The One Who Bought the Loss

The night the phone call ended did not remain quiet for long.

This time, it wasn't a ringtone.

It was a short notification sound.

Kim Do-sik's phone rang first. Then, Mun Ok-ja's old phone, Han Jae-o's guardian's device, and Park Eun-hui's phone vibrated in succession.

Mun Ok-ja couldn't read the letters all at once and held the screen further away. Han Jae-o's guardian was the first to choke up.

"Repayment? You're ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠telling us to pay this back?"

The fatigue drained from Cha Yu-ri's face.

In its place, anger rushed in.

Park Min-seok held his mother's phone instead. Small letters were written at the bottom of the screen.

The automatic doors of the hallway slid open.

Han Mi-rae walked in.

She wasn't smiling as she usually did. Her hair was hastily tied back, and she held only a single tablet in her hand. Her gaze swept past the victims' phones and stopped in front of my hospital room door.

"Oppa, did you get that text?"

"I'm not a victim, so no."

"I hate that phrasing."

She took a breath.

"Especially because it's true."

Mun Ok-ja asked in a trembling voice, "I heard you were the one who paid the money, young lady. Did we really have to pay it back?"

Han Mi-rae couldn't answer immediately.

That silence was the most honest response.

Just then, three men carrying black bags entered from the end of the hallway. They wore recovery team access badges over their suits. The man at the front approached the victims, holding a thin terminal.

"Please don't misunderstand. This is not an actual billing, but a verification process. The prepaid funds are recorded as accounts receivable on our balance sheet, so we just need confirmation of receipt—"

He thrust the terminal in front of Mun Ok-ja.

Mun Ok-ja's hand shrank back.

The man smiled.

"You just need to press confirm."

At that moment, my hospital room door slid open further.

Cha Yu-ri looked back first.

"Tae-san."

"I'm not getting up."

I didn't get out of bed this time either. Instead, I pushed the low overbed table sitting near the threshold. On the table sat a cup of water, an empty pill wrapper, and the call button I had deliberately left untouched.

The table's wheels rolled quietly, stopping right between Mun Ok-ja and the recovery team man.

The man frowned.

"Patient, if you interfere, the process will only take longer."

"If you don't want the process to take longer..."

I looked at the terminal he was holding.

"Bring that terminal over here."

The man let out a scoffing laugh.

"Hunter Kang Tae-san, you are not a recipient of this support fund."

"That's why."

I held out my palm.

"Stop shoving it in the victims' faces and shove it in mine first."

Cha Yu-ri's hand hovered near my shoulder. She had tried to stop me, but froze when she saw that my hand hadn't closed yet.

The recovery team man hesitated for a moment. However, not wanting to back down in front of everyone, he held out the terminal.

"You can check it yourself. It's just a standard notice with no issues—"

The terminal touched my palm.

Beep.

The man spoke immediately.

"As you can see, since you are not the target—"

He tried to pull the terminal back.

I didn't grab it.

I merely hooked the force of his pull with my fingertips.

The terminal was designed to extract value from the victim's wrist. A device that read anxiety under the guise of consent, and stamped debt under the guise of confirmation. But in front of my palm, there was no recipient information. There was no value to extract.

Even so, the terminal tried to force a value.

That force rebounded back into itself.

BEEEEEP!

With a sharp shriek, the screen changed.

The man's face stiffened.

"It's a terminal error."

The terminal was far too diligent to be called an error. Hidden items began to pop up one after another down the screen.

The air in the hallway turned ice-cold.

Kim Do-sik spoke in a low voice.

"So you get paid more if we delay disputing it?"

The recovery team man tried to close the terminal.

Before he could, Han Mi-rae stepped forward.

"Don't close it."

Her voice was low.

With her usual playful tone gone, standing there was someone who knew the shape of money all too well, and was all the angrier for it.

"You ran a performance bonus business using support funds sent out under my name."

"Representative, this is just an internal process for accounting—"

"You flashed a repayment notice on a patient's phone under the word 'internal'?"

Han Mi-rae cut him off.

"Then it's no longer internal."

The recovery team leader appeared via screen connection. A background of a conference room, a neat suit, and a face quick to calculate.

"Representative. I will adjust the phrasing. However, the prepaid funds have no accounting basis, so we must process them as research expenses or urgent public relations expenses—"

"Public relations expenses?"

Mun Ok-ja asked, unable to even laugh.

"Were we just public relations to you?"

Cha Yu-ri stepped forward.

"The numbers hidden from the patient are always the most dangerous."

She held up Park Eun-hui's phone.

"A person barely managed to speak their truth and come out, and if the first text they get is a repayment notice, do you have any idea where their treatment starts tearing apart again?"

The conference room went silent.

Han Mi-rae opened her tablet. Her hands did not shake. ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Instead, she moved incredibly slowly. Like someone who refused to rush through the process just to cover it up.

"We will not convert the full amount of the prepaid funds into research expenses. We will not convert them into public relations expenses either. And we will not process them as charity."

The recovery team leader spoke hastily.

"Then the only option left is to write it off as an accounting loss."

"Yes," Han Mi-rae said.

"Write it off as a loss."

Everyone in the hallway looked at her.

Han Mi-rae looked at the victims and spoke again.

"This is not money you have to pay back. It is not money to be received under Hunter Kang Tae-san's name. And it is not money the Mirae Group will sell for its image."

She tapped the screen where her name appeared.

The recovery team man hastily tried to pull the terminal away.

I reached out again.

This time, Cha Yu-ri didn't stop me.

Before the terminal strap could even brush my fingertips, the man stumbled backward on his own. He was in too much of a hurry. The corner of the terminal slammed into the access badge on his chest.

Crack.

The plastic access badge split in half. A tiny black chip hidden inside fell to the floor.

The moment Mun Chae-won saw it, she spoke.

"It's a performance-linked chip."

Baek Ha-rin laughed softly.

"You didn't come to collect a debt; you came to make a quick buck."

The recovery team man's face turned pale.

Lee Na-gyeong captured both the chip and the terminal screen in a single shot on her device.

"Suspension of repayment notice delivery to the victims. Transitioning the recovery team's performance-based commission structure to an audit. Revoking access authority."

Her words were brief.

But today's conclusion was not an administrative document.

The recovery team man couldn't even pick up his broken access badge. The performance bonus chip rolled around at his feet, and the repayment notices disappeared one by one from the victims' phones.

Mun Ok-ja's old phone rang one last time.

Mun Ok-ja stared at the sentence for a long time, then let out a very soft sigh.

"So... we can eat our meals now, right?"

At those words, Han Mi-rae's expression wavered.

"Yes," she replied.

"You can eat. You can receive your treatment, too. It's not a debt."

I pushed the water cup from the threshold of the hospital room.

‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠

Han Mi-rae caught it.

"Oppa, you're really terrible at comforting people."

"I know."

"But right now, this is better."

She took a sip of water. This time, her hand trembled less.

Cha Yu-ri checked my wrist.

"Pain level."

"Three."

"Including the feedback from blocking the terminal?"

"Three and a half."

"Good. Being precise is better."

Han Mi-rae let out a small laugh upon hearing that.

"I will also take a precise loss."

She tapped the screen again.

This time, no one could turn that word back toward the victims.

The terminal brought by the recovery team shut down, and the broken access badge grew cold on the floor.

That night, there was indeed someone who bought the loss.

But that loss was not sold to the victims.

After Han Mi-rae's loss confirmation message appeared, the victims' phones rang once more.

This notification was short.

Kim Do-sik read the sentence twice. Mun Ok-ja held her phone carefully, as if showing it to a child. Park Eun-hui stared at the screen, letting out a breath even slower than when she had given her statement earlier.

"Then... we can speak now, right?"

Those words hurt strangely.

Because it meant that not just money, but even their right to speak had been bound as a debt.

Han Mi-rae did not bow her head. Instead, she stood straight in front of the victims.

"Yes. You may speak. You may receive treatment, and you may rest. That is not money you have to pay back."

The recovery team leader grew frantic from across the screen.

"Representative, if you write this off as a loss, the board of directors will raise issues. This cannot be seen as a simple personal decision."

Han Mi-rae raised her tablet.

"Then bring it up to the board."

"Representative."

"I'll decide the title of the agenda item."

She typed a new title onto the screen.

The conference room side fell silent.

Han Mi-rae smiled slightly for the first time.

"If you don't like it, write it off as a loss. It'll be cheaper for you that way."

Those words didn't sound like ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the leisure of a wealthy person. It was a warning from someone who used money as a precise weapon.

Baek Ha-rin spoke in a low voice.

"That was a bit intense."

"I also strike directly sometimes," Han Mi-rae replied.

"With numbers."

I listened to those words from the threshold of the hospital room. I tried to take it lightly, but Han Mi-rae's hand was still trembling ever so slightly. Confirming a loss under one's own name was not something that was easy, even if one could pretend it was nothing.

I pushed the water cup again.

This time, I spoke before she could take it.

"Good job."

Han Mi-rae paused.

"Oppa, I can't believe you're saying things like that."

"I'm practicing."

"Who made you do it?"

Cha Yu-ri answered while holding my wrist.

"I did."

Han Mi-rae looked back and forth between the two of us, then smiled properly for the first time.

"Well, it's working. It feels like a very expensive compliment."

"Don't charge me for it."

"I won't charge you today."

A brief exchange passed, and the air in the hallway loosened slightly.

But it wasn't over.

The recovery team man tried to pick up the broken access badge. Baek Ha-rin's scabbard came down in front of him.

"Leave that."

"It's company property."

"Property you brought to threaten victims."

Baek Ha-rin didn't draw her sword. Even so, the man pulled his hand back. The broken access badge and the performance bonus chip remained on the floor.

Lee Na-gyeong placed them inside a transparent bag.

"Temporary suspension of the recovery team's access authority. Access rights to the victim contact list are also revoked."

This time, those words didn't sound like mere administrative processing.

The people had already seen it. The terminal that was shoved in their faces as debt revealing its own performance bonuses, the access badge splitting in half, and Han Mi-rae taking the loss under her own name.

Cha Yu-ri applied a final patch to my wrist.

"That is truly all for today."

"I know."

"If you know, open your hand."

I opened my hand.

My wrist throbbed, but strangely, it didn't feel heavy. Perhaps it was because the loss someone had tried to turn into another's debt had returned to its proper place.

A single broken access badge remained on the hallway floor.

The same sentence remained on the victims' phones.

That night, the people ate their meals for the first time after seeing that sentence.