Hyunjin
The air smells of rust. It is saturated with sweat and blood. Gravel and broken glass crunch beneath my feet. With every step, I hear an echo. I knew this place wasn't clean, but I never dreamed of what I would find here.
I open the heavy metal door. It creaks on its hinges. Inside, the silence is uneasy and treacherous, the kind that precedes a shot being fired. I can feel the hot breath of death. Then I see him.
He lies bound and beaten on the concrete floor under a single broken light. Byun Hojin. My best friend. One of the few people I trusted. He was one of the few who knew the truth about me and still stayed. Now his jaw is broken, his shirt is bloodstained and he can barely breathe. His gaze is as empty as an empty shell casing. One eye is closed, swollen and purple. His mouth is slightly open. He looks at me, but there is no hope left in his eyes.
He is standing next to him.
Mishimoto Yoshiaki: He is wearing a perfectly fitting grey suit, without a single wrinkle. He weare a shirt as white as snow and a soft, silky scarf around his neck. Elegant and deadly. He hold a cigar in his hand and weare a smile as thin as a blade.
At first glance, he looks like a gallery owner, not someone who lets people die in port halls. But his eyes betray him. They are calm, cold and dead. He knows exactly what he's doing.
„I'm sorry," he says in fluent Korean, his slimy accent evident. „Your friend got hold of information he shouldn't have. That's punishable in our world." I want to do something, smash his face in, break his arms and rip his poisonous tongue out of his mouth. But I just stood there, paralysed and suffocated by the weight of this reality.
„He won't suffer," he says, as though he's doing me a favour.
I can't hear his words. Only focus on his eyes. They are cold and without compassion. He seems inhuman. This creature lost its soul a long time ago.
„Tell me, Mishimoto," I growl, clenching my fists. „How many people have you killed with your own hands?"
His smile widens. He pulls out a black metal pistol, which glints in the dim light, turns to Hojin and shoots him right between the eyes. The dry, sharp shot echoes through the hall. Hojin jerks and blood spills from his head like ink on a blank page. It's over.
„One more," he replies, walking away as if he hadn't just shot a man in the head. I kneel down next to the body of the man I considered my brother, without haste. Tears well up in my eyes, they are filled with fire directed at him. At one person. Yoshiaki.
... ༺༻ ...
I sit up abruptly, covered in sweat. That nightmare has returned. I knew that losing Jiwook would stir up old memories and emotions. The anniversary of Hojin's death is also approaching, reminding me that I should visit his grave again.
Byun was my brother, not by blood, but in every other way. We grew up together and always had each other's backs. Mishimoto killed him like an animal. That's the main reason why I want to take his life.
But I can only blame myself. After all, it was I who sent Byun to find out information about Yoshiaki. It was my idea that cost him his life. I run my hands through my hair and exhale all the air from my lungs. One day, I will have my revenge.
I left the shower running for longer than usual. I want to get rid of this feeling. I can still smell rust and blood under my skin.
I put on some loose-fitting sweatpants and head to the kitchen, where I find Taesung sitting at the table drinking coffee. It looks like he's been there for a while. My mood is below freezing, so I ignore him. I head for the coffee maker, but then I notice his gaze. He's watching me, studying me. He's probably waiting to see what I'll do.
„Who told you that you could make yourself coffee?" I growl. He looks at me, seemingly unable to bring himself to answer, but that's just a facade. Finally, he speaks.
„Me," he mutters, taking a sip from his mug. Is he not afraid of me at all? Luckily for him, I don't have the strength to push him too hard today, so I just give him a gentle warning. Standing in front of him, I remind him of what I pointed out yesterday. I'm in charge here, and I expect others to follow my orders. Then I order him to follow me, not even letting him finish his coffee.
I lead him to my office and take a small remote control from the table. I pressed a button and a secret door, hidden behind the bookcase, opened. Taesung's jaw drops.
„Your clothes are in there. Put them on." He raises his eyebrows. „This isn't just any outfit. It's work gear. From now on, you're part of my personal security team. Jiwook is dead, someone has to take his place." He looks confused, but walks over to the open door and examines what is behind it.
„You mean...," he begins, and I watch his Adam's apple bobbing as he speaks. Only now do I get a good look at him. He's still wearing the pyjamas I lent him, his hair is tied in a bun on top of his head and he's holding the coffee mug I didn't let him finish.
„Put on your jacket. You'll find a hidden holster underneath. I'll give you the gun. By this evening, you'll have learnt how to take it apart and put it back together safely. If you fail, someone will shoot you. Maybe me." He stands in the doorway, unsure whether to ask questions or leave.
„Are you serious?" I looked him in the eye.
„Taesung, this isn't a reality show. You're not here on holiday. From now on, you're officially one of us, so adapt." He picks up the bag of clothes and leaves without another word. About ten minutes later, he returns. He's wearing black trousers, a white shirt, a gun belt and a jacket slung over his shoulders. He looks different. More mature.
„Sit down," I say, nodding towards the table. He pulls out a chair and sits down opposite me, still fidgeting. He's probably not used to wearing suits. I hand him a small, neat box. He opens it to find a shiny Beretta pistol inside with two magazines. Next to it is a compact maintenance tool.
„Is that...?" The rest of his words get stuck in his throat. I find myself staring at his Adam's apple again.
„Yours." I come back to reality and push the box across the table towards him.
„I don't know how to shoot."
„You will know how, by tonight." I notice him twitch his head slightly. At that moment, Janil arrives, holding a tablet.
„Seonsaengnim, hoeui jangsoga byeongyeongdoeeossseubnida. Chang-go daesin seongbuggue issneun jib-euloyo. oneul 11 siibnida." He addresses me in Korean. Taesung's gaze shifts from Janil to me.
„Nuga dochaghal geos-inga?"
„Lyulaneun namja. Geuneun Mishimoto-e daehan jeongboleul gajigo issdago jujanghabnida." I nod, my eyes sliding back to Taesung.
„Stand behind me. Don't raise your weapon until I tell you to. Stay calm. This is not a game."
... ༺༻ ...
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*Seonsaengnim, hoeui jangsoga byeongyeongdoeeossseubnida. Chang-go daesin seongbuggue issneun jib-euloyo. oneul 11siibnida. - Sir, the meeting has been moved. Instead of the warehouse, it's at the house upstairs in Seongbuk. Today at eleven.
*Nuga dochaghal geos-inga? - Who's coming?
*Lyulaneun namja. Geuneun Mishimoto-e daehan jeongboleul gajigo issdago jujanghabnida - A man named Ryu. He claims to have information about Mishimoto.
BLOOD DEBT (피의 빚)