Three Eight-Chapter 43

Hongju carefully peeled his hand away after attaching the bandage loosely, making sure it didn’t touch the raw skin. Mu-gyeong let out a small laugh and reached for his coffee cup again.

"You say you’re clueless about the world, but you know how to spot your spot and stretch your legs."

His mouth tasted bitter. Maybe Mu-gyeong thought he was fawning for approval. But that wasn’t it—he could swear. That little gesture just now... he didn’t even know why he did it. God, he was pathetic. He’d repaid the debt by selling his body, said thank you like it was a favor, and even patched up the man’s wound. No wonder people looked down on him. No wonder he always ended up being someone’s mark.

A wave of self-loathing crashed over him, and Hongju pressed his lips shut for a long time. After downing his coffee in one go, Mu-gyeong leaned in, draping one arm over the back of the chair Hongju was sitting on. The sudden sound of breath so close made his whole body tense up again.

"What is it?"

His voice was wary, laced with resistance, but Mu-gyeong came in closer to his ear without a care. Hongju’s entire nervous system zeroed in on the pressure of Mu-gyeong’s chest brushing his right shoulder.

"Gu Madam paid off the rest of the pot. The collateral game is over now."

"......"

"For a while, things might get dirty again. Watch your back."

He said what he wanted to say, then pulled away. A faint trace of that refined cologne lingered near Hongju’s nose.

"I’m telling you this with full awareness of what it means."

It was something Hongju had said to him once. Whether there really was anything Mu-gyeong had to brace for, who could say? Still, it wasn’t completely useless information, so Hongju gave a small, obedient nod.

***

The debt Hongju repaid with his body had gone straight into Guppping’s pocket and was now fueling his bravado. He’d even used the leftover cash from paying Mu-gyeong’s betting pot to indulge in some luxuries.

These days, Guppping was putting extra effort into preparing one big game. He’d been calling in players and brokers to wine and dine them, even bought Doksu a fancy-looking watch. Chief Yang, of course, was watching all of this with growing irritation.

"Why the hell’s he acting like it’s some huge-ass event?"

Normally, Chief Yang would’ve been at that table too. But since Doksu showed up, he’d been getting edged out little by little—he probably knew it better than anyone.

"Hey, Gu Hongju!"

At the rough call of his name, Hongju quietly stepped away from Chief Yang’s side. Guppping stood in the doorway of an empty room, calling him over with a personal instruction.

"The house’ll be closed for a few days, but you keep collecting. I’ll text you. Come by every day to report."

"Where to?"

Surely he didn’t mean to come to his house. Hongju frowned and asked again, and Guppping smacked him hard on the back of the head with his big hand.

"Where else? Gwangpal’s place!"

Rubbing the sting from the back of his head, Hongju bit his lip. Just like Mu-gyeong said, the collateral game was over. And every interaction with Guppping now came with a slap. It had always been that way, but today the pain burned a little deeper.

"Got it."

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As he turned on his heel to walk away, he heard Guppping muttering behind him.

"Tch. If he’d just sold his ass sooner, I’d be filthy rich by now. Who knows how long the rest of the debt’s gonna take."

"......"

It was obvious what Guppping meant when he brought up Hongju’s father. If you ran off and left the debt behind, I’d just sell off your old man’s body to collect the rest.

"Useless, both father and son."

Tch. That tongue-clicking sound clung to the back of Hongju’s skull. His steps slowed down as he walked the hallway.

"......"

If his father had been around, would the debt have been repaid faster? Maybe the interest wouldn’t have ballooned so much. Maybe he wouldn’t have had to wreck his body, sell it, just to survive.

At times he resented the man, and at other times he was simply curious—where was he, what was he doing? Had he failed to quit gambling and holed up somewhere in the Philippines still playing cards, just like Guppping said? Hongju pulled up the zipper of his padded coat and crossed the cold hallway.

Dad, I’ve almost finished paying off the debt you left me. I’ve been working fifteen years, getting cursed out and beaten the whole time. And it still wasn’t enough, so I sold my body. But someone with money paid a big chunk. This is the life I’m living now, Dad.

"......"

If he said that to his so-called father, what the hell would he say back?

Suddenly, a hot burn rose in his throat. He felt like he’d collapse unless he drank something immediately. Grabbing a staff member who was taking out the trash, he said he’d do it himself. With a large garbage bag in hand, Hongju stepped outside the house, cutting through the snowy street to head toward the convenience store.

"Oh? Hongju?"

He was gulping down a bottle of water he’d just bought when a familiar voice called out. It was Doksu, who’d been so busy lately he only showed his face briefly at the house. He approached with a bright expression.

"Back again for water?"

"...Yeah."

Hongju wiped his wet lips with the back of his hand. What did someone like Doksu think, seeing him constantly coming out here just to drink water? Did he lump him in with guys like Mr. Choi or the thugs, blowing money just for show?

"Oh, hold on a sec. It’s Guppping."

Doksu held up his phone. Unlike Hongju, who still felt a sense of dread every time Guppping called, Doksu picked up casually.

"Oh, yeah. Really?"

Something good must’ve happened—Doksu’s grin stretched wide.

"I’m out front with Hongju. Can we both go home?"

Go home? It hadn’t even been an hour since they were told the house would be closed for a few days.

"Aw yeah. Hanging up now!"

As soon as he hung up, Doksu leaned in close to Hongju like they were old friends.

"They said we can clock out. Want to grab a drink?"

"......"

Normally, Hongju would have refused without hesitation. But tonight, without a word, he let Doksu guide him back into the convenience store. They bought two bags of snacks and a few cans of beer, then sat across from each other at one of the outdoor tables.

"Wow, this is weird. Sitting like this with you at this hour. Right?"

"Yeah."

At this time, he was usually deep in a round of Seotda or out running errands. Doksu kept the conversation going non-stop, not even leaving space for silence, and Hongju responded now and then with a nod. Maybe because Hongju finally gave a proper answer instead of just repeating "yeah," Doksu looked genuinely pleased. While Hongju hadn’t even taken a sip yet, Doksu was already cracking open his second can.

"You’re not good with alcohol, huh?"

"Yeah, not really."

Hongju fumbled with the cold can as he answered. To be precise, he hadn’t had much experience drinking. Sometimes the thugs or Mr. Choi would bring soju when they got off work, but he never drank any. The idea of losing control from alcohol was terrifying to someone like Hongju, who lived on constant alert 24/7.

"Really? Most of the guys here can drink like fish, so I figured you could hold your own. Should I have gotten you something else?"

"No, this is fine."

He looked ready to get up and fetch a drink right then and there. After holding the can and hesitating for a while, Hongju finally took a quiet sip. The sharp, bitter liquid slid down his throat and made him scrunch his brows.

"Doesn’t Guppping usually make people drink a ton at parties? When he was trying to scout me, he got me totally wasted. I wonder if his old-man liver’s still intact. Anyway, don’t you go to those things?"

"I usually don’t, but when I do, I drink. Just a few sips, though."

He’d never drunk by choice. It was always forced. When eating with other staff from the house, he had to at least pretend to drink even if he didn’t want to. Other than that... Ah. He’d been forced to drink the day Mu-gyeong first showed up too. Not just forced—more like his mouth was pried open until his lips cracked and it was poured in.

"I see. I’ve been here a while now, but it’s the first time we’ve talked like this."

Doksu seemed fascinated that Hongju was talking about himself and kept trying to continue the conversation. Maybe it was the alcohol—just a few sips in and already he felt that warmth. Or maybe it was just that the house wasn’t around, and his guard had slipped. Hongju actually answered diligently. It wasn’t exciting, but it was nice hearing something that wasn’t insults or threats for once.

"Ah, it’s nice to relax and drink like this for once."

"It tastes like shit, but it’s really cold."

Hongju, halfway through his can, leaned back against the chair. Maybe it really had been a while since he felt anything like this, just like Doksu said. Usually he was surrounded by debt, collections, and the choking grip of survival. There wasn’t even space to breathe.

"The beer?"

"Yeah. It took care of my thirst completely."

At that, Doksu fell quiet for a moment. His eyes slid to Hongju’s flushed cheeks, slightly pink from the alcohol.

"Mm. Aren’t you cold?"

"No. This is warm."

His hand gave a slow tap against his padded coat.

"Looks like it."

What must he be thinking? In the house, Hongju couldn’t even bring himself to drink a sip of water. That kind of cowardice probably didn’t make sense to someone like Doksu.

Hongju buried his face into his padded collar, pulling his hands deep into his ➤ NоvеⅠight ➤ (Read more on our source) pockets. He hadn’t even finished the can, but his body was burning, and his head felt hazy. Meanwhile, Doksu—either genuinely good with alcohol or simply unfazed—reached for another can. Hongju suddenly remembered how Mu-gyeong would always wipe the dust off the rim before drinking. He shot up from his seat.

"You have to wipe it."

"Huh? What?"

Hongju reached out and snatched the can from Doksu’s hand. He looked around for something, but when he found nothing, he grabbed Doksu’s sleeve and pulled it toward him. Startled, Doksu let him and watched curiously.

"Here. It’s dusty."

"Ah."

Doksu gave a flustered laugh and took the can back awkwardly. But Hongju, lost in thought, barely noticed.

"You’re eating the snacks too, right? You don’t have to finish that."

"Yeah."

He nodded without hesitation. Caught up in Doksu’s pace, Hongju ended up emptying two cans. The wind was brutally cold, but his cheeks were burning hot. Doksu quietly pulled out his phone and started typing. After sending a message, he began chatting again—determined not to let Hongju fall asleep.