In the early hours past midnight, a bright light still poured from one of the annexes belonging to Chairman Seo of the Kangsan Group.
Creak—creak—A chilling, eerie sound echoed. It sounded like something sharp scratching across a blackboard, or perhaps like the cry of some unknown animal. That sound was coming from a quill pen about 30 centimeters long, made of black currents swirling like smoke. Even though the characters being etched glided smoothly across the white paper, the bizarre sound did not stop.
Ha Tae-soo, holding the smoldering quill of black currents, seemed utterly unfazed by the sound echoing right beside him. The same black current flowed from his eyes like shimmering heat haze, calm and unbothered.
The quill, moving gracefully as if in a dance, suddenly froze mid-air. As if he’d been holding his breath all this time, Tae-soo let out an unusually deep exhale.
“Sometimes I wonder,” he said, turning his head to look behind him without rising from his seat. “How many coordinates are crammed inside Yoon Jeong-ho’s head?”
As expected, standing behind him with a sly grin was Yoon Jeong-ho.
“Once I set foot somewhere, I usually remember it all. So what’s the point of counting, really?”
With a playful bounce, Jeong-ho plopped down onto the sofa, wearing a faintly apologetic look.
“I meant to come earlier, but I got held up with work at the company.”
“You really didn’t need to come at all.”
Tae-soo’s face was smiling, but his voice was cold as ice. Matching that tone, Jeong-ho’s eyes narrowed with amusement.
“Don’t hate me so much. It’s not like I wanted to avoid paying the ‘price.’”
“You know full well that’s not why I dislike you.”
“But it did have some influence, didn’t it?”
He smiled innocently, deliberately teasing.
“In a way, I should be thankful to you, Ha Tae-soo. Thanks to you, I found out I’m not part of this filthy bloodline after all.”
Jeong-ho laid bare his hostility toward someone without the slightest attempt to hide it. And Tae-soo, who knew exactly whom that hatred was aimed at, could only remain silent, watching him.
After a moment, Jeong-ho casually glanced over at Tae-soo’s desk. The desk was pushed right up against the wall beside the window and partially obscured by Tae-soo’s body, so he couldn’t quite see what he had been working on. But the fact that Tae-soo held a quill made of ESP was enough to guess—he was drafting a contract.
“Who’s the contract for this time?”
Tae-soo, without looking back at Jeong-ho, resumed writing with the pen as he answered.
“The contracts for the Espers brought in as staff are up for renewal soon. The Chairman ordered a thorough revision of the clauses while we’re at it.”
“Thoroughly?”
Creeeak—screeeeech—
Jeong-ho flinched dramatically at the spine-tingling sound of the quill, letting out a groan as he recoiled for effect. But Tae-soo continued, completely unfazed.
“If you’re going to put a leash on them, it might as well be a perfect one.”
“Right… Ugh, can’t you do something about that sound?”
Grimacing, Jeong-ho clumsily covered his ears with both hands. It wasn’t like it actually blocked the noise, but the gesture was almost instinctive.
“It’s almost done, so just bear with it.”
“Ughhh…”
Still covering his ears, Jeong-ho gave up and flopped onto the long sofa, sprawling out as if he owned the place. He showed no hint of restraint in his movements, like this was his own living room.
Watching the long, black quill move across the paper as if admiring a work of art, he murmured,
“Once you’re done with that one, you’ll probably need to prepare one more contract.”
Tae-soo didn’t respond right away, staying focused on what he was writing. He finished a few more lines before the quill dissolved into a fine dust that scattered soundlessly into the air. Oddly enough, the black dust never even touched the desk surface— it simply shimmered away into nothingness, vanishing without a trace.
“Is that an order from the Chairman?”
Hearing Tae-soo’s belated response, Yoon Jeong-ho grinned. So even though Chairman Seo kept Tae-soo close and acted like he valued him, it was just that—an act. He hadn’t said a single word to him about this beforehand.
“Yeah. My grandfather will probably put together the final contract details soon.”
“I see.”
Tae-soo’s reaction was lukewarm at best. Considering he hadn’t been told anything all day despite working on new contracts, he would’ve had every right to feel slighted by Chairman Seo. But he behaved like just another subordinate—dutiful, unquestioning.
Boring.
Suppressing a faint flicker of disappointment, Jeong-ho sat upright on the couch. By now, the dark currents that had been swirling in Tae-soo’s eyes were completely gone.
“I came today because I have a proposal.”
After tidying up his desk with practiced ease, Tae-soo sat across from him.
“Let’s hear it, then.”
“Aww, can you at least pretend to be interested? You sound completely unenthused.”
“That’s because most of your proposals turn out to be pointless, Mr. Yoon Jeong-ho.”
“How rude!”
Pouting like a child, Jeong-ho quickly broke into a grin again, as if nothing had happened.
“Once your contract with my grandfather ends, how about signing one with me instead?”
Crossing his legs with a smug flair, Jeong-ho rested his chin in one hand, brimming with confidence. He was still smiling, but there wasn’t a trace of jest in his eyes anymore.
Looking at that expression, Ha Tae-soo couldn’t help but recall the younger version of Chairman Seo. The first time he met the Chairman—when the man had been in his thirties, he’d worn that exact same look in his eyes, brimming with unshakable self-assurance.
It really was strange. There wasn’t a drop of shared blood between them, yet they looked so alike in moments like this.
And that resemblance… wasn’t entirely unpleasant.
Ha Tae-soo’s lips slowly curved into a smile.
“You already know, don’t you? The contract I made with the Chairman doesn’t have an ‘expiration date.’ Which means it’ll never end on its own.”
“What if there was a way to end it?”
At Jeong-ho’s words, Tae-soo’s gaze shifted, a glimmer of intrigue flashing in his eyes.
Seeing that unspoken invitation to continue, Jeong-ho chuckled softly.
“If things go the way I’m planning, I can help you get the ‘revenge’ you’ve been wanting and secure your future.”
At the word revenge, Tae-soo’s shoulder twitched. The calm in his eyes was now laced with a faint but unmistakable killing intent.
Jeong-ho caught it immediately—and his grin deepened.
“Let’s make a deal, Mr. Ha Tae-soo.”
With the swagger of a seasoned businessman, Yoon Jeong-ho extended a hand as if to seal the negotiation.
“There’s a way to kill both Chairman Seo and Seo Won without you having to dirty your hands.”
Despite the dark weight of his words, Tae-soo’s expression didn’t change. If anything, he looked even more intrigued.
***
Ding!
“Gah!”
A sudden alert jolted Jae-woo awake from a light, uneasy sleep.
He shot upright with a gasp, his face pale as he grabbed his phone in a hurry.
The screen showed it had just turned 9 p.m.
Climbing out of the crummy motel bed, Jae-woo checked the message that had just come in.
[The move’s all done. I also confirmed the rest of the payment you left at the new place~ Have a good night!]
It was a message from the moving truck driver.
Jae-woo exhaled in relief and replied with a quick Thank you. Now he could finally head into his new place and hole up for a while without stepping foot outside.
There hadn’t been that much to move. Still, he’d judged it best to do everything under the radar, so he’d hired a small freight truck driver to keep things discreet. He paid extra to have everything moved first and planned to enter the new house only after it was all done—just in case.
There were several reasons for being so secretive. For one, his lease was just about up. On top of that, a few clients obsessed with Han-gyeom had tracked him down and figured out where he lived.
But the biggest reason of all… was Han-gyeom’s warning.
“Don’t meet with that Guide again. He’s probably tangled up with dangerous people. Never see him again. And if he knows where you live, move immediately.”
Jae-woo didn’t fully agree with everything Han-gyeom said, but it didn’t matter. His words held absolute weight.
After all, it was Cha Han-gyeom who had changed his barely-holding-on excuse of a life. So whatever Han-gyeom said, Jae-woo would follow. Always.
Cha Han-gyeom—that Han-gyeom—had told him to stay away from “that person,” saying they were dangerous.
If Hyung says so, then I guess that’s that…?
But maybe Han-gyeom just misunderstood because he never actually met them. The person he knew had been genuinely kind, deeply considerate, and their Guiding had felt incredibly effective. In fact, that person had stepped in to fill the gaping hole left by Han-gyeom’s sudden absence. Despite the short time they’d known each other, that person had earned a surprising amount of Jae-woo’s trust.
Even so, he couldn’t just ignore the unnatural reactions he’d experienced, nor Han-gyeom’s firm warning. So he’d cut off all contact with “that person,” changed his phone, and avoided even stepping foot in his old home until moving day, bouncing between motels instead.
Now I just need to hole up in the new place and stay there until I can see Hyung again.
He reaffirmed his resolve and forced himself to his feet.
Given his ghost-pale face, sunken eyes, creaking joints, and staggering steps, he looked less like someone moving into a new home and more like someone who needed to be admitted to a hospital. He was thinking the same thing, actually—once he got settled in, he planned to call that pot-bellied doctor Han-gyeom used to visit.
Pressing a hand to his dizzy forehead, Jae-woo headed toward the motel door.
And then—
BANG!
A deafening explosion rang out, and a massive shock slammed into his skull.
