His tone—discussing entitlement—was calm. Cheon Sejoo wasn’t even angry. He wasn’t upset either. He knew why Moon Sunhyuk had resorted to violence, so he couldn’t sincerely criticize him. It was merely the scolding he had no choice but to deliver in his current role as the one overseeing Sinsa Capital.
“I’m sorry.”
Moon Sunhyuk admitted his mistake without a single excuse. At the succinct but clearly genuine apology, Cheon Sejoo clicked his tongue inwardly and turned his head. He ordered the men who were frozen in place to go find the screw-up who had dragged him here.
Soon enough, the rookie returned, face downcast and one cheek swollen. Apparently, Sunhyuk had already dished out punishment for dragging Cheon Sejoo over on a weekend by making a mistake again.
You could say the kid had bad luck running into Sunhyuk—but Cheon Sejoo, clicking his tongue again, didn’t go easy on him either. He slapped the rookie across the other cheek. Another sharp sound rang out. Blood trickled from the corner of the rookie’s mouth.
Cheon Sejoo surveyed the pitiful sight and opened his mouth.
“Youngjun-ah.”
“Y-Yes…”
A large hand patted the rookie’s head. Despite trembling lips, Youngjun responded loudly and properly. Staring down at the boy’s puffed-up red cheek, Cheon Sejoo smiled slightly and spoke softly, almost kindly:
“If you have a brain, then use it. How many times is this now? If you keep this up, I’m gonna want to crack your skull open and see if there’s actually anything in there.”
“I—I won’t do it again!”
“You’d better not... Just how many of the older guys have to pick up your messes?”
“I’m sorry!”
Youngjun’s loud apology brought on a wave of exhaustion. Hitting people was fine. But playing this laughable ‘hyungnim’ role didn’t suit him at all. Cheon Sejoo just wanted to go home and rest.
Turning away from Youngjun, who was shouting with tears brimming in his eyes, Cheon Sejoo moved toward the partitioned accounting room. Youngjun followed behind. Only then did a bit of peace return to the office. Moon Sunhyuk went out to buy coffee for Cheon Sejoo, and the rest of the men resumed cleaning while watching his mood.
“Grab the mouse. Do as I say.”
Sitting on the window ledge in the accounting room, Cheon Sejoo gave firm instructions to Youngjun, who clutched the mouse stiffly, teaching him how to recover the lost file. The kid had overwritten the most recent backup twice, and Sejoo nearly punched him for it—but fortunately, by the third attempt, he managed to get it right, so there was no further need for rage.
Finally, once the file was restored and Youngjun began inputting the data that needed to be turned in today, Cheon Sejoo remained in place, sipping the iced Americano Sunhyuk had brought while staring out the window. The thought of actually heading home now made him feel lazy.
As he absentmindedly stared down at the new car, about an hour after arriving at the office, he suddenly raised his voice.
“Hey!”
A man standing on the sidewalk about 10 meters below, loitering near the white Lamborghini, flinched at the shout. Then, pretending he hadn’t heard, he started to walk past the car.
Completely dumbfounded, Cheon Sejoo picked up the cup in his hand and hurled it out the window.
Thunk. The empty disposable cup, with only ice remaining, struck the man right at his feet. Startled out of his skin, he jolted—and then looked up at the third floor with a face full of theatrical shock, as if he truly hadn’t known Sejoo was there.
“Ah! Hyungnim! When did you get here?”
He shouted the question, to which Cheon Sejoo replied with an icy tone,
“You motherfucker, pretending you didn’t see me? You not coming up?”
“Eh? I can’t hear you very well! I’ll be right there!”
The man—Kim Donggil, who had called him thirty times since morning—turned his head as if he hadn’t heard the curse and quickly hustled into the building. Watching him disappear inside, Cheon Sejoo stepped down from the windowsill and exited the accounting room.
“Sir, shall I take you to lunch?”
The moment he came out, Moon Sunhyuk—who had just stubbed out a cigarette—ran up and asked. “Forget it,” Cheon Sejoo said, brushing past him toward the water cooler. After drinking a cool cup of water, he looked up to see Donggil finally entering the office.
His head was freshly shaved, and his plump, plainly unattractive face glistened. As soon as he locked eyes with Cheon Sejoo, Kim Donggil smiled broadly with an oddly ingratiating expression.
“When did you arrive?”
Clearly, he’d already heard the news earlier, yet he pretended not to know. The fake cluelessness made Cheon Sejoo's annoyance spike.
“Cut the bullshit and get over here.”
“I’m kind of busy right now…”
“If I have to come to you, I’ll beat your ass.”
At that, Cheon Sejoo took a single step forward—and Donggil practically flew toward him. Shoving past Sunhyuk with his butt, Donggil stood obediently before Cheon Sejoo, hands clasped. Cheon Sejoo glared at the shameless face that was already pleading for a gentle blow, and jerked his chin toward the accounting room.
“When the rookie’s done, take him out for some meat.”
The kid had taken a beating and been yelled at—he’d probably lost all his spirit. And once Youngjun left the office, there would be no one left here with a functioning brain. The rest were just apes shaped like humans. So it was best to look out for the kid while he was still around.
But at that, Donggil muttered as if he’d heard something outrageous. “I don’t have any money…” That dumbass comment made Cheon Sejoo even more irritated.
“What, you eat your paycheck or something? You just got paid yesterday.”
“I dumped it all in crypto. It’s trending again, right?”
“Haa…”
He told him not to gamble, and now he was fucking around with coins. Cheon Sejoo buried his face in his hands, groaning as the headache set in. If he absolutely had to hit one person at work each day, Kim Donggil would easily be the top candidate—but unfortunately, there wasn’t a valid excuse right now. Being stupid wasn’t a punishable offense—at least, not officially.
With no choice, Cheon Sejoo shook his head. Then he gave Sunhyuk a glance. Quick to catch on, Moon Sunhyuk retrieved Sejoo’s jacket and handed it over. Sejoo pulled out his wallet from the inner pocket and slipped a few fifty-thousand won bills into Donggil’s hand.
“If you eat it all yourself, you’re dead.”
“Thanks, sir!”
The grinning face didn’t inspire much trust. Swallowing his irritation, Cheon Sejoo asked,
“How many of the boys are still upstairs?”
“No one. Things calmed down, so that’s it.”
The guys guarding the entrance didn’t count. With Donggil, Youngjun, and a few others, it made maybe five or six. But knowing how much those bastards could put away, Cheon Sejoo pulled out a few more bills and handed them over. If you didn’t want the rookie to starve, you had to make sure the higher-ups were full. Donggil’s mouth stretched wide in delight.
“Whew, it’s a blessing that Chief Cheon’s back. We used to starve every damn day…”
“Don’t give me that crap. I’m leaving.”
Cheon Sejoo had no desire to stay in this shithole one minute longer. As he turned to go, shrugging on his jacket, Kim Donggil asked with a sneaky tone:
“Ah, Director Han is dropping by at 1—aren’t you going to say hi?”
“……”
At the mention of Director Han, Cheon Sejoo’s face twisted with displeasure. He turned around and lifted a hand, twirling his finger beside his temple as he looked at Donggil.
“You out of your damn mind?”
“No way, sir! Just meant you should stick around a bit, since you’re finally here…”
Pretending to be clueless—but Cheon Sejoo knew full well that Donggil was sharper and more politically savvy than anyone else here.
Director Han—Han Jonghyun—was, like Sejoo, one of the people under Shin Goyeon, the heir to the organization. He was a perverted bastard, utterly obsessed with women.
There was only one reason Han ever visited Sinsa Capital: to “play” with young girls—reckless ones who had borrowed money and, now cornered by debt collectors, were dragged here under the pretense of repayment.
What Kim Donggil meant was that he wanted Cheon Sejoo to handle Director Han in his place. But Cheon Sejoo had absolutely no intention of doing so. Whether the annoying Donggil squirmed or not, it had nothing to do with him. And it was partly because Han was someone he found deeply irritating. Cheon Sejoo avoided encountering him whenever possible.
“Count me out. You go ahead and suck up to Director Han all you want.”
Cheon Sejoo spat out words Han Jonghyun would’ve loathed, then turned to leave. But just as he reached the door, a face popped into his mind. He grimaced. It was the child he had seen downstairs.
He’d only glimpsed his for a moment, yet he remained vividly in his memory—he’d been that pretty. He hadn’t looked like an adult. And now that he thought about it, he vaguely remembered hearing that Han Jonghyun was the kind of bastard who touched minors.
Fuck. Cheon Sejoo slowly closed and opened his eyes, rolling his tongue inside his mouth. It’s not my business, he told himself—but his feet wouldn’t move. Disgusted with himself, he roughly ran a hand through his hair, then ended up perching on the desk next to the door and asked,
“That kid downstairs—what’s her deal?”
“The kid? Ah…”
He’d hoped to hear: Who? There’s no one there, but instead, Kim Donggil squinted as if he understood and nodded. So he’s still there, Cheon Sejoo thought. At his glance, Donggil began to explain.
“What else could it be? Her dad borrowed money and ran. Her mom, who co-signed, got dragged off. The kid’s been demanding that she be taken to her mother.”
She wasn’t just waiting for his parents who’d been hauled in for collection. She was waiting for parents who had already been taken away to a work site to pay off the debt.
That little child—alone—in this place...
A bitter taste filled his mouth. Should’ve just gone home and waited. What’s he gonna do, throwing a tantrum here like this. Clicking his tongue inwardly, Cheon Sejoo asked again,
“How long’s it been?”
“Three days? Or is that four? Wait—four days is still three, right?”
“It’s three, you fucking idiot.”
At Sejoo’s snap, Donggil let out a chuckle. Then came a long, exaggerated sigh.
“Jeez, that brat’s got one hell of a temper. We tell her to go home, and she just screams for his mom, I mean, really screams. Doesn’t budge an inch. Feels like if we so much as laid a finger on her, she’d call the cops, so we just left his alone.”
“She probably doesn’t even have a home anymore. Even if she wanted to go back, she couldn’t.”
A new voice interrupted from behind Donggil’s blabbering. Turning around, Cheon Sejoo saw one of the big guys who’d been nervously scrubbing the sofa. No home? He looked at the man in confusion, who added on with exaggerated gestures:
“I mean, we went to collect from his place a couple days ago, right? But there were other guys already there—those Haechan bastards, you know? Those fuckers beat us to it. Tried to take the deposit and the mom too. I knocked one of them down and took her away. They were gonna grab the kid if they couldn’t get the mom, so I told them: ‘Touch a kid and you die,’ flipped them off, and told them to fuck off with the deposit money.”
“Damn, Kim Maenggi actually earned his keep for once.”
Grinning at the brag, Donggil gave a thumbs-up. Cheon Sejoo silently cursed.
So the kid’s only protector had already been dragged to a business. And most likely, she wouldn’t be released until the debt was fully repaid.
In other words, the child had no home left to return to.
Annoyed, Cheon Sejoo pulled a cigarette from his jacket and lit it. As Moon Sunhyuk brought the flame to it, Sejoo took a deep drag and asked in a detached tone,
“Where did the mom get sent?”
“Well, she got lucky. They sent her to Ihwagak. There was an opening in the kitchen.”
If she’d been caught by another loan group, both the mom and kid would’ve been sold to the red-light district by now. But Sinsa Capital didn’t do human trafficking. If there was one thing the deadbeat dad had done right, it was borrowing from the right people. And the mom had gotten lucky too. Word was, Ihwagak was a place where, if you worked hard enough, you could eventually pay off your debt and even walk out with severance.
But that only applied to adults who were useful. A useless child had no place there. And with the Haechan guys taking the deposit, the house was certainly vacated. Everything of value had probably been cleared out too. No house. No money. No parents. No way to protect herself.
Realizing all this, Cheon Sejoo regretted his earlier decision. Ah, fuck. Should’ve just ignored it.
He dragged on the cigarette, remembering the eyes he’d seen earlier—a look filled with hostility. He wouldn’t budge for any half-assed excuse, that much he could tell.
What the hell could he say to get his away before Han Jonghyun showed up? As he pondered, Sejoo asked,
“Did anyone feed her?”
“No idea. On the second day, I think? Youngjun tried to give her some bread, but she ignored him, and after that, no one’s really looked her way. Come to think of it… I don’t think I’ve seen her move from that spot either…”
So that little kid had been starving for four days. Sejoo sighed. These people weren’t even one step better—and yet, Cheon Sejoo looked at Kim Donggil with a face full of contempt.
“You fuckers don’t have a shred of compassion, do you?”
“What’s that? I know what aged kimchi is, though.”
“You motherfucker…”
Any more of this and he’d have to go to the ER for his blood pressure. With a scowl, Sejoo flicked his cigarette butt toward Donggil’s feet and stood up. Ignoring Donggil, who was begging him to stay a little longer, and Sunhyuk, who was trying to say goodbye, Sejoo strode out of the office.
He pressed the elevator button, and the car—which was at the 10th floor—descended at a pace as old as the building itself. Cheon Sejoo stared blankly at the numbers as they slowly ticked down.
The girl didn’t even look fifteen. Even Han Jonghyun probably wouldn’t touch someone that young. He was a pervert, sure, but not a full-blown rapist. If Sejoo got involved, it would probably turn into a mess driven by his own misplaced anxiety.
Yeah. Just go home.
He made up his mind and stepped into the elevator. He pressed the button and tried to shift his thoughts elsewhere. But when the doors opened on the first floor—and he saw that same black-clad form still crouched in the hallway—all thoughts vanished.
Cheon Sejoo walked out, as if drawn by some force. He spoke in a low voice:
“…Get up.”
The child, curled up as small as she could to shield herself from a merciless world, looked like someone he could lift with just one hand. Cheon Sejoo had seen a child like that once before. He also knew exactly what choice a child—abandoned by the world for four days—might make in the end.