“Want a sandwich?”
“…Yeah.”
When Sejin nodded, the man returned to the sofa holding the wrapped sandwich he’d set aside for him. Sejin nibbled on the sandwich and drank the milk, sneaking glances at the man through the black screen of the turned-off TV.
“Why didn’t you wear the clothes I got you?”
Just as Sejin finished the sandwich and crumpled up the sauce-stained wrapper while gulping down the last of the milk, the man asked. Remembering the pink pajama dress, Sejin suddenly choked and started coughing, turning his head aside.
The man was looking at her with an expression that seemed genuinely curious. How the hell could anyone wear that? Sejin wanted to snap, but instead looked away and muttered, not wanting to provoke the guy.
“…They didn’t fit. They were for kids…”
“For kids?”
At that, the man narrowed his eyes and looked Sejin up and down. Before Sejin could even feel offended, he fired off another question.
“What’s your weight? I told him to buy something for a kid around 170 and 45 kilos.”
“……”
Sejin stared at him in disbelief. What the hell is he talking about? But unfortunately, it didn’t seem like he was joking.
At least it was a mistake, Sejin thought with some relief—but somehow, he also felt insulted. Sure, he wasn’t that tall, but he was still in his growth years and easily over 50 kilos. Where did 45 even come from?
He’d told him he was eighteen. At this height, how could 45kg even be realistic? Sejin replied bluntly, his tone sharp:
“I’m 58 kilograms.”
“…What?”
You? The man looked her over again, visibly surprised. Like he couldn’t believe someone that small could weigh that much. Sejin felt a second wave of insult crash over him and clenched his teeth, holding himself back from storming out.
He wanted to rip off the hoodie and yell Look! I’ve got broad bones! but since he was still pretending to be a girl, that wasn’t an option. The frustration was suffocating.
With a short, bitter sigh, Sejin mumbled in a sulky voice.
“Just lend me something you used to wear. A T-shirt and some shorts with an elastic waistband or something…”
“They’ll be too big.”
“They’ll fit just fine!”
Sejin finally snapped, shouting back at the man’s indifferent reply. He was already pissed about being small, and now this guy was treating him like a little kid on top of it—it was infuriating. But right after yelling, his heart dropped.
Shit. I wasn’t supposed to act like this… Remembering what the man had said before, Sejin clamped his mouth shut, face going pale. He was worried the guy might retaliate by threatening his mom again—like he’d done in the car. If that happened, Sejin wouldn’t be able to say a word.
But surprisingly, the man responded softly.
“…Alright. Sorry for underestimating you.”
“……”
He hadn’t expected an apology. Caught off guard by the man’s unexpectedly normal behavior, Sejin found himself speechless. A faint furrow formed between the man’s brows.
Unpredictable bastard. When Sejin said he wasn’t hungry, the man had exploded and brought up his mom—but now, over a little insult, he was apologizing. Sejin didn’t know which direction he was supposed to match. Flustered, he just changed the subject.
“So… what was it you wanted to talk about?”
“Oh.”
The man had said after dinner yesterday that he had something to say, but when Sejin started yawning, he’d held off. Now reminded, the man went quiet for a moment. He stared at Sejin—so blatantly that it was almost uncomfortable—then shifted his posture, leaning back against the couch and asked:
“What are you going to do about where you’re staying?”
“…Huh?”
Not understanding, Sejin raised his head. What’s he talking about? The man furrowed one brow, tugged at the corner of his mouth, then rephrased.
“You don’t have a home. So where are you gonna stay now?”
“……”
At those words, a wrinkle formed between Sejin’s brows. Displeasure flickered in his finely shaped eyes.
Of course I’m pissed, he thought. His mother had been dragged off over a guarantee she never even signed. The deposit was stolen by gangsters like this guy. And now he had the nerve to talk about Sejin’s housing? Get faster updates on novelping(.)com.
A sharp tone crept into Sejin’s voice as he responded:
“When I see my mom, she’ll figure something out.”
Kwon Sejin knew himself well. If the man said one more thing about housing, he’d explode and spill everything he was holding back.
Sejin’s mom always scolded him for being too hot-tempered. He didn’t want to get kicked out by blowing up at this guy, so he used his mom as an excuse. But the man looked displeased with that deflection and soon said:
“Eighteen isn’t that young, you know. And you don’t have any kind of plan?”
“……”
God, he’s got a way with words. Ever since yesterday, he kept saying the most aggravating shit. Sejin glared at him, jaw clenched. Shut up, his eyes said—but the man didn’t get it. He kept going, his tone turning into a scolding.
“What’s your mom supposed to do? She’s got nothing in her hands, and she’s gonna have to keep working nonstop just to get by. You’ve gotta think about something too—”
“What the hell do you know?”
Kwon Sejin’s fragile patience snapped. Without even realizing, he cut in with a sharp retort. He glared at the man, fists clenched tight.
I knew it. I fucking knew I wouldn’t be able to hold it in if he said some self-righteous shit like this to my face. Sejin realized his whole plan—lying his way into meeting his mom—was about to fall apart. But he couldn’t stop the boiling fury from spilling over. Everything he’d been holding back burst all at once, breaking the dam.
“How do you think I ended up like this? Why do you think my mom ended up in that place? It’s because of people like you—people who live by leeching off others without a shred of conscience! And now you’ve got the balls to ask me where I’m gonna live? Who the hell do you think you are to say shit like that?!”
A crack appeared in the man’s blank face. Like when he’d scolded Sejin in the car, his cool expression turned cold and unmasked. I can’t let this go any further, Sejin thought—but the words kept pouring out. He met the man’s frowning gaze and spit out every ounce of resentment inside him.
“A plan? Then maybe you should’ve given me a damn minute to make one! I was living my life like a normal person and got kicked out overnight—how the hell am I supposed to plan anything?! It’s not like I chose this! Why the fuck would I have a plan?!”
“……”
His rage hit its peak. His breath came short, and his eyes were burning red. He bit his lip hard, trying to hold back tears, but he couldn’t. One drop slipped from the corner of his eye and slid down his cheek.
“What the hell… what the hell am I even supposed to do…”
Sejin’s heart was too small. Just a little push and his feelings overflowed. And once he cried like that—just once—he always calmed down, like he’d dumped everything out in one go. The outburst ended as fast as it started.
He hated that about himself. It made him feel shallow. Like an idiot who couldn’t think things through. This time was no different. The moment that one tear fell, reality snapped back into focus.
He had no right to resent the man. He didn’t have the luxury of blame. The man in front of him could kill or spare his mother with a single word.
That realization hit him like ice water. His heart pounded so hard it felt like it would explode. He sobered instantly. Shit, Sejin cursed under his breath and rubbed his face with his sleeve, wiping away the tears roughly.
“You’re just trying to act like a good guy, right? So stop poking your nose into stuff like houses or food or whatever. Just let me meet my mom. That’s all I want. If you can do that, I’ll remember you as a good person. If you can’t, just say so—I’ll leave right now.”
Kwon Sejin didn’t know how to say things nicely. The only thing he’d learned from his so-called father—who tore into his mother with cruel words—was how to lay bare his feelings in the bluntest, rawest way possible.
After he finished speaking, Sejin clamped his mouth shut and lowered his head. His palms were damp with sweat. He might hit me. He remembered the man’s huge hands and curled his own into fists, trying to suppress the tremble.
But no matter how long he waited, there was no shock, no cursing.
“……”
The man simply remained silent in his seat for a while, then stood up. Sejin blankly lifted his eyes and watched the man’s back as he walked away. Even then, he couldn’t let his guard down—he half-expected the man to come out of his room swinging a baseball bat. But all the man brought out from his bedroom was his car key. As he left the living room, he left Sejin with a few words.
“There’s sandwiches and lunchboxes in the fridge. Eat whenever. There’s a keycard inside the shoe cabinet—take that when you go to school tomorrow.”
That was it.
The man didn’t get angry. He didn’t curse. He didn’t hit him. All he did was tell Sejin to eat well and quietly left the apartment.
Kwon Sejin stared after him, confused. He watched the man disappear around the corner and down the hallway, and his expression twisted like he couldn’t understand a thing.
Sejin had assumed the man wanted something from him. Otherwise, what possible reason could someone with nothing to lose and no reason to care go out of his way to show such fake kindness?
So now, after Sejin had screamed like some ungrateful little animal and spat out cruel words—how could this man not even get mad?
Every man Sejin had ever known was garbage. From the father who blew all their money on gambling and beat both him and his mother, to the uncle who pretended to save them only to steal her seal and take out loans, to the thug loan sharks and classmates who bullied him—every last one of them had been the same. Every man was human trash.
So Sejin had assumed this man would be no different. From his first impression to everything he said after, it had only confirmed Sejin’s suspicions.
But then why didn’t he get angry?
It didn’t make sense.
Why didn’t he curse? Why didn’t he throw Sejin out? Why didn’t he hit him?
***
“Sir, are you awake?”
Moon Sunhyuk called out to Cheon Sejoo in a cautious voice. Sejoo was lying on the sofa with his eyes closed and replied without moving.
“Yeah.”
With that short answer, Sunhyuk turned on the living room light and stepped out from the room.
This was the second day Cheon Sejoo had been eating and sleeping at the apartment on the 10th floor, where the Cleanup Team lived. He’d refused to sleep in someone else’s bed and insisted on using the sofa, which left the team wondering why he wasn’t at home and why he was in such a foul mood.
“Shall I start breakfast?”
But Moon Sunhyuk was his usual self. He was the kind of person who would slit his own throat if Sejoo told him to, so now that Sejoo had come to his apartment, he was just trying to serve him without a single flaw—as a self-declared butler.
“It’s Tuesday, right?”
“Yes.”
As he answered the indifferent question, Sunhyuk turned on the kitchen light. Sejoo sat there silently, watching him rinse the rice and start the cooker. When he saw the clock nearing 6 a.m., he got up.
He had somewhere to go on Tuesdays.
He entered the bathroom off the living room, washed his face, brushed his teeth, and came out.
“I’m going to the gym. Eat without me.”
“Yes, have a good session.”
Wearing a pink apron with flower prints, Moon Sunhyuk nodded so hard it looked like his head might fall off. Sejoo chuckled and reached up to ruffle the slightly taller Sunhyuk’s hair before heading for the door.
Without even putting on socks, he shoved his feet into his sneakers and stepped outside. Instead of taking the elevator, he opened the door to the emergency stairwell. Thump, thump—he jumped down several steps at a time and stopped on the 7th floor. Click. He opened the fire door and entered the lobby, where a man stood guard outside unit 701. As soon as he spotted Sejoo, he bowed low.
“Good morning, Sir.”
“Is the Director inside?”
“Yes, he is.”
Sejoo entered unit 701 through the door the man held open. He noticed two pairs of dress shoes at the entryway, removed his sneakers, and set them down neatly on the opposite side. Stretching his stiff shoulders with a few loose rotations, he walked into the well-lit space beyond.
This high-rise mixed-use building had been constructed by DG Construction, and from the start, it had been designed with organizational convenience in mind.
The 7th floor housed the personal gym and training hall of the Shin Goyeon Director he served. Below that was the main training floor used by other members. To protect the 43rd floor residence of Shin Goyeon, organizational quarters were scattered throughout the complex, and the three penthouse floors were even connected by hidden passages. Only a handful of people knew that—Shin Goyeon, Chae Beomjun, Cheon Sejoo, and a few others.
Two to three times a week, Shin Goyeon and Sejoo sparred at the gym on the 7th floor. Both had trained in jiu-jitsu, krav maga, and other martial arts. Watching their matches was enough to give someone chills. They used fake knives and mock pistols with retractable blades and triggers to simulate real-life attacks.
Because of this, unit 701 looked nothing like a normal apartment. The interior walls between the master bedroom and living room had been removed, creating a large open space. Near the window was a full-size sparring ring. Beside it stood lockers and a sofa. Opposite that were a minimalist strength training room, shower, and changing room. There was no bedroom, no kitchen—nothing meant for actual living.
“Director.”
Standing by the window beside the lockers was a man dressed in a black T-shirt and athletic pants, smoking a cigarette. This was Shin Goyeon, the heir to DG and the man who held Sejoo’s life in his hands. Next to him was his chief secretary, Chae Beomjun, who was inspecting a fake knife.
“You’re here.”
Sejoo bowed as he greeted them. Shin Goyeon’s pale, emotionless eyes flicked toward him, then away again. But Sejoo didn’t care whether his greeting was acknowledged or not—he went straight to his locker and began wrapping his hands. The sparring sessions were intense enough that hand protection was essential.
“All ready,” Chae Beomjun said after checking the knife. Sejoo glanced over and saw Beomjun wink at him with a sly smile.
What the hell’s wrong with him… Sejoo scowled and turned away.
Standing in front of the mirror, he pulled up his pants—which had been hanging loose on his hips—and tied the drawstring into a tight bow that wouldn’t come undone. Rotating his wrists, he loosened up his muscles, ready to explode forward.
Shin Goyeon was already on the mat, holding his knife. He looked at Sejoo, then extended his left hand. Chae Beomjun placed a knife in Sejoo’s palm. For no reason at all, Beomjun even folded Sejoo’s fingers around it himself, as if he couldn’t resist the chance to be gross. Annoyed by the unnecessary touch, Sejoo exhaled sharply and shook off his hand.
“Come on.”
He was about to curse him out, but Shin Goyeon spoke from the mat first. His voice was soft, yet chilling in its lack of emotion. Feeling a chill crawl up his spine, Sejoo leapt onto the ring.
He had been training for five years now, but Shin Goyeon had been practicing martial arts for nearly twenty. As the heir to the organization, he’d started from a young age. And yet, despite the long gap in experience, Sejoo had caught up.
At first, he lost every time. But eventually, the wins started to come. These days, their matches were neck and neck. For the past year, neither of them had won more than two consecutive bouts.
Back when he was younger, Sejoo had received offers to go pro in various sports—but he’d never realized just how gifted he was when it came to physical combat. According to the krav maga instructor who had trained him: Cheon Sejoo had a natural talent for killing people.