Three Eight-Chapter 3

"Well, that's true, but he's not exactly the sociable type, so I doubt he'd make it as a dealer or anything else."

Gubing clicked his tongue as he grabbed his glass of whiskey. His pinky, missing a joint, couldn’t quite wrap around it, jutting into the air instead. Mukyung suddenly straightened his posture and stubbed out his cigarette right on the tablecloth. Ssshh. The same sound had come earlier when his padded jacket had been singed.

"We'll be seeing each other often now, so at least try to look pleasant."

He hadn’t even realized he was scowling. What was more annoying was the tip of Mukyung’s shoe constantly nudging his shin.

"......."

Out of the corner of his eye, Hongju saw Gubing waving his hands wildly, making a silent fuss. When he glanced over, the man clasped his hands together and rubbed them in exaggerated pleading. His eyes were slitted into triangles, as if he’d slap him if he didn’t apologize immediately. And this was the same guy who told him not to smoke. He had done exactly what he was told—hadn’t done anything wrong—so he didn’t understand why he needed to apologize. But orders were orders. Besides, if nothing happened in the house, he’d be able to pay off his debt faster.

"......About earlier, I apologize."

The man, who had been staring at him silently, let out a quiet chuckle.

"Gubing was right. Stiff as a board."

Knee, knee. This time, Gubing mouthed words soundlessly, pointing a finger toward the floor. A wave of irritation surged up. Hongju took a deep breath and tightened his grip on the tray. Then, he stepped back with one foot and lowered himself. The worn-out flooring had been stripped away, leaving bare cement exposed. The moment his knees touched the cold surface, a phantom ache spread through them.

"I'm sorry."

"Ah, no need to go that far, kneeling and all."

But he didn’t stop him. Didn’t tell him to get up either. Hongju counted in his head. Just ten seconds, then he’d stand. As he kept his gaze fixed on the rough floor, a large hand suddenly entered his vision. A gloved, rigid hand clamped around his jaw, forcing his face upward. The hand was so big that it didn’t just hold his chin—it pressed against his cheekbones, squeezing painfully. Startled, Hongju darted his eyes to Gubing and the thug, but they only looked surprised, making no move to intervene.

"You knelt, so I guess I should let it go. How about a drink to smooth things over? Do you drink?"

"No, I... I don’t hold my liquor well."

With his cheeks pressed tight, his words came out slurred. It made his voice sound ridiculous, but no one was laughing.

"That so?"

The pressure on his cheek forced his lips apart. The force against his bruised cheekbone and temple sent a deep throb of pain through his skull, making him let out an involuntary groan. Mukyung snatched up the whiskey bottle and shoved the mouth of it between Hongju’s parted lips.

"Ugh, mmph!"

The sharp liquid surged into his mouth. Mukyung tilted the bottle further, pouring in so much alcohol that he could barely swallow. Hongju clenched his eyes shut and struggled, but a heavy shoe came down on his thigh, pinning him in place.

"Drinking just fine to me."

The amused voice vibrated through the air. The whiskey poured down relentlessly, choking his throat. The excess dribbled from the corners of his mouth, soaking into his padded jacket.

“Kh... ugh... cough...”

By the time tears welled up in his swollen eyes, the bottle was finally pulled away. Hongju collapsed forward, hacking violently. Every breath he took was thick with the acrid scent of liquor, like it had seeped into his lungs. His head throbbed from the overwhelming intake, and he clutched his burning throat. As he slowly pushed himself upright, he felt Mukyung’s gaze bearing down on him. The man smirked and flicked his fingers, shaking off the whiskey that had dripped onto his glove. A few stray drops landed on Hongju’s face.

"Not much for drinking etiquette, huh? Spilled half of it."

With the hand still damp from the whiskey, Mukyung reached for the bottle again. Instinctively, Hongju stiffened. His wary eyes locked onto the mouth of the bottle. His lips had split, and now there was blood smeared along the rim.

Mukyung tapped his frozen cheek lightly before lifting the bottle to his own lips. Tilting his head back slightly, his throat moved with each swallow as he drank.

"......."

Hongju swallowed a heated breath. It was nauseating—his own breath, his heartbeat, all tainted with the stench of alcohol. His chest pounded so fast that even his good ear was ringing. In the thick silence, he gasped alone, cut off from the rest of the world.

Mukyung downed a few more mouthfuls before slamming the bottle down. Even then, their eyes never broke apart.

"Gubing, you watered this down?"

"Ah, n-no! I didn’t...!"

But Mukyung didn’t even spare him a glance. His attention remained fixed solely on Hongju, scrutinizing him. The voices around him grew distant, muffled as if he were sinking underwater. Hongju wiped at his mouth with the back of his trembling hand. When he saw the streak of blood mixed with liquor, he frowned slightly. A soft chuckle came from above.

Hongju quickly raised his head. Mukyung licked the moisture from his lips and grinned.

"Mukyung."

"......."

What was he even saying? Hongju narrowed his eyes, staring at the man’s lips.

"Ah, and this one’s Hongju."

Gubing introduced him in his place, then began babbling again. Even as he talked, the man’s gaze leisurely roamed over Hongju—from his knees on the floor, up to his thighs, the torn fabric of his padded jacket, and the damp skin at the nape of his neck.

"......."

Hongju had thought he was just another rich sucker, some conman at worst. But maybe he was something worse. Something more dangerous.

Mukyung gave a brief nod to the thug, signaling for him to take Hongju away. Gubing nodded along in agreement. Just how much money did he owe to be bowing and scraping like this? Hongju had never cared much about the business of the house, but now, he was starting to get curious.

"Hey, hey, you okay? Your face is a mess."

The thug who had dragged him to a small room near the restroom fussed as he searched for tissues. The lingering scent of alcohol clouded his senses, making his mind blur. If he got drunk, he wouldn’t be able to work properly. And if that happened, Yang Siljang would lose his shit, slashing his paycheck again. That would mean another day further from clearing his debt. That wasn’t an option.

Hongju shook his head roughly, trying to clear his spinning thoughts. Maybe the alcohol was finally hitting him because he didn’t even notice the approaching footsteps. It was only when a pair of polished shoes stopped in front of his worn-out sneakers that he realized someone was there.

Slowly, he lifted his head.

Smack!

A blinding flash exploded in ◆ Nоvеlіgһt ◆ (Only on Nоvеlіgһt) his vision as his cheek burned like it had been seared. The sharp metallic taste spread through his mouth, but the overwhelming stench of liquor drowned it out.

"You little shit, what the hell did you say to Mukyung to make him act like that?"

The voice barked at him, but the words were muffled, as if he were underwater. Hongju tapped his palm against his right ear, and only then did the surrounding noise come crashing back in.

"Fuck, didn’t Yang Siljang tell you? That room’s off-limits!"

"......No, he didn’t. If I’d known, I wouldn’t have gone in."

His response came out slightly slurred. At that moment, as if on cue, Yang Siljang approached them.

"What now? What’s the problem this time?"

"This fucker! Why didn’t you tell Hongju to stay the hell away from that back room? He almost ruined the mood in there! Do you know how hard I had to kiss ass to fix it? Fuck!"

Gubing spat on the ground, practically frothing with rage. Hongju cradled his burning cheek and looked up at Yang Siljang. The man had aged since they first met—his face, once smooth, was now lined with wrinkles. Time had caught up with him. But even as his face changed, his slippery, weasel-like nature remained exactly the same.

"Why the fuck wouldn’t I tell him? I was damn clear about it! Hey, didn’t I tell you? Why the fuck did you go in there, you dumbass?"

Yang Siljang lashed out, shifting the blame onto Hongju. He didn’t bother to argue. Whether they hit him, shoved him around, or cursed at him—it didn’t matter. He just had to sit through it.

"Enough. Let it go. If he dies, who’s gonna do the work? Who’s gonna pay up? Let it go."

Ironically, it was Yang Siljang who stopped Gubing from kicking him any further. Like he actually gave a shit.

Hongju slowly pushed himself upright and spat onto the ground. Blood trailed down from his mouth. Every breath felt stiff and tight in his chest—whether from the beating or the sheer frustration, he couldn’t tell. Yang Siljang dragged the still-seething Gubing away, leaving Hongju slumped on the floor.

"......."

A thug, who had just entered the room, hesitated before bowing his head slightly.

So now he decided to show up.

He’d left earlier, saying he’d go get tissues. Just how long had he been standing there, watching? If he was here, why the hell didn’t he step in? Hongju scowled and reached for the chair beside him.

"Whoa, whoa. Lemme help, man."

The thug hurried over and grabbed him by the arm, helping him up. Every movement made his bones creak like rusty hinges.

"Just give me the tissues."

His words, slurred from the lingering drunkenness, dragged out lazily. The thug handed him the tissues, and Hongju wiped his mouth slowly, inhaling deeply. He clenched his jaw, struggling to hold onto his fading consciousness. He shook his head a few times, trying to stay alert.

As he sat there, the sound of a voice drifted in from outside.

"Hongju! Get out here and serve!"

"......."

He barely moved his lips, unable to form a sound. The thug answered for him.

"Coming!"

Hongju forced his aching body to its feet.

Because the only way out of this fucked-up, filthy house was to work like a dog and pay off his debt.

At the entrance of the gambling house, there was an old iron desk. Most of the time, Yang Siljang occupied it, sitting in a spot where everyone could see him, waving bills like bait.

With just one lucky bet, a person could walk away with hundreds of millions.

Or they could fall just as fast into a pit of debt.

That was how gambling worked.

Those clinging to the sliver of hope that they’d win the jackpot saw Yang Siljang’s loans as their lifeline. Even with an upfront interest rate of 20%, they borrowed without hesitation.

Tonight, the temporary gambling house was as noisy as ever. Loud voices boomed from the stairwell, arguments already breaking out. By the time Hongju reached the last step, his eyes immediately found the familiar desk.

But the figure sitting in the chair was unfamiliar.

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The man didn’t belong here. His appearance was completely out of place. Hongju narrowed his eyes, checking again.

"You really are tough, huh?"

"......."

It was him.

Mukyung. Or Mukyung-sajang, whatever the hell he was.

Hongju hesitated briefly before continuing forward. His still-dazed mind replayed Gubing’s warning.

"He’s our cash cow, got it? Watch yourself."

Hongju’s gaze swept over him.

He was dressed as extravagantly as before. Walking around here looking like that was just painting a target on his back. He must know that, and yet he didn’t seem to care.

Swallowing any unnecessary thoughts, Hongju gave a small bow.

"......Hello."

"Wow, you drink with me once and suddenly you’re all polite?"

His tone dripped with mockery. Hongju didn’t respond, instead glancing around.

Yang Siljang was nowhere to be seen.

"He went inside. Said a customer was looking for him. Sit down."

Mukyung dragged over an empty iron chair and gestured for Hongju to take a seat.

For now, this was the only place he could be.

With sluggish movements, Hongju lowered himself onto the chair. A sharp pain shot through his side, forcing him to hold his breath for a moment.

"Your face looks even worse today. Gubing hit you?"

"......."

He already knew.

So why bother asking?

Hongju turned his head slightly, avoiding the question.

A large hand landed on his shoulder.

"When an elder speaks, you answer."