Chapter 17
Chapter 17
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Translator : M.N 1391
Chapter: 17
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There was no budding romance from that incident.
Kyung-wan was an infinite regressor who had grown sick of all sorts of things, and the next day, the police came to arrest him.
Once inside the holding cell, Kyung-wan was placed alone because he was a minor.
The man across from him, with a few days’ worth of unshaven beard, looked at him and asked:
“What are you in here for?”
“I fought with a thug.”
“But you came in alone?”
When the man implied that it should have been mutual assault, Kyung-wan shrugged.
“I dodged well, but they didn’t, so only I got arrested.”
In short, Kyung-wan’s claim that it was a mutual fight had been ignored.
And he didn’t insist on it either.
If he kept pushing that claim, he would inevitably have to drag hostage victim Seon-mi into it, then would those people give her settlement money? They wouldn’t.
And from Kyung-wan’s perspective, that would have been like stealing a flea’s liver.
Unlike him, that orphan still had a chance to live a proper life in this good world, and even if the money was dirty, the settlement would be of real help to her.
Hearing that he had dodged well, the man raised his brows as if impressed.
“Oh! So you can fight, huh?”
“It wasn’t fighting. I just used a little trickery.”
If he hadn’t used a surprise weapon to strike at a psychological blind spot, he might have been the one who lost.
His opponent wasn’t some poser delinquent who only cared about posturing, he was a real gangster who had at least skimmed the basics of fighting from older thugs.
And he’d even been carrying a knife.
Kyung-wan spent time chit-chatting with the man across from him.
The man had been arrested for fraud, but soon got released, and a different man took his place.
A wide variety of criminals came into the holding cell: fraud, theft, sex crimes, assault, many kinds of people waited there for their trials.
Kyung-wan was one of them, and soon, he received his verdict.
The judge sentenced him to eight months in prison.
He already had a prior violent record severe enough to have been sent to juvenile detention before, and the victim was badly injured, so he received an aggravated sentence.
Kyung-wan’s claim that it had been mutual assault was dismissed.
The judge must have read some fantasy novel or something, because he seemed to believe that one person could beat up three grown men single-handedly.
‘Judge sir. Do you read fantasy novels? Reading is good, but if you believe a kid like me can one-sidedly beat the crap out of three adult men, maybe step away from your desk and go see the real world.’
Or maybe the judge had just been irritated by Kyung-wan’s manner of self-defense.
Since the verdict was out, he had to be transferred from the holding cell to the prison.
A police officer opened the bars and said:
“Let’s go.”
“Can you order sweet-and-sour pork before we go?”
It was lunchtime, and Kyung-wan was hungry.
But the officer interpreted his calm attitude as shamelessness and was clearly annoyed.
“You little shit. Why would I buy you anything?”
The officer looked incredulous at the request.
“Fine, then if something happens at the prison later, I’ll say it happened because I was pissed about not eating sweet-and-sour pork.”
“You’re saying you’re going to start trouble inside?”
“I’m not saying I’ll do something. I’m saying if something happens, I’ll blame you.”
“Wow. You even know how to threaten people well.”
Whether it was sarcasm or genuine awe, the tone couldn’t dent Kyung-wan’s diamond-refined mental fortitude.
“No, it’s rational argument. As you know, the place I’m going is full of useless trash, right?”
“Oh, so you know your place?”
Ignoring the mockery, Kyung-wan continued:
“When a newbie goes to a place like that, there’s always something that happens.”
“An initiation?”
“More like dominance rituals. And I don’t know how long my temper will tolerate unreasonable treatment.”
“So you’re saying if I buy you sweet-and-sour pork, you’ll behave?”
“I’m not saying I’ll behave. I’m saying I won’t use the lack of sweet-and-sour pork as an excuse.”
His tongue was truly smooth.
The officer clicked his tongue in amazement.
“Fine, fine. You win.”
As the saying goes, even an annoying brat gets an extra rice cake.
The officer eventually agreed to his request.
Dealing with a lunatic like this would only cause trouble for himself otherwise.
“Sweet-and-sour pork, large size, and black bean noodles double portion.”
Fortunately, thanks to the officer accepting his negotiation (?), Kyung-wan was able to fill his stomach before entering the place full of trashy kids.
= = = = =
○○ Juvenile Prison.
Kyung-wan erased the name of the place where he would live for eight months.
He wouldn’t come back after this anyway, his age alone would prevent that.
“Don’t cause trouble.”
The prison warden warned the newly arrived Kyung-wan.
It gave him déjà vu.
Hadn’t the juvenile detention director said the same thing?
It seemed to be a standard line for people running facilities full of problematic kids.
Kyung-wan was assigned to a group room.
A group room meant four to five inmates shared one cell.
The kids asked the new face what he was in for.
Kyung-wan replied simply:
“Assault.”
“Assault?”
One of the boys snorted, disbelief on his face.
No one got sent here for just simple assault.
He must’ve beaten someone to death.
“How badly did you beat him?”
“Not that badly. About two to three weeks of recovery.”
There were bruises, but no broken bones, and the guy’s scrotum hadn’t burst.
By Kyung-wan’s standards, his strikes had been merciful.
But everyone looked like they didn’t believe a word of it.
“Bullshit. Do you know why that fucker over there came in? He beat some loser until he became a vegetable. And that other fucker dragged runaways and pimped them out until he got caught. And you? Just assault? Two weeks? Cut the crap and talk straight.”
The one who seemed to be the room leader urged him.
And the kid beside him, who felt exactly like a second-rate delinquent who clings to the alpha to bluff authority, interjected.
“You picking a fight?”
“I’m just deciding how much to say…”
Kyung-wan decided to be honest.
They’d be sharing a room; better to get along by yielding a little.
To get along with others, one needed to yield sometimes.
“I went to juvenile detention once for assault.”
Which meant he had a history of repeated violence and had eventually ended up in juvenile prison.
The leader asked:
“How long did you get there?”
“Long-term.”
“And here?”
“Eight months.”
At that, everyone seemed reluctantly convinced.
If he was a habitual offender with anger issues, he could end up imprisoned.
The relatively short eight-month sentence made sense, most boys entering here had multi-year sentences for serious crimes.
“So how old are you?”
The second-rate lackey suddenly asked.
Kyung-wan answered with a bored expression:
“Older than you.”
“So how old?”
“Older than you.”
“You little shit! Can’t you answer properly?!”
The boy bared his teeth like an angry mutt.
Kyung-wan sighed at the kid’s stupidity and, uncharacteristically kindly, explained:
“You idiot. Can’t you understand plain words? I’m saying don’t expect special treatment just because you’re older by a couple of years. Age isn’t a fucking title.”
What, did he think he could act like an old man just because he’d eaten a few more years of life?
When Kyung-wan clicked his tongue with annoyance, the boy’s face reddened as he stood up.
A fight was moments away.
The leader watched with amusement, and the gloomy kid in the corner didn’t even look up.
Kyung-wan decided this was the moment to fight.
He’d shown meekness until now, so the others were relaxed, but if he kept being submissive, he’d be seen as a pushover.
Kindness mistaken for entitlement is human nature, and if anyone had that nature amplified, it was the kind of kids who ended up in juvenile prison.
If he became a pushover, everyday life would be miserable, and Kyung-wan was not the type to play the victim.
He curled his finger, beckoning the second-rate delinquent.
The boy charged in, clearly experienced, but took Kyung-wan’s counterpunch straight to the jaw and staggered.
The leader let out a low whistle.
“Not bad.”
“You motherfucker!”
Just as the second-rate kid, eyes blazing, was about to charge again, the leader stopped him.
“Jun-won. Enough.”
“But, ”
“You dumb shit. Did you already forget how I beat your ass?”
At the leader’s quiet glare, the one called Jun-won lowered his eyes, still fuming.
Satisfied, the leader turned to Kyung-wan.
“Name’s Yoon Kyung-seok. Let’s get along.”
The leader was Yoon Kyung-seok.
The second-rate tag-along was Lee Jun-won.
The gloomy one in the corner was Yeo Min.
Lee Jun-won was in for facilitating underage prostitution, extortion, and threats.
Yeo Min was in for extortion, assault, injury, and involuntary manslaughter.
And Yoon Kyung-seok was in for murder.
Kyung-seok, who maintained order in the room, clearly had leadership skills.
And it wasn’t just any murder,
Contract killing.
In court, he had testified that he stabbed someone because he got angry when they nagged him for smoking.
But the way he bragged in the cell, talking about being close with real gangsters and joining them officially once he got out, made it obvious it was contract killing.
He claimed it was a heat-of-the-moment stabbing, but given his usual calm demeanor, it was hard to believe he lost control simply because someone scolded him for smoking.
His message was clear: he had killed, he had gangster backing, so others had better watch themselves.
Kyung-wan didn’t resist him.
Even villains had their own standards.
Kyung-seok didn’t force pointless hazing, and the rules were manageable.
Kyung-wan was glad he didn’t have to stir up unnecessary trouble.
Kyung-seok was glad he hadn’t provoked someone as dangerous as an infinite regressor.
It was a mutually beneficial arrangement.
Assigned to a decent room, Kyung-wan adapted to prison life quickly.
Staying out of trouble in prison was easy.
Just don’t do what you’re told not to do, and do what you’re told to do, how convenient.
At least there were none of those military or corporate nonsense lines like, “You only do what you’re told??” or “Why did you act on your own??”
About a month later, Kyung-seok suddenly asked him:
“You got something going on outside?”
“Why?”
Instead of answering, Kyung-seok asked something else:
“Ever heard of someone named Kim Jin-tae?”
“Nope.”
It wasn’t actually the first time he’d heard the name.
It showed up in the news often.
But the Kim Jin-tae Kyung-seok meant obviously wasn’t that one, so it meant someone Kyung-wan didn’t know.
“Yeah?”
“Is he asking you to do something to me?”
The question, sharpened by countless lifetimes of experience, made Kyung-seok’s eyes dart around.
“…No, it’s not that.”
And he said no more.
Kyung-wan didn’t pry.
But he could tell something was going on.