Three Eight-Chapter 71

They weren’t like the thugs from Gwoleum-dong—they were just low-tier punks. Still, with enough numbers, even someone like Mu-gyeong could be in real danger.

Hongju ground the cigarette out on the ground and made his way back through the building entrance. When he got to the third floor and pulled out the desk chair to sit, he heard footsteps coming up the stairs.

"Hmm."

He met the gaze of Yang Siljang, who was humming a tune. The man grinned, flashing his gold tooth. It reminded Hongju of the first day he’d been dragged here by his father. That smile had always made it hard to breathe.

"......."

Hongju closed his eyes tightly, briefly imagining something happening to Mu-gyeong. All debts and money aside, that was the one thing he didn’t want to picture.

Leaving Yang Siljang and his unsettling grin behind, Hongju headed to the bathroom. He locked the door and immediately pulled out his phone. These days, with Mu-gyeong around all the time, he barely used it—and had even forgotten to charge it.

[They’re gonna move on game day. You should bring someone or change locations.]

He hit send urgently and stared at the screen. But no reply came before someone knocked on the bathroom door.

"Man, no customers today. Lazy as hell."

A thug yawned and stretched, his outstretched legs pushing the electric heater out of place. Hongju glanced out the window. Around this hour, the hallway was usually swarming with the hollow-eyed dreamers chasing after one big win. Having grown up in this greedy, chaotic place for fifteen years, the quietness now felt alien.

Then—BEEP!—a loud honk echoed through the empty House.

"What the hell?"

Startled, the thug and Hongju exchanged wide-eyed glances and stood up. Yang Siljang, who’d been dozing off in the room with the safe, flung the door open.

"What was that noise? Someone here?"

"I dunno."

The thug and Hongju hurried to the open window. A cold gust of wind blew in—and there it was. A familiar car gleaming under the streetlights.

BEEP! The horn blared again, louder and longer.

"Isn’t that President Mu-gyeong?"

The window rolled down, and an ungloved hand emerged, lazily motioning in the air.

"Oh, he’s calling you over."

The thug nudged Hongju with his elbow, like it was obvious.

"Come on, get going."

"President Mu-gyeong’s here?"

Yang Siljang had come closer now, and without even looking out the window, shoved Hongju toward the stairs.

"Hurry up. Go."

The tone wasn’t a request—it was a shove disguised as an order. Hongju quietly descended the stairs. As he passed through the doorless entrance, he saw Mu-gyeong leaning casually against the driver’s side window.

"I called you out. What, you ignoring me?"

Despite the harsh words, his grin stretched wide and easy. Hongju said nothing and made his way to the passenger seat. Before getting in, he looked up at the third floor. His eyes met Yang Siljang’s—arms crossed, staring down from the window.

"......."

Just as he was about to look away, Yang Siljang smiled. A strange, unreadable smile. What was lurking behind that eye patch? The chill on Hongju’s neck told him enough—he quickly ducked into the car.

"You saw the message, right?"

"Yeah. Living at the House must be entertaining. They’re always throwing some kinda event."

The car pulled away from the House, cutting through the darkness. Every now and then, Hongju looked back at the third-floor window. It still felt like Yang Siljang’s creepy gaze was following him.

"They’re planning to hit you and the mark after the game ends, on your way home. They’re just shitty kids, but looks like they’re bringing backup—probably planning to overwhelm you with numbers."

"Wow. Playing house with snot-nosed punks? Sounds like Gu Madam really wants me gone, huh?"

Mu-gyeong, as usual, didn’t seem remotely alarmed.

"...Probably. If you’re gone, that debt disappears too."

Hongju carefully mixed the parts he’d overheard with his own deductions and relayed them all to Mu-gyeong. As he tapped the steering wheel thoughtfully, Mu-gyeong suddenly reached over. Startled, Hongju flinched as a hand landed on his head.

"What’re you jumping for? Like I’ve ever hit you that hard."

Mu-gyeong scoffed. Hongju slowly opened his eyes. Sure, he’d been slapped and choked—but compared to what he’d grown up with at the House, it was practically nothing.

"You’re doing well."

A soft tap-tap on his head—and the hand withdrew. The lingering warmth in his hair made his lashes tremble faintly.

"......."

He wanted to say then please help me find my father, but held back. If he rushed, and everything fell apart, he’d lose everything.

"That old man sure is a handful."

Hongju glanced sideways at Mu-gyeong, casually drumming the wheel. Was this really someone who’d just been told he was being targeted? Not a trace of fear on his face. Maybe when you have that much power, nothing’s scary anymore.

Looking at Seong Mu-gyeong stirred up unfamiliar emotions in him. It made his chest tighten. Made his heart race.

Hongju clenched his tingling fingers into a fist and turned to stare out the window. He didn’t even notice the sticky gaze burning into the back of his head.

"If it’s as you say, then I’d better stir things up a bit for Gu Madam."

As if he’d reached a conclusion, Mu-gyeong made a call. They’d just arrived at a quiet house and parked.

Worried his presence might make the call awkward, Hongju fumbled to unclip his seatbelt. He was about to get out when Mu-gyeong mouthed silently: “Slowly.”

His flurry of motion slowed, like tape unspooling in slow motion.

"Hey, Gu Madam. You guys free tonight? That bastard just messaged—he’s got a business trip on that day."

He hadn’t spoken to anyone on the way here. He was lying with terrifying ease. Hongju glanced at him. His tone, his expression—it was all the same as usual. When their eyes met, Mu-gyeong gave a small, smug twitch of his eyebrow. Unlike Hongju, he could lie without a trace.

"Then wait on standby. I’ll let you know the location when it’s decided."

Their eyes remained locked. Just like Mu-gyeong had once said: real players can see it in the eyes. Especially when holding hwatu cards. A twitch of the iris, a flutter of lashes, a tension in the brow—these things could give away the entire hand. People like Yang Siljang and Guppping, old hands in this game, wouldn’t miss signs like that.

If they realized Mu-gyeong was plotting something... he might vanish, just like all the other “players” who’d disappeared from the House without a trace.

"......."

Mu-gyeong exchanged a few more words with Guppping and hung up. Watching Hongju nervously bite his lip, he spoke with maddening calm.

"You won’t be needed today. Just stay home."

When Hongju didn’t reply and just stared, Mu-gyeong let out a soft laugh.

"What are you looking at me like that for?"

"...Be careful."

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Normally, that kind of comment would’ve earned a flippant response. But Mu-gyeong simply stared back at him in silence. His gaze sharp, as if trying to read something deep inside.

"I’ve always wondered—are you telling me to watch my life, or my money?"

His voice dropped low. And just like those moments when Mu-gyeong had his hand around his throat, Haewon found it hard to breathe. He was sure he was supposed to be worried about Mu-gyeong’s wealth, his status—but now?

When he asked himself, the answer came frighteningly easy.

"......."

"I don’t need to hear it. You’d suck at running cons."

Mu-gyeong looked away and chuckled softly. Hongju swallowed hard, his breath burning, and shifted his eyes. He hadn’t said a word out loud—how had Mu-gyeong read him so precisely? Flustered, he quickly turned and got out of the car.

"One-two-three-four."

A low voice floated through the crack in the passenger door. Probably the door lock code. Hongju didn’t respond and just shut the door. Then, catching a glimpse of his reflection in the window, he realized why Mu-gyeong had been so sure.

"......."

His cheek, always marked by bruises, was still flushed red—so much that the scarf couldn’t even cover it.

While Hongju stood frozen in realization, the car drove off the way it came. Pebbles scattered and dirt crunched beneath the wheels. His racing heartbeat was lost in the noisy retreat.