Passion Novel - Chapter 86

Jeong Taeui recalled that memory as he stared at the LCD monitor. The joint training was drawing to a close. The final task was to edit and select usable portions of the training period’s footage to show the members on the last day. Instructor Ilay, finding this tedious, had dumped the task on Jeong Taeui, who had no choice but to review ten days’ worth of recordings.

Although it was ten days’ worth, the adjutant had already sifted through most of it and almost finished editing, so Jeong Taeui only needed to spend about three or four hours reviewing and organizing. So, thinking it wouldn’t be difficult, he had been watching the videos for about two hours now.

Jeong Taeui was recalling that vague, distant memory of having to watch videos he detested for a film review—in truth, he’d thought about just not submitting it and taking a zero, but since it affected his friends’ combined score, he couldn’t bring himself to refuse their pleas. In the videos he’d received, supposedly training footage, blood and flesh were flying. At least the one-on-one sparring footage was better. He’d seen so many instances of broken arms and concussions leading to people being carried off to the infirmary that he’d become accustomed to it. However, unrestricted free sparring footage often made him involuntarily gasp, “Ugh.”

Especially when Ilay was in the footage, it was almost always like that.

After watching three consecutive scenes of people being carried out, practically bloody lumps, even if not dead, his appetite vanished. Jeong Taeui took pity on the adjutant, who must have meticulously reviewed and edited ten days’ worth of footage, and paused the video. He’d only watched about half, but staring at the blood-red screen was making his head feel strange; he couldn’t go on. He’d take a break, then quickly skim through the rest and return it. Jeong Taeui scratched his head, tasting bitterness. He felt a bit sorry for himself, having to be stuck watching such videos during the evening, when he usually had free time after regular duties.

“Should I go up for a bit and get some fresh air?” He was just rubbing his neck and getting up from his seat when the phone rang.

A red lamp was blinking. It was an outside line. There was only one place he could think of that would call Jeong Taeui from outside right now.

“Hello?”

“Are you doing well?”

As expected, it was his uncle.

Jeong Taeui had thought it would most likely be his uncle, but still hoping for a rare surprise, he mumbled disappointedly, “What’s up?”

“Well, I called to see if everything’s alright. You’re still alive and well, right? Is the training manageable?”

“Anyway, all these records will go to you too, won’t they? No one’s dead, and a lot of people are injured, but that’s just how it is. Still, it’s better than the last joint training. No one died.”

Jeong Taeui grumbled sullenly, and he heard a chuckle from the other end of the line. “Yes, for him, that’s an excellent result,” came the reply, a mixture of jest and seriousness.

Jeong Taeui was silent for a moment. He wondered if his uncle would bring up anything else, but there was no sign of it. Moreover, he wasn’t someone who would discuss serious matters over the phone.

“…Oh, right. I got a call from there.” Jeong Taeui said casually, as if suddenly remembering. His uncle paused very briefly, then chuckled, “Ah, yes. It’s about time for that.”

Jeong Taeui simply replied, “Is that so?” to his uncle, who merely said those few words. It’s about time. Indeed, setting a specific time seemed to have had its reasons. Jeong Taeui didn’t intend to ask for details and vaguely glossed over it. It wasn’t an issue to talk about for long, and he suspected this was the reason his uncle had called.

He was exchanging a few trivial words with his uncle, thinking of hanging up soon if there was no other business.

The door opened without a knock, and Ilay entered.

Jeong Taeui was silent for a moment. It had been mere minutes since he had seen that man on the blood-red screen, and seeing him in person, looking perfectly clean, was a distinct feeling. Distinctly like a sense of discrepancy.

“Ilay…” Jeong Taeui, who had opened his mouth to ask what was going on, realized he was still holding the phone. It seemed his uncle on the other end had heard it too.

“Ah, ha. He’s here?”

“Ah, yes, well…” He mumbled vaguely, staring blankly at Ilay. Ilay, seeing Jeong Taeui on the phone, subtly raised an eyebrow, then gestured as if to say, Don’t mind me, keep talking. And then he went to the bed as if it were his own room and lay down. There was nothing new to be surprised about, so Jeong Taeui merely sighed bitterly.

“Alright, then I’ll see you soon. Call if anything happens. You remember the direct number, right?” His uncle, also seemingly done with his business, showed signs of hanging up. Jeong Taeui nodded.

“Yes. I wrote it down. But I don’t think there’ll be anything to call about. I’ll see you in a few days. Please take care of yourself during the remaining days and come back safe and sound.”

Jeong Taeui said indifferently, and his uncle chuckled in response, “Hearing that you’re assuming there’s a high possibility I won’t come back in one piece somehow makes me feel complex.” His uncle then left a short goodbye and hung up. Hearing him speak like that, Jeong Taeui thought he would return safely and also put down the phone. After hanging up, Ilay, who had been lying diagonally on the bed, looking at Jeong Taeui, said languidly,

“Instructor Jeong Changin?”

“Mm.”

“What’s up? He actually called.”

“…He must have been worried if his nephew was still alive.”

He wanted to insert the phrase “left in a place where murderers roam freely” before that sentence but held back. Thinking about it, even Jeong Taeui himself knew his uncle wasn’t the type to call for that reason. However, Ilay seemed convinced by the answer and nodded. Jeong Taeui rotated his chair halfway to face Ilay. He intended to ask what was going on, but Ilay’s gaze was no longer on Jeong Taeui. He was looking at the screen on the desk, paused on a still image.

“Ah, ha. You were checking the records, I see.”

Hearing him speak as if it were someone else’s business made a slow anger boil within him. This was originally Ilay’s job. It was only natural for his stomach to twist when he saw Ilay casually show up after vaguely saying he had other things to do and dumping the records on Jeong Taeui.

“No matter how many times I fast-forward, it’s always a red screen, and your face always appears on it. It’s not like I’m watching your full life story, and this is probably because it’s been edited once already.”

He couldn’t help but grumble. As he did, Jeong Taeui thought, It’s quite something that I can talk so freely to that murderous madman. Anyone would think I’ve given up. He sighed, telling himself not to act so recklessly anymore, as it would be utterly unfair if he were to die by that man’s hand with only a few days left until he could leave. Though he hadn’t wanted to, he asked, rising from his seat for his uninvited guest,

“What do you want to drink? …No, on second thought, there’s only water. Want water?”

“No, I’m good.”

Ilay shook his head and started playing the paused video again. Blood and flesh once again splattered across the screen. Jeong Taeui watched Ilay, who was observing the members sparring as if it were a sport, then took out the entire water bottle and took a sip. And he quietly observed Ilay’s profile closely. Looked at this way, he was truly an ordinary and neat young man. Who would think he was the same person as the blood-soaked madman appearing on that screen? Even Jeong Taeui, who had clearly witnessed both those sides of him firsthand, was beginning to doubt it.

Jeong Taeui, holding the water bottle, reluctantly turned his gaze to the screen. The moment his eyes landed on it, the scene that greeted him was Ilay grabbing the head of a man much larger than himself and, with a blank expression, slamming it into a stone wall. Blood splattered everywhere from the man’s head, which was embedded in the wall with a horrifying sound.

“Ugh,” Jeong Taeui mumbled, grimacing. He had seen countless scenes far worse than that, but it was still not a pleasant sight to behold.

I’d rather watch splatter films, he thought, watching the screen, then his eyes widened slightly. He recognized the man. It was the one who had been wielding the axe. Sure enough, Jeong Taeui’s own figure was reflected slightly beside the man. And Ilay mumbled something, then pulled out the axe embedded in the wall.

Right. That’s what happened. He had been prepared for a massive hit from that large man, but he ended up being helped by Ilay. And what Ilay had said to him back then…

“You’re the kind of guy who courts trouble…”

Yes, yes, that was exactly what he had said. He truly was a guy who didn’t know how to say anything nicely.

Jeong Taeui turned his gaze back to the screen. Ilay was still visible on the screen. He looked quite fitting with the axe in his hand. He even felt a sense of familiarity with that sight.

“Now that I think about it,” Jeong Taeui started to say something, then closed his mouth. And he thought hard again. He definitely didn’t remember mentioning it. Ilay glanced at Jeong Taeui, who had cut himself off mid-sentence with a pensive expression. Jeong Taeui then looked back at the screen with a blank face and said,

“Back then, thanks for the help.”

“…Help?”

Ilay tilted his head slightly. He seemed confused about what Jeong Taeui was saying. But following Jeong Taeui’s gaze and looking back at the screen, he finally understood and shrugged, “Ah, yes.”

“You’re welcome.”

Of course, “you’re welcome,” Jeong Taeui thought. He had already known it at the point of saying thank you. The reason Ilay had slammed the large man into the wall just before Jeong Taeui was hit wasn’t to help Jeong Taeui, but simply because the large man had originally targeted Ilay. Nevertheless, without any logical connection, Jeong Taeui suddenly recalled what Shinru had cried out the other day, with a face on the verge of tears:

—He has impure intentions toward you, hyung! That man likes you, hyung!

“…”

Jeong Taeui subtly raised his hand to cover his mouth, rubbing his lips with his thumb. No one was looking into his mind, but he felt incredibly awkward. Actually, if someone were to look into a mind, they should look into Shinru’s, who could come up with such an idea, but Jeong Taeui felt so embarrassingly distressed that he tried desperately to erase that memory from his mind, even though he hadn’t even said it himself.

In the ensuing silence, the screen showed Ilay casually wielding the axe. After that, the discipline sparring footage finally began, and Jeong Taeui was at last liberated from the blood-red visuals.

“But what brings you here?” Jeong Taeui asked, taking a breath from the video, as if it just occurred to him. In truth, there was no need to ask. He usually called or summoned Jeong Taeui to his room if he had business. When he occasionally came to deliver a message in person, he usually just said what he had to say and left. His simply entering and lounging casually meant he had come for no particular reason.

Sometimes it was like this.

He would sometimes rummage through Jeong Taeui’s bookshelf, babble trivial things about old books, then leave, or rummage through the refrigerator and leave. And sometimes, as if it suddenly occurred to him, he would touch Jeong Taeui suggestively, then engage in petting that was close to masturbation before leaving. After that damned night, such incidents subtly increased. He felt that this crazy bastard had probably marked him as an easy “hopscotch” partner.

It was a mistake to just let it slide back then. That a guy who raped someone showed no signs of apology, yet still came to check on him, poking his head in and brazenly asking if he was okay while he was almost dying and unable to leave the bed for a day or two afterward—Jeong Taeui had thought it was remarkably commendable for his personality, and so he hadn’t ended him there. (To be more accurate, he wanted to end him, but it was realistically impossible.)

Even before, and after that, this man would casually use Jeong Taeui’s body with the same sensation as doing exercise. Each time, Jeong Taeui would recall the horrible memories and feel angry, but ultimately, he would gasp and cross the threshold of climax from Ilay’s hands or mouth.

It was only natural for Jeong Taeui to feel a growing sense of self-loathing, wondering if there was ever such a bewildered victim of rape. He also realized for the first time how weak he was to his own desires, and though he had thought he had a personality that could clearly draw lines, he unexpectedly realized he was soft in human relationships. But back then, when he was joking around with the guy he had genuinely wanted to kill, “soft” wasn’t even enough to describe it…

He felt like his brain was melting.

Jeong Taeui felt like he had lived a hundred years and his mood drooped.

“Ah, I suddenly wanted to read Hilsen’s Crusade, so I came to borrow it,” Ilay said, after Jeong Taeui had paused in response to his question, as if it just occurred to him. Jeong Taeui frowned and tilted his head.

“I don’t have that book.”

“Instructor Jeong has it. I got it for him this spring.”

Jeong Taeui looked at Ilay with a troubled expression. The key to his uncle’s room was right there in the bedside table drawer, but that was a different matter.

“I do go into empty rooms and just crash sometimes… but taking things out of an empty room and lending them to others is a bit… Did you ask Uncle?”

“No. …Hmm. That’s right. Alright, I’ll take a look after Instructor Jeong arrives.”

Ilay nodded easily, giving up. Jeong Taeui stared at Ilay for a moment, then finally closed his mouth without saying anything.

“But now that I think about it, if you say thank you, I should be able to receive that greeting, shouldn’t I?” Ilay suddenly said, veering off topic a bit. Jeong Taeui, who was checking how many minutes were left in the video, asked, “Huh?”, then realized it was what Jeong Taeui had said to Ilay a moment ago.

It would be a lie to say he didn’t feel indignant. Judging by his past record, Jeong Taeui should have received “thank you” many times from this man. He should have received “I’m sorry” a hundred times over. But how many times had this man properly apologized? He hesitated to say it, but felt he would only make himself seem petty if he did, so Jeong Taeui decided to keep quiet. And he asked, displeased, smacking his lips,

“What do you want for a greeting?”

“Well… Now that you mention it, I don’t seem to have much to gain from you.”

Ilay seemed quite serious in thought, but that was his conclusion. Jeong Taeui glared at Ilay with a deadpan expression.

Indeed, that man could be seen as having no deficiencies that he would need to gain from others. He wasn’t lacking money, had little material desires, rarely needed help from others, and if he could give it, Jeong Taeui would have liked to share some humanity, but that wasn’t possible either. (Even if it were possible to give, that man probably wouldn’t accept it.)

“The easiest would be your body. But that’s something I can experience anytime without it being a formal greeting, so it’s not new.”

Jeong Taeui stared at Ilay, wondering if there was anyone who wouldn’t get angry hearing such words. —However, he himself was already used to it, so he wasn’t particularly angry. This man wasn’t stupid. No, he could even be said to be exceptionally intelligent. So, even if he lacked a bit of humanity, he could easily master a way of speaking that didn’t overtly reveal it. But occasionally saying things that completely threw people off like this, it seemed he viewed Jeong Taeui as that amusing.

Once a person’s impression was formed, it was hard to change it. If one viewed someone as amusing, that perspective would be difficult to change even if that person rose to a position of leadership.