Substitute-Chapter 58

Son Geonwoo didn’t like No. 3.

Not that he was fond of any of the other guys here either, but something about No. 3 felt particularly off.

From what Son Geonwoo had heard, every crew member had a record. Not all were for violent crimes like his—some were petty theft, some were male prostitutes caught during illegal solicitation, and some had committed serious offenses when they were still underage and got off without an official record. He personally knew two like that.

But No. 3 claimed he had none.

“Do I have to have one?”

He’d asked with a grin.

There was something else that made No. 3 stand out.

He hadn’t been here from the beginning.

Son Geonwoo hadn’t seen him during orientation.

The problem was, the other crew insisted he had been. They pushed the idea like he was the one misremembering.

“Dumbass, he was there the first day. How could you not recognize that face?”

“His hairstyle was kind of off back then. Covered his face a lot, so I wasn’t sure it was the same guy either. But that jawline. Tsk. That masterpiece of a jawline—that’s what gave it away.”

That was from No. 11, Kang Jooyoung—same age as Son Geonwoo and the only one he hung out with.

He was one of the few in the group who didn’t act like he had something to prove, and maybe because they were the same age, they got along. Plus, he was on psych meds too. Said he had an impulse disorder—something on the spectrum of borderline personality. Had a bunch of symptoms, but for Jooyoung, it manifested as an obsession with dangerously intense sex.

He had two priors from reckless driving and a bunch of smaller fines for things like visiting fetish clubs, illegal prostitution, even sex while driving. Most recently, he’d gotten probation for public indecency. Claimed he just took his clothes off because it was too hot, but Son Geonwoo wasn’t naive enough to believe that was all there was to it.

Either way, Son Geonwoo didn’t believe him. Not because he was on meds, but because Jooyoung couldn’t even remember what he’d done the day before. There was no way he remembered the first day of orientation.

Son Geonwoo first became aware of No. 3 on the day they were fitted with chastity devices. And not even before class—during.

He turned around and the guy was sitting behind him.

Was that seat always taken?

He couldn’t remember.

At first, he thought No. 3 was a ghost.

Secretly, Son Geonwoo could see ghosts. He started seeing them at twelve, after his parents told him he was possessed.

To drive out the spirit, his parents beat him every day. Sometimes the pastor, his wife, and other church members like deacons or elders would do it in their place.

Then, at fifteen, Son Geonwoo saw the spirit that had possessed him move into his father. So he did what had been done to him—beat his father like the pastor beat him. He didn’t stop until the spirit was dead and gone.

When they tried to charge him, Son Geonwoo was confused. But he was also firm.

He insisted he’d done nothing wrong. That he’d killed the spirit possessing his father. Said it with innocent conviction.

He pointed to his mother and the pastor as witnesses—proof that they’d beaten him to drive out a ghost.

He even stripped naked in front of everyone to show them the evidence. No one pressed charges after that. So he didn’t believe Jooyoung’s story about getting arrested just for being naked.

Still, he ended up charged with murder.

His father had died from the beatings, after all.

The court needed someone to blame, and conveniently, Son Geonwoo had been closest to him.

He never resented the people who punished him. And he never regretted what he’d done.

His parents and the pastor had always said terrifying things about spirits. Heaven and hell, angels and demons. Salvation and damnation. God’s curse.

If he hadn’t beaten the spirit out of his father, the man would’ve been damned forever—cursed, roaming hell.

Thankfully, his father was saved. Thanks to Son Geonwoo’s brave act, he went to heaven. From that moment on, he’d be resting in peace beside God.

Why was he thinking about his father?

Right. The ghost.

At first, he was sure No. 3 was a ghost. The guy was always trailing right behind him—he had to be.

He hadn’t seen one in years, and now it followed him here.

Instead of fear, he felt relieved.

This place was both Eden and Sodom and Gomorrah. It would’ve been strange if there were no ghosts.

But he realized No. 3 wasn’t a ghost on the second day.

Kim Jiwon knew him. Said hello. Kept sneaking glances.

If someone like Kim Jiwon could see him, then he wasn’t a ghost. He was human.

From then on, No. 3 became a thorn in his side. He didn’t talk to Son Geonwoo much, didn’t even really provoke him, but he messed with his head.

He had a good personality. Didn’t hang with everyone, but didn’t make enemies either. If he had something to say, he said it. If he didn’t, he kept his mouth shut.

He never got angry, never threw a fit.

In fact, he smiled a lot. Always with that smirk, like he was having the time of his life.

It was obnoxious. Like he was copying Son Geonwoo on purpose.

Geonwoo wasn’t chatty, but he got along with everyone. Laughed often.

People always told him, “You’ve got a cool personality.”

He’d worked his whole life to be that kind of person. It didn’t come easy.

But this bastard copied him. Too easily.

Or maybe he was like Son Geonwoo—maybe he’d gone through brutal image training and become that way.

If so, he wasn’t to be underestimated.

And Son Geonwoo had already had a taste of how tough he was.

Team 1 had been summoned to the dojo at dawn yesterday. No food, just over ten hours of “special training.” Punching, pinning, grappling, smothering—being smothered.

It was grueling. But No. 3 had pushed harder than anyone.

Son Geonwoo clenched his teeth too—he didn’t want to lose.

Then came the one-on-one match rotation.

No. 3 was 193cm tall—had the advantage in reach. But Son Geonwoo was 187cm and built just as well as anyone else here.

Even so, locking up with No. 3, Son Geonwoo was shocked.

The guy was a rock. Moved like he was just messing around, but Geonwoo couldn’t gain a single edge.

And yet—he won. No. 3 ended up on the ground.

At first, he was thrilled. Thought he’d won fair and square.

But later, it hit him.

He hadn’t won. No. 3 had let him win.

Motherfucker. It made his skin crawl.

As he brooded over that memory, another one came to him—he’d gotten a similar feeling from Kim Jiwon once.

When was it? A few days back, he’d lost his temper and dragged Jiwon off. Not his “coolest” moment, but he couldn’t help it at the time.

He’d thought Jiwon would be the weakest here—thin and fragile.

But he wasn’t so easy. Even as Geonwoo grabbed him, he got the weird sense that Jiwon was measuring his strength.

Right. Jiwon had also let him win that time.

Son Geonwoo furrowed his brow.

Park Geonwoo admired how Jiwon trained harder than anyone during ❖ Nоvеl𝚒ght ❖ (Exclusive on Nоvеl𝚒ght) conditioning sessions. Said he’d worked construction for years—that it showed.

“Doesn’t look it, but the guy worked in manual labor for over six years. You soft rich boys are on a whole different level.”

But Son Geonwoo saw things differently.

He couldn’t quite explain it, but something about sparring with No. 3 made him feel it:

No. 3 and Kim Jiwon—same breed.

Kim Jiwon and No. 3.

Said they knew each other outside? Driver and passenger?

Was that really all?

Son Geonwoo cracked his neck side to side. Each twist popped loudly.

Speaking of Kim Jiwon—he wasn’t really his type.

Still, he couldn’t deny his curiosity.

Everyone here thought they were hot shit, but not Kim Jiwon. Tall, handsome—and yet completely shrunk into himself. Too timid. Always watching others’ reactions.

It amused him. He found himself drawn in by that awkward, overly polite act.

And lately, he’d been begging for attention. Pretending he wasn’t. But teasing him. Asking to be sucked, to be fucked.

Well, if he’s that desperate, I should give it to him.

Son Geonwoo had been waiting for the day.

He’d fuck him hard—suck, bite, pound him till he was raw—and then coolly walk away.

But that bastard, Kim Jiwon—he went and made eyes at No. 3.

And not even behind his back. Right in front of him. Like he never gave a shit about Geonwoo to begin with.

Son Geonwoo was furious.

Cock cut off and still acting like a fucking tease? You think you can play with Son Geonwoo?

He clenched his jaw. He was going to make him pay.

And yet, at the same time, it made things more exciting. A rival made it fun again.

Honestly, he’d been losing interest—getting bored with the whole “having him all to himself” thing. But now, with No. 3 in the picture, Jiwon looked different. His looks were more his type than he thought. Sometimes, even sexy. Even his grotesque dick looked kinda cute.

And then he saw something else in Jiwon.

He was just like Son Geonwoo.

Different on the outside than on the inside.

Jiwon pretended otherwise, but Son Geonwoo could see it clearly. Like himself, Jiwon had a wild animal inside.

He wasn’t meek. Wasn’t timid.

Ahh. That’s when Son Geonwoo fell for him.

They were the same breed.

They looked different, but they were twins. Soul twins.

Sex with him would be incredible.

Son Geonwoo smiled as he felt blood rush to his groin.

He flushed the meds he got from the clinic down the toilet.