What a Goddamn Wonderful World
Minors who couldn't even get their ID cards yet were chugging booze like it was nothing and groping girls left and right. Teachers who knew damn well what was happening but did jack shit to protect their students. The whole school had turned into a prison that locked kids up instead of raising them. With birth rates already in the toilet, fewer brats were enrolling every year—didn't they think they should pamper every single one to lure in more? Especially for private schools that'd drown in red ink without new students? Fuckin' schools. All because they couldn't be bothered with one kid, I'd torn Gangnam apart like a madman.
"No, no, no, not that bastard either, no, no, no, no."
Among the sins of the punks I'd sent bungee-jumping off the school roof with my help, Choi Jiyun looked like a pretty high school girl no matter how you sliced it. She had an inhumanly stunning face that could've held its own against top idol beauties. Her mature, seductive vibe—way beyond your average high schooler—naturally shook every guy's heartstrings. Any dude who'd laid eyes on her once would've harbored unconscious lust. Simple lust? That's just biology, instinct—no sin there. But lewd intent? That's a sin, straight up. Imagining shit in your head is free, right? I could see those tiny sins clear as day.
To track down everyone who'd unconsciously lusted after this high school girl—precisely, her sinners—I scanned frantically. All I did was cruise Gangnam streets in my car, eyeballing thousands, maybe tens of thousands of passersby one by one. No access to street CCTV, so I used the people who'd seen her as my cameras, digging through their sins. Sins are memories, after all.
"My eyes are gonna pop out."
Like a detective combing through days or months of CCTV after a crime, I scoured sins till my eyes bled. Plenty of wild sinners popped up along the way, but conditions weren't right to redeem 'em and ship 'em to heaven just yet. I've only got one body, y'know? Just like there's only one Jesus.
"Finally!"
After stupidly combing every inch of Gangnam by car like a brute, I found someone who'd spotted her. Head to the sighting spot, scan around for more witnesses. Follow their memories of her movements, and I'd move too. She was clearly ditching Gangnam.
She's dead set on this.
To escape tormentors, people pick one of two paths. Easiest and fastest: suicide. Solves nothing, just leaves grudges behind. Hardest and toughest: revenge. Clears your grudge clean, at least. Folks who pick neither? They hunker down like scared critters waiting out the storm, rotting away slowly in their shitty lives. Choi Jiyun? Latter type, ironically. The perfect chaebol daughter, model of a noble house miss—suddenly raiding her old man's safe, grabbing every valuable, and hunting hitmen.
Didn't have to be pros, either. Toss cash at some illegal immigrant who could bolt overseas, beg 'em to do the stabbing. Problem? That one-track thinking would screw her over. Stealing money and running off in revenge rage? Fine start. But a high school girl flashing wads of cash at criminals, begging 'em to off someone? They'd take the dough and "handle" her a hundred times out of a hundred. And "handling" means everything you're imagining.
Her trail led out of Gangnam to some other district, ending in a quiet, creepy back alley folks avoided. Couldn't let my 5 million won go to waste, so I hopped out of the pickup and tailed her. Chased that fresh shampoo scent mixed with faint makeup—totally out of place in this filthy, damp alley—deep into turf even tough guys shied from.
How the hell does a place like this exist in Korea? More than you'd think. Korea's tame compared to overseas—top-tier security, CCTVs everywhere, that's why it's just this bad.
That's when I froze in front of a dingy two-story building with a sleazy loan shark sign. First floor: hole-in-the-wall Chinese joint, guys boozing it up midday. Sins check: both illegal Chinese immigrants. Usual gigs—usury, contract kills, human trafficking. Looked ragged, but tied to Triad affiliates. Seoul's overflowing with "food," so they set up shop.
No chit-chat. I hit their berserk button.
"I love Beijing Tiananmen. Tiananmen, the sun rises above it."
"You fuckin' prick!"
"What the hell you doin', you shit?!"
They leaped up like reflexes, yanking hatchets from their coats in sync.
"Great Leader Mao guides us forward."
"Kill him!"
"You're dead today, you dog!"
No cops here—why so jumpy? I stifled exploding laughter, took the first axe on my shoulder, headbutted back. Never dreamed a guy with an axe in his shoulder would counter like that; he sprayed nosebleed and crumpled. The other, who'd sized me up late, swung horizontal at my side. Gut slice damages organs, spill 'em and you're done. Instead of dodging this poor bastard's strike, I grabbed his nape with both hands like a grappler, yanked him close. Clinch to deny close strikes.
"How's this happen? You swore blood oaths with me for Hong Kong and Tibet's independence from China!"
"Bullshit! You old fuck, who you think I—?!"
"Don't worry. We're all ready to die for liberal democracy. And you promised to pave the way for our group in China, right?"
"Shut your trap!!!"
"For real?! No Public Security here, it's fine!"
"You dog! Stop! I said stop!!!!"
But I clung to his nape through the curses, not letting go.
"You said you'd bankroll our group secretly once you had the cash here. Was that all lies, Zhang Sunjing?!"
"How do you know my—fuck! Quit the bullshit and let go! I'll kill you!"
"Don't hide your true heart, Zhang Sunjing! You want China splintered into the Five Barbarians' Sixteen Kingdoms too! A free continent, no rulers, no surveillance!!"
"Nooooooo!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"
"Suit yourself."
Slammed his neck down, kneed his face up. Stars exploding in his eyes by now—I grabbed his collar, hurled him onto the table, scooped the dropped hatchet, jammed it into his thigh.
"The Yangtze rolls on endlessly!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"
"...Typical chink, even the screams are unique."
The nosebleed guy got another jaw-cracker, then ignored. Inside: buff chef, staff, patrons rising, gripping sashimi knives, hatchets, cleavers. No guns 'cause Korea's gun-free? Or these losers couldn't score any.
Straight to sins: confirmed Choi Jiyun locked in the basement. Panicked rich-girl waves cash? Snag it, savor the rest—basics.
"Anyone here pro-Tibet independence? Hands up."
None. Meant I had to redeem 'em all to heaven.
"Makin' money's a bitch."
Grabbed the bubbling hotpot, splashed it their way, charged in.