Salary Negotiation (2)
"Rookie. Your head spins pretty fast, right? Use that smart brain of yours and do the math. Crawling overseas to start from the bottom again, or taking a manager position here and kicking off from there—which one's better? Put down the gun? Jesus, kid. Talk some sense. What're you gonna do if you drop the gun? Go back to pro gaming? That's like a major leaguer joining a youth team."
"…"
"You've seen it yourself these past few days, blasting away nonstop. You, my boy—you've found your calling. I wore my mouth out telling you, but now you believe me, yeah?"
The little shit. Every damn day I'd tell him he was a crack shot, and he'd play humble, but turns out he was dead serious. I'd unearthed a talent the guy didn't even know he had—shouldn't he be bowing in gratitude? He said dropping the gun was his dream, but his eyes were pure killer instinct. A murderer who's tasted blood? No way he could quit now. He'd sunk deep into the mire already.
If there was any sanity left in him, he'd grab this hand without a second thought.
"Even if you leave our fold and swear off guns, you'll pick 'em up again—it's obvious. Why go through that hell? It's just a choice between slinging lead under foreigners who don't speak your language, or working with us. Think it over, rookie. The world's getting more fucked by the day. You ever seen shit like this? I hadn't heard of it until it started pouring in from Hong Kong. What drug turns human bones to steel plating? This is just the beginning. They say Hong Kong's churning out even freakier stuff, and once that spreads worldwide, it's game over in a flash. By then, we'll be raking it in. You really think you can hang up your guns then? Oriental Shipping's fucked, and now we're the only game in Korea."
"…"
"If you're so sure, shoot me and walk. If you've got the guts to never touch a gun again for the rest of your life."
Jeong Gwa-jang looked up at Cheol-woo, breathing raggedly—hhh-hhh—his gun barrel trembling. Cheol-woo could see his resolve cracking. Just a little more push and he'll flip.
Right then, Cheol-woo's gaze drifted to the blue drug packet on the floor. No, this fucking bastard? Why wasn't he breaking?
"So this stuff came from Hong Kong? Hong Kong's sealed off—how'd you get your hands on it?"
"Kid. You don't listen for shit. Yeah. Sealed... sealed-off Hong Kong... Wait. Who told you Hong Kong was quarantined?"
"…"
How the hell does this punk know Hong Kong's locked down? The Chinese had clamped down so hard on Hong Kong media, they'd cut off the internet entirely—quarantine was top-secret. Outsiders just figured it was China being China. So who spilled to the rookie?
Oh. No fucking way?
"You son of a…!"
Bang!
Jeong Gwa-jang lunged desperately for the phone, but Cheol-woo's M9 roared. The bullet slammed into his eyeball, and he slumped like a ragdoll. Cheol-woo tapped his head, checked his pulse, then finally relaxed and collapsed, strength draining from his limbs.
"Holy fuck. Monster of a guy."
What kind of freak was this? He'd looked like a corpse one second, then exploded into action the next, drawing his gun like his body was packed with explosives. His speed had broken the sound barrier in that instant. Any normal guy would've been too slow and died, but after days of threats like that, Cheol-woo's body had adapted—reacting on instinct. Like a badminton pro reflexively returning a smash. Even if his eyes couldn't track it, his trained reflexes kicked in automatically. That's how Cheol-woo chalked it up.
"Why are there so many people hiding shit from me?"
Cheol-woo scooped up the blue drug packet. Hong Kong specialty, huh? And the place was overflowing with insane crap like this? Han Sa-jang wanted to tag along to that Hong Kong?
His head throbbed. Looked like he needed a deeper chat with Han Sa-jang.
"…?"
Then—thud thud thud thud—pounding from the cabinet. Cheol-woo froze. What the hell?
***
Tick tick tick—Han Si-rin's nail, gnawing anxiously, finally snapped with a crack. Ah, fuck—no time for a redo now, and the urge to curse surged.
Every exit from DongYang Department Store was blocked. They'd sealed every door, and even the secret passages—somehow known—were guarded by black-suited goons.
Han Sa-jang sighed, giving her reflection one last primp in the mirror before stepping out with a smile. "Oh my. Isn't that GeumMyeong Security's Yu Sil-jang? If I'd known you were coming, I'd have prepared. This is so sudden—I'm flustered."
"Act normal, like always. Why?"
Yu Sil-jang sneered, scanning the empty first floor. This bitch is totally insane. Storming in with live ammo in plain sight, and what? Act normal? If she hadn't triggered the fire alarm and cleared the customers early, complaints would've flooded in.
'Shit. Should've listened to Min Cheol-woo and sent the customers out when he said.' Who knew it'd be foresight like that? Ridiculous—tears pricked her eyes again.
"I'm here to help with your little predicament, Han Sa-jang."
"No predicament here…?"
"Why not? Of course there is. You know your sister Han Si-yeon killed some of our guys and bolted?"
"Oh, no. Was there something like that?"
"Yeees. There was. What if Han Si-yeon is, say… hiding around here? That'd put you in a real spot, right?"
Shrrk—Yu Sil-jang yanked open a clothing store changing room curtain, grinning wolfishly. Whoa, can a mouth rip that wide? It looked like a full smile, but it sent chills down her spine.
"We search top to bottom every closing time. No chance."
'I'll handle my own shit.' At that, Yu Sil-jang's eyes twisted. Then, abruptly, her voice turned lisping and irritated.
"Ah, my legs hurt. We gonna keep standing?"
"Nothing left to say."
"I wanna chat more with Han Sa-jang. Mind showing me up? Or should I find the stairs myself?"
"…Follow me."
Han Sa-jang led her stiffly. In the elevator, instead of buttons, she swiped a card. It hummed to life without a peep. As they ascended, Yu Sil-jang's gaze flicked around, then locked on the wall—a long, straight gash, like a blade tip had scraped it.
Someone else around here uses swords besides me?
'Heard they had a shootout in the department store. Guess it's legit.'
Stepping out, Yu Sil-jang inhaled deeply—sniiiiif. Mmm—rich gunpowder scent. They'd tried ventilating, but it couldn't fool her nose. SNS posts about the building rumbling now and then? Probably bomb blasts.
Internal squabble? Like Han Si-yeon barging in demanding hideout, clashing with Han Si-rin trying to boot her? Plausible plot.
"If it's a long talk, pull back your men? This is hurting business."
"My men? What're you on about?"
"Ha. Checking every customer's face out front, that intimidating vibe—your people, right? Guess calling the cops is fine then?"
"Yeah. Call 'em."
Yu Sil-jang crossed her legs, smirking. Call if you dare. Han Sa-jang flinched, trembling. Her tapping fingers on her phone slowed.
Silence hung. Yu Sil-jang chuckled mockingly, punched 112 on her own phone, and shoved it across the table.
"Call. You're saying it's bad for business."
"Uh…"
"Call 'em. While you're at it, get the bomb squad too. First floor reeks of C4 dough, and up here it's thick with C2 residue. Someone tried to blow the whole place sky-high. Better hunt the leftovers quick, Sa-jang."
Yu Sil-jang seized Han Sa-jang's hand, dragging it to the phone. Such slender fingers, but iron grip. She resisted, but her trembling arm gave in, thumb hitting connect.
Riiiing—click. Answered before one ring.
[Yes. Yu Sil-jang? What's up?]
"Uh, yeah. I'm at DongYang Department Store right now—"
"What. Do. You. Want? Say it plain. In Korean."
Before Yu Sil-jang finished, Han Sa-jang clutched her arm desperately. Hee-hiik—Yu Sil-jang's lip twisted grotesquely again.
"Nah. Nothing big. Keep up the good work, you people's clubs."
After hanging up, Han Sa-jang exhaled—whoosh—a breath she'd held without knowing. Cops? Real ones? That voice sounded like GeumMyeong goons would swarm instead. They hadn't even cleaned the bodies, and grenade scraps in the emergency stairs plus bullet marks on walls? Done for.
She knew it all, was offering a pass—and Han Sa-jang wanted to jump into the fire anyway? Pathetic.
"Han Sa-jang. Your sister's here, right?"
"Why would you think that? I told you no."
"Chinese proverb? Ignore a problem, it stays ignored. Hand over Oriental Shipping's Han Si-yeon, and we skip this mess. Lots in GeumMyeong Group admire DongYang. Self-made icon—who wouldn't? But if trouble brews, might not look so pretty."
Yu Sil-jang's gaze skewed oddly—not at Han Sa-jang, but beyond. Toward the office wall emblazoned with the DongYang logo.
"Weird layout. Building this size should have space back there. Storage? Perfect spot to hide something."
"No idea. Ask the contractors."
"Sigh. Decide, Han Sa-jang. Do we blast the wall with explosives and haul bloody corpses, or you open it yourself?"
"…"
Han Sa-jang's mouth went bone-dry. Yu Sil-jang's glaring eyes burned like lasers up close. Thump-thump—heart hammering, her shaking hand crept under the table toward the switch. One flick to open the wall. Sacrifice one enemy blob, save the store—rational choice.
"Manager."
"Busy. Later."
"Urgent. Just a—"
A suit burst in; Yu Sil-jang's face crumpled. One goddamn step away—why interrupt?Hope it's big, or you're dead. She snapped her ear to his whisper, grinding her teeth—crunch—eyes squeezing shut. Fuck—shitty— Rage boiled, then she exhaled sharply. Han Sa-jang had seen her mildly pissed plenty, but this heaving fury? New.
"Your doing, Han Sa-jang?"
"Wh-what?"
"Sigh. Tch. No. Got urgent business—catch you later."
"Fuck, start the cars!" she barked at her men, vanishing into the elevator.
After Yu Sil-jang left and the CCTV suits piled into cars and scrammed, Han Sa-jang collapsed onto the sofa, tension shattering.
Rumble—the office wall rotated open. She yelled inside.
"Min Cheol-woo? That you? What'd he do?"
"What else? Had to be him."
"Aah. My heart can't take it… Sis, get out quick. I'll hook you up with a safehouse—just go, please. I aged ten years today."
All she wanted was to run the store in peace. Why were her sister, Min Cheol-woo, and Yu Sil-jang all gunning for her? Tears streamed down her cheeks.