Blood Money
Two weeks later, Se-geon went back to school and submitted his withdrawal papers.
“Have you lost your damn mind?! What the hell do you think you’re going to do in this world without even finishing high school, you idiot! I get that the whole mess has your head scrambled, but are you seriously quitting so you can run off and play gangster?”
Se-geon’s homeroom teacher, Yoon Deok-yong, was an old educator nearing retirement. He was the sort of man who had never once been promoted to head of student affairs—someone who had built a solid wall between himself and any form of worldly success. He wasn’t especially popular with the kids either, yet in his own way he was a model teacher who stuck faithfully to the core of the job.
After he had once smashed a marble ashtray into the principal’s skull at a famous private high school in Gangnam, he had been shuffled from one dead-end post to another. Even so, he had lived a teaching life he could hold up to the heavens without a shred of shame, and his character was as upright as anyone’s.
“If we go by that logic, after high school I’d have to finish college too,” Se-geon said. “I don’t exactly have that kind of free time.”
“If you don’t even graduate high school, then that thing you love so much—what’s it called—”
“A motocross racing license?”
“Yeah. You won’t be able to get that either! If you let your feelings run wild and quit school right now, the regret’s going to hit you like a truck, you little punk!”
But Se-geon’s mind was already made up.
Not being able to earn a motocross license was a genuine shame, of course. Yet swinging a Desert Eagle and a claymore around like Silvester could never be legal; it would only give the authorities more reason to grab him by the tail. Se-geon forced a smile.
“I’ve already decided. And I’ve got work to do.”
“Decided, huh? Decided to go join some gang? Huh?”
Maybe it was because Se-geon had once hung around with biker crews. The teacher seemed convinced he was about to sign up with a violent organization. From Se-geon’s point of view the bikers had simply latched onto him because he was good on a motorcycle, but excuses like that never carried any weight.
“It’s not something bad. If anything… it’s the good side.”
Se-geon said it, then scratched his nose as if even he found the words a little embarrassing. A moment later he bent at the waist in a perfect ninety-degree bow.
“Well then… thank you for everything.”
With that he walked out. Yoon Deok-yong could only stare at the boy’s retreating back, half-stunned. Just then the door opened and the head of student affairs stepped in.
“Teacher Yoon? What’s going on?”
“That kid… he looked exactly like someone heading off to a battlefield. Damn it. He’s not some student volunteer soldier. What the hell does ‘withdrawal’ even mean coming from him?”
“Ah, that one. Total problem child, isn’t he? Honestly, it’s better that he’s—”
In that instant the ashtray sitting on Teacher Yoon’s desk flew straight at the head of student affairs’ skull.
When Se-geon stepped out through the school gate, Song Deok-yeon was already waiting. Beret on his head, he lit up the moment he spotted the boy.
“Well? You finally ditched the place?”
“Yeah. Now that it’s done it feels like I just did something I shouldn’t have. Anyway—what about Silvester?”
“Took off first thing this morning.”
Song Deok-yeon let out a long sigh.
“Listen, kid. If you’re talking about Father Silvester, the Jinma hunter, there’s not a soul in this world who doesn’t know that monster. You think a guy like that is going to waste time on a greenhorn like you?”
“Is he really that big a deal?”
“What, he didn’t look like a big deal to you?”
“He looked pretty young.”
When Se-geon muttered that, Deok-yeon climbed into his car—a 1994 Pride sedan so embarrassing these days that you almost hoped no one would notice it. Se-geon frowned without meaning to.
“There’s definitely a huge difference. Going from a Corvette to a Pride…”
“What’s wrong with a Pride, you little punk? It’s because of brats like you that people throw away perfectly good cars just to upgrade. And for the kind of work we do, driving something flashy only makes you stick out more.”
“But something this bad leaves a strong impression too, doesn’t it?”
“Shut it and get in.”
He rapped Se-geon’s head as he said it. It was only a playful cuff, but the fist of a former Special Warfare Command sergeant packed serious weight; Se-geon’s mouth closed on its own.
“What’d you do about the house?”
Song Deok-yeon tossed the question out while they waited at a light. Se-geon shrugged.
“Gave it to my uncle. Factory and all.”
“Huh? So you’re broke?”
“He gave me about twenty million won. Why?”
“Hmph. You’re gonna need gear, aren’t you? Don’t tell me you plan on fighting vampires bare-handed.”
“Gear… you mean guns?”
“Guns are still off-limits for a punk like you. First we buy the basics.”
Deok-yeon floored the accelerator.
Deok-yeon led Se-geon to a warehouse district. Originally used by the U.S. military, the place had been sold back to civilians when the unit relocated. It was a shabby red-brick building. Judging by the half-baked graffiti reading “Rave Jeans” scrawled across the wall, the neighborhood had plenty of punks drifting around. Se-geon read it and muttered that it looked an awful lot like a brand name.
Song Deok-yeon rang the buzzer at the entrance, then spoke to Se-geon, who was still looking every which way.
“Stand still for once. You don’t know that looking around like that makes you look suspicious?”
“Really? Doesn’t feel like anyone’s watching.”
The warehouse door opened and an old man with pure-white dreadlocks stepped out. Completely at odds with the gloomy warehouse, he wore a Hawaiian shirt. The moment he spotted Song Deok-yeon he threw both arms wide and greeted him with theatrical delight.
“Well, well! If it isn’t Sergeant Song! Been a long time!”
“Long time, my ass.”
Song Deok-yeon pulled a bag from the car trunk as he spoke.
“Here. Fresh blood donation.”
“Ohh. So the rumors were true—you latched onto a Jinma hunter and hit a big score. This much?”
The old man took the bag and opened it. Inside, plastic packs of blood were packed tight. Song Deok-yeon grinned.
“There’s another bag still in the car, so don’t start gasping yet. I came all this way ’cause I figured you might get buried under the cash.”
“That much? Market price is gonna drop.”
“This ain’t horse-race betting tickets—why the hell would the price drop? Hey, Se-geon, grab the other bag from inside.”
“Yes, sir.”
Se-geon brought it over. The old man stared at the bags stuffed full of blood and scratched his head.
“Impressive haul. Guess plenty of scraps fall off a Jinma hunter’s table, huh?”
“Just tally it up already.”
“Hold your horses. And the kid?”
“Ah, thinking of raising him starting today. Don’t worry about it.”
“That so? Then both of you come on in.”
He headed inside. Se-geon followed, glancing around. Several trailer boxes were stacked in the warehouse; wooden crates and various electronic devices sat among them. A few mercury lamps hung from the ceiling, buzzing and casting restless shadows.
“What are all these?”
“Quiet. You think I won’t explain later? Of course I will. Hey, old man—hurry it up.”
The dreadlocked elder began feeding the plastic packs into a machine one by one for appraisal. Infrared and laser scans finished; results flashed across an LCD display.
“What the hell? All junk. Most of it’s VT 22.3.”
The old man looked at Song Deok-yeon. Deok-yeon’s face twisted. The numbers were lower than expected.
“Well, they’re just the Sangdong faction trash, so of course they’re low-grade. But that low? You mess with the machine or something?”
“If you don’t trust it, find another buyer. You think this machine is ordinary gear? I’m taking a loss just keeping the business open. Ever heard of depreciation?”
“Ahh, I was just talking. You’re no fun, old man. So how much?”
“Around 2.5 million won a pack. That’s the market rate for VT 22. What do you say?”
“There’s a point-three after the decimal. Throw in a little more.”
“Don’t joke. Even at 2.5 million it’s already over a hundred million won! Rounding up that much cash is no picnic. And the rule is standard rounding. 22.3 is 22—end of discussion. This ain’t my first day in the business.”
Song Deok-yeon had nothing left to say. The old man collected the vampire blood and stuffed the bag with cash in its place. Se-geon, who had been watching the bizarre transaction, finally couldn’t hold back his curiosity.
“You’re selling the blood?”
“Huh?”
The old man jerked in surprise and glared back and forth between Se-geon and Song Deok-yeon. Deok-yeon cleared his throat and explained.
“He’s a total rookie—doesn’t know a thing about the trade. No need to worry.”
“Still… the boy really knows nothing. What wind blew you into wrecking a kid’s life like this?”
“Oh, right. Can you sell us a couple of blood extractors for him?”
“Then I’ll deduct the cost from the payout.”
“Fine. Come on—buying two, throw in one free?”
“You want used ones? Looks like that bastard Seok-jung got himself killed. I salvaged his gear. That’ll make three.”
“Deal.”
The old man handed Se-geon a blood-smeared extractor. Se-geon took it, still dazed, and examined the thing.
It looked like a small hammer with a syringe needle attached; a plastic pack hung behind it, already filled with anticoagulant. The grip was heavy—probably housing a battery pack.
“You use this to draw vampire blood. Then that VT analyzer over there checks how pure the blood is and sets the price. Got it? These run on lithium-ion batteries, so keep ’em charged. Nothing worse than finally killing a vampire and then realizing you can’t harvest the blood ’cause the battery’s dead. You’ll be too pissed to sleep.”
“Yes… I understand.”
Se-geon answered and stared at the extractor. Deok-yeon scooped up the money bag and tugged the still-stunned boy along.
“All right, old man. Stay in business.”
“You too. Don’t get yourself killed—live a long life.”
They left the warehouse. Only then did Se-geon snap back to reality and turn on Deok-yeon.
“Wait—that was vampire blood just now?!”
“What the hell did you think it was?”
“I figured maybe it was RH-negative or something… that stuff’s expensive in Korea, right?”
Se-geon mumbled, flustered. Selling vampire blood for cash… didn’t that mean humans were basically sucking vampires dry in return?
The thought hit him like a fist in the chest. He couldn’t put the feeling into words, but it was ominous. He shook his head hard, trying to throw it off. Deok-yeon watched him and smirked.
“Please. RH-negative human blood is more expensive than vampire blood. Vampire RH-negative is basically worthless.”
“Still… what makes vampire blood so valuable that it sells for that much?”
“Those packs barely count as expensive. They’re fresh low-grade trash—purity’s way too low. But even blood like that…”
Deok-yeon pointed at Se-geon’s arm. Looking at the limb that had been severed and reattached, Se-geon suddenly understood. It was the ultimate medicine, something that left modern medical science in the dust.
“If vampire blood is what reattached that arm of yours, you get it now?”
“You injected vampire blood?! Doesn’t that turn you into one?”
“Sometimes it does. Most of the time it doesn’t. Probability goes way up if you drink it, though.”
Only then did Se-geon remember how obsessively Silvester had asked whether he had swallowed any blood when they first met.
“I… see. Yeah, that would fetch a high price. So vampire hunters make their living off this?”
“Well, vampire blood has endless uses beyond that, but yeah—it’s definitely our main income. Why? Disappointed? Not pure enough for a champion of justice?”
“A little. I thought we’d at least take requests from people.”
“To take requests you need a front desk. Word spreads fast and then everything gets messy.”
Deok-yeon climbed into the Pride as he spoke and tossed the money bag into the back seat.
“All right. With this many blood certificates we can loaf around for a while without going hungry. Get in. I’ll show you my base.”
“Yes, sir.”
Unable to shake the uneasy feeling, Se-geon reluctantly climbed into Deok-yeon’s car. The pure-white Pride pulled away from the warehouse and disappeared down the deserted road.