Three Eight-Chapter 47

Hongju returned with slow steps. He handed over the collected chips and the signed IOU to Guppping.

"Aww, our Hongju must be feeling neglected today—didn’t even get hit once, huh?"

Guppping snickered as he stuffed the IOU into the inside of his jacket. A man shuffling the cards chimed in with a mocking laugh.

"What, you get off on getting hit or something?"

Though the question was clearly aimed at him, Hongju said nothing. He just quietly lowered his head and turned away. With the noisy, filthy house at his back, he slowly stepped outside.

He’d gone in and out of gambling houses more times than he could count while collecting debts. Sometimes he got beaten and thrown out by the head of security at the entrance, sometimes he came up empty-handed. Still, he didn’t exactly hate walking through these places. Maybe, deep down, he’d been looking for someone. His only blood relative, whose face he couldn’t even fully remember.

"Why the hell did you flinch like that, dumbass."

Once he was outside, Hongju headed for a dark corner where no light reached. His legs gave out, and he slumped to the ground, berating himself. How many people in the world had the surname Gu, and he’d flinched just because of a name?

"Haa..."

A long sigh escaped, forming a faint white cloud in the cold air. Hongju swallowed the heavy pain weighing on his chest.

And what would he even do if they met? Demand his life back? Tell him to pay off the rest of the debt? Did he really think someone like that would even listen? Someone who hadn’t shown his face once in the fifteen years Guppping had run the house? Why would he care now?

Hongju raked his hair in frustration, used ❀ Nоvеlігht ❀ (Don’t copy, read here) to swallowing his pain. A twig snapped nearby. But he only realized someone was there when a long shadow stretched out near his feet. Looking up hastily, he saw a familiar face.

"I thought you were playing hwatu."

"Wasn’t fun."

The men sitting with Guppping were the type who could sniff out money like bloodhounds. There was no way they’d let someone like Mu-gyeong—who practically oozed wealth—leave just like that. They were probably clinging to him, trying to keep him entertained.

"He’s probably good at poker too. If you ask to switch games, they’ll do it."

Hongju added in a half-hearted tone.

"You know how to play?"

Mu-gyeong’s face was shadowed by the light behind him, so his expression was hard to read. Hongju could only faintly sense that his gaze was fixed this way. Tilting his head curiously, Hongju steadied his breathing. A faint puff of white vapor slipped through his chapped lips.

"No. I’ve only tried it a few times."

"Then what’s the point in switching."

A strange answer. As if he was saying he only found hwatu interesting when Hongju was involved. Blinking slowly, Hongju tried to read the expression hidden in the dark—but as always, it wasn’t easy. Mu-gyeong’s shoe brushed softly against Hongju’s foot, still resting on the edge of a small ledge.

"I’m leaving."

As usual, Mu-gyeong turned without hesitation. The hem of his coat fluttered faintly, as if taunting him, then grew distant. Hongju silently watched his back.

They had arrived together. But now he was going to be left alone. In the noisiest, rankest part of the house—its darkest and most remote corner. A chill seeped deep into his bones, and he trembled. Then, impulsively, he stood up.

"Wait, wait, please!"

He dashed through the scattered footprints in the dirt. Mu-gyeong, just opening the driver’s side door, glanced toward the rushing Hongju. He didn’t look surprised at all—just rested a hand on the car frame and stared plainly. Hongju spilled out his words in a breathless, hurried stream like a child tattling on someone.

"I ran away once when I was seventeen, trying to find my dad. It was raining that day. I didn’t get far before they caught me. I got beaten so bad—so bad I passed out. But they kept waking me up to hit me again. I had a fever from the rain, and they still kept going."

He panted, dragging up memories he’d nearly forgotten. Cold breath shattered against the lip bitten through with teeth marks.

"My ear was bleeding, but I couldn’t go to the hospital. Didn’t even get any medicine. For about ten days it was just muffled like it was full of water. And after that, I couldn’t hear anything at all."

"Why’re you suddenly dumping your tragic backstory?"

Mu-gyeong’s face was indifferent, like someone listening to a dull fairytale. He looked ready to slip into the driver’s seat at any moment, and Hongju hurriedly opened his mouth again.

"You asked earlier. I thought you were curious."

"Didn’t really care that much. But sure, I get it now."

"I’ve got more tragic stories. Want to hear them?"

Mu-gyeong tapped the side of the car with his fingers in a steady rhythm, like he was measuring the meaning behind Hongju’s offer.

"Who knows? I’ve lived at the bottom too. Guys with sad stories like yours are a dime a dozen around me."

There was a hint of a smirk in the flat reply, like he found no appeal in it. Hongju swallowed and hurried toward the passenger seat. His steps were urgent.

"Then something else. Anything you’re curious about, anything you want me to do—whatever it is, I’m okay with it."

Mu-gyeong narrowed his eyes at the sudden change. Gu Hongju, who always acted like he was just barely surviving, was suddenly eager and forward. He normally would've ignored a situation like this, but something kept him talking.

"Why, though?"

"You said you don’t do losing trades. I won’t let you feel like you lost, so... please. Just one favor."

Hongju bit down hard on his lip and waited for an answer. He knew just asking him was reckless. He knew there was a higher chance he'd say no. Knew there might be another price to pay, like last time.

A long, cold silence followed. As anxiety built and Hongju was about to plead again, a low voice beat him to it.

"Ahh. So that’s what you were after?"

His voice was cold. His expression, too, looked strangely... disappointed.

"But hearing that come out of your mouth... now I’m curious."

He jerked his chin toward Hongju and climbed into the driver’s seat first. Realizing it was a signal to get in the passenger seat, Hongju hurried to reach for the door. Just before getting in, he brushed the snow off his shoes—just like Mu-gyeong had taught him before.

Mu-gyeong’s car started and quickly pulled away from the house. Guppping might come looking for him, but at that moment, Hongju didn’t care about what might happen afterward.

"I had something to ask anyway. Let’s talk somewhere quiet."

As he took off his gloves, the way he said it sounded like something a gangster would say. If he had something to ask, it was probably about Guppping. Hongju nodded, and the two gloves landed on his lap.

They left the outskirts of Gwangpal’s house behind, merging onto the main road. Until then, neither of them said a word.

"Get out."

Follow curr𝒆nt nov𝒆ls on fɾeeweɓnѳveɭ.com.

After driving for quite a while, they arrived at the hotel where Mu-gyeong had been staying. When he’d escaped from here during the day, he’d thought he’d never come back—but now, before dawn had even passed, here he was again. Just as Mu-gyeong was about to open the driver’s door, he noticed Hongju hesitating, tightly clutching the gloves like they were his. Whether it was nerves or fear, his pale face looked even whiter now.

"What, not good enough for you? You’re the one asking for favors—you don’t get to be picky about the place, do you?"

"No, it’s fine."

Startled out of his thoughts, Hongju quickly undid his seatbelt. Mu-gyeong clicked his tongue as he caught a glimpse of the flushed red blooming on Hongju’s cheek.

"Kid like you must have a head full of dirty thoughts."

As soon as they got out of the car, Hongju stepped up beside him. He was still fiddling with the gloves, clearly overthinking something. Mu-gyeong stared down at him for a moment, then roughly snatched the gloves from his hands. They were warm—he’d been clutching them so tightly that they’d absorbed the heat of his palms. Mu-gyeong let out a short, incredulous laugh and grabbed Hongju’s hand, flipping it over.

"You’re seriously nervous."

His palm was faintly damp—barely noticeable, but definitely there. Mu-gyeong felt like a scumbag, dragging along a kid who didn’t even want to be there.

"You’re the one who begged me to come here because you had a favor to ask."

He let go of Hongju’s hand with a careless flick and tapped his forehead with one finger. Each time his fingertip brushed skin, Hongju’s lashes fluttered faintly.

"Scaredy-cat."

The elevator doors opened just in time. Mu-gyeong stepped in first, and after a moment of hesitation, Hongju followed. A soft instrumental piece played in the background, but a strange tension filled the space between them.

Especially from Hongju—his whole body was tense, rigid with anxiety. Whatever this request of his was, it was clearly eating him up inside. Mu-gyeong, on the other hand, was beginning to find it all quite amusing. Watching him freeze up like that was entertaining, and he had no intention of ending the show too soon.

"You smell like smoke. Take a shower first, then we’ll talk."

As soon as they entered the room, Mu-gyeong stripped Hongju of his padded jacket and shoved him toward the bathroom. As the door closed, Hongju buried his nose in the sleeve of his shirt and sniffed. His head dipped slightly, exposing the nape of his neck.

"I can still smell it."

The quiet mumble made Mu-gyeong snort as he shut the bathroom door.

Mu-gyeong took his time. He let Hongju shower, dried his hair at a pace twice as slow as usual, and lingered in the dressing room under the pretense of tidying up his clothes.

"Beer?"

"No, thank you."

When Mu-gyeong held up a can from the minibar, Hongju shook his head. Seeing him still perched stiffly at the edge of the sofa stirred a strange urge to tease him. He almost ordered wine just for the hell of it, but decided to rein in the pointless mischief.

"You don’t drink even when you’re not at the house, huh."

With just the one can, he plopped down on the couch. It felt like he’d dragged things out long enough.

"What, are you saying there’s no difference between this place and the house?"

He was about to crack open the beer when Hongju quickly pulled a tissue and held it out.

"That’s not it, I just don’t usually drink."

"You say that, but who was the one who came in wasted yesterday?"

What, was that liquid he downed with Doksu not alcohol but stacks of cash? Mu-gyeong scoffed and snatched the tissue to wipe off the can’s rim. He gulped down the cold beer and stretched his legs out across the low table.

"That guy at the table earlier—looked like a public official. You know him?"

Hongju rolled his eyes as he searched his memory.

"Yeah. I think he said he was retired. He used to work in passport control or something..."

He recalled how the man had once whispered that if Hongju ever wanted to escape the country, he should come find him. That memory had made him think, briefly, of his father—who was supposedly in the Philippines. But back then, he’d had neither the money nor the courage to go after him. So he had no choice but to give up.