PHUW 117

Jeong Mok instinctively reached out. He wanted to hold him, stroke him, and reassure him that from now on no one would ever hurt him again.

“Uh.”

Seeing the hand coming closer, Ahn Haeri stopped wiping his tears and flinched. He glared at him with eyes full of distrust, his trembling lips jutting out. He hated it, hated it so much, was terrified, but lacked the courage to refuse and struggled inside.

A dull ache began in Jeong Mok’s chest, as if a red-hot iron bar had stabbed straight through his sternum, and spread through his body. He quietly withdrew the hand he had stretched out, and blinked slowly.

“You don’t have to do anything you hate. I told you already. You’ve already given me a lot. Just do what you want. For me, it’s enough just to be by your side.”

Haeri neither nodded nor shook his head.

“There’s only one thing I won’t yield on. You suffering, I won’t allow it. And of course no pain either. So don’t waste yourself on strange worries, just focus on your health.”

He smiled at Haeri, who peeked at him from beneath his drooping bangs. Haeri’s fluffy hair shifted slowly up and down. Jeong Mok had to had to gather everything he had to suppress the urge to crush him in a hug. When someone carried wounds all over, even a touch born of affection could hurt.

All the happiness they had built together had been reset. Haeri’s loss of memory and trust toward him was bearable. What pained him was being unable to comfort Haeri freely now that he had remembered a past better left forgotten.

“It’s late. I’ll go now. Get some rest.”

Haeri sniffled and gave a glance of farewell first. Distrust still lingered in his trembling eyes, but the fear had eased a little.

“I’ll message you later. That’s alright, isn’t it?”

“Yes… it’s fine.”

“Good. Thank you.”

Though he could watch him twenty-four hours if he wished, he felt reluctant to turn away. Standing by the door, he lifted a hand in farewell once more, Haeri nodded. Even then he lingered awkwardly, unable to take his leave, until the dedicated nurse down the hall turned to check if something was wrong. Only then did he finally step away from the door.

Normally, meeting the attending doctor required ward rounds or a separate appointment. But Jeong Mok was exempt.

He met the head of surgery and received a detailed explanation of Haeri’s condition. Recovery from the inflammation in his operated foot was progressing smoothly. But if inflammation came back, this time the bone could dissolve, so any strain on the foot was absolutely forbidden. The psychiatric assessment had not changed much. Given the severity of the psychological trauma, close observation was needed and above all stability was the priority.

IVs had been removed, but oral medication had doubled. Haeri could be discharged whenever he wished. In his heart, Jeong Mok wanted to take him home immediately.

Even with a caregiver, there would be times when they would be alone in the spacious house, and Haeri would surely dislike that. On top of that, he might overstrain himself dealing with Gom-i again. After some thought, Jeong Mok said they should wait about a week and follow Haeri’s own wishes for discharge. The veteran specialist, with decades of experience, accepted the non-medical decision without objection.

On the way back to Seoul with his chauffeur, they stopped on a deserted country road. There was an illegally parked car. When Jeong Mok got out, the chauffeur handed him a scratched smart key and leather gloves. After bowing, he got into the car Jeong Mok had arrived in and drove off alone in the original direction.

Wearing the leather gloves, Jeong Mok took the key and approached the parked car. It was an old foreign model with outdated plates and no navigation system. Using his personal phone, he set the address Chief Ahn had sent him. The location was a remote area about forty minutes away.

Following a winding cement road led to a pig farm that had gone bankrupt and been abandoned during the recent foot-and-mouth outbreak. The pigs were gone, but equipment remained. Here and there were pits dug for burying pigs but left unused.

The surveillance cameras that had worked fine when the farm was running had long since died. At the village entrance along the way, a camera had been installed to catch crop thieves, but the day before yesterday a city man from Seoul, having taken a wrong turn, had crashed into its pole due to poor driving. The camera had snapped off and the fallen device was wrecked. With insurance claims and formalities, it would be quite some time before a replacement could be set up.

The driver responsible was now on medical leave. The airbag had gone off at impact and broken two ribs. He would take about a month of full rest before returning to work. He had been delivered a generous compensation through Chief Ahn.

Inside the farm, the rear end of a familiar domestic SUV came into view. It had been backed in for a quick exit. As Jeong Mok got out, chief Ahn appeared.

“This way.”

He followed him into the feed storage. At the entrance there were three or four manure shovels shaped like pitchforks and a rusted three-wheeled cart. On top of an industrial pallet lay not feed, but a middle-aged man in a suit without a tie. He had the plain look and build of the kind you might see half a dozen of in any cheap diner, with not a single distinctive feature. The only unusual things were the layers of blue tape binding his wrists and ankles, and of course the strip sealing his mouth.

“Light.”

Chief Ahn switched on his phone light. When the beam hit him, the man squinted and began to bark something out. With his mouth taped, it sounded less like words than like a pig having its throat cut. Next to him hung a white raincoat. Chief Ahn had indeed prepared thoroughly.

As Jeong Mok slipped on the raincoat, the man’s frenzy worsened. His eyes bulged and he screamed muffled curses, but when Jeong Mok clenched his gloved fingers and then released his fist, the man soon degenerated into pitiful sobbing.

“You may leave now. I’ll call when it’s finished.”

“Yes.”

At Jeong Mok’s order, Chief Ahn stepped out of the storage. The man’s pitiful pleading turned back into frenzy. Just before the door shut, Chief Ahn glimpsed the tall man, who usually showed a quiet and gentle charisma uncharacteristic for someone from the Hyeonsan main house, now hefting a manure shovel.

Once the door shut, the head of security approached. He had joined the company ten years ago and earned the chairwoman’s trust by thwarting multiple attempts at assault and kidnapping against the main branch. Since then he had been Chief Ahn’s closest counterpart. If Chief Ahn was the brains, he was the brawn.

“Are you sure about this? The VIP has never directly involved himself in this kind of matter before.”

“Who says so?”

“…What?”

Chief Ahn laughed when the chief of security questioned him.

Chief Ahn had been taken into the shadows at a younger age than the security chief. When Chairman Noh Yeongtae named and began backing his eldest daughter as successor, his younger brother Noh Jutae, who had dreamed of inheriting the seat after his elder, began to rebel openly.

Before the successor’s position could be firmly secured, Noh Jutae plotted to eliminate his brother and seize the chaos to claim the chairmanship. Noh Yeongtae narrowly survived such attempts more than once. At first he dismissed them as coincidences, unwilling to believe his younger brother capable. But the moment the frantic Jutae targeted Yeongtae’s eldest daughter, who was then pregnant with his first grandchild, Yeongtae turned cold.

It was then that the once ordinary secretary, Chief Ahn, began working in the shadows. At Yeongtae’s command, he quietly cut away every link tied to the younger brother’s faction, sometimes disposing of the worst in ways that left no trace.

From then on, whenever Jutae schemed, Yeongtae crushed him without mercy, sometimes even threatening his children’s lives. Eventually Jutae realized he was not the only one who could wear a beast’s mask. He fell to his knees before Yeongtae and begged.

In return for sparing his family, Yeongtae, by then middle-aged and nearly a grandfather, beat his younger brother savagely with a golf club. After that, Jutae fully withdrew from management, and his children were exiled to a worthless subsidiary.

The younger branch, headed by Jutae, lived quietly until his grandchildren Choi Sangeon and Choi Jieon grew up, but slowly, like cockroaches, they expanded their reach and waited. After being beaten nearly to death by his elder brother, Jutae had finally learned never to challenge the main house again. Now old and near death, he could no longer restrain his offspring, who had no fear of the main house and ran wild.

It was about time the main branch showed its weight again. But Chairwoman Noh Songjae lacked the build and stamina to swing a golf club herself. That left Choi Sangeon, but he had inherited much of his father Choi Changsu’s mild nature and shied from such measures. Choi Jieon had the temperament, but she was still recovering after childbirth.

So only one remained.

“Of the three grandsons, I’d say the one inside resembles his grandfather the most. The looks may take after his paternal side, but his warmth paired with a ruthless streak once crossed, that is exactly like his grandfather. And the way he lives quietly only to suddenly cause a great upheaval, that’s just like his late mother. Different surname or not, he’s a true Noh.”

“Even so, he’s a novice. It would be better to stop him…”

The security chief tried once more to dissuade him.

Aaaargh!

The desperate squeal of a pig being slaughtered came from inside the storage. It was followed by a bubbling, choking sound from a throat, then silence, then a dull, heavy noise of something being struck.

“It’s too late to stop him now.”

The security chief could not hide his dismay. He exhaled a short breath and shook his head.