The Nature of White Snow
“Run faster!”
Won-goo shouted, leaning his head out the driver's side window. Just ahead, Poke was sprinting like a man possessed. Won-goo was deliberately matching his speed, toying with him.
“You know what happens if you stop, right? Come on, dig deep.”
“Boss! Pleeease! I'll stop, okay?! Stop! Ugh! My shoe! My peaches!”
CRUNCH!
The car clipped Poke, wrenching his ankle at a grotesque angle and sending him skidding down the slope, where he rolled over and over. It was a rocky path, so every tumble opened new wounds.
“Do you have any idea how expensive wild peaches are these days, screaming like that over one? Anyway, Poke, my friend. Nothing broken too badly, right?”
Click.
Won-goo stepped out of the car and approached. The rest of the crew climbed out after him. Weapons in hand. Lee Hyun-sung, notably, was carrying an enormous Chinese cleaver.
“Hyun-sung. Hand the blade over. How many times have I told you? I said you're not the one who handles this.”
“F-forgive me, Boss.”
“Give it here.”
Won-goo took the cleaver. It was the kind of oversized blade Chinese restaurant chefs used—big enough to look like it could gut a person whole.
The massive cleaver swept slowly across Poke's body.
“Wipe that look off. Anyone watching would think we're the villains here. Hmm? They'd think you got dragged here for doing something nice.”
He pressed his foot down on the neck of Poke, who was trembling like a leaf in the wind.
Poke's condition was a far cry from how he'd swaggered in at the start.
“See that? This bastard was never cut out for fieldwork. Without Sang-je, he's nothing.”
CRACK!
Won-goo's kick connected with Poke's mouth, and the man clutched his jaw with both hands.
“Sapa boss! Please, just hear me out.”
“How many times did I tell you not to call me that? What, got caught trying to stab me in the back and now you're embarrassed?”
“No! Let's look at this productively. You and I are both doing this for money anyway, aren't we? Right?”
“Ahh... so it's all about the money, is it? Well, what do you know—me and my crew aren't actually in this for the money right now.”
“Coins! B—no, Boss. I'll hand over every gold coin I've saved up. Just let me live.”
“Haaah...”
“Think about it. Chopping me up here nets you nothing. My equipment? I'll throw that in too. But if you let me live, doesn't that pay out even more?”
“I learned something real today. Black-haired bastards—you have to see them through to the end. Every time.”
“Twenty gold coins!”
Everyone's faces changed. Gold coins were in a league of their own. Society had been flipped upside down, and the monetary system had gone to hell with it.
Values shifted constantly, and getting scammed the moment you let your guard down was just daily life. And even so, the value of gold coins never dropped.
Poke possessed a Gift that gave him a natural edge in making money.
Which meant he wasn't the type to get his hands dirty himself.
So with Sang-je and the rest of his underlings wiped out, there was nothing left for him to lean on.
If Sang-je—an enhancement type—had gone down, what chance did he have?
And the opponent was Sapa himself, the man they called the Physical Therapist, Gong Won-goo. In this territory, poking him half-heartedly was the one thing guaranteed to end badly.
Only now, at this moment, did Poke finally understand that he had been exactly that—a half-hearted man.
“Impressive. You racked up that many gold coins that fast? And you were keeping that many crew members on payroll?”
“My operating philosophy's a bit different from yours, Boss.”
WHACK!
Won-goo's warhammer came down on Poke's forehead. It wasn't a heavy blow, but it more than made its point.
“Urgh—Boss!”
“Different philosophy, my ass. You made your fortune off naive rookies as expendable meat shields, didn't you? Filthy piece of work. Bastards like you running around stirring up this kind of shit are why every other registered crew at the shelter gets painted with the same brush. I could grind you into loach soup and it'd still be too good for you.”
Thud! Thud! Thud!
The beating continued.
“You said twenty?”
“Y-yes...”
“And how many did you skim?”
Poke slowly raised a single finger.
“Ten?”
“Wanna bet? On whether the number out of your mouth is higher than that or not?”
“...?”
“Kkakdugi.”
“Yes, Boss!”
“Diagnosis is in. This patient has a serious brain condition. Administer bone-setting therapy. Firmly.”
“How firmly?”
“Firm enough to make him see his ancestors' faces?”
“Understood, Boss.”
Won-goo's crew pounced, and though Poke scrambled to flee, he was pinned down almost instantly.
What followed was merciless physical therapy. Aggressive enough to make you wonder whether treatment was supposed to hurt this much.
THUD!
Poke hit the floor, coated head to toe in blood. Watching him, Sanghae's expression twisted.
Trembling.
Stark naked and soaked in blood, Poke shook where he lay. The sight alone would have made a weak-stomached person recoil in horror—but nobody here had the constitution to be rattled by something like that.
“You've made yourself into a blood pudding. Who's this supposed to be? Poke?”
“Yeah. It's Poke.”
“And the job? Is the job done?”
“You're bringing up the job in this situation? You're unbelievable.”
“The job is priority zero.”
Won-goo said this as he took a seat. He'd come straight back from tearing through Cheonchu Mountain, and he was absolutely filthy. Even so, he sat down without a moment's hesitation—and Sanghae's face creased into a scowl.
“You can wipe it, can't you?”
“I don't recall the contract we drafted covering this particular situation...”
“True. But you can still make a fair guess at how things went down, can't you?”
“You're not suspecting me, are you? Because that would genuinely hurt my feelings. I...”
Director Gong raised a hand.
“I know. I know you're not that kind of man, Sanghae. You don't take on risks this size. That's not you.”
“Right. Isn't that why you like me, Director? Because I honor the contract to the letter.”
Sanghae and Won-goo stared each other down for about a second.
“So. The job's done. We proceed per the contract.”
“Good enough for me.”
“But, Sanghae—tying up the job is all well and good, but you've got to ask yourself why this shitshow happened in the first place. The back of the head is the one thing that stings no matter how many times you take a hit there.”
“It wasn't my operation, so why should I?”
Snort.
Won-goo straightened in his chair and laughed.
“Because when you get like this, my mood turns to shit.”
“Getting worked up never pays, Director Gong. Why are you acting like an amateur? Don't let your mood become your attitude. Famous saying. You know it well?”
“I know it. Never let emotion drive your conduct—and that keeping your head is how you survive long in this business. I know that too.”
Won-goo laid the recovered goods on the table. Then he rose from his seat, his face gone cold.
“The contract's fulfilled. Transfer the payment to the shelter account.”
“...?”
Sanghae's eyes went wide. He was quick on the uptake. That was exactly how he'd pieced together so fast what Poke had been up to—and he'd fully anticipated that the fallout from Poke's scheme would splash onto him too. Which was why he'd invoked the contract terms and made the first move.
“Tchh. What's the matter?”
“What do you mean, what's the matter? You said follow the contract.”
“Why are you acting like you can't even see me? Sit down first.”
“Sit for what? I delivered the goods, we take the money, and we're done. Wasn't that the contract?”
“It was. But there's also such a thing as decency.”
“Never thought I'd live to hear the word 'decency' out of Sanghae's mouth.”
“Just sit down. Part of our role is watching for foreign matter contaminating a contract like this.”
“You know your business well, you son of a—”
“Exactly. Everybody's got to eat. What are you hungry for? Let's talk over a meal. Name anything—today every item on the menu is on the table.”
Sanghae broke into a wide grin.
“Hawaiian poke. The kind with duck on top.”
Everyone sat around the table looking stuffed to the gills, drinking beer. Sanghae was studying the contract.
In the chair across from him sat a somewhat cleaner-looking Poke, trembling. He was still naked. The remarkable thing was that after taking a beating like that, he was still breathing at all.
“So. Won-goo's crew spares Poke's life. Poke hands over thirty gold coins. And from this point on, Poke never sets foot anywhere near Sabaath Shelter again. We're all agreed, right?”
“Hold on. I've decided this won't do after all. I need to cut off at least one of that bastard's ankles.”
The moment Won-goo stood, Poke jolted upright in terror.
“Boss! Boss, pleeease!”
“Ah, come on. Sign the deal. Thirty gold coins, no less. Let's wrap it up cleanly—I'll execute it right now.”
Nod.
Won-goo dipped his head, and Sanghae passed the contract to one of his men.
“The deposit will land immediately. Poke. You're free to go now.”
And so Poke shuffled out the door, dragging his feet.
“How badly did you work him over? Didn't Poke sink a fair amount into his physical stats too? A few hits shouldn't have reduced him to that.”
“He burned a pile of money in the meantime and recovered fast.”
“And?”
“So we strung him to the car and towed him all the way to the shelter.”
“Over that brutal Cheonchu Mountain terrain?”
“After three or four laps he turned remarkably docile. Excellent treatment method. I'll have to use it again sometime.”
“Haah. Now that's a fine invention. But if he could endure that, Poke must've made some serious money, huh?”
“Probably. Without some kind of durability Gift, his skin would've been stripped clean off. Oh, right.”
“What? Did you miss something?”
“I never collected that bastard's entry fee. I paid his shelter admission!”
“Unbelievable... Anyway, Director Gong. I'm waiving my brokerage fee for this contract—consider it my duty done.”
“Good. I won't hold this one over you. In exchange, take good care of Baek Seol. It was a genuinely close call for her.”
“I will. I'll see to it properly. Here—cheers.”
Sanghae held out his beer bottle. Won-goo raised his own to meet it.
“But are you really okay with letting him live? He may look pathetic, but Poke is a Gift user. He'll patch himself up in no time. You're not the type to leave a risk like that hanging over money, are you, Director?”
“The contract's written.”
“Surprising.”
Heh.
A smile tugged at the corner of Won-goo's mouth.
“Why?”
“Poke's got a misconception, you see.”
“Like what?”
“Like he thinks settling things with us is the end of it?”
“Isn't it?”
“Who said anything about leaving Baek Seol out?”
“Baek Seol's a pathfinder, isn't she?”
“Have you ever seen Baek Seol doing pathfinder work that wasn't one of my requests? You've still got a long way to go, Sanghae.”
“...?”
“Meaning you haven't fully figured out how this world works yet.”
“The hell are you talking about?”
“You think she's called Baek Seol because she's Snow White? All pale and pretty?”
“Isn't she? She's gorgeous, even if I've never seen her without the mask.”
“Heh heh heh. That's what most people assume.”
“Then what the hell is it...”
“What's the thing that's 'white' in this business?”
“White? You mean she deals in drugs? That's what Baek Seol means? Director Gong, isn't that joke going too far? I know every outfit handling that stuff in Sabaath.”
Sanghae's eyes went round.
“That's because she doesn't operate in Sabaath. She works out of the next shelter over and only lives here. Think about it—do you genuinely believe a run-of-the-mill pathfinder could be stationed in a shelter three hundred and sixty-five days a year?”
At that, not only Sanghae but the crew at the neighboring table, who'd been quietly working through their drinks and side dishes, all wore the same stunned expression.
“And outside of Cheonchu Mountain, Baek Seol doesn't have much going for her ability-wise. As pathfinders go, her skills are bottom-tier.”
“I feel like I just learned an enormous secret.”
“It is a secret. But you won't be able to tell anyone anyway.”
“...?”
“You'll understand once you see how Poke's story ends. Baek Seol wasn't lying low because she was weak. Her line of business simply benefits from keeping a quiet profile.”
“Poke's a dead man.”
“Best case, she kills him clean. Wasn't Poke's Gift the Appraiser?”
“Right. He made decent money appraising items. Ran his gang off the proceeds.”
“Then she'll just capture him and put him to work. Feeding him every day.”
“Poke doesn't eat poke, though.”
“It'll become his staple from today, then.”
“Well...”
“It's possible. It's all a matter of time. Whether he lasts a week or a month, that's all it comes down to. So see to it properly. Baek Seol isn't the type to obsess over pocket change, but that attitude of his might rub her the wrong way. And if her mood sours, her attitude might change too. You follow me?”
Sanghae was nodding before he'd even finished.
“So now you're heading off to handle the leftovers?”
“Leftovers? What leftovers?”
“Didn't Poke keep a decent reserve force? He wasn't the type to drag all his people around with him.”
Gangs ran on headcount. Which was why they tended to keep a hideout stashed near the shelter.
“Not a problem.”
“There could be quite a few of them. You sure?”
“How many of the bastards under Poke do you think had real loyalty? Unless they'd been groomed properly like Sang-je did, they were just hanging on to survive. By now they'll have emptied the hideout down to the floorboards and bolted.”
“Hmm... so that's the ending this takes?”
“That's gang logic for you.”
“Gong Won-goo, you son of a bitch... You knew all along.”
Poke stared blankly at the two severed ankles lying before him. And watching him with cold eyes stood Baek Seol.
“Bring him along.”
Poke dragged his ruined legs in a desperate scramble, but he didn't make it far before they caught him.
His screams filled the surrounding air with noise—but before long, even those faded into silence.