A Funeral for the Living
Clack.
The door of the morgue freezer swung open, and a gurney carrying a man covered in a white sheet rolled out with a metallic rattle. The attendant pulled back the sheet.
"Please confirm."
A stranger lay upon the cold steel tray. Yet, he was undoubtedly the father in my memories. The demonic father. The man who would swing his fists the moment he laid eyes on me, who would brandish a knife and threaten to gouge my eyes out. But it was strange. The father lying in this cold room was neither as large, as terrifying, nor as vicious as the one in my memories. He was merely a powerless old man. A small, withered, heavily wrinkled man.
My mind was a tangled mess. A wave of indefinable emotion surged within me.
"If this is your father, please sign here." The attendant held out a clipboard, and I signed my name. Taking it back, the attendant asked, "Have you reserved a funeral hall?"
"No. I've been living abroad and just got back, so I haven't had a chance to look into it."
"Would you like me to recommend a few places?"
"I'd like to keep it as simple as possible. Is there a suitable place for that?"
"As simple as possible?"
"Yes. Ideally, a place where I don't have to do anything at all."
"But surely you'll have mourners coming to pay their respects?"
"No. There won't be any mourners. I just need a small space where I can hold a very basic service."
"In that case, we have a room used as a temporary memorial altar. It's occasionally used for public, low-income funerals. If you'd like to take a look and see if it's acceptable..."
"It's fine. I'll take it."
The attendant looked taken aback, likely finding it strange that I agreed so readily without even looking at the room. However, he quickly masked his expression and said he would prepare it for immediate use.
"What about food? Shall I give you the contact information for a catering service?"
"No. I won't be serving food either."
The attendant tilted his head in confusion but accepted my decision. Feeling grateful, I reached into my pocket to offer him a small tip for his trouble, but—
"Oh, no, you can't do that here. I'll get in huge trouble. I appreciate the thought, though. I'll go get everything ready, so please let me know if you need anything else." With that, the attendant hurried off to prepare the room.
I stood quietly in the morgue, alone with my father. It was the first time the two of us had ever shared a space this quiet.
The temporary memorial altar was set up. There was no portrait. I had placed nothing on it but a single bag of snacks and a bottle of soju.
"I could have offered you much better things," I muttered to the empty space. "But what's the point of feeding you well? You'd probably just throw a violent tantrum over there, too. So just eat a little."
"Actually, even this is too much. I'll take half."
I poured the soju to the brim of a paper cup and gulped it down. Drinking on an empty stomach made me instantly gag. Forcing down the rising bile, I stubbornly swallowed the alcohol. Then, I sat there, staring blankly into space.
No one came. I didn't even pull out my phone. There was only a suffocating, absolute silence. It was so quiet that I could hear the steady thumping of my own heart. It felt as though mine was the only heart beating in this entire place. Listening to that rhythm, I sat perfectly still, doing absolutely nothing.
A gentle warmth washed over me. It felt cozy. Where am I again? The Philippines? No, Congo? Or was it the military? But the older guys aren't here... Ah, right. My father's funeral. I must have drifted off. Or was I still dreaming? But what was this warmth? I opened my eyes and realized I was covered in a thick, plush blanket. A space heater was humming softly near my feet. Did the attendant bring this? I resolved to leave him a generous tip before I left. But as I sat up, a familiar face came into view.
"Dae-hoon..."
"You should sleep more. You looked exhausted." Dae-hoon was sitting beside me, watching over me as I slept. The blanket and the heater must have been his doing.
"No, I should get up. How did you find me here?"
"Manager Nam contacted me."
"Manager Nam Yong-woo?"
"Yeah. And what was his name? Sandro?"
"Yeah, Regional Boss Sandro."
"Sandro contacted Manager Nam. He said you flew back to Korea in a hurry and seemed off. You even left Scott behind. Since Manager Nam is their only direct link to our syndicate, Sandro asked him to find out where you were and what you were doing. So we tracked your phone's location and had my boys scour the area. Took some doing, but we finally found you."
Only then did I notice the men standing behind Dae-hoon. They packed the tiny memorial room to bursting, and it looked like the crowd spilled far out into the hallway. I felt a sudden wave of guilt.
"You should've woken me up."
"You looked like you were in a deep sleep." Just then, Geun-su stepped up beside Dae-hoon and bowed a perfect ninety degrees. "It has been a while, hyung-nim. Please accept my deepest condolences."
"Thanks, Geun-su."
"We should move this service to a proper hall, sir. We have already prepared everything."
"It's fine. I have my reasons for keeping things quiet here."
Dae-hoon chimed in. "Don't be like that. Let's move. We need to give him a proper send-off."
"I have no desire to do that."
"Come on, In-bae..."
"This suits him better. His end should be miserable."
"Even so, this isn't right."
"Dae-hoon, you of all people know what kind of life I lived because of him. Giving a man like that a proper funeral? I can't bring myself to do it. Even that single bottle of soju is more than he deserves. It took every ounce of my resolve just to hold a funeral at all."
"You'll regret it later. I know you will. I'm not telling you to move for your father's sake—I'm saying we should do it for yours."
"What?"
"If you send him off like this, you'll regret it down the line. It'll leave a lingering bitterness. It's not a difficult thing to arrange. Just sit tight and let me handle it."
"I..."
"Look at the boys standing behind me. How are they supposed to pay their respects and send your father off in a cramped closet like this? Do it for me, if nothing else. Please."
Looking at the sea of men in black suits packing the narrow room, I felt a pang of guilt. "I've become a burden."
"It's not a burden. Times like this are exactly when you're supposed to lean on people. And in moments like this, you don't say 'burden'—you say 'thank you,' you bastard."
The venue changed completely. The barren, tiny altar that held nothing but a single bottle of soju and a bag of snacks was gone. In its place was the largest, grandest, and most luxurious funeral hall in Mokpo. White chrysanthemums framed my father's portrait, and high-end ceremonial brassware laden with food sat beneath it. Wreaths of condolence lined the corridors, and men in black suits began welcoming guests and serving food in an orderly fashion.
In the portrait, my father's face was expressionless, devoid of any emotion. Dae-hoon had somehow managed to procure a photo of my father that even I didn't possess.
"How did you get a photo? Even I didn't have one."
"We've taken over Mokpo now. I sent the boys out with his name and a rough description, and they dug up a photo in no time."
"Where did they find it? A gambling den?"
"Huh? Uh... yeah, something like that."
Once Dae-hoon arrived and the venue was upgraded, the funeral suddenly bustled with life. They said this was the largest funeral hall in Mokpo. I had wondered how we would ever fill such a massive space, but the men in black suits were already packing the hall to capacity.
When we took over Gunsan, Dae-hoon had introduced me as the true boss of the syndicate. The problem was that some of his men actually believed it. A joke should be treated as a joke—why on earth did they take it seriously? Especially Geun-su, Dae-hoon's right-hand man. He of all people shouldn't have fallen for it. He was supposed to be the one managing the hierarchy. He should have set the younger guys straight, telling them I was just Dae-hoon's friend, some random guy passing through. But instead, he was the one bowing the lowest.
Thanks to that, rumors spread that the father of the Daehoon-pa's shadow boss had passed away. The Daehoon-pa, which had already consolidated its grip on Gunsan and expanded across the entirety of South and North Jeolla Provinces, as well as parts of South Chungcheong Province, wielded immense influence. Countless associates sent massive wreaths and flooded in to pay their respects. Dae-hoon stood by my side, greeting the mourners with me. A long line of people—none of whom my father or I had ever met—stood in queue to bid him farewell.
I didn't particularly like this situation. My father's end was supposed to be miserable and lonely, yet here it was, incredibly grand. As if sensing my discomfort, Dae-hoon spoke up.
"This isn't for your father. It's for us. Look over there."
I looked where Dae-hoon was pointing and saw a group of very familiar faces. Led by Sandro, there was Patrick, Scott, Manager Nam Yong-woo, Ana, Manager Kang Jae-ho, and even Im Yu-na. Behind them stood the entire cohort of Sandro's local enforcers. The funeral hall, already packed to the brim, became even more crowded.
Sandro and his group stepped forward to bow. Behind them, Manager Nam Yong-woo was whispering instructions, teaching them the proper etiquette of a Korean funeral. It was a bizarre, almost comical sight. A group of Filipino gangsters was performing traditional deep bows to my father. I didn't know if my father deserved such luxurious treatment, but I was deeply grateful to Sandro and the others for making the long journey.
After completing his bows, Sandro looked at me. "If something like this happens, you should have told us before leaving. How could you just disappear like that?"
"Sorry. My mind was all over the place."
"I understand. Don't worry about anything else right now. Just focus on sending your father off. We'll handle the rest."
"No, Dae-hoon's got it covered. But thank you for coming all this way, Sandro. I don't know if the food here will suit your palate, but please have something to eat. Or you can go out and eat; there are some decent restaurants around here..."
"Don't worry about that. We'll take care of ourselves. Manager Nam is handling everything for us. Besides, Dae-hoon booked an entire hotel nearby just for us to rest. So don't worry about us at all. Just focus on your father."
"Thank you."
I only found out later that Sandro had chartered a private jet to get here. So many people wanted to come, and booking commercial tickets on such short notice was nearly impossible, so he had simply chartered a plane.
This led to a rather surreal scene. Korean mobsters and Filipino gangsters were sitting side-by-side, amicably sharing bottles of soju. Dae-hoon and Sandro were eating spicy beef soup, yukgaejang, and drinking together, while Scott and Geun-su poured drinks for each other nearby. They weren't the only ones. Every single enforcer from both sides was drinking. From the bosses to the lowest-ranking foot soldiers, they gathered in small groups, chatting away. Despite the language barrier, they communicated through wild hand gestures and body language. Whatever they were talking about must have been hilarious, because bursts of laughter echoed from every corner of the hall. It felt less like a funeral and more like a corporate retreat or a rowdy company picnic.
"Boss. Are you going to keep acting like this?"
I turned toward the voice and saw Jang Yun-mi, the CEO of our Seoul office, standing there with her staff.
"If something like this happens, you should have contacted us... Honestly, my feelings have been getting hurt lately. It feels like you've completely abandoned the Seoul office to dote on the Bohol branch."
"It's not like that at all. It's just that you're doing such an amazing job running the Seoul office, CEO Jang."
"Excuses, excuses. Anyway, we'll talk later. I'll have you know I am very angry right now."
"Understood. You can take it all out on me later."
After offering her playful complaints, Jang Yun-mi paid her respects and headed over to get some food. But for some reason, she walked straight toward Sandro's table. Ah, right. When she had first visited Bohol for a site inspection, the two of them had hit it off immediately. Sure enough, the moment they made eye contact, they burst into fits of giggles.
The crowd kept growing. Even though this was the largest funeral hall in Mokpo, it wasn't enough. We ended up renting out the adjacent hall as well. Dae-hoon's claim that his syndicate had taken over Mokpo was clearly no exaggeration. With just a single word from him, everything was organized and executed flawlessly.
Strictly speaking, as a funeral, it was an absolute mess. The atmosphere of drinking, laughing, and loud chatter was entirely inappropriate for a memorial service. Yet, strangely, it felt right. I was simply overwhelmed with gratitude that so many people had gathered here just for me. I abandoned my initial plan of keeping his end as miserable as possible. Let's just enjoy this time together.
When I thought about it, gathering all these people in one place was no easy feat. Perhaps this was the final gift my father had left me. Even if he hadn't intended it, I chose to believe he did. Surely, even a father like him could leave me with at least one good thing. Surely, he could leave behind one decent memory. I decided to accept this gathering as his final gift. This memory wouldn't erase the past, but it would at least give me the strength to keep moving forward.
My father had given me nothing but violence and abuse, but in return, I would offer him the sight of today's grand farewell. Dae-hoon's words about moving the funeral for my sake took on a whole new meaning. He was right. This funeral was for me. If we hadn't moved it, I would never have had a moment like this. I felt a deep, profound gratitude. Rather than wallowing in the guilt of being a burden, I wanted to live my life being thankful to them. I wanted to live my life surrounded by these people, bound together in this chaotic, beautiful warmth.