096. The Death of the Man No One Hates (9)
A black Jeep raced down a quiet provincial road in Gyeonggi Province. Even in the early winter chill, the trees lining the roadside still held their leaves, carrying a sharp, grassy scent on the breeze.
"Kang—no, Sunbae-nim. Aren't you going to tell us now? What the hell did that bastard Chan-seong do to make you come all this way chasing him?"
Namgung Min, slouched in the back seat with his hands jammed in his pockets, pouted like a sulky kid.
Kim Moon-kyung sat beside him, saying nothing, but her droopy eyes were wide with curiosity.
"...Whether I tell you or not, that's for Chan-seong to decide once we find him. More importantly, Kim Moon-kyung—do you really think he's there?"
"Yes. If he's not at home, that's the only place he'd go."
Moon-kyung, brimming with certainty, narrowed her eyes at the passing scenery.
"...He always said it felt like home to him. Every time he came for volunteer work."
Hope Shelter was a modest daycare for the poor, run by a retired Catholic nun. It scraped by on donations from acquaintances, without a dime from any local government.
"Ah! There it is. That's Chan-seong's bike!"
After thirty minutes bouncing down a dirt road, they pulled up to a weathered single-story building. A battered red off-road motorcycle sat out front, dented all over—like an old warhorse finally put out to pasture after a brutal fight.
"You two wait here."
Ignoring Namgung Min's grumbling, he stepped out of the car.
As he approached the building, children's singing drifted into his ears.
"...How did you get here?"
"Hello. Is there a student named Jo Chan-seong here?"
A middle-aged woman with snow-white hair straightened up from behind the building. Her hands were caked in dirt, as if she'd just been tending the fields.
For a split second—
"Excuse me, who are you?"
A tense, guarded voice. From the slightly ajar door peeked the fresh-faced head of a boy who could still pass for a kid. This was the first time seeing him in the flesh. In his past life, it had been a grainy mugshot of a black-and-white criminal labeled a social misfit. Lately, just an awkward ID photo from his school records. No social media—unusual for his age—which made tracking him a pain.
Chan-seong's revenge might have started far earlier than anyone realized.
"Nice to meet you. I'm Kang Cheol-gu. As a police academy alum, you must know the name."
His eyes trembled as he stared at the offered handshake.
"Yes, I do. You're the famous senior from our school—and that means you're an active-duty cop. ...Could we talk for a minute?"
He flashed a weak smile at the nun watching him worriedly, then turned and led the way inside.
"...Did you come to arrest me?"
"No. To save you."
"...Aren't I alive right now?"
He stared in brief shock, then let out a wry chuckle and shook his head.
"I know how your grandma and dad died. I know their story. I'm not saying I understand you. Just... that I get it? Yeah, that's the best I can do."
As his hidden history spilled from a stranger's—senior's—mouth, Chan-seong swallowed hard and took a step back.
* * *
Thwack!Thud!
Rudimentary impacts echoed relentlessly from the office of Bo-eun Construction's CEO in Gangseo-gu.
"You fucking. Useless. Piece. Of. Shit! That's why. You. Know. Nothing!"
"S-Sorry! It happened so suddenly... He was wearing a helmet—I couldn't see his face!"
Song Gyu-tae spat each word like chewed gristle while clubbing a man who looked a decade older with his golf club. Song Dong-in's driver, bleeding from the head, couldn't even meet his eyes, just wringing his hands desperately.
"Argh! Useless fucking coin! This is why you can't trust Joseon bastards! Get this prick out of my sight."
The golf club flew from Song Gyu-tae's grip, clanging loudly against the marble floor.
"Sir, take a look at this."
"What is it, Director Pyo?"
Still heaving, Song Gyu-tae took the tablet from his right-hand man.
"The article said the tail started from the hotel after the lecture. So we checked the hotel CCTV..."
A man's silhouette appeared under Pyo Deputy Manager's fingertip.
"...He's sticking to blind spots, hiding his face, but overall, it matches the driver's description. Dressed like early twenties... which means the perp tailed your father from the lecture hall."
"Cut the crap—spit it out."
"Yes. This doesn't look like a simple robbery."
"You mean...?"
"If it was a spur-of-the-moment mugging for cash, no need to attend the lecture. If I may— the perp wanted to know more about your father. Or rather, hates him. Anyone come to mind?"
"...Hate."
Song Gyu-tae bit his lower lip, letting out a low sigh. Not one of confusion—this was the frustration of a life that had sown too many grudges to pinpoint any one.
"Halt the police investigation for now."
"Understood."
If revenge for Song Dong-in was the motive, the probe could unearth their own skeletons.
"And call in our Japanese friends. Can't trust these Joseon fucks."
"...You mean Sanama Genzo-san? But they're a bit..."
"I know what you're worried about. But right now, I need tight-lipped pros. Get the car—I'm heading to the hospital."
For the first time, a hesitant question slipped from his tongue-like lackey, but Song Gyu-tae shook it off lightly.
Something's off—things are going sideways!
Alone in the office, Song Gyu-tae rolled his eyes. Bo-eun Construction had ballooned into national projects, a blood-sucking beast fattened on countless sacrifices. He almost teared up at the protesters with headbands out front. Pot-bangers with no staying power—that's how he saw Korean grit. Traitor, anti-national corp, treating day laborers like machines. They'd swarm, yell, beat gongs—but it fizzled fast. Bribe the leaders, hand out fancy cards, and the noise died, dust gathering on the gongs. For the stubborn ones, a dose of force. But this incident felt different. A direct hit, and cops had no leads.
This is a long-planned assault.
His crisis instinct, honed by a lifetime of enemies, flashed red.
* * *
Song Gyu-tae's gaze on his oxygen-masked father was ice-cold.
"When will he regain consciousness?"
"He's so elderly, we can't use strong meds. We're just monitoring for natural recovery... but prepare for the worst."
"Director Park must be living well these days."
"Pardon? What do you...?"
The once-portly Song Dong-in had withered into a cold wooden doll in two days. Even to Song Gyu-tae, no layman, revival seemed impossible.
"I didn't ask when you'll get off your ass. I asked when he'll wake up."
"...You mean?!"
"Dad's ninety. Full innings—no shock there. Get my drift?"
"N-No, sir!"
The doctor's hand shook as he checked the syringe.
A faint groan leaked from the VIP room.
"The patient's stirring! He's trying to say something!"
"Outta my way."
Song Gyu-tae shoved the doctor aside and pressed his ear to Song Dong-in's lips. Words poured out, unheard before, from death's door.
"S-Sorry. Pilgrim... Kim Soon-rye...! No, my fault—no!"
Gray eyes welled with meaningless tears, then his head lolled limply.
"...He's passed."
The doctor murmured cautiously at Song Gyu-tae's retreating back.
"Yeah, it's me. Check recent deaths for a Kim Soon-rye. Skip kids—start from 70 and up, list 'em all."
Hanging up, Song Gyu-tae sank deep into the sedan's back seat. With inheritance, his shares topped 15%. Perfect timing to shut up those pesky ESG shareholders.
Dad, I'll survive just like you taught me. But I'll make sure revenge is served—so rest easy now.
Song Gyu-tae's lips curved faintly.
* * *
"This should do."
A fierce knife-wind whipped the hillside Chan-seong had led him up.
"Saw Min and Moon-kyung in the car—are they in on it too?"
Despite the distance and his deep tan, he'd spotted them instantly. Sharp eyes.
"Nah. They just pointed the way. Moon-kyung especially."
"I see."
With casual chit-chat done, he looked up.
"I won't ask how you pegged me as the perp or dug up my family history. A news-regular like you, Senior Kang Cheol-gu, could manage that. But I have a favor."
His breath quickened with rising emotion.
"...After revenge, I'll turn myself in! Just look the other way till then?"
"No."
His eyes flushed red with resentment at the firm refusal.
"Thought about it the whole drive. How to console you? Stop your revenge? No answers. ...I'd do the same in your shoes."
"Then why?!"
"You're planning to die."
Chan-seong drew a sharp breath. His trembling eyes kept questioning.
"Saw your bike. Ten-year-old model, but well-kept. You cherish it. But lately, it's trashed. No plans to ride it again."
He knew.
Fail, get shot on site. Succeed, end it yourself.
Keep going down this path, and Chan-seong dies either way. In his past life, the guy faded into mockery—a monster born of poverty and twisted vengeance.
"Can't let a junior off himself on my watch."
He stepped closer.
"Not claiming I know the 'right' path for you. World's too fucked for that. But I'll show you how to live. Ignore me, and I'll beat sense into you."
"You're a grown-up, sunbae-nim. More than anything..."
Chan-seong's head rose slowly.
"Is this what your dad, your grandma wanted? Thanks for not spouting that empty crap. Hearing family talk from outsiders creeps me out."
Slightly over 170cm and scrawny, he suddenly loomed large. A chill wrapped him, mocking the winter gale.
"Sorry for treating a rare confidant like this. But it's my best shot."
Chan-seong's foot slammed the earth. Parched dust scattered in his wake.