Yieum looked up at the towering wall before him and let out a quiet sigh. The moment he pressed the doorbell, the gate unlocked with a metallic clank, no one even bothering to ask who he was. As he climbed the stone steps, an elderly man was already waiting at the entrance, posture impeccably straight.
“Welcome. The CEO has been expecting you.”
Following him inside, Yieum realized the house was far larger than it had appeared from the outside. The place was crowded with artwork—far beyond ordinary paintings. There were bizarre artifacts everywhere: a spear that looked as though it belonged to some primitive tribe, a traditional mask shaped unlike any human face, and a statue radiating a murky, oppressive aura.
But the most striking piece was a sculpture modeled after a penis.
Its grotesque size alone was obscene, but even the veins had been rendered in nauseating detail. Yieum stared at it in open disgust until the man led him into the drawing room.
“The CEO will be here shortly. Please, make yourself comfortable. Would you like some tea?”
“No, thank you. Please don’t trouble yourself.”
“If you need anything, press the call bell beside you.”
Adjusting his glasses, the man quietly excused himself. Left alone, Yieum glanced around the drawing room before his eyes landed on a large painting hanging on the wall. An ink wash painting—and a familiar one at that.
An original?
He was studying it closely when he heard movement behind him. The opposite door opened, and Choi Wonjoon stepped inside.
He wore a dark gray robe and was toweling his damp hair dry.
To summon someone over and then show up like this.
“You’re early.”
Yieum said nothing.
Choi Wonjoon’s lawyer had personally come to file assault charges, throwing his entire department into chaos. His team leader had demanded to know whether he had really hit Choi Wonjoon and, more importantly, why. But there had been no possible explanation he could give.
The rumor had spread instantly. Even detectives from other divisions had come around fishing for details about their relationship. The complaint had included photographs and a medical report as evidence, but how the hell did a minor bruise warrant a twelve-week diagnosis? Once this mess was over, Yieum fully intended to track down the doctor responsible and confront him personally.
“Why did you file a complaint against me?”
He tossed the papers onto the table.
Without answering, Choi Wonjoon retrieved a bottle of liquor and a pair of glasses from the cabinet nearby. As he sat down, the robe parted slightly, exposing firm, sharply defined thighs. Uncomfortable, Yieum immediately looked away.
Wonjoon poured amber liquor into a glass and held it out toward him.
“Should I have them bring something to snack on?”
“Hey. Mr. Choi Wonjoon.”
Yieum’s voice sharpened.
“Do you think I came here to drink with you?”
Wonjoon ignored him completely and tossed back the whiskey in one swallow. Gulp. Gulp. His Adam’s apple bobbed cleanly with each drink. Fresh from the shower, his damp hair hung over his forehead, and for a fleeting instant, his face overlapped with the image of Youngsik.
Setting the glass down with a heavy clack, Wonjoon licked the remaining liquor from his lips and poured another.
Yieum stared at him in disbelief before abruptly rising to his feet.
“If all you’re going to do is sit here and drink, I’m leaving.”
“Try to understand. I need alcohol to sleep. Even then, I only manage two or three hours.”
“At this rate, alcoholism will kill you before insomnia does.”
“Exactly.”
Wonjoon leaned forward, resting his chin atop his clasped hands as he looked steadily at Yieum.
“So help me. With the same kindness you showed when you took Youngsik in. Hm?”
“This again?”
“Mr. Yieum, you say that because you don’t understand what it’s like to never sleep. It drives people insane. I’ve been on medication for years, so pills don’t work anymore. But strangely enough, when I slept at your place, sleep came easily.”
“You imagined it. You lost your memory and regressed mentally to childhood. Naturally your nerves relaxed.”
“That’s what I thought too.”
Wonjoon smiled faintly.
“That’s why I stayed another day. Not as Youngsik—as Choi Wonjoon.”
Yieum’s expression twisted.
“What did you just say?”
His voice dropped dangerously low.
“You regained your memory, but you kept pretending?”
“You really didn’t notice?”
Wonjoon laughed softly.
“Well, I was flawless, wasn’t I?”
Yieum clenched his fists hard enough for his knuckles to whiten.
Hold it in.
If he hit him again here, there would be no turning back. Last time could at least be argued as self-defense—Wonjoon had invaded his home. But if he assaulted him now, after coming all the way here himself, there would be no excuse.
“So help me.”
“And if I refuse?”
“What choice would I have?”
Wonjoon shrugged lazily.
“I’d just do things my own way.”
“….”
“I’m far more of a bastard than I look. I’m very good at wearing people down until they give me what I want.”
“So you’re planning to wear me down?”
“Yes.”
“And how exactly do you intend to do that?”
“There are plenty of ways.”
Wonjoon tilted his head slightly.
“But the most devastating one would probably involve your secondary gender.”
Yieum’s expression hardened.
“Judging by appearances, even your family thinks you’re a Beta. Impressive, honestly. How did you hide it? Forged documents?”
“What makes you so certain I’m not a Beta? Do you have proof?”
“The suppressants in your drawer.”
“…!”
“They belonged to an Omega, didn’t they?”
Without realizing it, Yieum had gripped the liquor glass so tightly his fingers ached.
Wonjoon’s gaze flicked downward.
“You know using an object to assault someone counts as aggravated assault, right?”
A mocking smile curved his lips.
“That would be irreversible.”
Was this bastard seriously lecturing a detective about the law?
The urge to smash the glass into his face surged violently through him. He was offensive, irritating, revolting in every conceivable way. But Yieum knew that losing his temper now would only drag him deeper into Wonjoon’s rhythm.
Slowly, he loosened his grip and set the glass back down before folding his hands calmly in his lap.
“Let me ask you something.”
His voice was flat.
“Was meeting me really a coincidence? Was the amnesia real? Or did you know everything from the beginning and deliberately choose me?”
Wonjoon stared at him for a moment before letting out an incredulous laugh.
“So now you think I somehow knew you’d be there that day? That I conveniently rolled down at the perfect timing because I wanted something from you?”
Yieum stayed silent.
Objectively speaking, even he knew it sounded implausible. Wonjoon seemed to sense that immediately.
“There must be something incredibly valuable in your house if I went through all that trouble.”
Yieum didn’t answer.
Among the evidence his brother had collected while investigating Sehwa Group’s corruption, some materials had remained even after the trial ended. Since the rest of the family still lived together, those documents had been locked away in Yieum’s safe instead.
And ever since, it had weighed on his mind.
“Inspector Kim.”
Wonjoon swirled the liquor in his glass before taking a slow sip, amusement flickering in his eyes.
“If I really wanted to, overturning your Chief of Police—or your Commissioner, or someone even higher—would be effortless for me.”
His lips curved lazily.
“So why would I bother infiltrating the home of an ordinary detective like you?”
He let out a soft laugh.
“Doesn’t that sound ridiculous even to you? Pathetic. I heard you were supposed to be a competent detective.”
When Yieum remained silent, Wonjoon leaned back into his chair, eyes half-lidded beneath the shadow of thick lashes.
“Think of it positively. We use each other.”
His voice lowered.
“You give me peaceful sleep. I give you what you want.”
“And what exactly are you offering me, Mr. Choi Wonjoon? Money?”
At the sarcasm in Yieum’s voice, Wonjoon rose from his seat and disappeared into the bedroom. When he returned, he carried a manila envelope.
He placed it on the table and slid it across.
“Open it.”
Yieum hesitated without touching it. Wonjoon merely gestured with his eyes.
Go on.
Yieum finally pulled out the contents.
Photographs.
“Recognize him?”
The moment he saw the man in the picture, Yieum’s jaw tightened.
Of course he recognized him.
Just looking at the bastard made his teeth grind together.
Two years ago, the man had been the prime suspect in one of Yieum’s cases—a scumbag who ran an entertainment agency and preyed exclusively on underage kids, raping them repeatedly.
And yet he had walked free.
Acquitted.
A month later, one of the victims committed suicide. In her final note, she begged people to clear her name of the false accusations.
“You wanted to arrest him, didn’t you?”
Yieum slowly lowered the photographs onto the table.
“How do you know about this?”
“You investigated me too.”
Wonjoon smiled faintly.
“Let’s call it even.”
“….”
“Answer me honestly.”
His gaze sharpened.
“Do you still want to catch him?”
“….”
“I asked whether you want to catch him.”
Of course he did.
If the bastard hadn’t hidden behind his wealthy father’s influence and manipulated the law, the victim might still be alive. Yieum wanted to arrest him. Wanted to destroy him.
Seeing no denial, Wonjoon pulled something from the pocket of his robe and dangled it casually between two fingers.
A USB drive.
He set it down between them and tapped it twice against the table.
Tap. Tap.
“There’s a video on here that will bury him.”
“….”
“If you don’t believe me, verify it yourself. We can discuss the deal afterward.”
“Don’t try anything funny.”
“Funny?”
Wonjoon smiled lazily.
“It’s a sincere gesture.”
“I don’t know what this is, but it won’t matter. The reason we couldn’t put him away back then was his father.”
“I said there’s evidence that can destroy him.”
Wonjoon’s eyes curved slowly.
“I never said the evidence was against Kim Jicheol.”
Yieum frowned.
Then this involved Kim Jicheol’s father—Assemblyman Kim Yongtaek?
What the hell was on that drive?
As hesitation flickered across his face, Wonjoon pushed the USB all the way toward him.
“Look at it first. Decide afterward.”
“….”
“And if that’s still not enough, I’ll personally make sure both father and son are ruined.”
Wonjoon smiled brightly.
A chill crawled down Yieum’s spine.
So this is what it feels like to stand before a demon in hell.
Choi Wonjoon’s offer was the devil’s fruit itself—the kind you know you should never touch, yet somehow your hand keeps reaching for it.
And Yieum could do neither.
He couldn’t take the USB.
But he couldn’t push it away either.