Fragments of Memory
Park Jocheol’s first assignment after joining the organization was to collect an overdue debt from a middle-aged man. “How much?” “A hundred million.” “Why would you lend that much to someone with bad credit?”
Park Jocheol was still a minor. Though he had spent most of his high school years buried in exam prep, even he knew how enormous a hundred million won was. He also knew the man in the photo he carried had no way of repaying it. The task felt absurd.
“Don’t ask questions. Just bring the money when I tell you to. That’s all.”
According to the records, the loan had been taken out roughly three years earlier. The original amount was thirty million. Realizing that, Park Jocheol immediately understood the kind of blood-sucking business he had stepped into.
“Never thought I’d feel that way again…”
He stood before a rundown villa’s basement unit. The same kind of job he had done back then had found him again on the Tower’s fourth floor. Pushing aside the bitter taste, he knocked.
Knock, knock, knock.
Silence answered from beyond the door. The artificial stillness only emphasized that someone was deliberately ignoring him. Park Jocheol glanced around the entrance. “The meter’s running…” Electricity meant someone lived here. Even if they weren’t running a fan in the summer heat, they probably had a small fridge. This wasn’t an abandoned place.
He stepped back and checked the basement window. Through the opaque glass taped over with blue tape, a dark shape seemed to flicker past.
“They’re definitely not opening.”
…Creak.
Just then, a rusty iron door somewhere in the building opened. It could have been the first floor or higher, but given the shadow he had seen, it was possible the basement’s occupant had come out.
Thud, thud.
Park Jocheol sprinted toward the villa entrance. The door was still quiet, yet unlike before, the once-locked iron gate now stood slightly ajar.
“Am I allowed to go in?”
Entering someone’s home without permission or a legitimate reason constituted trespassing. A creditor visiting a debtor’s residence was no exception. But—
Crash!
“Kyaa!”
Something shattered inside, followed by a young girl’s scream. Park Jocheol knocked again, louder this time, using the noise as an excuse to check on a possible accident.
Knock! Knock! Knock!
He couldn’t tell what was happening, but unease settled in his chest. Footsteps approached the door—heavy, adult male steps. His sharpened senses from climbing the Tower made that clear.
“Anyone home? I live upstairs. Thought I heard something.”
He lied to lower the man’s guard. Whether the earlier scream had been domestic violence or a robbery, his appearance should have bought the girl a moment of safety. If he could lure the man outside using that brief opening and the adult’s carelessness, the crisis might pass.
“If he just opens the door, I’ll grab his arm and…”
Subdue him, then call the police. As he tensed to execute the plan, the next sound emptied his mind.
Click.
The door locked again.
Instead of checking on the supposed upstairs neighbor, the man turned and walked back inside.
“Kyaa! Help me!”
The scream came again—this time not just a cry, but a desperate plea for rescue that struck Park Jocheol like a blow.
He remembered the past.
Back in his timid school days, when all he knew was playing with friends, studying, and gaming, the first real glimpse of someone else’s suffering had been colder and crueler than he could have imagined. Yet he hadn’t reported it to the police. He had been working outside the law himself, and if the debtor was arrested, there would be no money for his mother’s hospital bills. Fear had won.
He never learned what happened to the owner of that frail voice afterward. He had fled because he couldn’t bear to stay and listen to more pleas.
“This fucking…”
Old memories tightened around his heart—guilt toward the child inside, shame at his own powerlessness, and the sickening regret of having run away in fear.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
Park Jocheol pounded the door hard enough to shake the building.
“Hey, debtor! You’re home? Open up!”
He could have called the police. Unlike before, he now had the means to cover his mother’s bills even if the man was arrested. But what mattered was his own feelings. The Tower had given him a chance to settle old regrets. He wanted to uproot the problem completely with his own hands.
“Hup!”
BOOM!
He slammed his fist into the door. Blood welled from his knuckles, but he didn’t care. Several residents peeked down the stairs at the thunderous noise. Then a gravelly, drunken voice came from inside.
“Fuck off and come back tomorrow.”
“Oh? What if you run away by tomorrow?”
“I’m not running. Come tomorrow, you bastard!”
The voice grew more aggressive. At least it stayed focused on Park Jocheol, which meant the child inside was no longer under immediate threat.
“If you borrow money you can’t repay, you should work your ass off like you’re already dead. What’s the point of drinking and lazing around at home?”
Park Jocheol kept provoking him. Alcohol dulled judgment and inflamed emotions—sometimes turning people violent. It was useful.
Click!
The locked door suddenly opened. A red-faced man appeared in the gap, blood trickling down his forehead. Park Jocheol didn’t hesitate. He reached out.
“You little—! What the hell do you know—! Urgh!”
The man’s collar was seized in an instant. His vision lurched, then an enormous impact slammed into his back, sobering him violently.
CRASH!
Park Jocheol hurled him into the opposite wall with a move resembling a suplex. The man crumpled, vomiting onto the floor.
“Urgh! Bleeegh!”
Park Jocheol looked around the room, anger still burning. He had stayed relatively calm until hearing the child’s voice, but the sight of the glass bottle in the man’s hand had sent a flood of ugly possibilities through his mind. When he turned his head, however, his eyes met the child’s—and froze.
The girl sitting on the floor, trembling, was someone he knew. Or rather, someone he would know in the future.
Han Gamin.
Park Jocheol and Han Gamin stared at each other in silence—the former at the elementary-school-aged girl cowering on the floor, the latter at the stranger who had just slammed her father into a wall.
After a moment, Han Gamin slowly stood, clasped her hands politely, and bowed in thanks.
“…Unbelievable.”
The composure and boldness were impossible to imagine from an elementary student. Even after watching her own father get thrown into a wall by a stranger, she showed neither worry nor panic. That, more than anything, left Park Jocheol stunned.
“Urgh…! You crazy bastard…!”
The man staggered to his feet, still clutching the broken bottle despite the suplex. He began spewing curses at Park Jocheol, eyes half-crazed with rage, limbs shaking. But—
“Still, I can’t just beat him up, can I?”
Park Jocheol had been insulted, yet he lacked justification to subdue the man. The bottle was a threat, but he hadn’t been attacked yet. Excessive retaliation could backfire under the law.
Then the man raised the bottle at an angle, and Park Jocheol’s eyes narrowed.
“That’s far enough. You’ve come out, so put that down and let’s talk.”
Internally, he rejoiced. A life-threatening situation. To the others watching, it would look genuinely dangerous—even if Park Jocheol, who had fought life-or-death battles in the Tower, felt nothing.
“What…? You beat someone up and now you want to talk?! You son of a— Urgh! I’ll kill you!”
“Oh? If you don’t put that down right now, I’ll beat you like a dog from this moment on.”
“You little punk!”
“I’m serious.”
Knowing the man was Han Gamin’s father made Park Jocheol slip into formal speech without thinking. The drunk didn’t notice the courtesy. He assumed the smiling young man was bluffing. Someone who looked barely twenty might have guts, but faced with real danger, his body would freeze.
“Raaagh!”
Deciding this, the man charged, broken bottle thrust forward.
“He’s scared!”
Every debt collector the man had met before had frozen like that. This muscle-brained kid would be no different.
But—
“Huh?”
Rip!
Park Jocheol’s figure blurred—then he rushed straight at the man. The bottle tore his sleeve but missed flesh. His eyes remained steady.
“What the hell is this guy…?”
The thought flashed through the man’s mind. Seeing the debt collector’s fist flying toward his face, wreathed in laughter rather than fear, he finally realized something had gone terribly wrong.