Salt Fields (3)
“What the hell are you talking about? That Sun-mi-ra bitch brought men into the dorms?”
The man in his fifties, a hulking brute with a face almost identical to the elderly village head seated at the head of the room—but with a head one size larger—huffed and puffed ragged breaths. His worn shirt screamed in protest, stretched taut over muscles forged by years of labor. The massive frame, easily over 100 kilos, made the wooden floorboards creak and groan with every exhale.
“Say it again. Sun-mi-ra’s with a man right now?”
The guesthouse lady averted her eyes from the man’s bulging, intimidating stare.
“What the fuck is this? Can’t you see we’re talking here?”
“Hyungnim, you think I can just sit still? I’ve held back all this time, trusting your promise to make that Sun-mi-ra bitch my bride somehow. But now she’s meeting outsiders?!”
“Hah! Talking back like that?”
A low sigh escaped Village Head Choi, the man in his sixties. If not for being his only blood kin, he wouldn’t even want to lay eyes on the guy. Brain full of muscle, just like the rest of him. Shaking his head, the dying words of their late mother floated into his mind: The boy’s good-hearted. You take care of him.
Village Head Choi’s one sore spot was his younger brother, Choi Du-seong.
As he let out a deep sigh, Choi Du-seong bellowed at him.
“You’ve bedded every outsider woman that came along, hyungnim. For me, Sun-mi-ra’s the only one. Why? A loser like me doesn’t deserve a college-grad teacher as a bride?!”
Village Head Choi drew in a deep breath. Damn, with that fiery temper, he’s held out longer than I expected.
His voice softened. “Du-seong-ah, listen up. Normally, that Sun-mi-ra bitch would’ve been dealt with ages ago. You know why, right?”
“……”
“I know what that gutsy wench is up to. She’s hanging on just long enough to get her official teaching post and bail from this island. But it won’t be that easy!”
“…But how long do I have to wait? Last time, I got her drunk and tried… but the next day, she’s sleeping and eating at the school. With all those Arabs passing by, I can’t even make a move anymore!”
“I’ve got it all figured out. You lay low for now. No reckless bullshit.”
Village Head Choi squeezed his eyes shut. His brother, over fifty and burning with feverish love. Sun-mi-ra. A woman with backbone. Any ordinary girl would’ve ditched her teaching dreams and fled the island the moment she sniffed out the village vibe. But she endured. Which meant her dream was that desperate.
She thinks my power’s limited to Sinseon Island and the nearby mainland. No. Wrong.
He shook his head. The only path to becoming a full-fledged teacher was approval from the education office. And he had the pull to decide that.
The sound of waves crashing against the breakwater filtered through the walls. He’d spent his life fishing the rough seas. Fishing started with choosing the right bait. Her favorite bait was already hooked on the line. The issue was the strike timing. Big fish don’t thrash like minnows—you tease the float heavy, then hook ’em slow but sure in one go.
“It’s late. Trust your hyung and head out.”
Choi Du-seong huffed for a long moment, as if he had more to say, then turned with a deep sigh. The room fell into heavy silence, like after a war.
Village Head Choi’s gaze shifted to a corner of the room. His thick brows twitched. He exhaled the breath he’d been holding.
“…Tch, that damn Hwang punk. Finishes work and doesn’t scram home—instead he’s sniffing around, causing this mess? Tut tut!”
In the direction of his glare, Hwang knelt with a dog collar around his neck, head bowed low. His swollen eyes and whip scars covering his body told the tale. Even as his name was called, he didn’t dare lift his head. A foul stench of vomit wafted from him. Lately, his body had weakened; he wasn’t pulling his weight anymore. Time for fresh meat.
Village Head Choi’s flushed face cooled back to normal.
“Anyway, Present Bok’s mom.” His tone turned sly. “Hard as hell getting people from job agencies these days. Think it’s time to switch suppliers? Looks like that one’s on his last legs anyway.”
His eyes fixed on trembling Hwang.
“Funny you say that—I’ve got a spot in mind. A company specializing in the disabled and undocumented foreigners. You’ve probably heard of ’em, Village Head. I’ll reach out to Yoon Pil-sang, the section chief at the Health Management Corporation on the mainland.”
“Ah! Pil-sang—that anchovy boat’s eldest son? Sharp kid from way back.”
Village Head Choi crossed his arms with a satisfied grin.
“Word’s spreading nationwide. They call our Sinseon Island salt top-shelf. You know the saying—sweat and blood poured in? Nowhere else mixes in real blood and sweat like our salt pans. Consumers know it too. Haha!”
“Of course, Village Head. But what about those outsiders…?”
The guesthouse lady clasped her hands inquiringly.
“Heh, don’t worry. When they get back, play dumb, feed ’em a nice meal. Sound ’em out subtle-like depending on the vibe. I’ll handle the rest.”
He eyed the bowed woman’s head. She couldn’t do much anyway. He’d solve it his way, like always. Village Head Choi clicked his tongue and closed his eyes.
Sun-mi-ra consorting with outsiders? Sinseon Island was his domain. No one fucked with him here. A couple of mainlanders changed nothing.
Flash!
His eyes snapped open. Right. Business as usual.
His lips twisted into a smirk.
* * *
“Aigoo, fishing till this late? Catch anything? Our Sinseon Island cod are famous for their fat bellies.”
“Catch? Zilch. Empty hook all day. Gonna crash hard and hit a new spot tomorrow.”
Kim Gwang-il scratched his head as he replied to the guesthouse lady. He knew how to keep a straight face—practically a detective already.
“Aigoo, no way! That spot’s prime. Breaks my heart. Made you some handmade dumplings—dig in and rest up. So, what do you two do?”
Her eyes gleamed like a leopard eyeing prey.
“Haha, just regular company drones. IT gigs. Got vacation time, but worried our desks’ll be cleared out by the time we’re back. Layoffs are brutal these days.”
“I live in this backwater, so I don’t get fancy talk. But that handsome young fella looks kinda familiar.”
Her gaze turned to me.
“Guess I’ve got one of those faces. But this kimchi’s killer.”
She tilted her head. Her stare sharpened on me.
“Alright, early dawn charter tomorrow—we’re calling it. You rest up too, Kang daeri-nim.”
Gwang-il threw an arm around me and yanked open the door.
* * *
Squid boat lure lights flickered in the distance. Seagulls swooped toward the horizon before dawn. The bold ones pecked at the bait bucket, then flapped off irritably. Disappointed by the emptiness.
“Ugh!”
Gwang-il hurled his empty rod into the sea with a grunt.
“Hyungnim, level with me. What’s the plan?”
He stared at the lifeless float—no bites coming—and shot the question my way without turning.
“Not calling for Seoul HQ backup yet. Not arresting Village Head Choi officially either. …And what’s with that thing we asked Teacher Seon for anyway?”
Waves slammed the rocks, salt spray stinging everywhere.
“Gwang-il. When the ferry comes today, you head to Seoul first. If I’m not back in 48 hours, then bring the reinforcements and return.”
“H-Hyungnim! What the…?”
Ignoring his shriek, I shut my eyes tight. This case was out of our jurisdiction, far away, so it’d slipped my memory—Sinseon Island. That’s why I’d come fishing with Gwang-il without a second thought.
But feeling the reality here firsthand brought buried memories bubbling up. A case that’d bugged me back then.
Even if Village Head Choi had a solid cartel, could a sixty-something island village head wield that much power? Especially in a lawless blind spot where “the law is far, but fists are close” rang true?
It didn’t add up. The answer came from a random tabloid gossip blurb. A reporter claiming local ties to Songtak City revealed Village Head Choi’s “shadow” enforcer.
I’d brushed it off then, but now, with nightmares turning real, it was no joke. His personal vigilante squad on the island numbered over thirty—not counting guns, surrendered for vacation. Unignorable firepower. Hell, even a massacre wasn’t off the table.
Too much for a beat cop like Gwang-il to handle alone.
“What’re you saying? Leave you here solo? Just hyungnim?!”
“Best play right now. Get any deeper, and you’re the one screwed…!”
“Pathetic! Scared shitless!”
Gwang-il snatched his rod in a frenzy. It whistled through the air. The empty hook glinted yellow in the sun.
“…No bites at all. Bust again today?”
He turned, squatted, and fiddled with the empty bait bucket. Long silence, then:
“…When we faced off with Park Hyeok-cheol, I knew. You said it—heard the victim’s screams, rushed in too hot, that’s why I lost. He pulled a blade, got me.”
A sigh like his guts were spilling out.
Gwang-il shook his head. “No. Even without the knife, even straight-up fair fight, I’d have lost. Felt it in that standoff. His blade piercing me, you charging in… I felt relief. Grateful I didn’t have to face that monster anymore. Seeing him broke my spirit.”
Gwang-il’s eyes tracked a gull in the sky.
“…When you chased him down and took him barehanded—no gun, just fists—I heard. Guess what I thought?”
A question needing no answer.