Octopussy Gate (2)
“Oppa! What are you doing here? This is so boring!”
A girl grabbed the wrist of a man who was turning to leave. She looked young enough to pass for a minor, but her outfit was flashy.
“You promised to take a selfie with me. Are you really doing this?”
She crossed her arms and struck an exaggeratedly affectionate pose. The phone flash popped, and the man glanced at the first floor again, but the guy in the military jacket had already vanished.
That face looks familiar. Newbie from some agency?
The man shook his head. Too old for an idol trainee, too rough around the edges for an actor. Most people thought actors just needed to be handsome, but that wasn't true. A real actor could wear anything and make it work—that guy from earlier had a presence that was way too sharp.
Snapping out of his thoughts, the man chuckled and headed toward the girls.
“Alright! We're drinking till we drop today!”
The girls cheered wildly, and Park Seung-hyun's lips curled into a wide grin.
* * *
“Since you're President Woo's friend, we're giving you the VIP treatment.”
Fluorescent, the guy from the stage, nodded at me and led me up the emergency stairs outside the club. Gangnam back alleys were usually bustling, but the area behind Octopussy was eerily empty. The CCTV angles had shifted slightly from what I'd seen outside before infiltrating—both cameras completely missed the stairs, a perfect blind spot.
Even with my jacket zipped to my neck, the early winter chill bit deep.
“We've only got one bottle left right now. The other MDs are eyeing it too, but I'm pledging total loyalty to you tonight, hyung.”
He pulled out something the size of a pinky finger from his pocket—it looked just like liquid cold medicine from a pharmacy.
“You don't need much. Just five drops—exactly five—in the girls' drinks. You know the price, right? 1.2 million won a bottle.”
“Okay, give me the account number. I'll wire it now.”
“Cool deal. Thanks!”
As he checked his phone, his brow furrowed, and he exploded.
“What the hell? 120 won?!”
“Cool deals don't come with backtalk.”
I snatched his phone with a dumb joke. He stared at his empty hand in shock, then bared his teeth and lunged—but soon he was face-planted against the metal stair railing, flailing.
My combat boot ground roughly into his neck.
Click! Click!
“Damn, Fluorescent, you're a pro at customer service. Phone numbers, jobs, purchase history, even their favorite girls' types... Why not make full portfolios? With this, you could tank hundreds of your clients no problem.”
“Gah! Wh-what do you want?”
I snapped photos of the data on his phone, and Fluorescent's face went ghost-white as he waved his hands frantically. Sharp instincts, as expected from someone in the nightlife game.
“Where's your supplier?”
“...Who the hell are you, President? I really don't know that. The potions all come from the director...!”
“That's far enough.”
A stranger's voice cut in. The half-open emergency door swung wide, and a man in his late twenties, dressed in a high-end suit, descended with five or six others. Their shadows stretched long under the streetlights.
“D-Director!”
Fluorescent's eyes, calm even after losing the client list, now shook violently.
“I've known you were skimming for a while, Fluorescent. But you sold well, so I wrote it off as a business cost. Can't have you running your mouth like this, though. And...”
The director's gaze shifted to me.
“Who the hell are you to fuck up our business? Not a cop, that's for sure.”
Absolute certainty I wasn't police. Deals like this didn't happen without the local precinct in your pocket.
“You wouldn't let me go even if I talked.”
“True enough. How do you always say the right shit?”
At his nod, the six men lumbered forward. Not club MDs—these were pros who ate fists for breakfast.
The metal stairs were about a meter wide. I had the high ground, but the narrow space forced one-on-one fights—and few in Korea could take me in a fair scrap.
“Looks like you're pretty confident in your skills.”
“Did some taekwondo at the local dojo as a kid. Don't remember losing much.”
No need to mention that "local dojo" was the police academy training Korea's top brass, with instructors who were elite in every field.
“...But check your back.”
“'Look behind you' is a B-movie line even third-rate flicks ditched years ago.”
Still, I glanced back. Couldn't ignore the footsteps echoing off the concrete.
And my eyebrows twitched involuntarily.
A dozen or so thugs emerged from the alleys, baseball bats and pipes in hand, surrounding me.
“Why do you think clichés are clichés? 'Cause they still work. You fucking mutt.”
His sneering voice stabbed like a needle.
Whoosh!
The attack began. A straight front kick—push kick in taekwondo, teep in Muay Thai—aimed at my jaw. The only viable strike from high to low ground.
I ducked, and his foot snagged my shoulder. Rising with the momentum, I shoved him into his buddies—they toppled like bowling pins on a strike.
Grabbing an incoming shoe with both hands, I twisted counterclockwise. A crack like a chicken bone snapping echoed from his ankle.
Need to climb higher, force one-on-ones.
Ignoring the screams, I seized one by the collar and body-slammed forward like a battering ram. Hell unfolded in the tight passage.
A guy bent ninety degrees at the waist slammed to the ground three meters below with a dull thud. Dust billowed, terror creeping into their faces.
Then a baseball bat swung from the alley at my head. I twisted instinctively, but it clipped my shoulder, throwing off my balance. Dodging a whipping pipe from behind, a knee-launched body slam came from the front.
This hits, I'm done.
I hurled myself down the stairs. Not hard concrete—something softish!
A sharp scream pierced my ears. I'd landed on the gut of a thug who'd fallen in the chaos.
But my jacket pocket was soaked. The potion vial from Fluorescent had burst—my only evidence, gone.
No time for regret. Shadows, curses, and wind rushed from all sides.
Thwack!
Dodging a kick, a bat smashed my back. If I'd worn the stab vest, it wouldn't hurt this bad. Missed it to sneak past the club pat-down.
Breathing ragged, vision blurring.
Then, dust clouds rose far off. One step. Two. Like a tidal wave, they surged toward me.
“Cheol-gu hyung, you okay?”
Kim Gwang-il charged in, tanking bats with his vest and sweeping thugs aside one by one. Tears of relief welled up.
“Huff huff! You ditched for good booze, and here you are scrapping with these bloodbags? If I hadn't come, you'd be a lab rat today. Should've been later.”
“Heh! How'd you know to come here?”
Gwang-il, covered in dust, leaned against the wall, glaring as he panted. I mirrored him beside him, gasping.
Over a dozen thugs groaned sprawled ahead, some with twisted limbs needing urgent care. The director and Fluorescent had vanished mid-fight.
“Hwang Woo-sik called around, then suddenly screamed orders for backup. Said local cops wouldn't help. But where's the pale church boy? Why's it just you like this?”
Then,
“Hyung! Gwang-il! What the hell happened?”
Urgent footsteps clanged down the stairs. Pale church boy Lee Gyu-cheol had arrived.
“You okay alone?”
“Yeah. I was just... What the hell is this mess? You and the MD slipped out quietly earlier.”
“Tried to nab the supplier, but the boss crashed the party. Lost the only evidence too. Back to square one.”
I smacked my lips in regret, fiddling with the empty vial, when Gyu-cheol handed something over.
“This what you mean?”
A clear vial in his hand sloshed with liquid. The new aphrodisiac.
* * *
After Officer Kang Cheol-gu left with the MD, Gyu-cheol eyed the madhouse stage warily. Chasing violent criminals daily and staking out in cramped cars—this was alien territory.
Then, amid the ear-splitting music, a woman's voice.
“Here alone?”
“...?”
A woman in a tight white dress revealing her curves sat without asking.
“Nice booze. Pour me one.”
“Sure.”
Stiff like this, and I'm screaming 'undercover cop.'
Remembering Kang Cheol-gu's words, Gyu-cheol tilted the Valentine bottle casually. But she giggled and whispered in his ear.
“Oppa, first time here? It's obvious. Total church boy vibe—my type. Wanna grab beers outside?”
She leaned her face on his hesitating shoulder. An unfamiliar but pleasant scent tickled his nose.
Suddenly, something off caught his eye. At the opposite table, an earringed man scanned around, then dropped something into the neighboring drink. The liquid sparkled briefly under the psychedelic lights.
A twenty-something woman had been there moments ago.
Gyu-cheol's face hardened coldly as he rose slowly.
“Omg, oppa, where you going? Hey, church oppa?”
Hearing 'church boy' a lot today.
Gyu-cheol smiled bitterly, biting his lip.
Thud!
Staggering like he was drunk, he bumped the opposite table. The spiked glass tipped, soaking the earringed man's pants.
“Ah! Sorry, I'm wasted!”
“Forget it! Just go!”
Gyu-cheol quietly trailed him to the bathroom. The door muffled even the pounding music.
Low curses as the guy rubbed his pants at the sink. Gyu-cheol stepped behind him.
“Wh-who? Fuck! Why follow me here...!”
“You spiked that girl's drink opposite just now, right?”
Bam!
He slammed the guy's face against the bathroom wall. The thug sobered instantly, eyes trembling.
“Pull out the drugs now, and I'll let you walk quiet. Deal?”
“H-here.”
Not a fighter like Officer Kim Gwang-il, but Gyu-cheol was a violent crimes detective who'd faced rough suspects. No ordinary punk could withstand that pressure.
Pocketing the capsule, he spotted Fluorescent—the MD who'd left with Kang Cheol-gu. Pale as a ghost, he grabbed something at the counter and bolted for the entrance.
Something's up!
Gyu-cheol dashed for the emergency exit Fluorescent had used.
* * *
“Good work. Can't go home empty-handed after this shitshow—that'd be humiliating. Gyu-cheol, you saved the team.”
I clapped his shoulder hard as patrol car sirens wailed in the distance.
Wee-oo wee-oo!
“Hyung, sounds like a report came in. This isn't our jurisdiction—things are gonna blow up.”
“...Way bigger than we thought.”
I stood, ignoring Gyu-cheol's confusion. The enemies weren't just outside—some lurked inside the police.