GBH 81

Most restaurants had a back door for disposing of kitchen waste. Song Yi-heon easily thought of its existence, having often used it to avoid crackdowns. Sneaking out was key, but he wasn’t worried about running into the new customers sitting at tables near the entrance while escaping through the back door on the opposite side.

Song Yi-heon leaned his upper body against the sofa backrest and poked his head out from behind the partition. Though he couldn’t see directly due to the partitions dividing each table, he could estimate their numbers from the noisy chatter. Black silhouettes crowded against the yellowish partitions.

With Choi Se-kyung there too, avoiding a fight was the best strategy. As he exchanged glances with Se-kyung to signal leaving through the back door, a remark caught Song Yi-heon’s ear, binding him like a knot:

“There are guys who say they saw Chilseong Faction at Yongsan Station.”

Song Yi-heon gripped the table edge he was about to use to stand up. An icy silence fell over the bar, soon broken by a dull grumble of discontent, like clumsily cracking thin ice.

“Damn, it’s going to be noisy for a while.”

“What’s there to worry about? They’re just guys who barely escaped with their lives after going completely bankrupt. They’re probably holed up in some motel room right now, scared of being caught coming up to Seoul.”

“Come to think of it, those bastards’ last—”

Unable to catch the unidentified boy spreading rumors that the dead Kim Deuk-pal was alive, they were haunted by the traces of the deceased as if possessed. The shadow of the dead exerted the same influence as the living.

Whether it was the bouncers placed in front of clubs frequented by young people, or the security at nightclubs targeting middle-aged patrons, the heightened vigilance in preparation for the now-defunct Chilseong Faction was the same, differing only in name.

Their despicable attack taking advantage of Kim Deuk-pal’s death had backfired. As the name they thought would never be mentioned again floated around the streets, a chilling fear gripped their necks that Kim Deuk-pal might really return from the dead for revenge. At first, they dismissed the rumors as nonsense, but the persistent spread gnawed at their nerves. On top of that, Chilseong Faction members were gathering in Seoul. Anxiety sparked a tinderbox of fear.

Wanting to reaffirm the reality of Chilseong Faction’s dissolution, they vividly described the night of the attack, sharing their experiences from that evening.

“…?”

Se-kyung, who had been listening quietly, sensed a slight vibration. Looking down, he saw the table trembling. Song Yi-heon’s knuckles had turned white gripping the table edge, causing it to shake as if about to crack under the pressure.

The female owner, bringing out drinks and snacks from the kitchen, spotted Song Yi-heon and Se-kyung and frantically tried to chase them out.

“You haven’t left yet? If you’re done drinking, get out quickly. No need to make someone close up shop.”

After setting down a tray filled with dried pollack, beer, and soju on the table, the woman put her hands on her hips, standing firm as if ready to forcibly drag them out if they didn’t leave. Se-kyung covered Song Yi-heon’s bony hand with his own and said:

“Let’s go.”

“…”

But Song Yi-heon’s eyes were wide with a pale blue light. He floundered in a surge of betrayal that rose as suddenly as water between rapids. What stopped him from immediately rushing at those guys was the touch caressing the back of his hand.

As if understanding the frustration and anger that was about to burst, Se-kyung gently stroked Song Yi-heon’s hand like soothing a child, carefully prying each finger from the table.

“I know. But for now, let’s just go.”

Se-kyung’s comfort was not just empty words. Choi Se-kyung truly did understand. Song Yi-heon closed his eyes. Right, now was not the time. Now was the time to endure.

“What’s this? Was someone here?”

As the woman serving drinks stood in an odd spot, the gangsters chattering at the table took notice. To prevent a commotion, the woman blocked the space between two tables like a folding screen and made up an excuse:

“Oh, it’s nothing. Just my nephews. They stopped by on their way somewhere. They finished their coffee. They’re leaving now.”

“How improper, for young punks to come to a place like this, even if it is their aunt’s.”

As a rule, scolding is best when harsh, and lecturing is best when long-winded. When the situation called for some words of adult wisdom, a man with his back to the partition turned around to join in. From the man’s position, Song Yi-heon’s table was blocked by the partition and not visible, but he could see the one leg Song Yi-heon had stretched out beyond the partition while eavesdropping.

As the outstretched leg, the white sports sock wrapping the ankle, and the black running shoe looked familiar, the man rose smoothly like iron filings drawn to a magnet.

“Hey, you. Come over here.”

A gold necklace glinted between the collar of the man’s shirt with its flashy pattern. He had a history with the unidentified boy claiming Kim Deuk-pal was alive. The boy’s distinguishing feature was his completely covered face, so those who encountered him remembered other physical characteristics instead.

The reason this man remembered the legs was because his head had been stomped under Song Yi-heon’s foot. Setting aside the common logo of the same sneaker brand, the smooth skin was distinctive enough that he had cursed it as creepy, wondering if the guy even shaved his leg hair.

“Why come over? These kids are about to leave. Go sit down, honey.”

“Move aside.”

Pushing aside the female owner trying to stop him, the man closely examined Song Yi-heon’s leg. As he got closer, his eyes narrowed. Se-kyung came out from behind the partition to block him. The man’s attention was initially diverted by Se-kyung’s uncommonly delicate face. While facing off silently with the menacing man, Se-kyung suddenly smiled brightly.

“Hello.”

Not expecting such a polite greeting in that situation, the man found Se-kyung’s gentle eye-smile strange but not unpleasant. It was like punching what you thought was a rock only to find it was cotton candy – that level of surprise.

“Oh, uh, hello. How are you?”

Caught off guard, the man asked after Se-kyung’s well-being, not knowing he was the son of Choi Myung-hyun, the prosecutor who catches gangsters. Se-kyung, raised with good manners, wouldn’t carelessly brush off an adult’s greeting. His smiling mouth gave a model answer, but…

“I’m well, thanks to you.”

His hand was impertinent.

“Aah!”

Se-kyung threw the tray the owner had set down at the man. Dried pollack scattered and heavy liquor bottles shattered as they hit the floor.

“Catch him! That bastard! The one spreading rumors!”

With shock at his back, Se-kyung grabbed Song Yi-heon’s hand and ran. Though he was soon led by Song Yi-heon, not knowing where the back door was, they invaded the open kitchen while the gangsters slipped on the spilled alcohol and floundered about.

“W-who are you!”

They pushed past an employee preparing fruit side dishes and leapt over the counter. As Se-kyung followed Song Yi-heon over the counter, before exiting through the rusty iron door, he kicked a red basin in the corner. The dishes piled for washing broke, splashing soapy water across the tiled floor.

Lungs that had been breathing stale air in the sealed bar now took in air tainted with smog. The bar’s backyard was a slope where Seoul’s brilliant lights spilled over low rooftops. A dazzling night view glimmered below like squid fishing boats. Their footsteps cut refreshingly through the downhill path steeped in tropical night heat as they plunged into the sleepless city.

As they picked up speed, the intense beating of their hearts reached to their fingertips. Se-kyung, who had been lagging behind, was now leading while holding Song Yi-heon’s hand.

“Stop right there-!”

The gangsters who had been floundering in the soapy water crawled out on all fours and shouted at Song Yi-heon and Se-kyung’s backs. Though they slipped on the soap suds stuck to their shoe soles, it was only momentary, and as they gained speed chasing down the single path, their numbers gradually increased. As the few pursuers grew to nearly double digits, Se-kyung too began to feel a sense of crisis.

They just had to get to the main road. Having memorized the locations of nearby police stations while wandering the night streets with Song Yi-heon, Se-kyung calculated the remaining distance. Song Yi-heon, who ran silently without letting go of Choi Se-kyung’s hand, should be able to run the remaining distance easily.

At the end of the narrow alley, they could see the main road where cars were driving. Unlike the dark alley, the four-lane road was brightly lit by streetlamps, and pedestrians walked on the sidewalk. It was sufficient as a safe zone without even reaching the police station.

A tense moment crossed. Just as they were about to be caught, as a hand stretched out to grab Song Yi-heon brushed his fluttering short-sleeved shirt, an enraged man shouted.

“You, you bastard-! What’s your relationship with Kim Deuk-pal! What the hell are you saying about dead Kim Deuk-pal being alive, what the hell!”

The man also realized that if they reached the bright main road, he’d lose the unidentified boy. That boundary of light was the dividing line with the world where law and order applied. To provoke and catch the boy, the man blurted out whatever came to mind.

“F*ck, Kim Deuk-pal is dead! I even went to that idiot’s funeral! F*ck, that fool who died trying to save someone, I, I-!”

Clang-!

A clear ringing sound burst forth as the hollow aluminum baseball bat struck, delivering a refreshing impact. Song Yi-heon, who was about to punish the man insulting his own death, witnessed in slow motion the man’s eyes rolling back as he fell backwards. The blood rising into the air was spurting from the man’s head, which had taken a direct hit from the aluminum bat.

“…Urk!”

As the man collapsed, the gangsters following down the slope quickly applied friction to their shoe soles to stop.

A group of men emerged from the side alley where the baseball bat had flown from. Those shabby-looking men radiated nothing but hostility. The one in the lead pulled his mask down below his chin. Seeing his face, Song Yi-heon’s lips quivered.

Dong-soo.

No sound came out. A surge of longing choked his vocal cords hotly. Though his voice wouldn’t come out as if his vocal cords had been torn, his bloodshot eyes spoke of his emotions. There were the subordinates he had been searching for. They had come to find him of their own accord.

Unlike the other subordinates who stood like a fence blocking the wary gangsters who had stopped on their way down, Kim Dong-soo approached Song Yi-heon.

Where he had been staying all this time, how they had been so easily defeated – there was much to hear. The feelings to be sorted out, the longing to be shared, were endless like layered mountain ridges. Not knowing where to start or what to do, and numb from the sudden reunion, he reached out to take the hand Dong-soo extended.

“…!”

But Kim Dong-soo grabbed Song Yi-heon by the hair.