Will You Marry Me After All This Is Over?
“Will you marry me after all this is over?”
…………… The warehouse fell silent once the gunfire stopped, transformed into nothing short of a slaughterhouse. The concrete floor was stained with dark red pools of blood, and the walls were riddled with bullet holes like a honeycomb. The bodies… at least twenty, by my count. Probably more if you included those shredded by the machine guns.
They were so mangled and tangled together that it was impossible to tell which side they’d belonged to anymore.
“Did we… win?”
The remnants of Los Ermanos had fled without looking back. But La Luna Negra wasn’t unscathed either. They’d barely held onto the warehouse, with more than half dead or wounded. A Pyrrhic victory. There didn’t seem to be any other way to describe it.
“Hey.”
Catalina walked up beside me. Her tank top was splattered with blood too, but thankfully, it didn’t look like hers.
“You’re still alive, huh.”
“You too, Kata.”
We stood there in silence for a moment. The air, thick with the stench of gunpowder and blood, filled our lungs. Footsteps approached.
It was El Gordito, flanked by two bodyguards. His Hawaiian shirt was soaked in blood too, but he didn’t seem hurt.
“Mr. Chino.”
The boss grinned. His gold tooth gleamed under the fluorescent lights.
“They said you were a bodyguard for Rocket Man, but damn, you really know how to handle a rocket.”
It was a joke, but the praise was clear. He was acknowledging that my RPG-7 shot—Ali’s magic wand—had turned the tide.
“Hitting it dead-on with one shot. Guess you northern folks really are different, huh?”
I think I bluffed too hard…
Cold sweat trickled down my back. I struggled to keep my face from crumbling. It wasn’t like I could say now, “Actually, that photo was AI-generated, and I was just messing around earlier.”
“Just got lucky.”
“Luck? Hahaha! Humble too.”
El Gordito continued as he stepped through the corpses.
“I’ve fired guns, grenades, even rockets back in my day, so I know. Nailing a target on the first try without zeroing in? That’s no easy feat. Only someone who’s trained to the brink of death could pull it off.”
“True enough.”
He wasn’t wrong. I had trained, after all. Not with the People’s Army, but the ROK Army.
El Gordito gestured, and one of his men brought over a chair. As he sat slowly, his gut protruded, straining the buttons on his shirt.
“Los Ermanos, those fucking bastards…”
His voice turned ice-cold in an instant. Just moments ago, he’d seemed like a jolly neighborhood uncle, but a mere shift in expression and demeanor made him look like the ruthless cartel boss he was.
“Daring to raid my warehouse. I’ll make them pay. Every last one, down to their families.”
Santa Esperanza style. Cartel style. Far crueler than an eye for an eye.
The boss’s gaze shifted to Catalina.
“Catalina. This proves it. A talent like you wandering as a freelance merc is a waste.”
“……What’re you getting at?”
“Join La Luna Negra officially. I’ll make you an executive. Steady work, good pay. You’ll be thirty in a few years. Time to settle down, no?”
Catalina shrugged.
“I’ll think about it.”
“Think? You dare say you’ll ‘think about’ my offer?”
The air turned hostile the moment his voice sharpened. But he quickly flashed that jovial grin again.
“Fine, fine! Take your time. But don’t drag it out too long, or I might withdraw it. No regrets then.”
The boss turned to me next.
“Same goes for you, Mr. Chino.”
“Me?”
“It’s been a while since I’ve seen someone with your guts. That rocket truck stunt, and considering your ‘previous job’… your skills are a given.”
His “previous job” referred to guarding “Pyongyang Rocket Man.” Total fiction. A blatant lie. But El Gordito had bought it hook, line, and sinker.
He leaned forward, his gold chains jingling.
“Mr. Chino, how about working with me? I need someone like you. Especially now that war’s breaking out.”
Catalina tensed beside me—just a fraction. Her hand drifted near her pistol grip. Not that she was going to shoot, but clearly, El Gordito’s words rubbed her the wrong way.
Rejecting this feels like asking for a bullet.
Flat-out turning down a cartel boss was suicide. Especially in this blood-soaked atmosphere right after battle. Even Catalina had dodged with “I’ll think about it.”
But accepting? That meant actually joining the cartel. I didn’t want that life. The old Ma Hyuksu had been a show-off, but not cartel material.
“I appreciate the offer, but…”
I chose my words carefully.
“It’s so sudden, I can’t decide right now. Can I take some time to think?”
“Fair enough. Same answer as Catalina. Fitting for an ex-public servant—polished.”
“What, you saying I spit words out like trash?”
Ignoring Catalina’s grumble, El Gordito pulled out his phone.
“Let’s exchange numbers. Call when you’ve decided.”
Not the vibe to refuse. More like, the vibe where refusing gets you killed.
“No need to hesitate, Mr. Chino. Catalina and I already have each other’s contacts. Right, Catalina?”
“……Yeah.”
Her reply was shorter than usual. No choice—I gave him my number.
He saved it and called immediately. My pocket rang.
“Perfect. Now we’re connected. Hope to hear from you soon.”
He vanished toward the office with his bodyguards. Probably to handle cleanup and plan retaliation.
Catalina grabbed my arm.
“Let’s go. No reason to stick around.”
Her voice was lower than usual. Seemed pissed, maybe.
We wove through the bodies and exited the warehouse. The sunlight outside blinded me. It felt like a completely different world from just an hour ago.
…I survived.
Yeah. I’d made it through another day.
……………
El Pollo Loco. The restaurant Catalina had trashed my cooking over, yet claimed was the best around. It was about twenty minutes’ walk from the warehouse.
The sign was half-fallen, the windows patched with tape. But the aroma of grilling meat wafted from inside. My stomach growled.
I hadn’t noticed during transport or the fight, but I realized I hadn’t eaten since waking up. My gut felt hollow.
Catalina pushed the door open. A small space with about six plastic tables. Lucky us—no other customers.
She ordered.
“Two pollo asados. Beer too.”
The plates arrived in seconds. Korean gukbap joint speed.
Grilled chicken with rice, beans, and tortillas. First bite? Pretty damn good. Tender meat, properly cooked rice. A bit salty, but it paired perfectly with the beer.
“How is it?”
“Really good.”
“Right? Best around here.”
Catalina took a swig of beer, slammed the glass down, and tore into the chicken for a while before speaking up.
“You really gonna work for El Gordito?”
I paused before answering. No idea why she was asking, but my answer was clear.
“Hell no. Why would I join a cartel?”
“Why not? That pig bastard’s offer wasn’t bad.”
Ridiculous question. I tore off a tortilla.
“Doesn’t matter if it’s good or bad—I’m not working for a cartel. Not even a speck. I already regret coming here.”
“So what’s the plan?”
“What plan? Just get the guide’s contact from you and head back to Korea. Sticking around this insane city feels like a death sentence.”
“Ah…”
Her expression shifted oddly at my words. Relieved? Uncomfortable? Hard to pin down.
“Must be nice. Having somewhere to go back to.”
She muttered as she piled chicken bones on one side of her plate.
“I was born in Santa Esperanza, lived here, and I’ll probably die here. Shot or stabbed.”
Another swig of beer. A long one this time.
“I’ve imagined other lives sometimes. Working a normal job in a normal city, living normally. But that’s a whole other world for someone like me.”
I didn’t know what to say. Sympathy? Pity? Neither seemed right.
Best bet: a joke. Lighten the mood.
“Then… come to Korea with me.”
Catalina stopped mid-chew and stared. Her eyes widened.
“What?”
“Live a normal life in a normal city with a normal job, like you said. Give it a shot. Sure, it’d be tough living abroad on the other side of the world. But way better than here.”
Silence hung for a moment. She swallowed slowly, took another sip of beer.
“You think a girl like me could get a visa? With all the blood on my hands.”
Fair point. Her body count was easily double digits. But not all that would be on record. Santa Esperanza’s government was basically nonexistent.
Immigration wasn’t impossible. And there was an easier way.
“Marry me, then.”
Catalina’s hand froze on the chicken.
“What’d you say?”
“Marriage makes citizenship easier. Get a visa, apply for naturalization after two years. Simple.”
Of course it was a joke. Obviously. Just absurd banter to shift the vibe.
But.
Her face flushed crimson. Starting from her neck, up to her cheeks, ear tips.
“You… y-you…”
Her mouth worked soundlessly. Tried to speak, closed it again.
“You… mean that?”
Not her usual gruff tone. Hesitant, almost careful.
Why’s she reacting like this?
Not at all what I expected. I figured curses, mockery, or roaring laughter.
“Nah, it was a joke. Mood was too heavy.”
Bummer—the gag bombed. Time to backpedal.
Catalina bowed her head. Hair hid her face.
“Right… a joke. Of course.”
She started picking at the chicken again. But her movements were awkward. Slower than usual, unfocused.
I stayed quiet too. No clue what to say.