Chapter 20 Jin
“The Bulgeomhoe are finished,” I announce to the roomful of men seated before me.
We’re in the underground chamber of the Claw Lounge, where meetings are often held or special matters addressed, like when someone calls for a ceremonial punishment.
I walk back and forth in the center of the large room, slowly meeting the curious gazes of captains and lieutenants obediently gathered.
“Their clubhouse is ash. Their leaders are dead. Their soldiers have been scattered to the winds or buried in unmarked graves. This is what happens to those who challenge the Baekho Pa. This is the fate that awaits anyone foolish enough to cross us.”
Several murmurs of approval ripple through the chamber until I promptly hold up a hand and silence them.
“And yet,” I continue coldly, dripping with displeasure. “The Bulgeomhoe were never the true threat. They were insects—small nuisances that distracted us from the real enemy that still lurks in the shadows.”
Uncertain silence meets my words as a few men exchange glances. They’re used to the praise of a weak and ineffectual leader like Kim Jae-hyun; they’re used to celebrations any time the syndicate accomplishes even the smallest feat.
But Jae-hyun is dead and I’m Baekho-je now.
We don’t celebrate until there’s a reason worthy of it. Until they have worked for it and we’ve truly come out victorious.
“The Black Shell,” I spit into the loud silence. “The fabled Hyeonmudan. These are the names that should be keeping you awake at night. These are the targets that matter. Yet what progress have we made in finding them? Weeks of searching and nothing!”
I’ve started pacing again, my arms folded behind my back. Frustration bubbles just beneath the surface, a constant reminder of what failures we’ve been.
Black Shell has openly taunted me, and yet he’s still breathing. He won our last confrontation, and yet I’m no closer to achieving the revenge owed.
“What do we have to show for our work?” I ask them, raising my voice. “Cold leads. Dead ends. Constant excuses. You should be ashamed!”
As my heavy scolding resonates throughout the chamber, most look ashamed at their poor performance or determined to improve.
But then comes a sudden laugh, interrupting the tense silence.
My eyes cut toward the source, at once locating who it is and where it’s coming from.
Second row, third seat down.
Nam Joo-wan wears an insufferable smirk as he murmurs something to the captain seated next to him.
He’s the picture of casual disrespect as he sits relaxed, appearing more as if he’s at some cinema enjoying a movie than in a serious club meeting.
I clench down hard on my jaw and address him on the spot. “Something funny, Lieutenant Nam?”
His grin vanishes from his face as he startles in his seat, obviously not expecting to be called on so suddenly and directly.
“Uh… no, Jin-tae. I was just telling Han—”
“Get up.”
He blinks at me, his brow furrowing in confusion. “What?”
“I said get up.” I let the command hover in the tense air, the room so silent otherwise that a pin could be heard dropping.
Another second passes where Joo-wan is so uncertain he doesn’t move. He glances around at the other lieutenants and captains as though hoping someone might intervene on his behalf, but no one dares meet his eyes or show any sign of insolence to me.
They know better.
Slowly, reluctantly, he rises from his seat.
“Come here,” I say. I gesture to the space next to me at the center of the room.
After another hesitant look around, he does what he’s told. He makes his way down the aisle toward the center floor where I stand waiting.
He stops a few feet away from me, his smug grin still clinging to the corners of his mouth like even now he can’t let it go. Some part of him still believes he can charm or joke his way out of the moment.
He couldn’t be more wrong.
I start circling him, arms at rest behind my back. “Lieutenant Nam Joo-wan. Fifty-two. Twice married. Twice divorced. One child—a daughter, is that correct? You’ve been devoted to the Baekho Pa for almost thirty years now. Risen up the ranks to Sa-jo. One of the Baekho-je’s trusted lieutenants.
“A man of your position should be formidable. He should be the steady hand the boss needs to run a tight ship and get things done.” I’ve circled him like a predator does wounded prey, finally coming to stop directly in front of him, holding his gaze so intently he immediately seems tempted to look away.
“Tell me, Lieutenant, what exactly have you contributed to the Baekho Pa as of late? What use are you?”
He straightens his shoulders in an attempt to project confidence, though his voice wavers. “Baekho-je Jin-tae, my men have been working tirelessly to—”
“Your men found a single lead in Seoul that went cold before we could act on it,” I interrupt sharply. “A sighting in Myeongdong that vanished into a crowd. That was days ago. Since then, nothing. Not a single useful development.”
“Jin-tae,” he says with a nervous chortle. “With all due respect, Baekho-je, these things take time—”
“Time?” I repeat back to him, stepping closer, still holding his gaze to eerie effect.
“You’ve had plenty of time, Joo-wan. What you lack is competence.
Discipline. Fortitude. As you lounge around the clubhouse drinking and laughing, sometimes I wonder if it’s no accident.
If it’s intentional. If such disregard of duties and stupidity is really sabotage. ”
His eyes widen and he stammers, “S-sabotage? Jin-tae, I am loyal to the Baekho Pa. I have been for almost thirty years. You said so yourself—”
“What else could it be if not weaponized incompetence? You clearly find something amusing about our failures,” I sneer in disgust, my lips curled. “You think it’s funny that the man who murdered my family is still out there? The man who threatened my fiancée and unborn child is still breathing?”
“No… no, never… of course not!”
“But you do. You laughed, Joo-wan,” I say. “So I think it’s time to truly give you something funny to laugh about.”
I’m known for my quick and impressive reflexes. How fast I move and can so easily catch opponents off guard.
Now is no different as Joo-wan goes from staring at me in confusion to yelping in surprise. My hand has shot out to grab him by the collar of his shirt.
I yank him forward as though he weighs less than a ragdoll. He doesn’t even understand what’s happening as I drag him toward the bed of hot coals nearby.
The same coals we typically use for branding and other punishments during ceremonies.
He doesn’t have a chance to process what’s happening before his face is being shoved down into the burning hot coals.
The sizzle is immediate, followed by his shriek of pure agony. Both fill the chamber in obscene fashion as I hold him down and he thrashes against me. His body bucks and jerks and tries desperately to escape, his hands scrabbling uselessly at my arms.
But I simply shove him down further. I press his head down deeper into the hot bed of coals and watch as the flesh melts off his face.
The smell is pungent. It’s thick and acrid, probably enough to make most people nauseous. It’s the stench of a man being cooked alive.
His screams gradually become gurgles, then whimpers, then nothing at all.
His struggles grow weaker under my unrelenting grip as the fight leaves him and he can no longer sustain the torment. His body gives a final shudder before his muscles go slack and his limbs limp.
He becomes a true ragdoll sagging against my hands.
True dead weight.
I release him and let his body crumple to the floor beside the coal bed. I straighten up and turn to face my men.
The chamber is silent. More silent than it’s ever been.
Executions are nothing new in our world. Many lieutenants and members of other ranks have been taken out in the past. Often it’s done during power struggles and transitional times of leadership.
But this… this is different.
Usually, our means are quick. A bullet to the head. Even a prompt slit to the throat, where the person dies without really knowing what’s happening.
The shock and horror that stares back at me reveals they never expected something so sudden and brutal.
Not for one of our own.
Their disbelief has no effect on me. In fact, it merely fuels my rage more. My thirst for revenge and domination.
Let them see what happens when they fail. Let them understand how crucial it is they succeed.
“Dispose of him,” I say simply. “Then get back to fucking work.”
I stride out of the chamber without looking back, leaving the smell of burned flesh as the reminder they’re next should they fail.
The apartment is dark when I return several hours later. It’s well past two in the morning, which is earlier than I’ve come back most other nights since she’s left. Some nights I don’t come home at all.
I avoid this apartment like the plague. Much like I’ve avoided many things in recent weeks.
I stand by the door for a long moment, staring into the shadows of the space that used to feel so warm.
Nothing but coldness lingers in the air now.
Monroe took the warmth—and life—with her.
I’d come home to her curled up on the couch, her eyes lighting up when I walked through the door. She’d beg me to join her in watching whatever new K-drama she was binging. I could never resist her; I was eager to be near her after long and difficult days.
Finally, I was able to relax with my little rabbit.
Other nights, she was reading in bed—almost always waiting up for me or at least trying to—and I got a dopamine rush just from climbing under the sheets with her.
Just from listening about her day as she told me about the mischievous boy who made paper airplanes in her class or complained about some new curriculum change at the school.
Simple things. But it’s often the simple things that bring the greatest pleasure in life.
A lesson I’ve quickly learned in her absence.
Those simple pleasures are gone and only cold darkness fills the space where she once existed.