong who finally shut the lighter with a crisp snap. The sharp sound jolted Hongju back to the present. Without hesitation, he turned on his heel and strode out of the room.

"What the hell are you thinking?"

Hongju had only been coming to the back room to dream of freedom. Mu-gyeong was his one ticket out of this miserable place.

But if it kept bringing back those images—if being near him only made his stomach twist in ways he couldn’t understand—then it was better to stay away. Trying to clear his head, Hongju shook out his hair and rubbed his eyes.

Instead of lingering, he went straight to the desk, addressing the man seated there.

"Is Guppping in the back room?"

"Yeah. He went in a while ago."

It was one of Mu-gyeong’s men. The two workers he had stationed here were different from the usual muscle in the house. Unlike the thugs who lounged around smoking, glued to their phones, these men were always alert, scanning their surroundings. They never engaged in small talk.

"Alright."

Brushing past him, Hongju made his way toward the room with the safe. Guppping was a light sleeper—just the creak of a floorboard could set him off—so Hongju moved silently, killing any unnecessary noise.

"...Let's do it."

It was Chief Yang’s voice. Hongju had just been about to step inside when the muffled conversation caught his attention. He halted, muscles tensing.

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"If we plant our guys as security, that should be enough."

Hongju’s instincts screamed that something was going on. Pressing himself against the wall, he focused all his attention on the conversation.

"Yeah, but he’s from money. If this blows up, it could be a problem. You think our guys can handle it quietly?"

"As long as there's evidence he was here, we’re golden. Plenty of people get themselves killed over gambling debts."

Hongju blinked, gears turning. They hadn’t mentioned a name, but it was obvious who they were talking about—Mu-gyeong.

"Shit, who cares? We’ve got bodies to throw at the problem. Either way, that rich fucker is fucked. Ptuh!"

Spitting on the floor, Chief Yang let out a dry laugh.

Hongju deliberately made noise as he approached, rattling the doorknob a few times as if he were struggling to open it.

"This door’s busted."

"What the—when the fuck did you get here?"

"Just now," Hongju replied smoothly. "PC Bang Chairman Kim is asking for Guppping. Room Three."

Guppping groaned as he pushed himself up from his chair, raking a hand through his tangled hair. His shirt was wrinkled and half-untucked. The man wasn’t rich—if he was, he wouldn’t have needed to weasel money out of every deal he made.

"Fuck, can’t catch a break."

Hongju turned, intending to head straight for Mu-gyeong. He had to warn him about whatever Guppping and Chief Yang were plotting.

"Hey, Hongju. Go collect."

Chief Yang’s voice stopped him mid-step.

"Right now?"

"Yeah, you dumbass. Since when do you get to pick and choose when you collect? Getting soft now that you’ve got Mu-gyeong behind you?"

Hongju let out a slow breath. Of course, they wouldn’t cut him any slack. ~Nоvеl𝕚ght~ They never had before.

With a quiet sigh, he stepped back inside.

"Where am I going?"

Guppping brushed past him, now fully dressed. As he did, his hand clamped down over Hongju’s ass, fingers digging in. But the thick padding of his new coat blocked most of it.

"Got yourself something nice, huh? Must be real warm, yeah?"

He slapped Hongju hard on the back of the head, making him stumble forward. His long hair spilled over his eyes as he kept his gaze fixed on the floor. The bare linoleum was covered in old scuff marks.

Muttering curses under his breath, Guppping walked away.

"Here’s the address. Three hundred by tomorrow."

Chief Yang slapped a plastic-wrapped ID onto the desk, a sticky note attached to it. The first thing Hongju checked was the address. It wasn’t far if he had a car, but on foot, it would take a while.

How much would they knock off if he got beaten up a little? Fifteen thousand won?

"..."

Screw it. Walking was the better option.