TOIGC 89

Chapter 89 …

Daring to Use Me? (4)

“Honestly, I’m surprised.”

“You mean that you actually use stuff like this?”

Choi Chul-gyu gave a nod.

“Yeah. If I were going to pull out something like that, I figured it’d be reserved for a much bigger fish. So yeah, I was pretty shocked when I opened that box just now.”

That box hadn’t actually been handed to Yoongi by Chul-gyu—it was something Chul-gyu had received from JSD.

[Just in case you run into any troublesome issues down the road, go ahead and use this. I’ll make sure to bail you out in a big way at least once.]

Naturally, Chul-gyu had passed the contents along to Yoongi, and Yoongi had simply stashed them away in a box for a rainy day.

“Isn’t Seth big enough to qualify?”

“Wait, what? You’re going to use that on Seth? You mean on Choi Hyo-dae… Oh!”

Chul-gyu slapped his forehead as sudden realization dawned on him.

“Figured it out?”

“Yeah. If you’re using it like that, it’s definitely worth a shot. I guess I was just thinking too one-dimensionally.”

“Well, aside from that, Hyo-dae genuinely deserves to be thrown under the bus anyway.”

The sharp crunch of Yoongi biting into another plum was accompanied by a subtle grinding noise that scraped against Chul-gyu’s eardrums.

He’s pissed.

Though Yoongi wasn’t putting on an aggressive display of temper, Chul-gyu instinctively knew his nephew was fuming on the inside.

I mean, Yoongi won’t even forgive a betrayal from his own blood, let alone some outsider. Seeing this makes me realize my second older brother still has a long, long way to go before he gets back into his good graces.

Listening to the crisp crunching sounds for a while longer, Chul-gyu sat quietly alongside Yoongi, waiting for Secretary Ryu to return to the study.

Choi Hyo-dae was released from the department store’s storage room four hours after being locked away.

[As of this moment, you’re fired. Don’t ever show your face in front of me again.]

Recalling Geun-tae’s deadpan delivery, Hyo-dae let out a heavy sigh as he walked.

Damn it, I got caught way too soon.

Shortly after becoming Geun-tae’s secretary, Hyo-dae had been approached by operatives working for Seth.

[Let’s be honest, the salary at Yaikai isn’t exactly groundbreaking, is it? Sure, the corporate benefits are nice, but hard cash is king. What do you say? Slip us some info every now and back, and we’ll make sure you’re compensated handsomely.]

When Geun-tae had first hand-picked him, Hyo-dae had genuinely sworn to dedicate his life to the man. But as his living standards improved, greed naturally bubbled to the surface. He rationalized the betrayal to himself under the banner of “living a better life” and accepted Seth’s terms.

On top of that, Seth had been handing him 200,000 won in under-the-table cash every month as a “stipend,” which only fueled Hyo-dae’s desire to dig up even juicier secrets for them.

If I want better intel, I need to earn President Ryu’s absolute trust.

In the end, Hyo-dae managed to become Geun-tae’s right-hand man. By leaking critical information to Seth, he had pocketed a lump sum that amounted to over two years of starting salary.

Yaikai Department Store traditionally operated on a high-benefit, low-base-salary model. Because essential life expenses were largely covered by corporate welfare, the true compensation package was actually quite high when calculated properly. But Hyo-dae had become so fixated on the raw cash sitting in his bank account that he completely lost sight of the big picture.

[Thank you so much. I’ll let you know if anything else comes up.]

On the day the five million won hit his account, Hyo-dae had called his Seth handler to express his gratitude, resolving right then and there to work even harder to please Geun-tae.

Of course, that resolution hadn’t even lasted three weeks.

That was why Hyo-dae felt such deep, lingering regret. It wasn’t because he felt bad about stabbing Geun-tae in the back, but purely because he was devastated that his lucrative income stream had just vanished.

Oh well, they promised to hire me directly if I ever got exposed, anyway.

He had taken the gig in the first place because Seth had assured him they would take full responsibility and employ him if his cover was ever blown. So even though Geun-tae had just fired him on the spot, Hyo-dae walked home filled only with bitter disappointment over his lost earnings.

“Honey, I’m home!”

Opening the door to a spacious, high-end apartment provided free of charge under Yaikai’s housing welfare program, Hyo-dae let out a soft chuckle.

Ah, right. She said she was visiting my mother today.

Hyo-dae currently lived separately from his mother. Out of consideration for the newlyweds, his mother lived on her own, and Hyo-dae’s wife visited her quite frequently. Remembering that his wife was out for that exact reason, Hyo-dae walked past the foyer into the living room with an easy smile.

It was a remarkably large living room. Without the company’s housing subsidy, it would have taken at least three years of pinching every single penny of his Seth-level salary just to afford a place like this. But not a single thought of that crossed Hyo-dae’s mind—nor did the fact that he’d probably have to return the apartment key very soon.

Sigh, I guess I should call Seth later.

Suddenly feeling a wave of exhaustion, Hyo-dae decided to stretch out on the sofa before making any phone calls. After all, spending four hours locked in a storage room had drained a lot of mental energy.

“Huh?”

As he lay down, something out of place caught his eye on the coffee table—an unfamiliar book.

What is this?

Picking the book up lazily, Hyo-dae suddenly bolted upright, his eyes going wide as he grabbed it with both hands.

“M-M-M-Marx?!”

It was a word that absolutely, under no circumstances, belonged in his home.

What the hell? Why is this even here?

Since Hyo-dae rarely read books to begin with, the situation made zero sense to him.

W-Who bought this? N-N-No! I gotta throw it out, right now!

Panicking, Hyo-dae shoved the book inside his jacket and headed straight for the front door to dash out to the yard.

I’ll just burn it in the courtyard. Yeah, burning it is the way to go!

Unfortunately, Hyo-dae’s brilliant plan was cut short.

Bang!

With a deafening crash that rattled the front door on its hinges, a furious voice roared from outside.

“Hey! Open the damn door!”

“Hk!”

Paralyzed by sheer panic, Hyo-dae froze in his tracks.

Well, even if he hadn’t panicked, he wouldn’t have been given the time to move anyway—because the front door violently splintered inward, bursting open as the frame gave way.

“There you are, you little bastard! You dirty commie rat!”

Leading the charge through the broken doorway was Superintendent Seo In-pyo, flanked by a squad of aggressive plainclothes detectives. His dark skin and signature scowl gave him a vicious look that made his previous demeanor in front of Geun-tae look tame by comparison.

“You piece of trash! Daring to praise communism? You’re a dead man!”

Realizing at least one thing—that he was somehow being framed as a communist—Hyo-dae shook his head frantically.

“N-No! You’ve got it wrong! I’m not a commie!”

“The hell you aren’t!”

Seo In-pyo grabbed Hyo-dae by the collar and shook him back and forth, causing the book hidden inside Hyo-dae’s jacket to slip out and drop heavily to the floor.

“What’s that? What just fell out of your jacket?”

“N-No, wait!”

Releasing his grip, Seo In-pyo crouched down and snatched the book off the floor. The color completely drained from Hyo-dae’s face.

“Marx? Well, look at that. This bastard’s a dyed-in-the-wool red!”

“T-This isn’t mine!”

“The hell it isn’t! If it’s not yours, why were you hiding it inside your clothes like a precious treasure?”

Slap!

With the sharp crack of leather meeting skin, tiny blood vessels inside Hyo-dae’s mouth ruptured, sending a thin trickle of blood down his lip. But Hyo-dae was far too panicked to feel the physical pain.

“I’m telling you the truth, it’s not mine! When I came home, it was just sitting right there on the…”

Hyo-dae’s desperate excuses were cut short.

“Section Chief! Found one over here!”

“Section Chief! Found another stash in this room!”

The other detectives scattered through the apartment began unearthing more items. Alongside stacks of pamphlets, they pulled out a North Korean flag—the Inmin-gi—and framed photographs of Kim Il-sung.

“Hk!”

The last thing Hyo-dae saw before letting out a shriek of absolute terror was Superintendent Seo’s fist hurtling straight toward his face.

<You’ve fruit gotten haven’t into lately, really you?>

Watching Yoongi happily snacking on plums yet again, Deok-bae asked with mild amusement.

“Turns out they’re pretty good. Back in the day, the only exposure I had to plums was artificial plum juice.”

<Well, Buying exactly fresh fruit income old on practical. wasn’t yeah. your>

“I mean, I could technically have bought them. Though I never bothered. All the cheap fruit out there was half-rotted anyway… ugh.”

Yoongi cast his mind back to his past life.

The only times he ever saw fresh fruit were the occasional bruised watermarks, mealy apples, or soft, sour tangerines handed out at construction site mess halls. And since they were always bottom-of-the-barrel rejects, he rarely touched them. The apples were grainy and utterly flavorless, the tangerines mushy and tongue-curlingly sour, and the watermelon tasted like chewing on packing foam. Naturally, he’d had zero incentive to eat them.

Even after regaining his original life, Yoongi hadn’t cared much for fruit, mostly because every time he looked at one, it reminded him of those miserable days. But after being nudged into trying them a few times, he’d developed a genuine appreciation for high-quality produce.

And his obsession for this particular spring? None other than plums.

“Honestly, the longer I live this life, the more I realize that the whole ‘I know what poverty is like’ line fed by silver-spoon heirs is total bullshit. Take apples alone—the kind of apples they grew up eating and the ones I survived on are completely different universes. We experienced the exact same object through completely different realities. How could they ever dare claim they understand poverty?”

As Yoongi shook his head with a wry smile, Deok-bae let out a low chuckle.

<It Joseon The Total Whenever a act and back bastard delicacy dynasty. exact famine, from garbage. going he he? hungry, in king like local peasants’ province pull region’s royal same sharing specific story suffered suffering. table, that the they’d was wasn’t would>

<Now, Is a for it language like loyal now. okay really subject that? to use>

<The Besides, I Jongno Police Station, already are basement but cares? do dynasty fell, he’s in locked mean, of planning so still. technically that the to traitor? up what who with you>

The moment Geun-tae received the confirmation from Superintendent Seo, he reported straight to Yoongi. After taking the report, Yoongi had asked Deok-bae to use his metaphysical perception to inspect the Jongno station basement. Ever since then, Deok-bae had been dropping subtle hints, and he was finally reaching his boiling point.

“He’s probably going through hell right now. Even if the charges are fabricated, we planted enough solid-looking evidence that he won’t be walking out anytime soon. Should serve as a great object lesson for everyone else, too.”

<Nah, doesn’t enough. feel like still that>

Seeing Deok-bae itching to meddle in a satisfying way, Yoongi smiled faintly with curiosity.

“Oh yeah?”

<Yeah. I Look No actually and are at bastards been, collaborators country. despise doomed have how king matter might nation. ones out pro-Japanese queen seriously sold the those traitors. trashy who>

<The Joseon a around. as but country courtier fell, is it pride seems sticking still your>

Deok-bae nodded slowly.

<Suppose But I When a again. alongside around attachment away. bit days faded feel figured floating had living makes more my old on own, past relevant so. the to was you>

<I I So, are do? feeling. get let me saying something that there’s think to want you>

Deok-bae shook his head with a sly expression.

<It’s I as do, for. is it much not permission so something to want you your>

<What is it?>

With a mischievous glint in his eye, Deok-bae began laying out his proposal to Yoongi.

Because Superintendent Seo knew that Choi Hyo-dae was a “custom-tailored” communist plant, he was treating him with what you might call a moderate level of hospitality—maybe a mild setting on an electric fan.

Of course, from Hyo-dae’s perspective, it felt more like a hurricane mixed with a blowtorch.

He honestly felt like he was about to die. They let him sleep less than three hours a day, handed him a single meager sip of water only when he begged for it, and served him dry barley rice spiked with spicy kimchi once a day. On top of that, they alternated between beating the soles of his feet with a thick wooden ruler and whipping his chest, calves, and back with a switch. He was losing his mind.

“So, are you going to talk or not? Who ordered you to turn red?”

During lunch, a detective slurping down a bowl of radish soup tossed the question lazily at him, and Hyo-dae screamed back in absolute frustration.

“I keep telling you, I’m not a communist! I genuinely have no idea what you’re talking about!”

Since he was only receiving the “mild” treatment, Hyo-dae still had a sliver of fight left in him on this third day of detention.

“Oh, look at this little bastard. Still got some fight in him, huh? Cheeky punk!”

One of the detectives dropped his spoon, stood up, and whacked Hyo-dae squarely on the forehead with a wooden paddle.

Man, if I had my way, I’d love to punch his lights out. But since the higher-ups gave strict orders that he isn’t a real red, my hands are tied.

Unaware of the internal monologue running through the detective’s head, Hyo-dae’s pride took such a violent hit that his eyes flashed with murderous rage.

“You fucking bastards, I told you it wasn’t me… Fine! Long live communism, you son of a bitches!”