Gyeoul was genuinely curious—about the real reason he’d been kidnapped by In Juhan.
‘Could it be because I kept what happened with In Seongje a secret?’
No way. That made no sense. Who in their right mind would kidnap someone for that.
‘Did he think I was passing information to his brother?’
No. If that were the case, he’d have ripped my head off on the spot.
Then why. How had he ended up plunked down in the living room of In Juhan’s house? And why, after kidnapping him like he was about to do something this instant, was In Juhan saying nothing at all—just drinking and smoking?
No matter how he thought about it, he couldn’t find an answer. But he couldn’t just sit there slack-jawed either. So Gyeoul inched closer to In Juhan and, mustering his courage, opened his mouth. Naturally, he kept far enough away that the man’s arm couldn’t reach. Just in case.
“Um… Director… hhic!”
But a hiccup popped up, thanks to his nerves being wound too tight. Instead of answering, In Juhan met his eyes.
“D-did you get upset because I started to tell you what happened with Team Leader In today and then stopped…?”
“What? Upset?”
…He really should’ve kept his mouth shut. One pointless slip, and he’d only made In Juhan’s mood worse.
“No! I mean, were you… miffed?”
This wasn’t it. Flustered, Gyeoul couldn’t find the word he wanted. There was a softer way to say “sulking” or “pouting”…
“Secretary Cha, did you happen to write your will?”
“Sorry…? My will?”
He answered without even grasping the intent of the sudden question.
“Yes. Your will.”
“I haven’t yet…”
Leisurely, In Juhan lifted a glass of golden whiskey and poured the liquid through lips that looked cut like a gemstone. Maybe it was the soft lighting, but the sight was indecently seductive.
“So that’s why you’re clowning around like this…”
“Do you… need a will, Director?”
For a moment, their voices overlapped.
“What?”
“Sorry?”
Gyeoul had the eerie feeling he’d just been threatened with murder. Asking whether he had a will—was that code for, “The way you’re acting, it’s like you’re dying to die”? Without catching that right away, he’d gone and asked if the Director needed one. Depending on how you took it, that could read like, “Why? You’re not the one who wants to die, are you?”
‘That must have sounded unbelievably cheeky…’
Credit where it’s due: In Juhan’s character was consistent. Imagine issuing a death threat over a minor slip of the tongue. He could kind of see why all the previous secretaries had vanished.
Not wanting to end up like that, Gyeoul started spilling things no one had asked for.
“B-by chance! It was really by chance that we sat next to each other at the musical! Absolutely! We did not meet by arrangement… After the show, Team Leader In asked me to have dinner with him, and… while we were eating I passed out because of my allergy…”
The farther he went, the weaker his voice grew. Hearing it out loud, even he felt the story was unnatural. A coworker you’d met purely by chance—someone from another team with whom you never exchanged words—and you watched a musical together and even had dinner? That was definitely not normal.
When he’d finished, In Juhan clenched his jaw. It looked like he was restraining a swelling anger. That he possessed anything like patience was a new facet—another discovery for the day.
“I’m only saying this in case you m-might misunderstand, but… I really…”
Gyeoul took a step closer and lowered his voice like he was sharing something important. He didn’t want the Director suspecting he’d leaked secrets to In Seongje.
“I only said nice things about you, Director!”
“You did what?”
“I praised you…”
Why did he frown at being told he’d been praised? Today of all days, Gyeoul couldn’t read him at all.
“Hah. So you, Cha Gyeoul, are spotless? There’s absolutely nothing to feel guilty about?”
“O-of course! I abso—lutely did not do what you’re thinking, Director.”
Draining what was left in his glass, In Juhan spoke.
“And what is it you think I’m thinking?”
“I thought maybe you misunderstood—like I passed slush… confidential information to Team Leader In… Ah—so that’s not it?”
“…”
He kept his mouth shut, and only when the silence threatened to turn awkward did he answer.
“Is it really a misunderstanding? Back at the hospital, didn’t you and In Seongje match stories while he covered your mouth?”
Blindsided by a suspicion he’d never imagined, Gyeoul windmilled his hands like wipers on a windshield under a downpour.
“N-no, n-no, absolutely not! It’s a complete m-misunderstanding! I don’t even have Team Leader In’s contact info!”
He practically shouted his explanation in panic, but In Juhan seemed to let it wash past his ears.
“What to do. I’ve already begun to doubt your trustworthiness, Cha Gyeoul. No matter how much you babble, I can’t bring myself to trust you.”
Gyeoul felt his heart plummet.
‘If he says my trust level dropped… Is he going to… dispose of me…?’
You don’t keep someone you can’t trust at your side. As if to confirm his fear, In Juhan rose to his feet and faced him. Close enough their toes might touch. Then he set a large hand on Gyeoul’s shoulders, which had gone stiff with tension. Gyeoul flinched and locked up even tighter.
“What crossed my mind was this. Maybe you’re a cockroach In Seongje planted. Playing dumb on purpose while you siphon information. Hell, be honest—two people just ‘happen’ to meet and have dinner on a weekend? That doesn’t make sense, does it?”
Clearly, he didn’t believe a single word of Gyeoul’s explanation. He was piling flesh on the bones of his delusion.
This was it. The end.
‘He’s going to yank my head off, right? No—he might fold me backward at the waist. If not that, he’ll pull off my arms and legs first, make me die slowly, or he’ll start with my tongue…’
A dozen murder methods churned through his head, and in the middle of them an absurd stray thought intruded.
‘I need to go home and flip the strawberry preserves…’
Even with his life on the line, he was worrying about strawberry preserves. Pathetic. But sundried strawberry preserves were so sweet-and-tart and delicious.
‘That’s something you enjoy while you’re alive…’
In the first place, there was no way to do anything to In Juhan by force. Even if he tried to run, his legs wouldn’t move properly. It felt like his knees would buckle from tension—and then the hand on his shoulder fell away.
“If you come clean right now, I’ll spare you—for now.”
…For now?
At that murmur, Gyeoul squeezed his eyes shut.
What should he do? Survive first—should he lie and say he was a spy? Panic bred every kind of bad idea. That would be like climbing into a coffin by himself.
“I-it’s really a misunderstanding!”
In the end, all he could do was claim his innocence.
A big hand slid down along his collarbone and stopped below his throat. A little higher and he’d be in position to twist Gyeoul’s neck.
Just as he felt he might pass out from tension, the hand at his throat fell away. With it, the tension circling the room dissipated like vapor.
Gyeoul looked up at him, puzzled.
“Doesn’t feel like a lie.”
He didn’t say much, but somehow his voice seemed a shade looser. His expression was far less terrifying than moments before. Realizing he’d been right to insist on his innocence, Gyeoul finally managed to breathe.
“But that doesn’t mean I trust you completely. Remember this. There won’t be a next time.”
His shoulders tensed again. It felt like a game where you died once and just spent your extra life. Now there were no lives left—and the final boss was spewing miasma right in front of him.
“You also swore there was nothing between you and In Seongje, didn’t you?”
“Yes!”
“Then prove it.”
Prove… what?
A bad feeling crawled over Gyeoul’s skin.
“Prove that you truly belong to me.”
And bad feelings have a nasty habit of being exactly right.