"I'm going in."
There was no warm-up. Tak, tak—bare feet thudded against the rubber mat, and the knife immediately sliced through the air. The best defense is offense: Cheon Sejoo and Shin Goyeon each aimed straight for the other’s vital points, as if trying to kill. Thus began the sharp and merciless exchange.
Whik. A blunt blade grazed his nape. Ducking to evade the knife, Cheon Sejoo deliberately collapsed his posture and slipped between Shin Goyeon’s legs. Dodging the blade that relentlessly chased after him, he rolled behind the man.
Shin Goyeon swung his leg like he was kicking a rat. Sejoo reached out, grabbed the man’s flying ankle, and shattered his center of gravity. Puhk—the large body slammed into the mat, and Sejoo stabbed downward at once. The knife struck Shin Goyeon’s shoulder, then skidded off, its blade sinking with force into the mat.
It was rare for real contact to occur during sparring. Which is why, for a moment, both men’s eyes turned toward the same point.
“……”
Soon, a curve formed on Shin Goyeon’s lips. The knife that had stabbed him was a fake, but the pressure required to make the blade retract inward was significant. It had to hurt. And yet, Shin Goyeon simply curled the corner of his mouth and struck Sejoo’s side with the knife still in his hand.
“Urk!”
There was no mercy in his swing. Even Cheon Sejoo, whose pain response was dulled for psychological reasons, felt the crushing pressure slam into his lungs.
You bastard. Cheon Sejoo swore inwardly and locked his hand around the arm holding Shin Goyeon’s knife. Then he smashed his fist into the man’s shoulder—the same spot where the knife had just hit. He would’ve liked to go for the jaw, but that area was off-limits, so this was the next best thing.
Sejoo pulled back as he saw Shin Goyeon’s eyes twitch slightly. The moment he bent backward, Shin Goyeon’s knife sliced through the air. If he hadn’t dodged, it would’ve embedded in his cheek.
Irritated, Sejoo scowled and kicked the man in the groin. His bare foot dulled the impact, but the target was still what it was. From that point on, the match devolved into a chaotic scuffle.
In a real fight, things got even messier. All kinds of tricks and dirty tactics were used to slit your enemy’s throat. But seeing two grown men awkwardly slashing at each other like this—it was hard not to watch.
Normally, their sparring ended with barely a scratch between them. But today, for whatever reason, it was putting on a show. Chae Beomjun, Shin Goyeon’s longtime friend, watched the brawl from the window, leisurely smoking a cigarette. When twenty minutes had passed, he rang the bell loudly to signal the end of the match. Without a time limit, it would inevitably lead to bloodshed—hence the alarm.
“Time’s up.”
No sooner had the words left his mouth than—pak!—a knife slammed into Cheon Sejoo’s chest. The shock was brutal. Sejoo let out a muttered, “Fuck,” and coughed violently. Slumping down, he gasped for breath and rubbed the throbbing spot on his chest.
“Good work.”
Expressionless, Shin Goyeon wiped the sweat streaking his temple and offered the words plainly. “Good work, sir,” Sejoo returned the greeting and used his T-shirt to wipe his drenched face. The sound of his sweat-soaked soles peeling off the mat followed. As Shin Goyeon stepped aside, Sejoo flopped flat onto the mat.
“Haa, haa… fuck…”
His heart felt like it might burst. Amid the pounding echo in his ears, Sejoo tried to steady his breath. He hadn’t even been up that long, but fatigue was already crashing down on him. He felt like passing out right then and there. Eyes closed, mind drifting, he was jolted awake by a sudden whiff of cologne nearby. Opening his eyes, he saw a familiar face looking down at him.
“Are you raising a pet now?”
Suddenly, Beomjun asked a question with no context. Sejoo, frowning, saw the man’s lingering gaze fixed on his lower abdomen and quickly yanked down his shirt to cover it. Looking up at him, he asked back,
“Who.”
“Kwon Sejin. Why are you suddenly playing babysitter?”
He had only mentioned taking Sejin to Ihwagak, and yet somehow Beomjun knew. Did he ask Kim Donggil? Sejoo stared at Beomjun’s annoying smirk and spat out,
“So what if I am.”
“I’m just curious. Even morally-rigid Chief Cheon seems to pick up strays now.”
Chae Beomjun offered his palm in front of Sejoo’s face, like he meant to help him up. Not a chance. Sejoo batted his hand away with the back of his own and pushed himself up from the floor. He looked straight into Beomjun’s eyes—who stood just half a head taller—and replied,
“Cut the bullshit. The kid’s a girl.”
“…A girl?”
Beomjun’s brow furrowed. Arms crossed, his neatly arranged face—like a news anchor—broke into a vulgar laugh.
As Beomjun chuckled behind him, Sejoo turned his back and climbed down from the ring. Crazy bastard, he thought. Beomjun didn’t stop laughing even as Sejoo made his way to the weight room.
“Lost his damn mind first thing in the morning…”
The sound grated on his nerves. Sejoo raised his middle finger at Beomjun from across the training hall as he stepped through the translucent door of the weight room. Beomjun, still smiling, gave him the exact same gesture in return.
They’d known each other for five years now. When Sejoo was 26, Beomjun had visited him in jail and offered him a job under Shin Goyeon—that was their first meeting. Since then, Sejoo had seen more of Beomjun than the man he actually worked for, and they ran into each other almost daily.
Their relationship was built from camaraderie and contempt, loathing and some slight admiration. To Sejoo, Chae Beomjun was like an older brother, and also someone who pissed him off just by making eye contact.
In the gym, Sejoo ran on the treadmill until his lungs threatened to burst. Until every stray thought was erased from his head, he didn’t stop. He ran and ran, until his chest swelled painfully and his mind went blank.
By the time he came out, both Shin Goyeon and Beomjun were gone. He debated whether to shower off the sweat, but decided he’d change at home instead, and headed to the elevator.
It was 8:40 a.m.—by now, Kwon Sejin should be at school. Cowardly or not, Sejoo decided to use that timing.
"What gives you the right to say something like that?"
The question Sejin had thrown at him last Sunday had shaken loose all the buried guilt and self-loathing Sejoo had been suppressing. Once those feelings surfaced, he couldn’t bring himself to face Sejin, and so he’d fled to the 10th floor.
Just as Sejin had said, Cheon Sejoo had no right to worry about the kid’s living situation. After all, it was the very organization Sejoo belonged to that had ruined Sejin’s life. He had no right to care for or protect her.. But for a moment, he’d forgotten that. Caught up in the sentiment of playing “big brother” again. Get faster updates on novelping dot com.
Now that he’d remembered, he figured it was time to send Sejin away. After visiting Ihwagak tomorrow, he planned to call the head nun this afternoon and arrange for Sejin to be transferred directly to a group home.
But the moment he saw the old pair of shoes by the door, that decision vanished without a trace. Sejoo frowned, staring down at the unfamiliar sneakers.
Did she not go to school? Sejoo blinked blankly, then walked down the hallway to the intercom panel. It had various features, including a door access log. He tapped through the interface until he pulled up the entry records.
From Sunday until now, the front door had only opened twice. Both times, the log showed it was him.
The realization chilled him to the core.
Spinning around, Sejoo went straight to the kitchen, opened the fridge, and counted the sandwiches and lunchboxes inside. Nine. Not a single one had been touched since he stocked them on Sunday.
“Ah…”
His blank face crumbled. His jet-black pupils turned blurry and loose, and in his mind, the image of Kwon Sejin curled up in the hallway overlapped with another—his little sister Cheon Hyein, from a memory recorded in video.
Hyein had waited in a dark hallway with the lights off… then thrown herself off the apartment balcony. It was suicide.
As that final image of his sister flashed through him, Sejoo’s head whipped around toward the room where Sejin was staying. He stood frozen for a moment—then rushed toward it.
He didn’t hesitate as he grabbed the doorknob and twisted it open.
Bang. The door flung open without a knock, and the first thing visible through the gap was the bed. The neatly made blankets and the pillow resting on top of them made his chest drop. Thankfully, the window beyond that was firmly shut—but nowhere in the room was there any trace of a person.
Cheon Sejoo bit down on his lip and turned his head.
The light to the dressing room that led to the bathroom was off. Striding over, Cheon Sejoo checked and found the wardrobe completely empty. There wasn’t a single trace of Sejin left anywhere in the house. As if she had packed everything up and left.
But the front door to the apartment had never opened. At that moment, Sejoo silently cursed at the horrific image that flashed across his mind. Then, grabbing the handle of the one last door he hadn’t checked, he turned it.
Shwaaah—the sudden sound of running water pierced through the numbness in his ears.
Was she… showering? By the time the thought occurred to him, it was already too late.
Steam drifted out through the gap of the fully open bathroom door. Cheon Sejoo had finally found who he was looking for. Inside the open shower booth, Kwon Sejin was cleaning the floor with the showerhead. The eyes that had held suspicion froze over with surprise.
Kwon Sejin was alive. Intact. Holy fuck.
“…Sorry.”
Relief came and went in an instant—then, realizing what he’d just done to a girl, Cheon Sejoo quickly apologized and shut his eyes. But in just one second, Sejin’s naked form, burned into his mind, plunged him into chaos.
What the hell did I just see?
“…Are you insane?”
The husky voice scraped his nerves. Cheon Sejoo’s eyes shot open.
It wasn’t some delusion.
What was hanging from the body of that supposed eighteen-year-old girl absolutely should not have been there.
“Get out!”
His eyes had been fixed on the flailing lower half of Kwon Sejin’s body, and the shaking voice echoed furiously through the bathroom. Belatedly, Sejoo snapped out of it and lifted his gaze. Even though he’d confirmed that something was definitely dangling there, he still couldn’t believe this beautiful face belonged to a boy.
Cheeks flushed red, the corners of his eyes burning, Sejin glared at him.
“…Sorry.”
Seeing that face—Cheon Sejoo somehow felt like he was the one at fault. He apologized first and closed the door.
Click. The doorknob clicked into place, the view cut off. But Sejoo remained frozen, unable to move.
“…A boy?”
The words tumbled out, a voice birthed from shock. Cheon Sejoo muttered stupidly with his mouth half open. The image of Kwon Sejin’s genitals—clearly showing the signs of puberty, complete with coarse black hair—floated in front of his eyes.
“…What the fuck.”
Suddenly drained of strength, Sejoo trudged back and perched on the edge of the vanity in the dressing room. A cold sweat trickled down his spine.
Just moments ago, he’d been panicking, thinking something had happened to Sejin. Now, his heart raced for an entirely different reason.
Cheon Sejoo slowly inhaled, exhaled, calming himself. The icy chill returned to his pitch-black pupils. His gaze wandered in space for a while—then locked onto a single spot.
Now that the situation had settled in, a wave of absurdity surged over him. Kwon Sejin was a boy? But when he’d asked if Sejin was a girl—
"Can’t you tell just by looking?"
Cheon Sejoo narrowed his eyes, retracing his memories from a few days ago. Right—he had never directly said he was a girl. He’d only scoffed and asked why someone would ask something so obvious.
But still—fuck…
Who in their right mind would think that face belonged to a boy?
And what about the nightgown and underwear Sejoo had bought him? Sejin hadn’t said a word. Even knowing he was being misunderstood, he’d let it slide.
Cheon Sejoo let out a hollow laugh in disbelief. Of all people, him—not recognizing a boy for what he was?
He’d been completely fooled.
To be fair, Sejoo had never seen a boy with such a pretty face before. Everything about him was delicate and fine-boned, with not a trace of masculine sharpness anywhere. Of course he’d thought Sejin was a girl. Turns out, he was just an underdeveloped boy.
“…Haah.”
Was that why, even when he acted like a brat, Sejin had still seemed cute? Some kind of subconscious gaydar instinct…? No way. He wasn’t that shallow about faces. As Sejoo was steeping in self-loathing for not realizing the truth sooner—
The bathroom door creaked open, and he instinctively turned his head.
Peeking through the crack, Kwon Sejin stuck his face out. Their eyes met. Sejin bit his lip furiously and stepped out.
He wasn’t even trying to hide it anymore. Dressed in his school uniform pants and a few buttons undone on his shirt. It was the first time Sejoo had seen him without a hoodie. Now—finally—he looked like a boy.
Even though he was thin, Sejin’s shoulders were sharply squared, and his build wasn’t as small as Sejoo had assumed. The hair that had so thoroughly convinced Sejoo he was a girl now just looked like the common messy cut a lot of guys had. And though his face was still ridiculously pretty, knowing his gender made Sejin’s neutral vibe—and the occasional androgyny in his voice—finally make sense.
“…Hah.”
Cheon Sejoo stared at Kwon Sejin for a moment, then let out a sigh, stunned. The sigh was so heavy it could’ve caved the floor in, and Sejin flinched, staring at his own toes. Then he snuck a glance up at Sejoo. And for some reason, that look made him seem like a dog waiting to be scolded—anxiously gauging his master’s mood.
“You think I’m gonna hit you? Why’re you looking at me like that?”
Unable to watch anymore, Sejoo finally opened his mouth. At his ordinary tone, Sejin ducked his head and stepped closer. Somehow, the way he braced himself—like someone resigned to being hit—left Sejoo speechless.
His black hair was still damp, a mess from being poorly towel-dried. His shirt and exposed neck were wet in spots. Maybe from a hot shower—his ears and cheeks had a peach-like pink glow, like if you touched them, they’d leave juice on your fingers. Sejoo caught sight of Sejin’s collarbones through the gaping collar and swore under his breath as he stood up and stepped away.
“Dry your hair and come out.”
Without waiting for a response, Sejoo left Sejin’s room.
He went to the kitchen, chugged two bottles of water from the fridge, crushed the empty bottles, and moved to the sofa to wait.
It wasn’t long before Sejin emerged. Dutifully, his jet-black hair was now completely dry.
Sejoo placed a bottle of water in front of him, then picked up the pack of cigarettes on the living room table. He’d done all kinds of things thinking Sejin was a girl—cooked for him, protected him, softened his tone—but now there was no need for any of that.
Click. The lighter opened and shut. The tip of the cigarette glowed orange. Drawing in deeply, Cheon Sejoo rubbed his temple as the headache set in. Then, exhaling with a sigh, he spoke.
“…Why’d you lie?”
Even as he asked, he didn’t expect an honest answer from this sharp-tongued little bastard.
And just as he thought—
“…I never said I was a girl. You were the one who assumed.”
Still speaking informally. Sejoo let out a short, bitter laugh. He’d felt it before, but this kid—no, this little shit—was more than a bit brazen.
If it were him in Sejin’s shoes—being fed, housed, and even given a chance to meet his mom—he’d have tolerated a little attitude in return. But Kwon Sejin acted like the very idea of enduring something was foreign to him.
Not that it was a problem. In fact, it was kind of endearing. Principles, beliefs, values—everyone has one thing they can’t bend on. For Sejin, maybe it was that pride.
Cheon Sejoo nodded slightly, conceding part of his point.
“Right, you never said you were a girl. But you knew I thought you were—and you didn’t correct me. Why?”
“……”
Faced with a concrete question, Sejin stayed silent for a long time. Sejoo waited, patient.
At last, Sejin gave his reason.
“…I was scared you’d kick me out if you knew I wasn’t a girl.”
His husky voice—like someone going through puberty—delivered the answer.
So? Sejoo didn’t respond right away. He just stubbed out the cigarette in the ashtray and rested his chin on his palm, watching him. Sejin, under that gaze, finally added...