Winter was fainthearted. If you could turn the word “coward” into a person, it would be Cha Winter. She was so sensitive to sound that any loud noise made her jump, and even at twenty-six she still turned her head and squeezed her eyes shut at the sight of a needle.
In her history there was no such thing as a refund, and she had never thrown a punch in her life—she’d never even provoked a fight, lest she feel pain.
But above all else, Winter hated blood. A vegetarian to the extreme, even a single drop of blood filled her with unease, terror, and disgust. Yet disgust, like anything, could be overcome with exposure.
Having seen blood so often, a little smear no longer fazed her. Of course, puddles soaking the floor or fountain-like geysers of blood from severed limbs, not to mention that acrid metallic smell, still made her stomach turn.
Her personal threshold for revulsion was unusually high—but she still hated blood.
Which made her attempt to saw off Seongman’s finger all the more significant. There had to be a reason she swung the blade despite the risk of fainting at the sight of gore. And that reason was… In Juhan.
When In Juhan had first ordered her to find out where the thirty billion won was hidden, Winter had given it careful thought. If she failed, he certainly wouldn’t let her live. She didn’t know what punishments he reserved for failures, but it wouldn’t be milder than the beating she’d seen him mete out. At best, she might end up beaten to a pulp; at worst, encased in cement inside a drum and cast adrift in the Pacific.
It sounded absurd, but she had to remember: this world was the novel Falling Flowers. From what she’d gleaned, In Juhan had disposed of countless people—limbs were severed, bodies discarded, and yet the police never caught him. It was the passive skill of a nastily evil supporting villain.
So Winter steeled herself: she would do anything to avoid dying at In Juhan’s hands. She feared nothing more than death itself.
In Juhan was a terrible figure—cold, ruthless, without shred of mercy.
“Didn’t you hear me?”
And yet there she was, kneading his hand like a sticky rice cake, her nerves surging in a panic she barely noticed.
No wonder… his hand is warm…
“I-I’m sorry!”
She yanked her hand away as if flinging filthy trash aside.
In Juhan watched her discarded hand and her face in turn. Winter braced herself, expecting a blow or a harsh word—but he only let out a quiet, almost amused chuckle.
“Then we must finish here first.”
He nodded toward the unconscious Seongman. Winter knew this was it.
“…Shall I fetch it?”
He meant the body. Winter had always expected this day to come. As secretary to a psychopath, she knew she’d be forced to help cover up his atrocities.
Ever the planner, Winter had prepared for this.
“What will you need?”
“A-any method you suggest… cement, hydrochloric acid… oh, animal-feed grinder….”
In novels and movies, such supplies always seemed ready at hand. Any secretary worth her salt would have procured them in advance.
“Hydrochloric acid will do,” In Juhan said with that ominous smile curling his lips.
Winter felt her heart hammering. Hydrochloric acid was the one disposal method she feared most—melting a corpse with acid… Ugh. Details best left unspoken.
Now she was to handle it herself. Her hands trembled.
Can I really do this? I—I don’t think I can…
Unable to lie and unable to confess her terror, Winter bit her lip in agony. Dark visions crowded her mind—until a heavy hand descended on her head, sliding down from her crown to her neck.
“A joke.”
In Juhan was stroking her hair. Winter froze, staring as he walked over to Seongman.
It felt inexplicably strange. Had anyone ever patted her head—other than her parents? She couldn’t recall. What did this unexpected gesture mean? Surely In Juhan had no reason to do it lightly.
And it was a joke!
The director is joking?
Putting aside whether it was funny, she realized this man could be human after all. He was more than the grim, merciless villain she’d known in the novel.
Right—this is another world. Of course…
Even In Juhan had sides unseen in the book: the way he’d once slammed Seongman’s face into the desk, or how he’d horrifyingly enumerate brutal methods of torture. He was, in his own dark way, genuinely human.
In the end, Seongman confessed everything about the thirty billion. Whether it was Winter’s saw or In Juhan’s threats that broke him, she didn’t know—but he confessed.
“I never thought you’d store it in crypto.”
Seongman had converted the thirty billion into cryptocurrency. If he hadn’t admitted it, they’d never have recovered a penny.
“You didn’t think I’d withdraw it all in cash and carry it around, did you?”
“…”
Winter had assumed some old-fashioned hiding spot—buried in a remote cabbage field, like in the movies.
In Juhan scowled at her then logged into the crypto wallet Seongman had revealed.
“Wow…”
Winter, peeking over his shoulder, exhaled in relief. The balance was staggering.
One, ten, a hundred, a thousand… billion, ten billion, a hundred billion…!
They’d recovered every won—and then some.
“Uh, sir, there’s more than thirty billion here….”
They expected thirty, but the wallet held a bit over thirty-two billion.
“Seems you’ve a knack for investing. Coin prices rose while it sat there.”
An extra two billion had materialized.
“That’s fortunate. The chairman will be pleased.”
Winter felt a weight lift off her chest. She’d feared In Juhan’s wrath if they’d failed—and now they’d succeeded.
“What did you say?”
Winter’s next words died on her lips.
“What I said: from now on, this money is mine.”
“Excuse me?”
“It’s found money. Whoever finds it owns it.”
In Juhan’s eyes glittered with a chilling light. Winter realized he wasn’t joking this time. She pitied the chairman for ever trusting this man.
“If someone eventually finds out….”
“That’s impossible.”
He sounded utterly confident. Winter dared to ask a question—he seemed in a good mood, after all.
“Why?”
“Because besides me, only one other person knows this secret.”
Winter tilted her head.
“One person? But there are two of us—me and Seongman.”
She thought the math was off. In Juhan’s smile turned more sinister.
“One person only.”
A riddle.
Two people, yet only one knows? Seongman and me… Wait!
Winter’s eyes widened as realization struck.