4. Gimcheon Juvenile Prison (3)

A vicious stench of mold stabbed at the tip of my nose.

It was a pitch-black one-room apartment, sealed in on all four sides and heaped to the walls with delivery-food trash.

Arms wasted down to skin and bone. There, in that room, was a girl who had not yet seen her twentieth year.

BANG!! The door burst open as though it would tear clean off its hinges, and a hulking figure strode in.

Slabs of muscle beneath a tank top, gaudy tattoos inked across every inch of them. Bae Do-hyeon.

And at his mere entrance, the girl's body began to shudder like an aspen in the wind.

"Eun-ji. What was that word again — 'ingra—' what, now? Ah, you know the one? No, hold on. A Korean ought to speak Korean properly, shouldn't he? 'You don't take in a beast with black hair.' Where the hell did you learn to talk like that?"

"O-Oppa. I'm sorry. I didn't — I wasn't trying to—"

"Of course you weren't. Our Eun-ji would never do a thing like that on purpose."

An expression of benevolence that suited him not at all. But Eun-ji knew exactly what came trotting along behind that expression. Her face contorted with terror.

"AAAAAHHH!!!"

Bae Do-hyeon's massive hand had snatched her up by the hair. The kindly expression that had suited him so poorly was gone — in its place was the face of something that looked ready to tear her apart on the spot.

"You little bitch. Fuck. Me? Out there busting my ass, pounding the pavement, putting a roof over and food in the mouths of broke-ass kids who can't even feed themselves and got nowhere to go. And the second your belly's full, you go running to a police station? And what was that? That I'm extorting you?"

"Oppa, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry."

Through the pain of her scalp being torn away, Eun-ji spat out her pleas, servile and broken. The terror of Bae Do-hyeon, engraved all the way down into her soul, ruled her utterly.

Bae Do-hyeon did not stop. Still fisted in her hair, he slammed her body down onto the hard floor of the one-room.

THUD. With that dull impact her lip split open, and a fishy trickle of blood ran down across her mouth.

She was a child who had once fled barefoot, unable to endure another day of an alcoholic father's fists. And to that child, wandering the streets with nowhere to go, it had been Bae Do-hyeon who held out his hand — "I'll find you a room, and Oppa will be your family."

Eun-ji hadn't known. What taking that outstretched hand would ultimately lead to. That place had been hell itself. Confinement. Violence. Sexual exploitation.

Unable to endure it any longer, she had seized her one chance, escaped, and run sobbing to the police substation.

"Please, somebody save me. My runaway family oppa keeps me locked up and makes me do terrible things."

Every so often, we come across those heartwarming stories about the police on the internet. But ask yourself why such ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠a story is "heartwarming" in the first place. Because it doesn't ordinarily happen. If it were the sort of thing you saw every day, it could never be a heartwarming tale at all. A heartwarming tale is special — that is the whole of what makes it one.

And unfortunately, the officer at the substation Eun-ji had stumbled into was no hero of such a tale.

"Runaway family? What's that? You ran away from home?"

"Th-that's because at home Dad drinks, and he keeps hitting me, so..."

"I see, I see. So Dad drinks at home, and that's why you joined a runaway family. Well, either way, your parents will be contacted first. That's standard procedure. Now — who's making you do what 'terrible things' in this runaway family?"

"Bae Do-hyeon!! My oppa, Bae Do-hyeon!"

"Right, Bae Do-hyeon. Got it. But did the two of you have it out with each other, a mutual little scrap? You do know, Eun-ji? False accusation is a truly terrifying crime, hmm? Lately it's those runaway kids, at each other's throats over money, filing reports — he's a pimp, no, she's a pimp. The prosecutors upstairs are rubbing their temples raw over it."

"False accusation?"

"Means reporting someone to the cops on a lie."

"No, I'm not!! I'm really not making any of it up. Bae Do-hyeon really does hit me whenever I say I don't want to work, and even when I go out and do the jobs, he doesn't pay me properly..."

"Yeah, yeah. Got it. And now that that's settled, you sit right over there until your parents come."

The officer turned away with an air of tedium and shuffled through his paperwork. Watching that thoughtless indifference, Eun-ji's eyes trembled finely. She had come here with her life on the line. But in the eyes of adults she was nothing more than a common delinquent — or, at best, a sly little runaway who lied for money. The law of the Republic of Korea, the public order itself, had never had any intention of saving someone like her in the first place.

"...Fuck. Seriously."

Swearing under her breath, fists clenched white. Before the officer could even flinch and lift his head, she kicked back her chair and was running like a madwoman for the substation door.

"Hey! Where do you think you're going! Halt right there!"

The damned voice bellowing at her back grew distant. Without a single look behind her, Eun-ji fled into the dark night streets. Her breath had backed up into her throat, and somewhere along the way one shoe had vanished — a stone bit into her bare foot and split it open — but she could not stop.

If even the police couldn't be trusted, then she was truly alone now. Somehow, somehow, she had to hide where Bae Do-hyeon's hands could never reach. But the world was far too narrow, and far too cruel, for a sixteen-year-old runaway.

She hadn't made it three blocks out of the alley when a van with its headlights dead slid silently out of the darkness and cut across her path.

Screech.

"Now why would our Eun-ji be working so hard on her night run at this hour, hmm?"

"D-Do-hyeon oppa."

"Listen to the little bitch — 'D-Do-hyeon oppa,' she says. Enough ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠talk, my mouth's getting sore. Get in the van. You pathetic slut."

Bae Do-hyeon wrenched the sliding door open and snatched up Eun-ji's slender wrist. Before the bone-crushing grip could rip a scream from her throat, her body had already been flung roughly into the pitch-black interior of the van.

SLAM. The door shut, the van pulled away — and at that very spot, the blue lettering on the wall of the police substation at the far end of the alley—

—glowed on tonight exactly as it always had, serene, without stirring in the slightest.

"Eun-ji. What on earth was going through that head of yours? Oppa knows full well your skull is empty as a drum, but I'm asking seriously here, because I genuinely cannot understand."

"Oppa, I'm sorry. I was really, truly wrong."

"No, no — I'm not asking whether you were wrong or not. I'm asking what on earth you were thinking."

"That's... it's just..."

"Look at this. See, your Oppa here — I've got your Instagram. And everything that comes up when someone types your name into your school's Everytime — the photos, the videos, of you with your legs spread for grown men out there. I'm holding on to all of it. Every last bit."

Bae Do-hyeon flicked the fingers curled around his phone as he went on. The pallid glow of the screen lit Eun-ji's swollen, split-open face in an eerie light.

"And if you go running off like that, then Oppa's got no choice but to forward every bit of this to your little friends. Oh — that's right. Your dad. We absolutely have to send it to your father too. Now that would be quite the show. Eun-ji, you said you wanted to make your dad pay, didn't you? Far as I can tell, this right here is the finest revenge there is. Huh?"

"N-no, please... please, Oppa, I was wrong. I'll do everything you tell me, everything..."

Eun-ji crawled across the floor and clutched at Bae Do-hyeon's trouser leg, knocking her forehead against the cold cement as she begged.

"So you see, you little bitch — you should've been good from the very start. You pull a stunt like this, and what happens to my standing in front of the girls, huh? Say I forgive you right now. You know what every last one of them will think? 'Bae Do-hyeon's a gutless pushover. Run away first, and once you get caught, just grab his pant leg and whine your way through it — he'll forgive anything.'"

"N-no!! Never, I swear. If any of those bitches ever even think that, I'll fuck every one of them up myself. So, Oppa. Please!! From now on I'll be really, really good. Okay?"

Bae Do-hyeon gave Eun-ji a kindly smile that suited him not at all. Then he tapped his smartphone — tok.

"Too late."

In that instant, Park Eun-ji felt herself tumble into a pit from which there was no climbing out. A scream that made no sound raked through her entire body.

And so — when she leapt from the rooftop of that grotesque building, abandoned mid-construction for years on end, it would not have been suicide. Merely a formality: her wretched flesh belatedly ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠following after a soul that had already fallen into a place beyond escape.

And so, at the very instant Eun-ji's body shattered, the darkness fell away — and the stale odor of reality hammered hard against my nose.

It was the sensation of having lived Eun-ji's life itself, more vividly than the most visceral film ever shot. The hand of Bae Do-hyeon resting on my shoulder at this very moment felt like something too revolting to be human flesh.

"Hey, Sniper. Your hyung is talking to you — where the hell are you zoning out?"

Bae Do-hyeon's brow furrowed, and he wrenched at my shoulder.

But my Strength was 50. My body, long since past the limits of a human being, did not so much as twitch.

"Well, well — will you look at this little shit? Hey. You flexing back on me, huh? You little bastard. I said loosen up."

Bae Do-hyeon's eyes narrowed. His feelings seemed to have been hurt that my shoulder wouldn't bend as he pleased.

SMACK!! Bae Do-hyeon's palm ripped across my face.

Strength of 50. But durability of a mere 6. In an instant, the fishy taste of blood burst loose inside my mouth.

"Hey, Sniper. You gonna lower those eyes, or what?"

Crush him right now, where he stands? Perhaps it was the aftershock of that skill, Resonance of Sin. Before I knew it, strength had coiled into my fist. But then I remembered the seven pairs of eyes watching us at this very moment.

"I-I'm sorry!! I just got too tense, that's all!!"

WHAM!! Bae Do-hyeon's kick drove into my abdomen — a pain that stood every hair on end.

"Fuck, you gutless little worm. If you're scared, then at least look scared, damn it. Ahh, my mood is thoroughly fucked. You shitstain. You're dead. But I'm ordering you to stay alive until I walk out of here. What? Fuck. You think I can't manage that?"

"Hyung, take it easy. Your review hearing's coming up soon, remember?"

"That's right, hyung-nim. Don't go wasting your precious time on trash like this. Just roast him nice and slow, the way you always do. You said it yourself, didn't you, hyung-nim? Driving one person to suicide is far more cost-effective than killing them."

"That's right, hyung. You said it yourself back then. That bitch went and reported us, and we nearly got fucked — but we just made her kill herself instead, and what was it again? No right to indict? Either way, it all got wrapped up clean with that. When you want a person dead, the best method is to make it a suicide — no need to lay a finger on them yourself."

No right to indict? That phrase — babbled by ignorant bastards with no idea what it actually meant — reached me with an ache deeper than the pain blooming in my beaten gut.

"Fuck, when that bitch walked into a police station back then, I honestly thought my life was finished. But the lunatic crawled out of there of her own accord, didn't she. I saw it in some drama — if the bastard under investigation up and dies, then what, no right to indict? And that's the end of it. Mine wasn't exactly that, but either way, I bought my way out of a completely ruined life on the cheap — two years. Agh, just thinking about it boils my blood all over again. If that crazy bitch had never once gone near a police station, there'd have been no reason in the world for me to rot in the joint for two years. Fuck."

Bae Do-hyeon's sneering words drifted around Cell 7. Prone on the floor, I swallowed the blood that trickled between my lips.

Two years. Yes — a mere two years. So were those two years a just price for a sixteen-year-old girl's life? I don't know. But at the very least, the law of the Republic of Korea — the law over which blind justice keeps its unseeing watch — has decided that they were.

My thoughts are different.

And so — Bae Do-hyeon, the villain upon whom the law of South Korea bestowed its mercy as it pleased, all in the victim's stead. Now it is my turn to pass judgment on him as I please.

— End of "Gimcheon Juvenile Prison (3)" —