Twisted Madness (2)
His larynx quivered with every word, the thick veins on the back of his hand pulsing in rhythm. A message from Gunwoo Group? The arrogance unique to those who could crush a mere cop like me without batting an eye, lording over the world beneath their feet, seeped through his voice.
"Didn't I tell you? I'm a soju body."
His breathing grew ragged, as if rasping right in my ear. He hurled the shot glass I'd poured for him to the floor and opened his mouth.
"Since you started with a message from Gunwoo Group, let me say something in return. In police work, you hear all sorts of rumors. About companies these days—they've got a lot of problems."
I stared into Park Hyeok-cheol's eyes and spoke low.
"Gunwoo Group's Q4 financial records this year. I hear there's some issues. Right? No idea why they're cooking the books like crazy. If performance is bad, just announce it honestly. If investors lose faith, doesn't that hurt the whole country in the long run?"
Gunwoo Group's tax evasion and accounting fraud was set to explode next spring. It would lead to a top-to-bottom purge of the executives, with most facing arrest and investigation. Park Hyeok-cheol lucked out and escaped, but the company's losses topped trillions of won.
Park Hyeok-cheol's demeanor shifted. Terror at his company's secrets leaking out warred with rage at this insolent cop before him, pulling taut like a tug-of-war rope. Then, as if resolving something, he smirked and closed the distance between us. Concentrated killing intent radiated from his entire body.
"Lieutenant Kang Cheol-gu. Do you know when the Gabo Reforms happened? 1894. Over a hundred ten years ago. Know what the biggest delusion people have had since then?"
He took a swig of the harsh whiskey, then burst into incredulous laughter.
"...They think the class system was abolished! They firmly believe their country is some democracy without kings, yangban nobles, or slaves. Pathetic, really."
He spun me around and grabbed my collar. Hidden behind the pillar, out of sight from the others—a blind spot. His larynx twitched again.
"Nobles still exist in this day and age. Got it? Ending a bug like you is nothing! Shut up and go watch how your end comes with your own eyes."
My lip curled too. I was the one who'd led him to this blind spot. I yanked his tie, whispering in his ear.
"You, a noble? You know what Gunwoo Group's predecessor was? 'Joseon Machinery Works,' suppliers of semi-submersible transport boats to the Japanese army during the Pacific War. A war criminal company's spawn talking nobility? Know your place, you disgrace."
I shoved the tie back hard. He stumbled backward, reeling. If glares could kill, I'd be dead a few times over. Blood trickled from his bitten lip.
I turned my back on him, ignoring it all. This was why I hated chaebol parties. Their vile chosen-people ideology made my skin crawl.
That's when it happened. Something whistled past my turning head and shattered against the wall. Crash! His champagne glass.
"Kang! Cheol! Gu! Don't... move... a... muscle?"
A beast's howl erupted from human lips. In that instant, the quartet orchestra band's music cut off. Some of the chandelier lights flickered out. Guests in their finery stared at us in shock.
Among them, one gaze felt off. Jang Yun-seong. Hand over her mouth in feigned surprise, but her eyes curved slyly. She relished two males baring fangs over her.
"Stand still! We have more to discuss. Though between men, maybe words aren't the only way to converse?"
He forced calm into his voice, dry and emotionless, but each word dripped heavy killing intent. Even the security guards who'd rushed in at the alert backed off at his next words. His will—that nothing should stand between us—bound everyone else's movements.
"Everyone, stay out of it. Just party entertainment. What do you say, Mr. Kang Cheol-gu? Fine with you?"
"...Between men, you said?"
"What?"
"Men conversing, right? Then what're you doing? You... talk too damn much."
I crooked a finger, beckoning. My half-assed response flushed his face red. And Jang Yun-seong's too.
I hadn't meant to escalate this far. Even with Taehwa backing me, it was just business. They had no obligation to take group-level hits for me. My dad as police academy dean was one thing, but Gunwoo Group's power was another league. Worst case, it could splash back on him.
But I wasn't about to fold to half-baked provocation. Nobles? Time to shatter that flimsy chosen ideology. My call.
"Not coming? You had words for me?"
His face went ice-cold. His ragged breaths evened out. His gaze flicked behind me. His shoulder twitched—then a kick flew. A feint with eyes and motion?! Precise and systematic. No raw slaughter-lust like Ma Chung-hwa or Wang Yong, but the mechanics were a cut above.
Another kick incoming. Step back once, close in? I shook my head. Wanted to test his power. This damn competitive streak of mine, always the problem.
A heavy middle kick. I blocked, but my body lifted off the ground. The impact blanked my mind. I bit my lip hard. No more underestimating a chaebol heir.
I shook out my throbbing limbs, reset my stance. Distance... two and a half steps. My front kick flew at his thigh. As his eyes dropped, the vertical kick pivoted on my knee. His pupils shook. The path-changing Brazilian kick slammed his neck, carotid artery.
But he just stepped back, tilting his head. Monster durability. He smirked faintly, like that all you got? I smirked back. As if. One strike fails? Chain strikes.
Left fist at his jaw. His hand tracked it. Blocked at guard—or so I thought. The fist slithered like a live snake over his shoulder to his temple. A mad serpent versus the farmer grabbing it. His eyes locked high. Throat bobbed as he swallowed. Gut wide open.
My torso coiled low. Power from ankle, calf, thigh surged up my waist. No waste. Short uppercut deep into his abdomen. Hugh! Air whooshed from his lungs.
In a blink, three left-hand combos. All setups for the final uppercut. I was sure I'd seized momentum—then wind whistled. This psycho! Fist launched as he fell, toward my face. Full weight behind it. One hit and I'm done.
Head movement dispersed the impact. Damage unavoidable—head went numb. He split into two, three images. He clutched his gut on the floor too. But his upturned glare burned undimmed.
"Both of you, stop this now!"
Someone wedged between us.
* * *
Crash! Amid chat with YK Group's Chairman Oh, Hong Gye-young caught the sound of breaking glass somewhere. Crowded party—spilled drinks happen. She nodded calmly, continuing, when the air shifted.
At the center: Kang Cheol-gu. Hong Gye-young's pupils dilated watching the two men clash. She bit her finger without thinking. Two beasts baring teeth at vital spots. No MMA expert, but she knew Park Hyeok-cheol was an amateur fighter. Trading even with him?
That's the world he lives in. Breath came hard. She sensed an alien gaze. Turned slowly. Jang Yun-seong. That woman's red lips twisted oddly. Stop this fight!
* * *
"Both of you, stop this now!"
Hong Gye-young. She strode into the fray no average man would dare.
"Enough. Lieutenant Kang, getting used by someone—isn't your style, right?"
She leaned in, voice low. Everyone gawked, murmuring, phones out filming. Jang Yun-seong behind them, hand on mouth in mock shock—but her eyes burned with lust. Like a female mantis eyeing mating males. Our eyes met. Revulsion crept up.
Call it here? But him? Would Park Hyeok-cheol agree to truce?
Hong Gye-young turned to him.
"You too, Mr. Park Hyeok-cheol. Stop."
"Not... over... yet!"
His eyes still blazed as he rose clutching his gut.
"I said stop! I'm the host. I won't tolerate more rudeness."
Her icy decree brooked no argument. Park Hyeok-cheol's head slowly bowed.
* * *
"Bro, heard you threw down last night?"
Kim Gwang-il approached the station buried in a paper mountain.
"What're you on about?"
"Smashed that Park Hyeok-cheol prick at the Taehwa party! Felt so good hearing it!"
"Rumors spread fast. Wasn't a win—draw. Where'd you hear?"
"Hotel security guy's my college buddy. Said after you two went at it, Park threw a fit leaving—slapped the valet too! Good on you."
"Felt good for me too, but a bit worried. Park's known for grudges. And Gunwoo Chairman Park Ji-man dotes on his kid like crazy."
Hwang Woo-sik's low voice came from over his coffee, rubbing his neck uneasily.
"It's fine. Grown-ups don't meddle in kids' scraps. Plus, I've got a dad who can scrap."
I patted his shoulder, stood—Gwang-il shoved a stack of A4s at me.
"What's this?"
"Sign 'em. Buddies envy me having you as mentor. Getting 10,000 won per."
"Beat it. Not kids anymore!"
"Half! Exactly half to you."
"...!"
* * *
"Cancel all today's schedule! Don't wanna see anyone."
Park Hyeok-cheol's 300-square-foot office filled with his fury. He'd thought the guy an easy win. Violent crimes detective? Just a rookie lieutenant. Never considered him peer.
Yet that punk threatened him with Gunwoo dirt, then matched him in a brawl?! In front of Jang Yun-seong! Veins throbbed on his forehead.
"Arrrgh!!"
Antiques shattered in his grip. Desk computer and files flew like in a storm. Suddenly, his gaze fixed like after a head blow. Eyelids fluttered rapid.
This was it!