Breaking and Entering

―Ding-dong.

Yoo Seul-ho's family home—more precisely, the house where Yoo Tae-ho and Lee Seul-myeong currently lived—was a detached residence in the very heart of the city's wealthiest district.

I'd expected a tall fence, but this was beyond anything I'd imagined. It wasn't merely high; it was high enough that you wouldn't even dare wonder what lay inside.

―Ding-dong.

Honestly, detached houses built in rich neighborhoods all looked more or less alike. This one, however, was singularly off the rails. Walls thick enough to stop a bullet. A gate so heavy that a crowd of thirty pushing against it wouldn't have made it tremble. Everything was excessive far past the point of necessity—like people with something to hide.

―Ding-dong. Ding-dong.

There wasn't a soul on the street—not a person, not even an ant. The neighborhood was silent to begin with, and the houses sat so far apart that the residents becoming friendly with each other seemed like a lost cause.

Well, that works out nicely, then.

Thanks to the isolation, nobody looked at me sideways. Most people don't linger at a door after ringing the bell forty times without so much as a rustle from inside.

―Ding-dong. Ding-dong. Ding-dong.

Which meant Yoo Seul-ho had knelt right here and held out for three days?

Tsk. I couldn't decide whether to call that tenacious or just plain foolish.

When I'd first heard the story from Hyun Jin-gae, I'd honestly wondered if it was even possible. Harsh as they might be, both of his parents were celebrities—people who staked their very lives on their image. Could they really leave their son kneeling in front of the gate like that? What if a neighbor saw and called it in?

But standing here, I got it. This place made it possible.

Having come in person, the picture I'd struggled to imagine back then resolved perfectly. Even the entrance where the doorbell sat was completely shielded from any outside eyes. So when Yoo Seul-ho, unable to eat, finally collapsed—and when the manager who came searching for the unreachable man finally carried him away—no neighbor had known a thing. Not because nobody cared. Because nobody could see.

Hoo.

I pictured Seul-ho losing consciousness on this cold marble. But however deep the thought ran, the hand pressing the doorbell never stopped.

―Ding-dong. Ding-dong. Ding-dong. Ding-dong.

I was somewhere around five hundred presses—by my own internal count—when it finally happened.

―Beep.

A response, at long last. A brand-new-looking intercom crackled to life with an irritable woman's voice—the same voice I'd heard from Lee Seul-myeong through years of media coverage.

So at least one of them was home.

Why pretend otherwise, then? Absurd. But I kept my voice level.

"Then open the door."

"I'm not going home. Just open the door right now."

And with that, the intercom went dead.

Says her piece and hangs up. Lovely.

Absurd, but it hardly dented me. I'd never entertained the notion of strolling in through the front door like a welcome guest anyway.

Ringing that bell any further would be pointless. Most of all, my hand hurt and I didn't feel like it.

So I pulled out my phone and dialed a certain someone. The moment I tapped the call icon, the line connected without a single ringtone.

As if he'd been sitting around waiting for my call. The man's work was as sharp as ever.

"This is the person who contacted you yesterday. Looks like I'll be needing your help after all."

"Yes. How long until you get here?"

And sure enough, a man in a black hat pulled down deep over his eyes came walking through the entrance. He hung up the phone and gave me a small, respectful bow.

"I figured you might call back, so I was waiting outside."

"Appreciate it. The door is all I need done."

"Understood."

The man was a man of few words. He produced a laptop from his bag, stood before the intercom panel, and touched the screen.

A few minutes passed.

The gate I'd assumed no amount of fiddling could ever open slid apart. I'd watched this man work several times before, and every single time, the sheer skill of it left me a little stunned.

"Thank you."

At my words, the man inclined his head as if to say it was nothing. That was the moment.

"Wha—what is the meaning of this?!"

A woman's voice shrieked from somewhere inside, followed by the sound of someone scrambling down a flight of stairs. My, what impeccable manners.

A few seconds later, the gate swung wide ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠and Lee Seul-myeong appeared.

"This is your doing—"

She'd been mid-scream, her face twisted as though she wanted to run me through on the spot, when she flinched and noticed the man standing at my side. The one who instantly turned her expression to open fear, of course, was Yoo Tae-ho.

"Honey. Come out here."

Yoo Tae-ho yanked Lee Seul-myeong behind him and leveled his gaze at me.

"Yoo Seul-ho. What exactly is going on here?"

"I came to visit the family home after all this time, but no one would open the door, so I called a locksmith. Well—technically it's not a lock door, but still."

"...Are you playing word games with me right now?"

His face had gone rigid, and it was ferocious.

Whoa.

According to the file I'd read, Yoo Tae-ho was fifty-two this year. Yet his build, set against the twenty-five-year-old Yoo Seul-ho's, gave up nothing whatsoever. That had surprised me a little.

But honestly, what surprised me more was what the two of them were wearing.

People wear that at home?

Both of them were dressed in luxurious silk-looking robes. No, seriously—this wasn't a drama set. This was the first time in my life I'd seen anyone lounge around their own house in garments like that. Fascinating, really.

"The robes suit you both very well."

I tossed out the compliment to thaw the atmosphere, and all it ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠bought me was a pair of icy stares. Yoo Tae-ho glared at me the way one glares at an intruder—not a son.

"You do realize this is criminal trespass? Family on paper or not, the moment I report you, it's over."

"Then go ahead and call the police. The news article would be fun to read."

"……"

Yoo Tae-ho, who'd looked ready to knock me flat on the pavement, froze mid-motion at those words. And only then did he seem to remember the man who'd been quietly listening to every word of this exchange—his mouth clamped shut.

Worried about what that gentleman might go around telling people, I bet.

But "locksmith" was just a convenient label. His actual profession couldn't be captured by any single word. Back in my loan shark days, I'd done business with him countless times—pay him properly, and he'd take any job without asking a single question. Naturally, his mouth was a vault, so there was nothing to worry about. But nothing obliged me to tell these two that.

"You're free to go now. I'll send your payment right away."

"Understood."

The man bowed once and disappeared through the entrance with quiet speed.

"Shall we head inside, then?"

At my words, the two of them simply glared at me and offered no response of any kind. So I ignored them and walked in.

"You've changed a great deal since I last saw you. Where on earth did you learn to disregard your parents like this?"

I didn't dignify the voice behind me with an answer. They were the ones who'd first brushed off my words, after all.

Once inside, I moved without hesitation.

Let's see now. Where would Seul-ho's old room be? Considering the treatment he'd received in this house, it wouldn't have been one of the good ones.

First floor is out, then. Honestly, any room in this place would put a decent studio apartment to shame—but still, relative comparisons were fair game.

Which room gets the least sunlight and is the most shut off? High odds it was the most buried room on the second floor. I chose with great care, wary of flinging open the wrong door and hearing a shout of Why are you barging into someone's room!

―BANG.

I opened the room farthest from the staircase.

Okay. Good.

It was piled with belongings that clearly belonged to neither parent, and the clothes arranged on display racks and the personal effects scattered about were unmistakably those of a man in his twenties.

Relieving, actually. Seul-ho had been thrown out of this house a year ago, so it had occurred to me they might have gutted the room entirely.

The entire path I'd walked to get here had been spotless—not a speck of dust anywhere—yet this one room alone was thick with stale, musty grime. Even the cleaning help apparently never set foot in here. All the better for me.

Which means the original Seul-ho's traces are still exactly as he left them.

Just in case, I locked the door behind me ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠and swept the room with a quick, practiced eye. Expensive-looking garments hung in a glossy row, and flashy accessories sat neatly on the display shelf.

How much would all of this fetch? Every fiber of me wanted to haul the lot out and sell it, but I held myself back. This wasn't what I'd come for. It wouldn't be sitting out in the open—it'd be stashed somewhere, hidden away…

Nothing under the bed or beneath the mattress.

Calling up old experience from rummaging through debtors' homes, I went through the room methodically. The very bottom of the desk drawers. The deep corner of the closet. Underneath the carpet. Inside the gap of the window frame. The narrow crevices between pieces of furniture.

Hah… nothing, huh.

I was on the verge of giving up when I noticed it: among the books lined up in tidy order on the shelf, one section jutted out just slightly from the rest. I pulled every book in that spot off the shelf at once—and there they were. A bundle of notebooks, tucked out of sight behind them.

Bingo.

I flipped one open, and there it was—word for word, the content I'd been looking for. I slid the whole bundle inside my shirt and wedged it firmly between my stomach and my waistband.

Invisible. Perfect.

After checking my reflection in the mirror, I unlocked the door and made my way back down to the first floor.

Lee Seul-myeong and Yoo Tae-ho were in the living room, their expressions noticeably calmer than before.

"So. Why exactly did you come here?"

"Does a son need a reason to visit his parents' house?"

"Drop the back talk and answer properly. You didn't come here to turn our lives inside out, did you?"

Lee Seul-myeong fired that off and took a sip of her coffee, wearing a look of lofty disdain. Yoo Tae-ho, standing beside her, was just then pouring coffee into his own cup.

They didn't bother taking out another cup. These people have nothing but mouths, don't they? Truly shameless. Even if a total stranger showed up at their door for the first time in their lives, most people would at least offer a glass of water.

This goes beyond stingy.

To my eyes, the behavior was flatly incomprehensible—but the two of them clearly didn't see it that way. They moved with such practiced ease, as though they'd lived their whole lives this way, that in an instant I could see the whole shape of Yoo Seul-ho's past.

"I came here to tell the two of you something."

The irritation flared up all at once, and my voice came out even colder than I'd intended.

"What is it?"

"Stay out of my business from now on."