Side Job
“Then who's going to—”
“I'll do it.”
It was the man who had been offering pointers to the sparring pairs for the past several minutes.
“I'm Choi Tae-yang. You do know how to spar with knives, right?”
“Yoon Jay.”
Yoon Jay caught the knife Choi Tae-yang tossed into the air with an easy flick of his wrist and gave it a light swing. So they use rubber knives here.
“How long has it been since you were discharged?”
“About five years.”
“Then I'd figure your skills would be pretty rusty by now.”
Was that a provocation? Yoon Jay studied Choi Tae-yang's expression. He was grinning ear to ear, but it didn't feel unpleasant—more like a man who simply hadn't had a decent sparring partner in a while and was bored out of his mind.
The moment Yoon Jay settled into his stance, the atmosphere around them shifted.
“Oh, that's a solid stance.”
“Shall we begin?”
Smiling back at him, Yoon Jay swung the knife. Choi Tae-yang, caught off guard for just a heartbeat, retreated a step to dodge the attack and reset his own posture before launching a counterstrike.
As the fierce exchange dragged on without an easy resolution, the staff of Wings Company began gathering around them.
“Boss, who's that?”
“New hire. Interview.”
“Ooooh.”
Yoon Jay refused to let Choi Tae-yang's offense land—controlling the distance, striking at his wrist again and again. It had been quite a while since his discharge, but his combat instincts hadn't rusted one bit. If anything, they'd been honed even sharper.
He possessed a gift for near-perfect imitation after a single observation. And an experience once absorbed into his body never faded.
“Ugh...”
Jung Seung-woo, watching the bout, shuddered from head to toe. Back when he'd been serving, Yoon Jay had come as an instructor.
Between sessions the man would joke that the Korean military was too rigid, treating everyone with easy warmth—but once training began, he showed no mercy whatsoever.
Seung-woo was fully healed now, yet just watching made the old spots where Yoon Jay had pounded him ache with a phantom soreness.
Shiiik!
'Holy—!'
He barely dodged it, but the speed of that swing was no joke. Gritting his teeth, Choi Tae-yang launched his counterattack. But Yoon Jay slipped it lightly, reversed his grip on the knife in a flash, and swept it up toward his jaw.
“Huh?”
Park Chul-woo's eyes went wide. What set his company, Wings Company, apart from other security firms was its proprietary hand-to-hand system—a blend of martial arts developed by the gathering of special forces veterans under his roof.
Did Seung-woo teach him?
No way. He'd only just arrived from America, and even a crash course couldn't produce movements that polished.
Don't tell me... he just picked that up from watching for a moment?
Once Yoon Jay led the exchange, Choi Tae-yang found himself fighting against Wings Company's own system being turned back on him.
I only caught a glimpse earlier, but that's an interesting movement. Did they develop it here themselves? A smile crept onto Yoon Jay's lips.
“Wow...”
“What the— who taught him that?”
Watching the exchange refuse to end despite the overwhelming gap in skill, the onlookers reached their conclusion.
That new hire is deliberately dragging this out. And absorbing his opponent's movements as he went.
“He's toying with him. Completely.”
“Hey. Tae-yang. Just give it up.”
The Wings Company bodyguards snickered, but Choi Tae-yang refused to concede. The infuriating pattern of Yoon Jay repeatedly showing an opening only to seal it with ironclad defense had lit a fire of stubbornness in him.
But the chance for a counterstrike never came. Because Yoon Jay twisted his wrist, slipped inside his guard in one motion, and drove the blade into his stomach again and again.
“Ugh... I lose.”
It was a rubber knife, but a hard one—there'd be bruises by tomorrow. If this had been real, he'd already be on the floor with his guts spilled out.
Yoon Jay reached out a hand to the slumped Choi Tae-yang and helped him up.
“Damn, you're good. Absolutely vicious...”
“You were pretty good yourself, Mr. Choi.”
Choi Tae-yang laughed like a man with all the air let out of him. He knew it was empty flattery. The moment the bout ended, Jung Seung-woo clapped his hands together and made a huge fuss.
“HOO! That's our hyung-nim for you!”
“What's wrong with Seung-woo?”
“He's the one who introduced him.”
“Oh?”
People crowded around Yoon Jay, introducing themselves one by one and offering polite greetings for the future. They'd just witnessed that level of skill—no way he'd actually be rejected, right?
“So, Mr. Jay—where are you from, exactly?”
“You have no idea. He was a frickin' DE—!”
Yoon Jay raised his index finger to his lips. Jung Seung-woo froze and clamped his mouth shut.
“De... what?”
“A truly GREAT somebody!”
“Seung-woo, why are you the one answering?”
And what do you mean, 'a truly great somebody'? Yoon Jay answered quickly.
“I was in the Navy SEALs.”
“Oh. You're a gyopo, then?”
“Wait, a SEAL? So I could've won!”
“You actually thought you'd win? You weren't even close?”
The mood had already turned to hired—start tomorrow. But the final decision-maker hadn't spoken yet. Yoon Jay stole a glance at the CEO.
“So we've got an overseas-trained man joining us.”
So the interview's a pass. Yoon Jay put his coat back on. While the vice president led him off on an office tour, Park Chul-woo stared hard at Yoon Jay's back.
What business would Seung-woo have with a gyopo?
Not only that—he'd supposedly never once beaten the man... Seung-woo was 707th Special Mission Group. He'd heard the man had done joint training with foreign special forces units during his service.
“He was a frickin' DE—!”
“Hmmm...”
No way, right? Park Chul-woo fixed Yoon Jay with a stare. When their eyes met, Yoon Jay beamed at him—a perfectly harmless smile, and yet somehow the man got the sinking premonition that digging any deeper would only end badly for him.
Either way, a useful new hire was always welcome.
'A talent like that is wasted on mere celebrity bodyguard work, though...'
Well, what do you know. Everything landing on his desk these days was from that world.
After all the paperwork was sorted out, Yoon Jay officially became a bodyguard with Wings Company.
Wings Company had originally handled corporate executives arriving from overseas and Middle Eastern royalty, but with no such contracts on the books, they were for the time being assigning their staff to security detail at music industry events.
Yoon Jay adapted to the work almost immediately. He'd done similar jobs before, and unlike in the States, the odds of a firearms incident in Korea were virtually nil.
“Orders from the boss. Jay hyung-nim is only taking female celebrities from now on.”
“Why just Yoon Jay? What about me?”
“Tae-yang hyung gets the male celebrities.”
“Why?”
“Who knows?”
Jung Seung-woo chuckled as he looked at Yoon Jay. A few fansites and photographers waiting along the red carpet were already snapping shots of him.
“Hey, Seung-woo. Have Jay handle only female celebrities from now on.”
“May I ask why?”
“Their agencies have been filing complaints.”
Park Chul-woo had laughed helplessly even as he said it, dumbfounded by the whole situation.
From the very first event, Yoon Jay had drawn attention instantly—thanks to the kind of presence and looks that yanked every eye in a crowd toward him.
And so the male celebrities' agencies had started making noise. Park Chul-woo said this was a first in all his years and kept laughing about it.
It was good that Yoon Jay had put Wings Company's name on the map—but having a rank-and-file bodyguard siphon that much attention was bad for business.
Yoon Jay himself had said he didn't plan on doing it long, but Jung Seung-woo wanted to work alongside him for as long as he could.
“Hyung-nim, you heard, right?”
“Mm.”
Yoon Jay gave a small nod. His attention was on the crowd gathered near the red carpet—specifically on the long row of barriers set up to hold back the press of people.
'Barriers like that are dangerous.'
No weighted bases, and they didn't look nearly sturdy enough.
It reminded him of his days as a firefighter. He remembered responding to an accident where a leg had gotten wedged under a barrier just like that, cutting it apart with a saw to free the victim.
While Yoon Jay swept his gaze over the surroundings, Choi Tae-yang and Jung Seung-woo muttered to each other.
“Cameras going off like that right in his face and it doesn't faze him at all, huh.”
“He's a different species from us, that's why.”
“What? I'm decent-looking too.”
“You're just 'decent-looking,' hyung. There's a difference.”
Excuse me?! Ignoring Choi Tae-yang's indignation, Jung Seung-woo marveled inwardly. So this is the life of someone people actually want to look at...
In truth, it wasn't composure—it was simply that Yoon Jay's mind was elsewhere. But Seung-woo had no way of knowing that.
Inside her van, waiting for her turn to enter the red carpet, Yoon Do-hwa switched off her phone screen with an irritated snap at her twin's gloating.
'I want a break too.'
Blowing up right out of the gate after debut had been a blessing. But she'd been running herself ragged ever since—so busy she could barely visit her father in the hospital during his long illness.
She'd returned to work almost immediately after the funeral. Her agency had told her to rest, but she'd been the one to insist. She'd figured that if she buried herself in the job, the stray thoughts couldn't catch up with her.
“Do-hwa-unnie.”
“Hm?”
“Isn't that man your oppa?”
She remembered him from the funeral—he was so strikingly handsome that her eyes had kept drifting to him. At her member's words, Yoon Do-hwa pressed her face against the van window. Among the security staff on-site was a very familiar face.
“Wha—? It really is him!”
Just then, the van carrying Yoon Do-hwa's group pulled to a stop at the mouth of the red carpet. And Yoon Jay opened the door.
“Oppa?”
Her brothers were celebrities too; he'd known they'd cross paths eventually. Yoon Jay extended his hand without a flicker of surprise—then stopped himself.
Yoon Do-hwa was wearing a very short skirt, and the camera lenses lining the red carpet had been drifting, tellingly, toward the lower half of her frame.
Tsk. Clicking his tongue, Yoon Jay shrugged off his jacket and draped it low over her lower body.
“You can step down now.”
“So this was the side gig?”
“Watch your step, it's slippery.”
The cool, professional manner made her feel oddly estranged. Well—this was a place with a thousand eyes watching; of course it had to be this way. Sulking a little, Yoon Do-hwa took the hand he offered and carefully set her foot down.
'She looks worn thin...'
Keeping the cameras behind his back, Yoon Jay leaned in and murmured to her.
“You look great today.”
Yoon Do-jun kept in touch often despite being overseas on tour, and Yoon Do-hwa had been quietly worried about him for days now.
There were too many eyes for anything conspicuous, so instead he tapped the back of her hand lightly with his thumb—a small wordless encouragement.
The color rushed back into her cheeks at once, and Yoon Do-hwa walked on ahead, glowing.
Maybe she's doing a little better. I hope she's okay. After escorting the other members the same way, Yoon Jay stood by for the next group.
“You little punk... what do you think you're doing?”
“Doing what?”
Choi Tae-yang sidled up with a furrowed brow and whispered. He'd been close enough to catch Yoon Jay tapping the back of her hand.
“That's Yoon Do-hwa of Flava. I was right there, I saw everything. You her boy toy or something?”
“She's my sister.”
“Whoa. Seriously?”
Good thing I didn't say much. Choi Tae-yang's mouth clamped shut. Yoon Jay gazed at Yoon Do-hwa and her members as they basked in even brighter spotlights than the group before them.
“She's famous, huh? Famous enough that even I've heard the name?”
“Very. The whole industry was losing its mind over her the moment she debuted.”
“Is that right?”
“Ugh, and here I thought you were a total dirtbag.”
Choi Tae-yang heaved a relieved sigh, and Yoon Jay let out a soft laugh.
He watched his sister posing for the cameras with a heart gesture, far off at the photo line. For me it's fine—I barely have any memories of our father to begin with. But the twins, who went straight back to work after his funeral... I worry about them.
“...!”
A commotion broke out midway through the string of celebrity escorts.
“Kyaaah!”
“Waaah!”
Something did feel off. Yoon Jay sprinted forward and caught the barrier just as it was about to topple over onto the crowd.
Jung Seung-woo, reacting a beat later, rushed in to help. It could easily have spiraled into a mass casualty event—but thankfully, their response had been faster.
“Man, that was way too close, hyung-nim.”
“No kidding.”
Can't let my guard down just because it's 'simple event security.' Yoon Jay exhaled a long breath. Returning to his post, he noticed the cameras swiveling toward him.
And suddenly, the days when he had been 'Yoon Jae-hee' flashed before his eyes.
“No! I hate it! I'm scared!”
“Please... stay away from me...”
After winning Best Actor for The Child, he had developed a phobia of every camera pointed his way—DSLRs included, the kind photographers called telephoto cannons. It was those reporters who had hounded him relentlessly, day after day.
“Son. You can't keep hiding from something just because it frightens you.”
“One day, in this life, you will have to face it.”
His father, Henry Jenkins, had refused to give up, doing everything he could to treat Yoon Jay's phobia.
'Thanks to him, cameras like these stopped scaring me.'
Maybe I should give Dad a call—it's been a while. Yoon Jay waited for his shift to end.