Scout

A meat restaurant in Gangnam, Seoul.

Dae-hoon, whom I hadn't seen in a long time, had changed a lot. First of all, his once-scrawny frame was incredibly bulked up. It looked like he had been working out a ton.

"Long time no see. How've you been?"

Dae-hoon was the first to greet me. Pushing aside the slight awkwardness I felt around this transformed version of him, I offered my own greeting.

"I've been good. You?"

"Good, too. This is our first time seeing each other since we got assigned to our units, right?"

"Yeah. Right after ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠I got stationed, it wasn't long before I was deployed overseas."

"How was deployment?"

How was it? Did he want me to tell him about a deployment stained with blood and vengeance? But contrary to my dark thoughts, Dae-hoon seemed completely oblivious. He knew nothing about me, or my team. I figured there was no need to tell him. It wasn't a story I wanted to drag up anyway.

"It was alright. Deployment is always a grind, you know? Poor conditions, tough work. Even now, when I see guys preparing to deploy, I just feel sorry for them."

"Hahaha. Our In-bae has really changed. To think I'd hear the word 'sorry' come out of your mouth."

"Huh?"

"Back then, you were the most pitiful bastard in the world. I was a close second."

"Right. We were."

It was true. Back at the Special Warfare School, I was the most pathetic, miserable piece of trash on earth. But go to the Congo just once. Your standards for what is pitiful, miserable, tragic, or unfortunate will completely change. The version of me that went to the Congo was no longer a pitiful child. And having received so much care from the older guys in the military, I wasn't a miserable kid anymore, either.

I was becoming a normal adult—a regular soldier who drew a steady monthly salary, worrying about a job and a place to live after discharge. An adult who could occasionally hand out candy to a young child, or offer advice to the green recruits heading out on deployment.

It had only been three years and seven months, but the Gong In-bae of back then and the Gong In-bae of today were worlds apart.

We drank soju and ate pork neck in the bustling crowds of Gangnam Station, reminiscing about our training camp days. We talked about the drill instructors, the Special Warfare endurance training, and the airborne training. Just talking about the hardships we shared made it fun.

Looking back, they were absolutely necessary training exercises. If I had to do them now, I felt like I could do much better, so I wondered why they had felt so impossibly brutal back then. It was a useless trip down memory lane, but it was enjoyable. I could just laugh. It had only been three years, but it felt like ancient history. Seeing glimpses of my past self made me feel a bit embarrassed.

We moved to a different spot for the second round. A chicken joint tucked away in an alley lined with draft beer bars. It looked so old that I wondered if a place like this could even exist in Gangnam. A classic hole-in-the-wall.

Taking a sip of his beer, Dae-hoon suddenly asked,

"Are you going to apply for long-term service?"

"No. I already told them I'm not doing it."

"Really?..."

"Why?"

"Then what are you going to do after you discharge?"

"I'm thinking about it. Haven't decided yet. What about you?"

"I'm discharging too."

"What are you going to do once you're out?"

"What else? I'm going to take back what was my dad's."

His dad's stuff? His dad was a mob boss. He had said his father died in a highly suspicious accident. Back then, he was too young and powerless to investigate, so he had enrolled in the Special Warfare School to build his strength and learn how to fight. All for the sake of revenge. I could still vividly recall Dae-hoon's near-perfect self-introduction letter.

But as this bastard spoke of revenge and reclaiming what was stolen from his father, there was no anger in his eyes. There was none of the murderous rage I had seen in Poapy, or felt within myself.

His father had been a gangster, so taking back that empire would require meticulous preparation. No matter how well-prepared he was, storming in alone and getting what he wanted wouldn't be easy. Perhaps because my specialty was intelligence and operations, gathering information and drawing up plans before a mission felt like second nature to me. Preparing a Plan B and even a Plan C was just common sense. Master Sergeant Lee Won-jun—no, Won-jun hyung—had drilled that into me.

But Dae-hoon didn't look like a man with a plan. He sounded like someone chasing pipe dreams, casually saying, 'Yeah, I'm gonna make a ton of money later. I'm gonna be successful.'

"What?"

"I told you. I'm going to kill every single bastard involved in my dad's death."

Why did his words sound like such empty bluster to me? Had he ever even killed anyone? Whether I liked it or not, I had killed people in the Congo. I had exacted my revenge in a fit of rage, but it was something I never wanted to do again. Yet Dae-hoon spoke of death so casually. I hated even bringing up the word.

"How, exactly?"

"I'm just going to go in and kill them all."

What? Is that his actual plan? Surely not. There had to be more to it. Please tell me there was.

"How? Who are you going to kill, and how?"

"I'm just going to walk in there and wreck them all."

Ah... my head hurts. This is not it.

"Just walk in and wreck them? Seriously?"

"That's why I built my body like this. I worked my absolute ass off for four years."

Yeah, I could tell he worked out. After all, Dae-hoon was the one who made us switch from pork belly to pork neck because he said he had to watch his diet. But this wasn't something you could solve just by working out. At the very least, you needed intelligence on the enemy.

"What's the name of the syndicate?"

"Ah... the syndicate's name? Hold on..."

Dae-hoon paused to think, finally squeezing out an answer as if he had just remembered.

"Geumho-pa. It's the Geumho-pa. The name changed from when my dad ran it, so I got confused."

"So your plan is to just grab a knife, walk in, and slaughter everyone? That's it?"

"It's the fastest and most effective way. Gangsters have their own way of doing things. This is the gangster way."

"And what if you die?"

"No way. Do you know how hard I trained? Against local thugs? If I go in with a knife, it's a hundred percent guarantee."

This was definitely not it. My anxiety and worry were rapidly turning into reality.

"And then what?"

"Huh?"

"Say you go in with a knife. You kill them all. What happens next?"

"What do you mean, 'what next'? Once those bastards are dead, my dad's stuff comes back to me."

"If just killing them is all it takes to get your dad's empire back, wouldn't it be better to just plant a bomb? It'd be way easier and simpler."

"Come on. I told you, gangsters have their own way."

"What if the guy who actually ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠killed your father isn't even there?"

"Then I go hunt him down and kill him too."

"And if you get caught by the cops? You'll just end up a common murderer."

"I'll just evade them..."

"Our country's police might seem lax sometimes, but once they actually start investigating, they don't play around. They will find you."

"....."

"And let's say you do kill everyone and take the top spot. Do you think the guys under you won't come to kill you? Won't they want revenge? You're doing it right now, aren't you?"

"What about the syndicate members? The businesses? Do you think they'll just listen to you and follow you? A twenty-three-year-old kid?"

"If the organization collapses, how ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠will you handle the internal power struggles?"

"What about rival gangs? Do you think they'll just sit back and watch a suddenly weakened syndicate?"

"Ah, fuck! Then what do you want me to do? I've lived my whole life up to this point thinking only about this. Are you telling me to just give up?"

"Who said anything about giving up? I'm saying if you're going to do it, you need to prepare properly."

"Fuck, what is there to prepare? You just shove a blade into their throats and call it a day."

"Do you honestly believe that? Do you really think that's enough?"

Dae-hoon's eyes wavered. He knew it too. He knew this wasn't how things worked.

Yet, he couldn't just abandon his revenge. To give up on it would be to deny everything he had lived for, everything he had leaned on to survive. His brain was telling him to stop, but his heart couldn't let go. That was why his revenge existed only in his words. His clear, untainted eyes betrayed him. The eyes of someone plotting real vengeance, someone prepared to die, did not look like that.

I understood. He was probably terrified. The more he learned, the more he tried to plan, the more reality must have stared him in the face. He must have been scared, frightened, wanting to run away. If he gave up on revenge, the very foundation of his life would crumble. But if he went through with it, the chances of success were abysmally low. Failure meant death. So, he kept his revenge confined to words. He had to justify his existence to himself somehow. 'I'll get my revenge. I'll just kill them all. It's nothing. I'll just go in, slit their throats, and walk out. That's all it takes.' He had to keep telling himself that. Otherwise, he wouldn't have been able to keep living.

Realizing this, I saw Dae-hoon in a different light.

"In-bae."

"Yeah?"

"Help me."

"With what?"

"Help me take back what was my dad's."

"You crazy bastard. Stop talking out of your ass."

With only a month and a half left until my discharge, I was still spending my days organizing supplies in the depot. Of course, I wasn't the one doing the actual heavy lifting.

"Separate the damaged items. It'll be a pain in the ass if they get mixed up later."

"Yes, Sergeant!"

As I piled more work onto the soldiers who were already sweating away, someone came running in, completely out of breath.

"Sergeant Gong In-bae, the Commander is looking for you, sir!"

"Me? Why?"

"I don't know the details, sir."

"Alright."

Knock, knock, knock.

"Come ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠in."

I stepped into the Commander's office. Aside from the Commander, two men in black suits were sitting there. Even a brief glance told me they were no ordinary visitors.

"Have a seat over here."

Following the Commander's instruction, I sat down, perched lightly on the edge of the sofa.

"Well, I'll leave you gentlemen to it. Speak freely."

As soon as I sat down, the Commander excused himself. The man in the black suit spoke first.

"Nice to meet you. We are with the National Intelligence Service."

"Excuse me? The NIS?"

I was slightly taken aback by the unexpected acronym. Why was the NIS looking for me? Was I suspected of espionage? I could scream 'Kim Jong-un is a son of a bitch' right here and now to prove my loyalty.

"We monitor discharging military personnel, and Sergeant Gong In-bae, you caught our eye. Your track record is exceptionally outstanding. Wouldn't it be a waste for you to just discharge like this? There are still plenty of opportunities for you to serve your country. How would you like to take this opportunity to work for the nation?"

What kind of bullshit was this? If they had simply asked me to work for the NIS, I might have actually considered it. If the terms were right, why not? If the salary and benefits were good, the NIS was a solid gig. It had prestige, too. But an 'opportunity to serve the nation'? Fuck that. What has this country ever done for me? Serve the nation? They turned a blind eye when I was starving to death as a kid, and only now they're offering me an 'opportunity'? Do they only give opportunities to those who are already full?

"I believe I've done more than enough of my duty and service to the nation."

I offered a polite, euphemistic rejection. Quite sophisticated of me. Perhaps they hadn't expected such a refined response, because a flicker of embarrassment crossed the face of the man in the black suit. The man sitting next to him quickly chimed in.

"Rather than making a hasty decision, why don't you take some time to think it over?"

"What are the terms?"

"The terms? What do you mean by that?"

"The salary, benefits, annual leave, things like that."

"Those are determined by the standards established by the state..."

"So, 'take what you're given'?"

"Rather than putting it that way, I'd say we follow the regulations, as there are strict guidelines in place."

"And the work location?"

"That can vary depending on the situation. In your case, Sergeant Gong, you would be operating as a black ops agent, so your location would change depending on the mission."

"I decline."

From start to finish, there wasn't a single thing I liked about this. If I were going to accept those terms, I would have just applied for long-term military service. I already had plenty of merit points. This was no different from being in the army. Why on earth would I want to be a black ops agent for the NIS? An agent whose very name is erased even in death?

Loyalty to the state? Patriotism? They must have expected something like that from me. But I had none of it. The parents who were supposed to teach me those values had abandoned me and run away, and my teachers were too busy slapping me across the face to find time to teach me loyalty. How could someone like me have had any opportunity to learn patriotism or loyalty?

These two had completely misjudged me. They probably thought my outstanding performance in the field stemmed from some deep-seated loyalty. They should have read my self-introduction letter first. Ah, then again, maybe they got confused because I wrote it like a work of fiction.

"In any case, please think it over and contact us."

Realizing that further conversation would lead nowhere, the man in the black suit quickly wrapped up the meeting and handed me a business card.

Leaving the NIS meeting behind, I was walking back to my quarters when my phone rang. It was an unknown number.