Three Eight-Chapter 70

"I don’t need to look."

Once he left the House, it wouldn’t matter to him anymore. Instead of looking out the window again, Hongju sat back straight and stared ahead. Mu-gyeong, who had been watching out the passenger window with his elbow on the wheel, turned his gaze toward him. At the ambiguous look, Hongju awkwardly fidgeted with his earlobe.

"......"

The silence grew so heavy it felt suffocating—just as Mu-gyeong’s phone started ringing.

"One sec."

He glanced at the screen, then at Hongju’s face, before opening the driver’s door. It’s not like Hongju could understand any of the conversation anyway. But Mu-gyeong got out of the car completely and walked some distance toward the House.

With all the noise from workers and materials being unloaded, Mu-gyeong’s voice didn’t reach the passenger seat. But every now and then, their eyes met through the window, and that left Hongju with a strange feeling.

"..."

Why did he keep glancing over? It’s not like Hongju could hear him anyway. Why act like he was worried he might be overheard? It was as if he were saying something Hongju wasn’t supposed to hear. Living in the House had taught him to be perceptive above all else. And right now, Mu-gyeong’s behavior was suspicious enough to raise alarm.

"What is it."

He chewed the soft inside of his cheek, gaze fixed on the fluttering hem of Mu-gyeong’s coat in the freezing wind.

Not President Mu-gyeong—Seong Mu-gyeong. Not thirty, but thirty-one. All Hongju truly knew about him were those two facts. In the past, that might have felt like enough. But now... it wasn’t. He was growing genuinely curious about who Seong Mu-gyeong really was.

He hadn’t said anything to Guppping or Yang Siljang, but there was one thing Hongju had come to understand while living with Mu-gyeong: despite his image as some idle rich man, Mu-gyeong was actually extremely busy. He often came and went with documents in hand, or shut himself in the study for hours. He frequently stepped out to take calls.

Was he working all day like this, only to plant himself at the House at night? When asked, Mu-gyeong just brushed it off with, "People with money always live busier lives." In a way, it was impressive.

"...It’s been twenty minutes."

He’d said they were going to the House. But Mu-gyeong hadn’t left the study yet. Hongju didn’t call out or rush him. Instead, he pulled his padded jacket up over his nose and quietly took over the couch. Sitting there wasting time like this made it feel like he was back to doing collections.

"......"

Just like he did while waiting for debtors, he tapped the floor with the tip of his toe, counting off the seconds. At the twenty-second mark, the study door opened. Hongju quickly raised his head and looked toward the gap in the door. Mu-gyeong appeared in just a shirt, as if he’d been working and getting ready to head out. He glanced once at Hongju, seated silently on the couch, then checked his wristwatch.

"You could’ve knocked."

"You looked busy."

Still holding the doorknob, Mu-gyeong stood silently for a moment, then stepped back inside. So they weren’t leaving yet? Just as Hongju was about to rise, he sat back down. Before he could lean against the couch again, Mu-gyeong appeared abruptly in the doorway.

"Just need to put on my coat. Go wait in the car."

He handed over his phone and car key. Hongju quickly got up and took them, then headed alone to the front door, leaving Mu-gyeong behind. He passed through the well-maintained yard and climbed into the car. Not knowing where to put his phone, he carefully set it on his lap. Just then, the screen lit up with a text notification.

"......"

It was from an unsaved number. When he swiped the screen with his finger, there wasn’t even a passcode. For a moment, his heart pounded in his chest and curiosity surged. Maybe if he checked who Mu-gyeong had been messaging, he could figure out what kind of person he really was. Who was Seong Mu-gyeong? Hongju glanced toward the still-closed front gate.

"...Forget it."

But he held back and flipped the phone over. If he got caught snooping, everything he’d worked for might go up in smoke.

Even after that, the phone kept vibrating a few more times before Mu-gyeong returned to the car. Hongju had to fight the urge to glance at it.

Mu-gyeong looked unusually busy today. Even once they arrived at the House, he didn’t stay long—just dropped Hongju off and drove away. Watching the car disappear into the distance, Hongju swallowed the vague disappointment rising in his chest.

"Jjajang—oh? Hongju? Something going on today?"

He ran into one of the thugs holding a takeout card on the stairs. Feigning surprise, Hongju recited the lines he’d practiced the whole way there.

"My phone’s so old it barely works anymore. I figured it was less stressful to come in person than get cursed out for not picking up."

"Ah, yeah, it was about time that thing gave out. Try asking President Mu-gyeong to buy you the latest model. Doesn’t he take care of you?"

"Why would he do that for me?"

He let his words trail off and brushed past the guy. The thug scratched his head and followed after him.

"Only Yang Siljang’s here today."

"Where is he?"

"Room 3."

If he didn’t greet them properly, there’d be hell to pay. Reluctantly, Hongju headed toward the third room. After a half-hearted greeting and mentioning his phone was outdated, Yang Siljang picked at his ear and waved him off like it was too much trouble.

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"Talk to Guppping about anything that costs money now."

"He ignores me. Just complains my phone’s off and yells."

"Ugh, what a pain."

Clicking his tongue, his gold tooth glinting, Yang Siljang pulled out his phone. He was probably texting Guppping. Watching his fingers move, Hongju stepped back into the hallway.

"Hongju, you eaten yet?"

A thug carrying a stack of black bean noodle bowls and pickled radish brushed past him.

"I did."

"Hm."

The savory smell reminded him of the Chinese restaurant he’d visited with Mu-gyeong. The food had been amazing. It still felt like a waste that he’d thrown it all up. Thinking of those luxurious dishes, he took a seat at the desk.

Inside the room, a conversation went on, and now and then loud laughter erupted. From the words that drifted out, it sounded like they were talking about the thug’s wedding. Hongju shoved his hands in his jacket pockets and leaned back in his chair. Staring at the checkerboard pattern of the rubber floor mat, he silently counted the squares.

Who knew how long had passed when loud laughter began echoing from the stairwell. Hongju’s dark eyes turned toward the edge of the stairs.

"Oh? It’s that hyung from the House. Damn, you’re looking better every time I see you."

"What, Gangju, is he your type? You into him?"

"What the fuck, I like girls, man."

The rowdy punks bumping shoulders were the same ones from yesterday. So they had come back to the House.

"Guppping’s not here."

"We knooow."

So Guppping didn’t call them? Hongju tilted his head slightly in suspicion. The guy in front dragged his slippers as he swaggered closer, cheap cologne hitting Hongju’s nose. Without realizing, Hongju wrinkled his eyes and buried his nose in his scarf.

"Didn’t think you were still alive, hyung. You looked so dead last time, I thought you’d been sold off somewhere."

They laughed loudly, pretending to be friendly. Hongju just stared at them silently. Then, from the third room, Yang Siljang came stomping out in a hurry.

"When little shits like you show up, the first thing you do is greet your elders. What the hell are you grinning around for?"

"All I did was say hi!"

Yang Siljang smacked the boy on the head and gave a sidelong glance at Hongju.

"Hmph."

He gave a meaningless cough and herded the punks back downstairs. Even as they left, their chatter and the slap of slippers on the floor echoed loudly.

"The kids here?"

The thug came out picking his teeth, holding an empty bowl. He shoved the bowl into a trash bag and let out a huge burp.

"Those kids—they used to hang around the House, right?"

"Yeah. Wore their school uniforms when they came in. Got expelled, the lot of them."

The thug laughed and pulled out a paper cup and a coffee mix stick.

"Coffee?"

Hongju shook his head. As he watched the guy stir the lukewarm water, he brought up the topic casually.

"Why’d they come here?"

"Hmm. Beats me."

His stirring slowed for a moment, then picked up again. He dragged over a chair and sat next to Hongju, sipping the coffee.

"They’re not planning to train those kids into players, are they?"

"You think punks like that could play a real game? At most, maybe some ✧ NоvеIight ✧ (Original source) errands..."

He trailed off and just sipped his coffee. The man usually liked to run his mouth, bragging about whatever he knew, even if no one asked. The fact that he was holding back meant something was happening—something Hongju wasn’t being told.

Awkward coughing filled the silence.

"Got a cigarette?"

"What, you gonna smoke?"

"Why else would I ask?"

Snapping back like usual, the thug clicked his tongue in annoyance.

"You’ve gotten way snippier since getting protection."

"If I had real protection, would I be sitting around here like this?"

Staring only at the thug’s hands rummaging through his pocket, Hongju muttered. The guy’s thick fingers suddenly hesitated. He was probably already planning to sneak off to Yang Siljang and whisper, 'Hongju and President Mu-gyeong really aren’t a thing, huh?'

"Pay it back, yeah? With interest."

"Got it."

Grabbing the cigarette and lighter the thug handed over, Hongju headed down the stairs. Yang Siljang was probably still somewhere in the building. Guppping could show up at any time—there was no way he’d leave the place completely unattended. Silently, he stepped down the stairs. When he reached the second floor, faint laughter echoed from somewhere nearby.