Hyunjin
I won't deny it.
It hurts me more, than I could ever admit to myslef.
He remembers everyone. Taeju, Janil and Hanil. He remembers their voices, their faces and their names. The kind of little details that a normal person wouldn't necessarily remember. He smiles at them and reacts naturally, as if nothing had happened. I am the only one missing from the picture. As if I never existed. It was as if the same force that Mishimoto used to hit us with his car had erased me from his memory.
I try to address him carefully. I watch his eyes, waiting for a glimmer of recognition. Anything. But all I see is politeness. Curiosity. Cautious distance. The worst kind of emptiness — the kind where you're not hated, but forgotten.
Perhaps it should comfort me that he has also forgotten the man, who forced us off the road. Mishimoto. But it doesn't. Forgetting an enemy is easy. Forgetting someone you loved is worse. It's as if someone has ripped a piece of your life out and is pretending it never existed.
I showed him his room again.
Everything remained exactly as it was. The duvets were scattered, the sheet was crumpled and the pillow was on the floor. Traces of our first night together. A reminder of, when we thought we had time. When we thought the world had slowed down for a moment.
He looked around the room with a strange calmness. He walked slowly through the room, touching things without connecting with them. Like a guest. Not someone who belonged here. Not someone who had left part of himself behind.
I stood behind him, and for the first time in my life, I wished he would remember the bad things, too. The arguments. The fear. The blood. I just wanted him to remember me.
... ༺༻ ...
I'm sitting in my office, holding a glass of alcohol. My fifth.
It's not because I want to get drunk. I can't taste it. It just gives me something to hold in my hands so I don't clench my fists. I need to keep my hands busy. If I leave them free, I'll break something. Or someone.
My thoughts keep returning to the same point. To one name. To one shadow. The situation right now makes me more nervous, than a direct threat would. More than open war.
Mishimoto has vanished. He has disappeared.
He's not at home either, which makes me wonder if he's moved back to his home country temporarily. I can't reach him in Japan. And I wouldn't even try.
He's not at his clubs either. I wouldn't expect him to be there anyway. Mishimoto never hid in places, where people would look for him. He was always one step ahead. He always knew more. He left no trace, which is exactly his style. A clean cut. Silence before the strike.
The emptiness is worse than an open threat. It means only one thing. He knows we survived. He's planning his next move. He's picking us apart, looking for a weakness.
If Mishimoto disappeared, it wasn't because he wanted to run away. He left to strike where it would hurt the most.
... ༺༻ ...
Hanil knocks on the door. I invite him in.
He comes over to the table and places a small box on it without saying a word. He didn't need to bother with the ribbon. But it's there anyway. It's as if he wants to tell me, that some things aren't given for practical reasons. At least it looks more like a gift now.
I reach for the box as soon as the office door closes again. I open it and look down at a gold bracelet with a green stone. Simple. Heavy.
An emerald. A stone of loyalty. Devotion. A love, that survives blood.
I slowly close the box. I stand up and leave the office. I go upstairs and knock on his door.
He invites me in. He is sitting on the bed with the remote control in his hand, watching a Korean action series in which schoolchildren fight and are covered in blood. It's almost like us in everyday life.
I sit down on the edge of the bed and take out the box.
„What's that?" He looks up from the screen, his eyes are as calm as ever, but there is an alertness to them. As if he expects me to want more than just an answer.
„A bracelet," I reply simply, placing the box between us. I slowly open it so he can see what's inside. The golden shine reflects off the TV screen for a moment.
„It looks expensive," he remarks. He's stating a fact.
„It is," I nod. „But it's not about the money." He falls silent for a moment. Then he looks at me again.
„Then what is it about?" I take a deep breath. This is the part where I could lie. Bend the truth. I could say it's just a piece of jewellery.
„I want you to wear it," I say calmly. „Always. Even when you feel you don't need it."
He frowns. „That sounds like an order."
„It's a request." That stops him more than any command would. I watch the doubt flash across his face.
„And the stone?" he asks after a moment. „Does it have any meaning?"
I nod. „An emerald. A symbol of loyalty." I keep the other meanings to myself. It's not the right time yet.
„So...," he begins cautiously. „Is it like a talisman?"
„Something like that," I reply quietly.
He reaches out and lets me fasten it around his wrist. For a moment, our fingers touch. Briefly. Discreetly. But it's enough.
„When you say protection," he adds, „you mean protection from what?" I look up at him.
„From the world," I reply. From Mishimoto. And maybe from myself.
... ༺༻ ...
He wants to go outside.
He says he's suffocating and needs air. He says he wants to go for a walk, just for a moment, with no destination, he just wants to feel that the world outside these walls still exists.
I don't like it. Not one bit.
My first instinct is to lock him up. Hide him. Keep him here, where no one can reach him. I would imprison him if it meant he would stay safe. The thought is repulsive. And yet it's all too familiar.
But I can't. He's already looking at me, questioning me. Not reproachfully. More cautiously. As if I'm denying him something without understanding why. There's something in that look that stops me. It's a reminder, that I'm already on the edge. One more step and I'll become exactly the kind of person I'd hate.
I suggest a compromise. I say it calmly and matter-of-factly, as if it were trivial. He'll go out. But not alone. Janil and Hanil will go with him. Not as shadows, but as protection. As insurance. As my eyes.
He falls silent for a moment. He thinks. I can see the internal conflict between his desire for freedom and his caution. Finally, he nods. He agrees.
I know I've just made a mistake. Because some things cannot be saved by compromise. You just postpone them for a few minutes.
... ༺༻ ...
Like a fool, I did it again.
I let him out and he still disappeared them. How is it possible that, every time he looks at me, I succumb? To his gaze? To his voice? To the quiet trust he has in me, even though he doesn't know why. Then it always ends up like this.
I didn't want to go with him — not because I didn't want to see him, but because I was afraid that, by doing so, I would confirm that feeling. That I would stand too close behind him.
It was supposed to be a normal walk through Seoul at night. In a quiet neighbourhood. No hustle and bustle, no voices, no city living its own life. And then, as if someone had flipped a switch, it all changed.
They were surrounded.
Not five. Not ten. Twenty. Maybe thirty men. They emerged from the crowd, side streets and shadows. They were too well coordinated to be a coincidence. They were too calm. They didn't go after the Kangs straight away. Their job wasn't to kill. Just to slow them down.
Hanil and Janil fought. Hard. Without hesitation. Blows were exchanged, shots were fired and blood spattered the asphalt. But against such overwhelming odds, defeat was inevitable. One smoke grenade. Then another. Screams. Chaos.
Then they took him. Janil tried to shoot through the smoke, but to no avail.
The car disappeared. Taesung had vanished before their eyes.
All that remained was an empty spot on the pavement. Scattered shell casings. And the kind of silence that comes after—when you know you've lost, even though you did everything right.
I ran to my office. I grabbed the tablet on the table and ordered the others to get the car ready. I opened the app. The dot on the map moves.
I said that bracelet would come in handy someday. I just didn't know how soon.
Mishimoto has him.
Once I've saved Taesung, I won't let him go again. Whether he remembers me or not. Whether he recognises me or not. The world took him once. I won't let it happen again.
I can't grab him by the shoulders and shake him until his memory returns. I can't force him to remember the past we shared. Those touches. That night. The silence in which we understood each other without words. If he is to remember, it must come of its own accord.
Through pain.
Through love.
Through return. And that's the worst part. Waiting. If he comes back to me, it has to be his decision. Not my fault.
... ༺༻ ...
BLOOD DEBT (피의 빚)