Chapter 40
Chapter 40
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Translator : M.N 1391
Chapter: 40
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Why do bastards like that never give a damn about the victim’s human rights but care so damn much about the perpetrator’s? Are they maybe perpetrators-in-training? Are they laying down stepping stones so life becomes easier for them when they eventually become perpetrators themselves? It might be in the same vein as how high-and-mighty lawmakers prepare cushy slap-on-the-wrist punishments for financial criminals, anticipating the day they’ll be cozying up with conglomerates. Like that emperor-class labor scheme where one day of work is calculated in millions of won.
It was truly incomprehensible. If capitalism hooray, capitalism the best, and market omnipotence equals justice, shouldn’t white-collar criminals who harm that capitalism be treated on the same level as murderers? This is why lawmakers get cursed out for talking out of both sides of their mouths.
While Kyungwan briefly pondered these things, Mr. So-and-so clenched his teeth.
“You wanna die?”
“That’s my line. I’m being quiet, and it’s unpleasant seeing some small fry like you strutting around. Trash like you being visible is annoying.”
“You little bastard!”
“Hey! You there!”
The moment Mr. So-and-so grabbed Kyungwan by the collar, a guard shouted a warning.
Kyungwan grabbed the wrist clutching his collar and twisted. Mr. So-and-so tried desperately to resist, but his wrist slowly turned as if trapped in a vise.
Unable to bear the pain, he let go, and Kyungwan calmly placed the man’s hand against his own waist, gently tapping his cheek with humiliation as he warned him.
“This is your last warning. Next time you see me, assume you’ll end up crippled somewhere. Don’t want to see me? Then behave. Don’t act up. Got it?”
“···.”
Even without an answer, Kyungwan heard enough.
Even as Kyungwan turned and walked away, the man trembled in humiliation, teeth clenched and fists tight, but he couldn’t dare to jump him. From the grip on his wrist alone, he had felt the primal difference in strength.
A dull ache. Mr. So-and-so could only grit his teeth at the bruise-like finger marks left on his wrist.
= = = = =
Some guys like Mr. So-and-so quieted down with a single warning, but others didn’t.
Kyungwan finally understood why people say danger perception scales with intelligence. If they don’t get beaten senseless, they simply can’t process the fact that acting tough gets them fucked up.
How do you even fix the judgment of someone who looks down on a criminal capable of breaking into the heavily guarded National Assembly and wrecking a congressman?
The answer was the club. The answer was a fist.
The anger-management case learned to manage anger, the sly fox who kept whispering bullshit to guards became a mutt who couldn’t bark, and the bastard who caused trouble under the guise of “oops, mistake” became a sharp, regulation-perfect inmate.
Every time that happened, Kyungwan spent anywhere from a few days to a month in solitary confinement, but life in the ward became more and more comfortable.
He did sometimes crave fried chicken. Whenever he longed for that collaboration between chicken and cola, he thought of the late Prosecutor Kim Omin and Choi Choongon, the reporter who had interviewed him.
A dead man wasn’t buying him any chicken, so the only hope was Reporter Choi, but strangely, there had been no contact at all.
Thinking about it, it wasn’t that strange. A sitting congressman had been turned into a one-eyed, half-paralyzed mess inside the National Assembly, the very first case of its kind. The higher-ups must’ve felt their guts turn cold.
They probably couldn’t stand the mere mention of the lunatic named Lee Kyungwan, so they likely pressured the media to block every article that had anything to do with him.
Is it vanity to think he caused that big of a stir?
But Kyungwan knew all too well how obsessively the wealthy and powerful clung to their safety and assets. Far beyond what ordinary people could imagine. To the point where they would betray all their publicly professed political convictions, even while sitting at the highest seat of power in the Blue House, if that’s what it took to protect their own wealth.
They tried to sell off the world’s most flawless airport to private companies with crazy eyes, sold off a national strategic satellite to China for peanuts, and the person responsible even moved straight into an executive position in the Chinese company, yet no one was held responsible.
Their sharp nose for valuable assets, their skill at selling out public interest for personal gain, and their brazen attitude treating the masses like pigs and dogs, enough to make one’s tongue curl.
For people like that, muzzling the press would be nothing.
No, those clever folks wouldn’t use something so crude as “muzzling the press.” Instead, they’d turn the press into their trumpeters, their spokespersons.
Reporter Choi was probably the same. Rather than forcing someone’s mouth shut with threats, it was far more effective to stuff a wad of cash into it. Beat a barking dog, and it’ll yelp louder. Give it a bone, and it’ll stay quiet while chewing. That’s the logic of the world.
So how much did Reporter Choi sell his journalism for?
Kyungwan sincerely hoped it was for a high price. That would make his own chicken demands more justified.
Not that he needed to wait for Choi alone. For now, reporters would be politely licking the bone the powerful had shoved into their mouths, but when the public lost interest and the bone ran out, they’d come knocking for interviews again for the sake of clicks.
Then he’d once again smear chicken juices around his lips… or so he thought.
But as always, the world didn’t move as expected.
“Mr. Lee Kyungwan.”
“Reporter Kim?”
“Yes. I’m Kim Myungil, the one who filed the visitation request.”
“You brought chicken, right?”
“Yes.”
Thanks to Reporter Choi’s prior experience, every reporter knew: if you wanted a productive interview with Kyungwan, you had to bring chicken as private provisions.
“I’ll eat first. I can’t focus on the interview with the smell of chicken.”
“··· Go ahead.”
Kyungwan started with the drumstick. After that came the wing, then the thigh, the “sai” part from “cyber-burger,” the wide, juicy segment.
Only after finishing the best and most important pieces did he assume a posture fit to hear the reporter’s story.
And the reporter’s first question was this:
“Mr. Lee Kyungwan… are you the Untouchable of ○○ Prison?”
“... The hell did you just say?”
Kyungwan blinked in confusion. He had assumed some journalist burning with journalistic fervor had come to do an in-depth piece on the National Assembly attack and the prosecutor’s death.
It had already been over half a year, but how could the biggest incident in years die down so quickly? A historic intrusion into the Assembly and crippling of a congressman!
Sure, public interest had cooled, but people wouldn’t forget something that impactful.
Yet “Untouchable”? Of the prison?
He wasn’t confused about why someone might give him that nickname. He had worked with guards to put troublemakers in their place, and in exchange got small conveniences.
But compared to the previous events, wasn’t this trivial?
As Kyungwan frowned in doubt, Reporter Kim began to explain.
“A model lifer went on furlough and then disappeared.”
The story was simple. Like military leave, model lifers were occasionally given brief furloughs as a sort of carrot for good behavior.
Kyungwan curled his lips and clicked his tongue.
“That’s like giving indefinite-service soldiers a vacation. No wonder he ran.”
If a soldier didn’t return from leave, it was desertion. If a prisoner didn’t return after furlough, it was plain escape.
The whole setup resembled the military so much it was uncanny. But the key was this: the bastard’s excuse for disappearing was that he was too scared of the prison’s Untouchable to return.
To Kyungwan, it felt like getting stabbed in the back. If the elder had personally taken time to discipline someone, the guy should’ve reflected on how to become a human being, not pull a stunt like this.
“What’s that bastard’s name?”
“Ma Jeongbo.”
Kyungwan tilted his head. Huh? Never heard of him.
“Can I see his face?”
Reporter Kim showed Ma Jeongbo’s picture.
Kyungwan tilted his head again.
“Never seen that bastard.”
Of course. Every inmate Kyungwan had dealt with so far were long-term or life-sentenced troublemakers who gave the staff headaches. A model lifer eligible for furlough would never have crossed paths with him.
Reporter Kim cautiously asked:
“So you’re saying you’re not the prison’s Untouchable?”
“Reporter Kim. This is the first I’m hearing that I’m called an Untouchable. It happens though, right? It’s common for the subject of a rumor not to know the rumor. Did the guy explain why he thinks I’m the Untouchable?”
At that, Reporter Kim glanced nervously at the guard monitoring the visit and spoke carefully.
“Well… he said that even when you committed acts of violence inside the prison, you weren’t really punished…”
“Wow~ that bastard really knows how to twist things.”
Kyungwan clicked his tongue and laid out the facts.
“I did use violence in here. But every time, I got thrown into solitary without fail.”
Whether that counted as “punishment” for him was debatable, but facts were facts. Guards were still civil servants, paperwork had to line up.
Reporter Kim nodded and pressed further.
“Why did you use violence?”
“Reporter Kim. If you commit a crime and end up in prison, shouldn’t you grab your dick and reflect?”
“Th-that’s… true?”
The sight of an inmate in prison uniform speaking like he’d done nothing wrong caused a moment of cognitive dissonance for Reporter Kim.
Kyungwan unleashed his speech.
“But these fuckers! Some of them act like they’ve got nothing left to lose. They curse at guards for fun, some even kick them or head-butt them! Why? Because they’re wronged? Hell no. They’re bored, so they pick fights. With human-rights groups watching guards like hawks, the guards can only do so much.”
Kyungwan gulped down cola and let out a long burp, followed by a satisfied “Kya!” as he cleared the frustration stuck in his chest.
“I’m living quietly, so what right do they have to harass hardworking people? They should all be sent to the Samcheong Re-education Camp and beaten straight.”
He didn’t even need beatings. Kyungwan would bet both his balls and every hair on his head that if you starved those bastards for three days every time they acted up, they’d turn into obedient puppies. They weren’t independence fighters. There was no way they had beliefs strong enough to die for.