Inside the room was a semicircular couch. According to the delivery guy, the drugs were hidden inside the cushion of that sofa. Thunk—a harsh sound tore through the room as the jackknife ripped into the leather, and Han Jonghyun’s eyes flew open. His thin, narrow gaze locked onto Cheon Sejoo.
“Well, look who it is. Isn’t it our dear Chief… Ow! Fuck… What the hell are you doing, anyway…”
Still dazed, his sentence trailed off as he thunked his head against the table. Muttering slow, groggy curses, Han Jonghyun lifted his face and rubbed at his reddening forehead, then tilted his head and spoke to Sejoo.
But Sejoo wasn’t in the mood to chat with a junkie. He ignored the question and turned to the next seat. Again—Thunk—the jackknife stabbed in violently, shredding more leather.
“Hey, give me some water, would you…”
Han Jonghyun rasped, rubbing his exposed neck. Sejoo glanced at him, grabbed a half-empty water bottle rolling across the table, and threw it. Thwack—it hit Han Jonghyun square in the head and rolled onto the floor. A pained yell echoed in the room.
“Argh! Fuck! You did that on purpose!”
Must’ve been the kind of pain that fully woke him. As his voice grew sharper, Sejoo gave a shrug, feigning ignorance, and moved to the next couch. He just wanted to find the stash and leave, but the goods were nowhere to be seen. And now he was getting closer to Han Jonghyun in the center—disgust started creeping in. The reeking stench of weed growing stronger, Sejoo’s face stiffened as he kept stabbing at the cushions.
“You rude little shit…”
Han Jonghyun grumbled, glaring at Sejoo while unscrewing the cap of the water bottle he’d picked up. Without restraint, he dumped it over his face. He licked it off his lips, splashed it on his face like a wash, and when it emptied, tossed the bottle aside. The whole scene was pitiful.
“Ugh… It’s hot…”
Thunk—riiiip—another cushion was torn open. Still nothing. He couldn’t have been lying. Sejoo narrowed his eyes and turned toward the spot where Han Jonghyun was sitting.
“Move.”
He said it lazily. Han Jonghyun, who was licking at the water running down his lips, widened his eyes. Pointing at himself, he asked incredulously, “Me?” When Sejoo nodded, he gave a scoffing laugh like he couldn’t believe his ears.
“Hah! Who the hell do you think you’re telling an Executive to move—AAAGH! Fuck!”
Sejoo didn’t wait.
Thud—the jackknife stabbed down between Han Jonghyun’s widely spread thighs.
Han’s eyes went wide as they dropped to the blade. For a second, he thought his dick was about to get sliced and screamed. But once he realized it was the couch that had been cut, he gasped and panted, shaken. Then, clearly embarrassed at having freaked out, his face turned red and he gritted his teeth. Fucking bastard—he was mouthing something, but Sejoo ignored it, focusing on the sensation at the tip of the blade. There was something there.
“You little…”
“Be quiet, will you.”
Locking eyes with the enraged man, Sejoo reached a hand between his legs. Misunderstanding the gesture, Han Jonghyun flinched and froze.
“What the hell is this…”
His ugly face turned pale. What. Cheon Sejoo answered silently and slid his hand into the inner lining of the seat. His fingers brushed against something. He gripped it—a hard plastic container—and pulled it out without hesitation. Han Jonghyun’s gaze followed the white container in disbelief, then breathed a sigh of relief once he realized what it was.
“Shit, scared the hell out of me…”
Inside the white medicine bottle were transparent meth crystals—pure methamphetamine. Exactly what the delivery guy had smuggled. One, two… Sejoo pulled out five containers and placed them on the table.
“If you came to get the stash, you could’ve just said so. What’s with the hand-between-my-legs routine, huh? Thought you were grabbing my dick for a second…”
Han Jonghyun grumbled, as if desperate for someone to know he was straight. Sejoo, still checking the inside of the ripped cushion, scowled at the words. Why the hell would I touch that nasty dick.
Thanks to the low sofa, his posture looked… suggestive. From outside, it probably looked like he was going down on Han Jonghyun. As Sejoo noticed the man looking down at him with disgust, his patience finally snapped.
“What, should I suck your dick a little while I’m at it?”
“…Y-Y-You crazy homo fuck, have you lost it?!”
There were plenty of reasons not to like this bastard, but this was the biggest. For some reason—maybe a rumor, maybe paranoia—Han Jonghyun always assumed Sejoo was a “homo” and acted like he was guarding his ass. Like Sejoo might just sneak behind him and screw him if he let his guard down.
At first, Sejoo had found it kind of cute. For a day or two. But now, even just hearing the word “homo” pissed him off. Similar height, similar build, not pretty but kind of fresh-faced—Han Jonghyun wasn’t even remotely Sejoo’s type. You could offer him up on a silver platter and he still wouldn’t take a bite. In fact, even if he shut his eyes and tried once, he wouldn’t get hard until the guy had a full STD panel done.
So what was with the confidence?
Already on edge, Sejoo had no energy left to tolerate this slut of a bastard. Pulling his hand out of the cushion, he grabbed Han Jonghyun’s crotch. Felt heavy—figured he really was dragging that thing around everywhere for no reason.
“So why’re you talking about your dick in front of a ‘gay fuck’? I almost got turned on, sir.”
Cheon Sejoo grinned as he spoke, locking eyes at point-blank range. Han Jonghyun’s eyes went wide and his jaw clamped shut. Then, feeling the soft motion of fingers toying with his balls, he shrieked like some virgin being molested.
“Let go! Y-You—Don’t touch that!”
His face turned beet red. For once, that smug bastard’s ugly mug looked satisfying. Smirking, Sejoo clenched his hand—tight, like he was about to crush them—and then let go. As Han Jonghyun recoiled, Sejoo stood, his cold expression returning to that handsome face.
“Then hit me.”
He wanted him to. If Han Jonghyun threw a single punch, Cheon Sejoo could go to town on that foul mouth in “self-defense.” Shin Gyoyeon wouldn’t say a word.
But as if he knew what Sejoo was hoping, Han Jonghyun just sat there, huffing and puffing, saying nothing. He simply pulled his legs up onto the couch and hugged his knees like a child. Pathetic. Sejoo scoffed and shook his head. What a waste of time.
He gathered the five drug bottles on the table. Without another word, he turned to leave the room.
Behind him, Han Jonghyun’s voice called out belatedly. Apparently fully sobered up now, his pronunciation had become clear again.
“What is that. Why the hell are you taking it?”
“Not your business.”
And with sobriety came his usual personality.
“Cheon Sejoo, you rude motherfucker. When an Executive’s talking to you, you’re supposed to answer while making eye contact.”
“……”
Sejoo stopped in place and let out a sigh, rolling his tongue against his teeth.
Han Jonghyun didn’t even do anything in the organization but still carried the “Executive” title. Sejoo had once asked Chae Beomjun what exactly Han did, and even Beomjun had just shrugged. That told him everything.
And even though Shin Gyoyeon hated it when executives touched drugs, this idiot was lying around like a dog in the summer heat, high off his ass.
Still, title or not, Han Jonghyun outranked him. And in their world, hierarchy mattered. Sejoo muttered a curse under his breath and turned around.
Han’s face was soaked with water from earlier. Without looking directly at him, Sejoo fixed his gaze around the edge of the man’s pupils and said:
“I’m here on the CEO’s orders. If you’re that curious, I can call and ask if I’m allowed to share the details with you. Want me to?”
“…Forget it. You can go.”
Normally, it would’ve turned into one of those endless, exhausting conversations—but this time, Han Jonghyun just jerked his chin toward the door, as if that was enough of an answer to Sejoo’s formal-sounding question. It seemed the exhaustion from all the drugs and booze had drained him of any energy for further push and pull.
Either way, with that so-called permission given, Cheon Sejoo left the room without even looking back. He wanted to get out of that piss-reeking place as soon as possible.
As the door shut behind him, Sunhyuk stepped up beside him immediately.
“Did you find it?”
Sejoo handed over the drug containers. Cradling the five white plastic bottles, Sunhyuk passed them along to Haewoong. Haewoong stuffed them all into the kangaroo pouch of his hoodie. His eyes sparkled. Glancing back and forth between the manager and Sejoo like he hoped he’d get a snack or something, Haewoong grinned.
“That’s, uh—is that it?”
The club manager, who knew about the screw-up during delivery, asked in a horrified voice. There was no need to explain anything to him. Sejoo didn’t even respond and kept walking. Haewoong’s disappointed little sigh came from behind, but he was in too much of a rush to care. He just wanted to get this over with.
Back on the first floor, Sejoo lit up a cigarette to drown out the lingering stench of weed on his clothes. He smoked two in a row. By the time he lit a third, his head was pounding. Ignoring the pain, he burned it down to the butt, then climbed into the car Sunhyuk had brought around.
“Go to the office.”
He knew exactly what this impatience in his chest was. Sighing, Sejoo raked a hand through his hair and pulled out his phone. He called Shin Gyoyeon.
— “Talk.”
“Boss. I recovered the goods. Quantity’s the same, but we’ll need to weigh it to be sure. Came from the club.”
— “The club? Ah…”
There was a brief pause, like the other person was organizing their thoughts. Then came a cold, flat command.
— “I’ll send Executive Han over. Hand it to him.”
“Huh? I mean… okay.”
— “And find out who pulled this bullshit.”
“Yes. I’ll report back.”
Han Jonghyun? It was the first time Shin Gyoyeon had ever told him to handle something this way. Frowning, Sejoo ended the call and tapped Sunhyuk on the shoulder.
Either way, if Han Jonghyun wanted to come retrieve the drugs from the office, it would take a while. Sejoo had no intention of waiting. Whether the man was drunk or high, he could take care of himself. Sejoo gave the order to turn the car around and deliver the stuff immediately.
The car U-turned over the centerline and reentered the club’s underground parking lot. Sunhyuk and Haewoong, who both offered to tag along again, were ordered to wait inside the car. Sejoo went back up to the 5th floor alone.
The elevator doors opened, revealing the same hallway. The club manager was standing in front of Room 13, talking into his phone—likely to Shin Ji-han. As he was reporting in through the receiver, he noticed Sejoo approaching and asked in confusion:
“Is there more business to attend to?”
“Executive Han’s still inside, yeah?” This story is hosted at g.com.
“Yes… Wait, hold on! He said not to let anyone—!”
Ignoring him, Cheon Sejoo swung the door open.
And immediately grimaced.
Han Jonghyun was still in the same place—but now he was lying sideways on the couch, shaking his dick. That was the problem.
His eyes, lazily turned up to the ceiling, shifted and locked onto Sejoo. Then his expression twisted in sheer panic.
“…The fuck?! HEY!!”
He scrambled to hide his erection, yelling like he’d just been sexually harassed. But if anyone should’ve been screaming, it was Cheon Sejoo.
Could that filthy bastard not go even one fucking day without jerking it? Sejoo had not expected to witness this shit. A bitter curse slipped out under his breath. Disgust rising in his throat, he marched toward the couch and placed the drug bottles by Han Jonghyun’s head—thunk, thunk, thunk. All five were down before Jonghyun dared breathe again.
“You got the call from the boss, yeah? I delivered it.”
“……”
Han Jonghyun, suffocating under the weight of shame, said nothing. Just nodded, his face burning red, staring up at Sejoo.
Without another word, Sejoo turned and walked away. This time, he slammed the door behind him like he was never coming back.
He descended to the underground parking lot again, brushing past the flustered manager. His face looked even darker than when he’d left. Sensing this, neither Sunhyuk nor Haewoong said a word.
“Go to Shinsa Capital.”
“Yes, sir.”
With a soft press of the accelerator, Sunhyuk pulled them away.
From the moment they left the club, Cheon Sejoo couldn’t get Kwon Sejin out of his head. He needed to figure out just what the hell the kid was doing that led people to call him a homeless punk. If only he’d never met Kim Hyunkyung, he wouldn’t be wasting this much thought on it. But every time Sejin crossed his mind, so did her voice—begging, pleading.
Maybe because he never had one of his own, the word “Mom” had left a deep impression on Sejoo. What would it have felt like to have someone bow their head like that for him? That thought made it impossible to just walk away.
About thirty minutes later, they arrived in front of the Shinsa Capital building. Sejoo pulled a check out of his wallet and handed it to Haewoong as pocket money. Then he turned to Sunhyuk and said:
“Go see Cheoljoo. Scrape the delivery guy’s entire account. If it’s empty, pull every cash receipt—everything. If anything shows up, call me.”
“Understood. Will you be coming back to the office later?”
“No. I left my card in your desk drawer. Use it to get dinner.”
“Yes, sir. Thank you for your hard work, Chief.”
“Thank you, Chief! See you!”
Haewoong, who had only come along hoping to get some free food, beamed with delight as he pocketed the money. Sejoo got out of the car, accepting the cheerful farewell with a nod.
The guards stationed outside the building were, as always, giggling among themselves. But maybe because Sejoo had only visited a week ago, the place was spotless—no trash in sight. As he approached the entrance, the guards spotted him and greeted him loudly.
“Good afternoon, hyungnim!”
Sejoo hated being called hyungnim. He had a perfectly good title—Chief. But hearing that thug-ish greeting made him feel like his fists were already tightening. Scowling, he just gave a nod and walked inside.
Moving at a brisk pace, he passed the rusted metal stair railing and rounded the corner. He wondered what kind of state Kwon Sejin would be in. But that curiosity turned out pointless. The hallway toward the elevator was completely empty.
He stopped in place and slowly tilted his head, scanning the surroundings. No sign of Sejin anywhere. Not in the elevator, not in the piss-stained public restroom. Said he was camping out here—but now he was gone again. Sejoo’s mood soured.
He immediately called Kim Donggil to ask where Sejin had gone. If the kid had been taken in by the police, Sejoo was planning to help.
Thankfully, that wasn’t the case.
— “Dunno what he does during the day. He only shows up at night.”
So even as a so-called homeless kid, Kwon Sejin had his own routine. Not that it sounded productive. In any case, Cheon Sejoo returned home by cab, and by the following dawn, he was back out again. This time, he made sure to switch to a black SUV—so Sejin wouldn’t recognize him.
He parked in front of Shinsa Capital and waited for about an hour or two. Around 8 a.m., a motion sensor light flicked on at the far end of the hallway—and a figure began shuffling forward.
Sejin looked just like he had when they parted. School uniform pants, shirt, and that same black hoodie. A bit grubbier than last week, maybe—but even so, his face still had a glow.
He emerged from the building with sluggish steps, walking toward some unknown destination. Sejoo turned the ignition, then slowly began to tail him.