Marvin received the call from First Deputy Director Choi Hyeong-il of the Intelligence Bureau one day later. He had dialed the hotel’s landline—a number that left no record—and asked to speak with Marvin. Sitting in the first-floor lobby office, Marvin answered lightly, recognized the caller, and immediately sent the staff away.
“Yes, go ahead.”
Marvin’s voice carried a slightly different tone than usual.
– I heard someone ran a background check on you and filed a complaint. Who is this guy?
It sounded as though he was in a car. His somewhat muffled voice was mixed with the sound of traffic.
“It’s nothing serious. A new prosecutor showed up here. Somehow he discovered my trait.”
– Did you sleep with him?
Marvin couldn’t help but sigh at the abrupt question. How dare he presume…
“No. That’s not it. He just noticed it. There was an entertainment event at the hotel and he attended. He says he can detect trait types—whether that’s true, I don’t know details myself.”
– You don’t think the prosecution’s using smell to do this on purpose, do you?
“I don’t think so. He really found out by chance.”
At that moment, Marvin heard another voice beside Choi’s, offering advice into the receiver. Deputy Director Choi wasn’t alone. Marvin questioned his ears—there could be no third party present when contacting a level-one security agent.
Choi Hyeong-il muttered a few responses, then spoke to Marvin again.
– How’s your body holding up?
A strange question. It was only natural to inquire after months of no contact, but it didn’t seem asked out of genuine concern.
“I’m fine.”
– No pheromones yet, right? You said headaches? Marvin, are your headaches bad?
It sounded as though someone beside Choi was relaying exactly what had been said. If they could recite his symptoms, they must know he’d transformed. Who could it be? The Administrative Director? The National Security Office? Deputy Director Cho Sang-min?
Several likely suspects came to mind. Among them, very few would be addressed so familiarly by Hyeong-il. He felt an irresistible urge to ask directly.
“No pheromones yet. The headaches… they do get worse when it happens.”
– You’re taking your suppressants properly, right? Has Yang Jin-man been poking around?
“Not at all. He seemed to want to pretend he didn’t know.”
– Right, that makes sense. He’s ignorant but won’t get involved in things he can’t handle. That’s why I told you to stay there. But then you get blindsided by a prosecutor. What’s his name again?
“Prosecutor Jang Jin-woo.”
– Jang Jin-woo… Jang Jin-woo… I’ve heard that name…
Marvin waited quietly. He could picture Choi Hyeong-il muttering the name while looking at his companion, who must have been tilting their head in puzzlement. Then, as if remembering, they must have mouthed a hint.
– Ah… Dasan.
He could feel them nodding in agreement. Choi Hyeong-il cracked a mocking laugh into the phone, something like, “What a damn prosecutor…” Then he pressed the phone back to his ear.
– All right, I’ll handle it. Just stay out of it from now on.
“There’s one case where Yang Jin-man’s hotel was sent to prosecution for violating the Entertainment Service regulations. I’m the prosecutor in charge. If he charges it, there’s a high probability I’ll be implicated.”
– What? Why you? Are you running a brothel?
“No, it’s not like that…”
– Unbelievable. He sends you off to keep a low profile, and you go peddling Omega services. You information-bureau guy…
Marvin bit his lip. Did Choi even have the right to say that? He’d never once chosen his path of his own volition. He did as he was told, endured disgrace alone on the promise that silence would solve it soon. Such treatment was humiliating.
– Anyway, got it. I’ll block that. But you be careful. I’ll call Yang Jin-man too. I told him to hire guards, but he gave you stupid tasks instead.
Marvin held onto the phone as if it would not be hung up.
“What about my return? Is it arranged yet?”
There was no answer. Marvin felt his desired reply drifting away. Through the receiver, he faintly heard a car window rolling down and a sentry’s salute. Another voice said, “Yeah, got it.” The car seemed to be idling as it arrived at its destination.
“What about what I asked before? Are the paintings being purchased each month?”
If he couldn’t return soon, at least he needed confirmation of that.
– Oh? Yeah. I told them. Don’t worry. If anything comes up, I’ll call you. Oh, you’re already there, huh?
Deputy Director Choi’s muffled response ended the call. He made no attempt to hide that he had more important matters. Marvin held the dead line for a long while. Though he’d awaited the contact so eagerly, the conversation felt hollow and inconclusive.
Anxious, he checked his social media. He followed exactly one account. Since that photo showing a successful dose, there had been no updates. He felt both relieved and uneasy. No new paintings, no occasional cat pictures.
He tapped the message window, then closed it again. The account had gone dark before when the user vanished—surely it was nothing serious, he told himself. Choi had said they were purchasing them.
Still, his mood dipped.
October’s autumn rain fell. Seon-jin handed the car keys to the restaurant’s parking attendant and hurried inside. He tried to make it to the door in a second flat, but people clustered there—apparently a group outing for a company dinner—blocking both entry and exit.
He squeezed past the chatty diners and was guided inside. Even the private room bustled. The place had gone out of fashion; it had become so famous that patrons came from across Seoul. In his rookie days, it had felt like a hidden fortress—somebody’s lack of sense had spread the word.
“Your party has arrived.”
“Brr, it’s cold.”
Seon-jin complained like a middle schooler as he stepped into the private room. He shook off his rain-dampened neck and shoulders, then politely held the doorframe and addressed the server.
“Our order’s in already, right? As for drinks… it’s chilly, so should we do hot sake?”
Inside, someone sat holding something, never taking their eyes off it, and gave no answer.
“Would you like Jinjo (ginjo sake)?”
The server asked softly, like background music.
“One bottle’s too much, and my friend doesn’t drink much. Just enough for three or four cups. Oh, and do you have any sea urchin?”
Seon-jin kicked off his shoes and asked for an off-menu dish.
“I’ll check with the kitchen and bring it out.”
“Make sure no one comes in looking for me. Keep the room locked tight.”
“Yes.”
The server slipped away as the door closed. Seon-jin took off his coat and stepped inside.
The private room, seating four or five, had a glass wall on one side, offering an unobstructed view. Outside, the fine autumn rain created a quaint garden scene.
“Hey, what are you doing? I’m here.”
A man’s face moved close, and without looking up, he said, “I know.”
“Well, you should at least say hello. What are you staring at? Working? When did you get into Seoul?”
“This morning.”
“Oh.”
Seon-jin wiped his hands with a hot towel and rolled up his shirt sleeves. The abalone porridge was already warming gently over a small brazier. On the side were chilled pickles and hot oolong tea, the cups tinkling as they filled.
“You come here more often than I thought. You acted like you were exiled.”
“I had a family gathering.”
The man’s expression held a faint annoyance. He still gripped a stack of documents—perhaps case files, or was it an indictment? Seon-jin gave up trying to peek and picked up his spoon.
“On your mother’s side?”
Seon-jin lifted the lid on the porridge and scooped two ladlefuls into his bowl. He added a spoonful of the arranged innards dish beside him. He was hungry from missing lunch.
The man didn’t answer, but Seon-jin knew the story. They’d been famous friends since high school. His mother was the youngest daughter of the Se-Kyung Group, who’d married a model she met while studying abroad. Shortly after giving birth to their second son in New York, she and her husband died in a car accident.
Although the family’s fortunes have since dimmed, at the time Se-Kyung was among the top ten conglomerates. Whether at the group’s insistence or by fate, no press appeared; her funeral was held quietly.
Only after many years did internet gossip shows mention it, and the whereabouts of her two young sons became a hot topic. And surprisingly, that second son was a student at the school Seon-jin attended.