The Death of the Man No One Hates (12)
“Do you know my grandmother?!”
Terror and rage swirled within him as Chan-seong took a step forward.
He had already known that Song Gyu-tae’s sudden founding ceremony for the Boeun Association was a trap aimed at him. But he never imagined the name Kim Sun-rye would come from the mouth of this stranger from Japan.
“Your grandmother, Kim Sun-rye, contributed ever so slightly to the glorious Greater East Asia Co-Prosperity Sphere. And the one who helped her do that was our Sanama family. History’s wheel is such a funny thing—it turns and turns, and eventually, we all meet again.”
Genjo’s lips curled into a ongoing snicker.
“The one who sent Kim Sun-rye to the Philippines was Sanama Ohai—my own grandfather. So, what do you think? Would you still have me step aside?”
Before battle, strike the enemy’s weak spot. Provoke their emotions. A foe stripped of reason thrashes like a beast pierced by an arrow, only to collapse under its own fury. It was Sanama Genjo’s foolproof strategy, honed across battlefields worldwide.
Now this young Chōsenjin punk called Jo Chan-seong will foam at the mouth and bare his teeth at me.
The predictable reaction was boring, but watching prey dance to his tune had its own thrill.
But as Genjo eyed Chan-seong, a flicker of surprise lit his eyes.
The ragged breathing had steadied, the tensed muscles relaxed. His entire body had transformed into a live round, ready to fire at any moment.
“...I see. I figured today was my last anyway, but you’ve come to see me off personally.”
A chill gleamed in his lifted gaze. This wasn’t some 21-year-old greenhorn. The killing intent—even Kang Cheol-gu had faltered before it—exploded outward.
Fist—aimed at my face!
The instant Chan-seong’s shoulder twitched, Genjo instinctively guarded high.
Thwack!
Blazing pain erupted in his thigh.
Impossible!
Genjo sucked in a sharp breath and backpedaled to create distance. Dodging a punch by sight alone was impossible, even for a seasoned boxer’s dynamic vision. He’d predicted the trajectory from the shoulder motion—yet a kick flew from his blind spot, unseen.
This won’t be easy.
Genjo eyed Chan-seong with bloodshot eyes. In that single clash, his assessment of the opponent skyrocketed.
“...You were trying to die.”
Not to kill the enemy—but to die himself? As Genjo puzzled over it, Chan-seong continued.
“I was planning to kill Song Gyu-tae today and then myself. But if what you say is true, that means there are more scum like you in Japan. So I have to live.”
C-Crazy bastard...!
What started as a playful rabbit hunt had flipped. Genjo’s ever-smirking face hardened to the color of dirt.
At this rate, I’ll lose the momentum battle.
Genjo lunged in an instant, measuring the distance. His fist shook as if aiming for Chan-seong’s jaw—then dove for the gut.
As if anticipating it, Chan-seong spun, his elbow slicing through the air. Genjo dropped low like sinking into the earth, wind whistling over his head.
Their limbs blurred in a frenzy. Attacks that could snatch life at any moment grazed past each other by a paper-thin margin, like a choreographed spar.
Huff... huff!
Genjo’s breathing grew ragged.
“...I heard you’re a police academy student. Is every Kankoku cop on your level?”
“Hardly. I’m just a bit above average. But...”
As if recalling someone, Chan-seong’s eyes deepened.
“Lately, I met a senior I could never hope to imitate.”
“...You mean the one who shattered your knee?”
Genjo stepped closer to Chan-seong, whose gaze wavered.
“Heh! Your left-side balance has been off since earlier. You’re aiming counters instead of first strikes for that reason, right?”
Was that the trigger? The calm facade cracked—Chan-seong’s knee began visibly trembling.
The moment the capture method was known, the wild young beast was no beast at all.
Genjo’s brow twitched as he stared. Chan-seong bared his teeth and charged, but his speed and power were a shadow of before.
I see it all.
Genjo’s eyes narrowed. A hidden blade from the ankle sliced the air, followed by Chan-seong’s stifled scream.
The hotel bathroom mirror, which had reflected their brawl moments ago, now ran red with his blood.
Like a carnivore eyeing fallen prey, Genjo swallowed hard. The bite of steel into flesh never grew familiar, no matter how many times—and Genjo knew that better than most.
Yet the kid clutched his gut with one hand and swung with the other.
Why go this far...!
Genjo shook his head in disbelief at Chan-seong. The fight was over; he shouldn’t even be able to move. Yet this young Chōsenjin’s spirit burned undimmed. That jaw strike had been fatal.
But venom still flowed from his upturned eyes.
Those eyes...
Words from his grandfather Sanama Ohai, who had witnessed Japan’s defeat in World War II and uttered them on his deathbed, resurfaced.
The Chōsenjin are a strange race. Their rulers abandon the country, but the people do not. Kings kneel, but the commoners thrust spears to the end. When MacArthur arrived in Japan as occupation commander after the Pacific War, I harbored a faint hope. That we Japanese subjects would show him the sharp resolve of Chōsen’s righteous army. Do you know what happened? Not even a hint of resistance like Chōsen’s rebels—they called MacArthur the blue-eyed shogun, waved American flags, and welcomed him. A humiliation for an Imperial soldier. That’s when I knew: even without our defeat, Chōsen would have won independence. They have something we lack.
Those were like a final testament from the grandfather who’d been his lifelong pride, but Genjo couldn’t accept them. His extreme right-wing path might have been rebellion against that. He wanted to prove his grandfather wrong.
But now, in Jo Chan-seong—who rose no matter how many times he fell—Genjo felt the terror his grandfather had half a century ago.
I’ll end him right here.
The moment Genjo gripped his bloodied blade tighter with crimson eyes—
“Stop, you bastard!”
A youthful shout rang out, and a shadow charged at Genjo from the front.
* * *
The atmosphere in the grand hall, mid-speech, shifted in an instant.
“That concludes founder Song Gyu-tae’s remarks!”
The emcee snatched the mic before the speech even ended, and men who looked like bodyguards surrounded Song Gyu-tae, pulling walkie-talkies from their jackets.
Did that kid really come here after all?
The moment he rose on a bad premonition, hot breath grazed his jaw, followed by a stifled female whisper.
S-Sunbae! Hurry! Chan-seong’s...!
Moon Kyung-i appeared from nowhere, trembling as she tugged his sleeve.
Bang!
A heavy thud echoed from the bathroom. He burst in, and thick blood-scent assaulted his nose.
Under the shattered mirror, Namgung Min was rising unsteadily.
“S-Sunbae! You came!”
He forced a smile, feigning calm, but his lips were blue.
At the end of his gaze lay Chan-seong, collapsed and unconscious.
“Ah! Perfect timing. You’re the cop from earlier, right? These guys are terrorists here to disrupt the Boeun Association founding.”
A familiar voice. Sanama Genjo sneered at him.
“Your handiwork?”
“What? I was just defending myself.”
His voice was like a detonator—Cheol-gu’s breathing roughened. He grabbed Genjo’s collar and slammed him against the wall, but Genjo’s hand twisted at an odd angle, shaking him off.
Daitō-ryū Aiki-jūjutsu, Aikido?!
But Cheol-gu seized Genjo’s exposed nape with his free hand and shoved hard.
Thud!
Paint dust rained from the wall. Genjo’s eyes widened for a split second.
“Kang Cheol-gu sunbae! This isn’t the time! Chan-seong’s not breathing!”
Moon Kyung-i’s voice cut between them—she’d checked his pulse and breath like a true police academy student.
“Min-ah, call 119...! No, too slow! I’ll take him myself.”
Chan-seong’s limp body was shockingly light. Hoisting him piggyback, Cheol-gu shot at the still-tilted-head Genjo.
“...Sanama Genjo, was it?”
“Kang Cheol-gu? Looks like you two know each other. What, his accomplice in terrorism?”
Genjo’s eyes curved like a snake’s, as if recalling something.
“Mark my words. If anything happens to Chan-seong, you die by my hand.”
“...Then quit wasting time and do it now. That Chōsenjin’s dying anyway!”
Genjo’s tenor-for-a-man voice deepened abruptly.
“How dare a filthy Chōsenjin cop threaten a lieutenant junior grade of the Greater Japanese Maritime Self-Defense Force?!”
Mocking him, Genjo cocked his head side to side, spitting each word like chewing tobacco.
* * *
“Min-i, Moon Kyung-i! K-Kang Cheol-gu sunbae... nim?!”
“Chan-seong! You’re awake?”
Amid the ear-splitting roar of the car engine, Chan-seong’s faint voice rang out. Namgung Min, who’d torn his shirt to staunch the abdominal bleeding, and Moon Kyung-i, swallowing sobs, lit up.
“H-How’d you...?”
“Shut up! Fuckin’ stay still and rest! No—talk! Ramble anything!”
“Yeah! Hospital’s close. Hang in there, Chan-seong!”
He’d lost a ton of blood—his face in the rearview was ghostly pale.
“S-Sunbae. Sorry. But this... this was my best. I wanted to be a good cop...”
Their eyes met; Chan-seong’s mouth struggled open. Bad sign. That blood loss should have him out cold... but his eyes were too clear.
Cheol-gu’s gripping hands trembled unwittingly.
“Guardian, please wait here!”
A nurse blocked them from wheeling the gurney into surgery.
“Save that bastard, please!”
“We’ll do our best. Calm down... And you need treatment too, sir!”
“I’m fine! Just save him!”
Namgung Min, smeared in his own blood and Chan-seong’s, grabbed the doctor’s collar and bellowed. As Chan-seong rolled into surgery, tension snapped—Min collapsed, eyes unfocused.
“Moon Kyung-i. How’d you two end up there?”
“Min-i insisted. I said Chan-seong wouldn’t fall for such an obvious trap, but he swore if he knew Chan-seong, he’d definitely show at the Boeun rally... He searched bathrooms, storerooms—places Chan-seong might hide—and found that scary guy! I never thought...”
Tears trickled from Moon Kyung-i’s downcast eyes.
The hall was deathly silent, save the ticking second hand on the wall clock. No one spoke, fingers interlaced, staring at the surgery door handle.
“...If Chan-seong doesn’t make it, I’ll kill him.”
Namgung Min, head bowed and refusing first aid, finally spoke. His voice carried a ghostly chill, like from the grave.
No one asked who.
“...Never beat him once. Or maybe... I wanted to be friends. Ending like this is bullshit, fuck!”
Incomprehensible words leaked from him.
Suddenly.
The surgery door, seeming forever sealed, swung open. The masked doctor emerged, shaking his head.
“I’m sorry.”
“N-No way! No?!”
Min’s frantic headshake and Moon Kyung-i’s pent-up sobs filled the corridor.