Those Who Remain
Bzzt—!
The message from Kwak Young-ho popped up on the phone screen, where the navigation app was still running. Kang Hyeong-seok roused Yoon-sang from his doze in the passenger seat and handed the phone over.
"Hm?"
Yoon-sang asked in a voice still thick with sleep, and Kang Hyeong-seok cut straight to the point — sorry to wake you, but.
"This is my department head. Let him know I'll be in this afternoon."
"Oh— yes, sir."
Rubbing his eyes, Yoon-sang composed the message just as he'd been told, politely, then read it back aloud.
"Yes, Department Head. I will be in this afternoon. Should I send it like this?"
"Yeah. Now give me back my phone."
"Wait, hold on — Hyung-nim, you're actually going in to work?"
He knew exactly what Yoon-sang was really asking.
But he was an office worker, plain and simple.
Tired was tired — it didn't make the work disappear.
"I have to. There's a business trip report to write, and today's a busy one."
"Wow... I honestly respect you, Hyung-nim."
Sensing the mood, Yoon-sang turned back to the navigation screen and returned the phone to its dashboard mount. Then he let his gaze drift out the car window.
It truly was early morning. The sunlight was lovely, and the sky — streaked with just the right scattering of clouds — looked strikingly handsome.
Rattle, clatter.
If not for the sound of the shovel and pickaxe shifting in the trunk, everything from last night might as well have been a dream.
"Wow, seriously. I don't think I'll ever forget yesterday."
"Why? Gonna talk about it on your stream?"
"Aish! You know how I feel about that."
Kang Hyeong-seok laughed first through his nose, then let the corners of his mouth curl upward after it.
And then it came.
"So then, Hyung-nim... is this whole thing really over, just like that?"
"Hm?"
"Something about it just doesn't sit right."
Yoon-sang furrowed his brow and rolled his tongue around his mouth as though he'd gotten sand in it.
Hara Seiko may have been sent on to heaven, but the Rokurokubi remained — and there was little hope of holding Kim Ki-ok legally accountable.
The bloodstained hammerhead?
Evidence, certainly. And a migraine in every other respect.
From explaining how on earth they'd found something buried in a grave, to the tangled question of the statute of limitations — the problems stood hand in hand, barring every path forward.
"We've done all we can do."
"...I'm sorry?"
The moment Yoon-sang looked over at him with a what's that supposed to mean face, Kang Hyeong-seok — driving with a serene expression, eyes fixed dead ahead — went on.
"The rest belongs to the realm of karma."
"You think Kim Ki-ok will face divine punishment, Hyung-nim?"
"It'll take him along. The Rokurokubi."
Kang Hyeong-seok knew little about Japanese yokai.
But this much he knew: it was no benign existence.
Now that such a thing had been loosed from its bindings, would it simply leave alone the man who had bound it?
It would take him.
Down to hell — to the place befitting Kim Ki-ok.
"What must go will go, and what must remain will remain. Now it falls to those who remain to set things right."
"Ah... um... that's a hard one."
"You must be tired. Sleep a little more. I'll drop you at the station."
"No! No, thank you. I don't know when I'll get to see you again, Hyung-nim."
Kang Hyeong-seok gave a faint snort of a laugh and nodded.
"Suit yourself."
"Hehe, thank you, Hyung-nim!"
Yoon-sang chattered away earnestly from the passenger seat, and thanks to him, the drive to the office was hardly dull at all. Thankfully so, in fact.
Rustle.
Shin Yo-sep took the documents Secretary Cho handed over and cocked one eyebrow.
It was early morning, and the setting was his executive office.
"Are you certain?"
"Yes, sir. Verified information."
Shin Yo-sep let out a long sigh, his cheeks puffing out with it.
The document Secretary Cho had passed him briefly summarized, in print, both the intelligence quietly gathered over the past while and the urgent report that had come in that very morning.
The death of Kim Ki-ok.
He had died at home — in his bedroom, no less.
"Cause of death?"
"Heart failure brought on by old age, apparently."
"Apparently?"
Secretary Cho bowed his head with the utmost formality.
"Yes, sir. The information came through quickly. There are no traces of foul play, no signs of intrusion, and given his advanced age, it seems the matter will be closed as it stands."
"An autopsy... well."
There wouldn't be one.
Shin Yo-sep set the document down and stared at it in silence for a while.
His thoughts began to multiply.
"Shall I bring you a cup of coffee?"
At the word coffee, Shin Yo-sep caught himself, without meaning to, thinking of Kang Hyeong-seok — and a short bark of laughter escaped him. He nodded, and Secretary Cho promptly returned with a cup and set it before him.
The deep, heavy aroma of the coffee was oddly refreshing. Shin Yo-sep took one sip, then drew a long breath in through his nose.
"Dispose of this document. And see to it that everyone who knows stays discreet."
"Understood."
"Also — help Na Seong-hwa with any financial support he might need, and if you can, look into finding him a job as well."
"I was already looking into that, sir."
Shin Yo-sep turned to Secretary Cho — not in surprise.
The man was simply too quick and too decisive in his work for that.
"Something on your mind? You have that look about you."
"The gentleman from Daejeong Mulsan — is he quite all right?"
"Ah."
Shin Yo-sep glanced down at his coffee, then set it on the desk. Then he turned over in his mind the text that had come from Kang Hyeong-seok around dawn.
The origin of the Rokurokubi, and Hara Seiko's liberation.
The exhumed grave, and the doll.
Everything Kim Ki-ok had done.
It had contained a great deal — including a warning that something might well befall Kim Ki-ok.
"If you're worried for his safety, there's no need to be."
"Understood, sir."
"He did well by us this time."
Perhaps it was because the thing that had weighed on him had vanished into the distance along with Kim Ki-ok's death.
His heart felt light.
Even with Secretary Cho standing right beside him, he stretched his arms overhead in a full-body yawn and leaned deep into his chair.
"That matter I mentioned before — push it forward."
"Expanding the range of goods traded with Daejeong Mulsan. Is that correct?"
"Yes."
"Shall we proceed with the items Director Park proposed earlier, as you said?"
Director Park was the man who had dropped a heavy burden onto Shin Yo-sep's heart.
The man who had introduced him to Kim Ki-ok.
Had it not been for Kang Hyeong-seok, Shin Yo-sep would have signed a direct contract with Kim Ki-ok — and one day it would have brought great harm to Shinjin Construction, and to himself as well.
A believer in Japanese sorcery, that man.
If so much as a rumor had spread that they were connected, it would have clung to them like a label branded with something hideous — the kind of tag that never peels off.
"Yes. Proceed as you said."
"There may be words from Director Park's side."
"Well, that part is mine to handle..."
Flip.
Shin Yo-sep turned over the documents Secretary Cho had passed him.
The thick bundle of pages held evidence that Director Park had been bound to Kim Ki-ok by ties of connection and capital reaching far back into the past.
Now that Kim Ki-ok was confirmed to be no clean man, that information had become a powerful blade — a weapon to press against Director Park's throat.
"Send word to the chairman requesting a meeting before noon."
"Understood."
Secretary Cho bowed his head deeply, then turned and walked out of the office.
The door clicked shut.
Left alone, Shin Yo-sep sipped his coffee and knit his brow.
Not easy.
Living as an executive director of Shinjin Construction — that wasn't easy, either.
Rubbing at his neck, he drank his coffee slowly as he read back down through the documents Secretary Cho had left behind.
He intended to give Director Park — who had dared bare his teeth to snap at the throat that fed him — a send-off he couldn't complain about.
The Chairman's Office, Shinjin Construction.
Bright sunlight streamed through the wide, sweeping glass walls, yet the air inside was crisp and pleasant — partly because it was still early in the day, and partly because the temperature had been set with more care than usual.
"I was quite surprised that you asked to see me."
Shin Ui-ju, chairman of Shinjin Construction, greeted his son with a calm face that belied his words.
Shin Yo-sep dipped his head and folded his hands respectfully, and Shin Ui-ju rose from his chair to stand before him.
"You have something to say?"
"Yes, Chairman."
"When it's just the two of us, call me Father."
"You disliked it, as I recall."
Shin Ui-ju, a man whose features were cut in bold, heavy lines, laughed heartily — though the wrinkles had settled deeper than Yo-sep remembered.
"That was back then."
Shin Yo-sep nodded as though he understood, and Shin Ui-ju turned his gaze toward the sweeping view beyond the glass wall.
"One of these days you'll slip away again in search of another Father, won't you? Before that happens, I'd best get to hear the word a few more times."
This was the son who had walked out of the house, declaring he would live by the will of God the Father. And he had come home carrying his wounds. There was no reason for Shin Ui-ju, a father, to turn that son away.
"You stubborn rascal. I thought handing you an executive directorship would change your mind, but your eyes haven't changed one bit from the day you came back."
"I'm sorry."
"I'm sure you are."
Shin Ui-ju fixed his son with a look in which regret and understanding were mixed together.
"So — what is it?"
"There was a place Director Park brought to our attention recently."
"Director Park?"
Shin Yo-sep nodded gravely and cast a brief glance at the monitor on the desk.
"I've forwarded it to you via intranet mail. He saw fit to introduce me to a rather strange place."
Shin Ui-ju's brow drew together, and Shin Yo-sep went on in a level voice, as if recounting someone else's story.
"It was a place that could have poisoned the company."
"...Director Park has worked with me a long time. Are you certain?"
"I do not commit the sin of lying."
At that remark — so befitting a man of the cloth — Shin Ui-ju's brow bent deeper still, and Shin Yo-sep touched his lips with the face of a man who had fumbled.
"It seems Director Park has simply misread things. That you intend to pass the company down to me."
"He might not be wrong."
It didn't feel as though the man entirely lacked such an intention. There was a feeling one might call lingering attachment, and Shin Yo-sep dropped his gaze, deliberately refusing to acknowledge it.
"You are someone precious to me, Father."
A bittersweet smile spread across Shin Ui-ju's lips.
Even without looking, Shin Yo-sep knew the smile was there, and with a similar feeling he lifted the corners of his own mouth.
"And this company is as precious to me as you are."
...
"It seems he was prepared to do that company harm. All for my sake."
With a heavy, conflicted sigh, Shin Ui-ju clasped his hands behind his back and turned his gaze to the scenery beyond the glass wall.
"What would you have me do?"
"As for what concerns Daejeong Mulsan, you'll have received it through Secretary Cho."
"I'm asking about Director Park."
"That, Chairman, is a decision that must be yours."
Shin Ui-ju nodded heavily, as if to say he understood.
Shin Yo-sep had told him that both he and the company were precious. To Shin Ui-ju, too, Shin Yo-sep was precious. However much he was a son who would one day vanish like a mirage, however much he called another man Father and prayed to Him — Shin Yo-sep was, without question, a precious son.
However long Director Park had served, where beside a son could he ever stand?
"There's a shareholders' meeting coming up. Show your face there."
"Yes."
"I'll be putting one item on the agenda."
When it came to a shareholders' meeting agenda concerning directorships, the possibilities were obvious. The appointment of a director, a dismissal — or the naming of a new CEO. Which of those Shin Ui-ju meant to raise was clear without even looking.
"If you happen to cross paths with Director Park, don't let anything show. Even a man on his way out has to work to the very end."
"Yes."
The words felt as though they were meant for him as well, and Shin Yo-sep nodded heavily.
"Anything else?"
Shin Yo-sep met Shin Ui-ju's gaze.
The eyes say more than the mouth ever could. Understanding what his father wanted, he offered a faint smile.
"Shall we have a meal together, for the first time in a while?"
After saying it so loudly with his eyes.
As if it were such a wonder, Shin Ui-ju blinked his eyes a little wide — then settled into a warm, easy smile.
"Good. Anything in particular you'd like to eat?"
"Anything is fine with me."
"All right. And — thank you, Yo-sep."
Shin Ui-ju placed a hand on his son's shoulder.
Then he gripped it tight.
It was the touch of a father who knew his son would one day leave the company behind — and wanted, before that day came, to hold on just one more time.