Sejin tried to storm off in irritation, but he couldn’t escape Cheon Sejoo’s practiced grip. Pretending to pat his head, Sejoo pushed him with enough force that Sejin, unable to resist, ended up being dragged all the way down to the parking lot on the first floor of the workshop. Sejoo practically shoved Sejin into the passenger seat of his car before getting in behind the wheel. With his seatbelt fastened, he glanced at Sejin, who sat puffing out his pale cheeks in a sulk, then pressed down on the accelerator as he spoke.
“You seem to be under some kind of delusion. I didn’t bring you in like I’m giving some stray mutt a place to crash for a night.”
It seemed necessary to make Sejin aware of his position. Of course, Sejoo didn’t want to force him—but if they were going to live together, it wasn’t going to work if the kid kept acting like he could just do whatever he wanted. If something happened to Sejin, there was no doubt he’d regret it. Even if it wasn’t visible, he wanted to be sure that Sejin was operating under his influence.
“……”
The phrase “stray mutt” made Sejin frown. Sejoo couldn’t have cared less and continued.
“While you’re in my house, do as I say. It’s not like I’m asking you to score top marks on a mock exam or anything. What the hell’s so hard about this that you have to act like such a pain?”
“I don’t get why it matters to you whether I go to school or not. I’m doing side dishes, cleaning the house—I think I’m paying my dues for staying at your place, so why are you trying to butt into my private life too?”
As expected, his answer to a calm explanation came out twisted. Sejoo closed his eyes and calmed his insides, slowly controlling his breath. He knew you weren’t supposed to nag teenage boys. But he also didn’t know how to hold a meaningful conversation.
Cheon Hyein, before she died, was a quiet kid who nodded to anything Sejoo said. The younger kids at the orphanage never argued with him either. That made this situation feel all the more foreign. All he felt was the instinct to act.
Would he listen if I hit him? Sejoo bit down on his lip and glanced sideways. But Sejin was the kind of kid who didn’t even seem like he could be hit. His face was so small it could be covered with Sejoo’s palm, skin so white a paper cut would stand out, tiny lips and hollow cheeks… He looked so fragile that if Sejoo even hit him once, he probably wouldn’t sleep for days from the guilt. Physically, he looked like just a regular boy, sure.
He’d only looked at Sejin wondering if he might need to smack some sense into him—only to realize that the kid’s face was actually annoyingly pretty. Sejoo shut his mouth, deciding he’d have to have a serious talk once they got home. And since Sejin wasn’t pestering for an answer, the ride back was cloaked in silence.
Midday on a weekday—traffic was almost nonexistent. After a short drive, the car pulled into the underground parking garage. But as he approached his designated spot, Sejoo spotted a familiar sedan trailing behind his vehicle and cursed under his breath. Shin Goyeon’s car was pulling in.
It was far too early on a Wednesday afternoon for the CEO to be getting off work—but then again, he was the type to do whatever the fuck he wanted, so it wasn’t really surprising. Just unlucky. Clicking his tongue, Sejoo parked in the nearest available spot. When he saw the black sedan pass by and park near the elevator, he turned to Sejin.
“Hey.”
Sejin’s lips were pressed in a straight, sullen line. He looked back with clear displeasure in his eyes. It wouldn’t do to let that rude brat be noticed by Shin Goyeon. But not getting out of the car would draw even more suspicion—he needed the kid to act like he wasn’t even there. So he told him:
“Fix your face. And keep your mouth shut until we’re inside.”
“Didn’t need you to tell me. That was the plan.”
“……”
You little— Sejoo gave him a look of displeasure, then got out of the car. He checked to make sure Sejin was following, then adjusted his clothes and walked toward the elevator. Just as the doors opened, Shin Goyeon was standing there, expressionless.
“Good afternoon, Director.”
Sejoo spoke in a subdued tone, bowing his head. “Director”? Sejin, standing behind him, frowned uneasily and glanced at Shin Goyeon. But that impassive face was now curved with a faint smile. When the man’s kind expression swept over him, Sejin’s eyes widened and he gave a small, hesitant nod.
“Hello…” The words slipped out of his mouth before he realized it. Shin Goyeon responded with a smiling gaze, then turned his attention back to Sejoo.
“Pleasant afternoon. Leaving early, Manager Cheon?”
“…Just wrapped up some urgent matters.”
Shin Goyeon’s polite tone was met with a reluctant answer. His eyes, still creased in a faint smile, now drifted from Sejoo to Sejin. At that, Sejoo subtly stepped to the side, shielding Sejin behind him and stretching out an arm to hold the elevator door.
“After you.”
“Thank you.”
“……”
So damn polite. It had been a while since Sejoo had seen this side of Shin Goyeon, and he couldn’t suppress his discomfort.
Subtly positioning himself to block Shin Goyeon’s view, Sejoo reached back and quietly tugged Sejin’s wrist. With a faint squeak of sneakers skidding against the floor, Sejin let himself be dragged to a shadowed corner behind Goyeon’s back.
“What—”
Before he could say anything, his hand was caught.
Sejin stared at the large hand locking fingers with his own and fell silent. There was nothing tender about it. Sejoo pressed down on a joint with his thumb, silently signaling him—and it hurt. That’s when Sejin remembered Sejoo telling him to keep quiet until they got upstairs and rolled his eyes.
A quick glance. Sejin’s gaze flicked toward Shin Goyeon’s back. Unlike this thug Sejoo, that guy seemed polite and decent… but if he was warning Sejin to stay quiet, then that man must be shady too. With that thought, Sejin clamped his mouth shut and quietly pushed Sejoo’s hand away.
“……”
Their eyes met in the mirror as the elevator ascended. Sejoo gave him a nod of approval, then finally let go of his hand.
Ding. A chime signaled their arrival at the 41st floor. Sejoo once again reached out and gave Sejin a gentle push on the shoulder, ushering him out of the elevator. Sejin turned back with a surprised look. Read the latest chapters at NovelPing.
“Go on in first.”
His stare clearly asked, What the hell are you doing now? But Sejoo just answered flatly and hit the “close” button. Sejin vanished from view, still looking dumbfounded.
Now that they were alone, the air turned instantly cold. Shin Goyeon, now expressionless, turned to Sejoo and said:
“I didn’t know you were into such dangerous tastes.”
There was no emotion in his voice—but that only made it more chilling. He never allowed his men to lay a finger on minors. Why Han Jonghyun had been an exception, Sejoo still didn’t know—but that was how it was. Sejoo shook his head and clarified the misunderstanding.
“It’s not like that. I’m just looking after him for a bit due to circumstances.”
“…I see.”
Shin Goyeon stared silently at him, then nodded. Seeing he wasn’t suspicious, Sejoo breathed a silent sigh of relief and held the elevator door.
“Your floor.”
Shin Goyeon lived on the 43rd floor—just two above Sejoo. Close enough to step in immediately if something went wrong. Even with Sejoo’s unannounced visit, he didn’t ask questions. He simply unlocked the keypad and disappeared into his home.
Sejoo followed him inside, glancing around the interior that hadn’t changed. The harsh monochrome decor clashed grotesquely with the brightly colored paintings. It was, in every way, a home fit for a psychopath like Shin Goyeon. Sejoo’s place might be barren and furnitureless, but at least it had some trace of humanity.
“Whiskey?”
The man, having draped his jacket over a chair, turned back and asked. Sejoo shook his head. “I’m fine.” Goyeon poured himself a straight shot and strode off toward the study at the back of the hallway. Sejoo watched him take a seat at the computer and moved behind the monitor.
“The money trail.”
No small talk—Shin Goyeon got straight to the point as he moved the mouse. Sejoo looked him in the eye and replied.
“None. Not a single won from the courier.”
“…None?”
Shin Goyeon had taken a strong interest in the recent delivery incident. Rightly so—it was one of the most sensitive operations DG handled. Even with connections to high-ranking police, if someone so much as breathed a word about the drugs, containment would be impossible. Outwardly, South Korea still pretended to be a drug-free country, and plenty of people panicked over even a puff of pot. One article, and all hell could break loose.
So if they wanted to avoid pissing off government or corporate leaders who turned a blind eye to their kids partying in clubs, management had to be airtight.
“The drugs got stolen, but no money came in…”
Repeating Sejoo’s words, Shin Goyeon tapped his fingers against the desk. Tap, tap. As the rhythmic sound continued, Sejoo stood silently with his hands behind his back. Eventually, Shin Goyeon asked:
“So? What’s your conclusion?”
“My guess is it was the courier’s solo act.”
With Sejin in the car beside him, Sejoo had arrived at this conclusion. Plenty of people held a grudge against DG—but none would’ve botched it this badly.
The drugs hadn’t arrived on time. As soon as word got out, Shin Jihan nabbed the first courier. Pulled from his own bed, the guy insisted he was innocent—and it checked out. So Jihan hunted for the second courier. But that guy had already gone underground. That’s when he turned to Shin Goyeon.
Under Goyeon’s orders, Sejoo’s cleanup crew tracked the man down near Incheon Port. Once caught and dragged back to the workshop, he kept his mouth shut—until torture broke him. His story never changed.
He claimed he’d just followed orders from “above,” and told them where the drugs were hidden. Boldly, he’d stashed them inside one of Shin Jihan’s own clubs. When asked why he held out so long if he was going to confess anyway, he said he’d been told not to talk under any circumstances. And the person who told him that? Dalma.
Which meant there was only one conclusion.
The courier had done it out of spite toward Dalma.
“Are you sure?”
If you asked why, there were plenty of reasons. But Shin Goyeon only wanted one thing—how certain was he? He might be a psychopath, but Goyeon trusted and valued his subordinates absolutely. So Sejoo answered without hesitation.
“Ninety percent sure.”
At that, Shin Goyeon let out a short laugh and looked up. His cold, pale eyes fixed on Sejoo as he crossed his arms.
“What’s the other ten percent?”
“Dalma tried to steal the drugs, failed, and pinned it on the courier.”
But that theory had too many holes. Even without Sejoo elaborating, Goyeon would’ve realized that on his own. Tilting his head slowly, he said: This chapter was copied from g.com without permission.
“Wouldn’t make sense, though.”
“Exactly. That’s why it’s only nine percent.”
There was still one percent left. With interest, Shin Goyeon lifted the corner of his lips and gestured for him to go on. So Sejoo laid out the last hypothesis.
“Someone among the senior members was involved.”
“They’d have to be insane.”
“I agree.”
If the “above” that the courier referred to was a senior, it explained his silence. He couldn’t rat them out. But none of the senior members would be dumb enough to openly defy Shin Goyeon. Anyone who’d opposed Goyeon’s succession had long been erased from this world.
Not even two years had passed since that bloodbath. No one with half a brain would try anything now. Besides, no matter what anyone tried now, Goyeon was untouchable. So unless they’d lost their minds, it wasn’t possible.
“I did see Director Han Jonghyun at the location where the drugs were hidden—but I don’t believe he’s involved.”
Sejoo added, voice firm with conviction. Goyeon arched a brow and gave a scoffing smile. He didn’t seem concerned with Han Jonghyun either. After a moment of thought, he nodded.
“Good work.”
And with that, he turned back to the monitor—no further orders. It meant the matter was closed. Goyeon trusted the ninety percent.
Sejoo bowed silently and left the study. The moment the door shut with a click, he exhaled sharply and walked off.
The farther he got from that sterile space, the easier it was to breathe. He’d been seeing that man for five years, but it was never comfortable. Running a hand through his hair, Sejoo stepped out of unit 4300 and took the elevator back to the 41st floor.
Waiting for him in front of the open elevator door was Sejin—just like last time, squatting miserably next to the front door. Sejoo’s brow twisted in irritation.
Why the hell does he always sit like that?
“I told you to go inside.”
Sejin stood up and answered coolly.
“Didn’t know the passcode.”
“You didn’t take the card key?”
He’d told him to grab one from the shoe cabinet by the door, but it seemed he hadn’t. Then again, up to now, he’d only ever gone out with Sejoo, and had only pretended to go to school while holing up at home. So it wasn’t surprising he didn’t even know where the card key was. Sejoo let out a short sigh and tapped the keypad.
“2580*. Memorize it.”
A straight swipe down the number pad. Sejin stared at him like he had no sense of security, then nodded. “Got it.” Hearing the short reply, Sejoo muttered as he stepped inside first.
“Guess you’re not that dumb.”
“……”
That annoyingly pretty face reflected in the inner door glass looked clearly pissed off. Watching Sejin’s lively reactions eased Sejoo’s irritation a bit as he walked to the living room. Pointing at the couch, he gestured for Sejin to sit. They needed to finish the talk they’d left hanging earlier.
When Sejin plopped down with that sulky look, Sejoo reached into his coat for a cigarette. He frowned at the now spotless ashtray but lit up anyway and took a drag. Organizing his thoughts for a moment, he finally asked what had been on his mind.
“What’s your rank at school?”
“…Twenty-first.”
The unexpected answer made Sejoo raise his eyebrows. His eyes sharpened with interest. You skip that much and still rank 21st? Smarter than I thought. But then Sejin averted his gaze—and that’s when Sejoo sensed something was off.
“You mean 21st in your grade, right?”
“……”
No answer. Sejoo frowned. No way— But even if that was class rank, that’s still middle of the pack, right? That was his thought based on his high school class having about 41 students. Not realizing this might not be the case, he asked:
“How many kids in your class?”
Thirty would be fine. That would still qualify him as human. Taking another slow drag, he waited for the reply. A quiet, hesitant voice answered.
“Twenty-one.”
Sejoo was speechless.