Chapter 29 Gun
TWENTY-NINE
GUN
The Cheongryong headquarters has always felt like a temple of power—all marble floors and floor-to-ceiling windows that overlook Seoul like a kingdom waiting to be conquered.
Today, walking through the familiar corridors in my pressed black dress shirt and slacks, clean-shaven and carrying myself with the kind of formal dignity my father always demanded, the weight of legacy settles on my shoulders.
The Jeokpa soldiers I pass nod with deference, not the careful wariness they used to show the lieutenant’s unpredictable son. Lee Seung-ho, who once looked at me like I might snap and break his nose, bows his head respectfully. “Yongsa-nim.”
I make my way to the top floor, where the Cheongryong-je holds court from his private office.
The old man sits behind his massive desk, back straight, hands folded, watching the city spread out beneath him like a god admiring his creations.
He’s in his seventies, bald, with a long silver beard that touches his chest and a face lined with age.
But that doesn’t mean he’s a frail old man. There’s still something markedly dangerous about him.
A deadly dragon in repose.
He doesn’t look up when I enter, just raises one weathered hand in a gesture that says wait.
So I do, standing by ’til he addresses me.
It’s a moment I’ve avoided for long enough. But after almost three weeks on Jeju with Elise, it’s time.
After a long moment, he finally turns his attention to me, dark eyes taking in my appearance with silent study. “Sit.”
I move to the chair across from his desk but remain standing until he nods. Only then do I lower myself into the seat, spine straight, hands resting formally on my knees.
The ritual of respect, performed exactly as Father taught me years ago.
It’s rare that even a captain like myself is called for a one-on-one meeting with the emperor of our syndicate.
“Harabeoji,” I say, bowing my head a second time.
It means grandfather, but it’s a term used to denote all highly respected and ranking older men.
“Gun-woo,” he says calmly. “You look well. Rested.”
“Thank you.”
“The beach suited you.”
I don’t ask how he knows about Jeju. The Cheongryong-je knows everything worth knowing.
“It did,” I admit.
He leans back in his chair, steepling his fingers as he surveys me. “Tell me what you learned there.”
It’s an unexpected question that’s not about geography or vacation recommendations. I consider my words carefully.
“That peace is possible. Even for people like us.”
“Hmmm.” He reaches into his desk drawer and withdraws a manila folder, placing it on the desk space between us. “Do you know what this contains?”
“I’m not sure I that I do, harabeoji.”
“Everything,” he confirms. “Everything about what’s happened is in here.
Jerald Quinn’s betrayal. His manipulation and duplicitous use of the Vanguard Agency.
The poisoning of your father. The collapse of their Korean operations.
” He taps a finger against the folder. “Everything you did to make it right.”
I say nothing. Mostly because I’m still not sure what he expects of me.
“Your father was many things,” the Cheongryong-je continues, musing aloud. “Ambitious. Ruthless. Effective. But he was also... limited. By his short-sightedness. By his need to control everything and everyone around him.”
Still, I’m silent, unsure how to respond to his criticism of my father. His assessment is accurate if not fair.
“You,” he says, leaning forward slightly, “you did something he never could have done.”
“What’s that?”
“You saw past your own pain. Past your own desire for revenge against the Black Suits. You found the truth, even when it was inconvenient. Even when it complicated everything you thought you knew. You didn’t just avenge your father, Gun-woo. You made it right.”
The words hit harder than I expected.
Making it right—that’s all I’d wanted, in the end. Not just blood for blood, but actual justice.
Actual truth.
I wanted to give Elise that and more by righting the wrongs from the past.
“Your father’s seat in this organization was earned through violence and fear,” the Cheongryong-je says. “But you… you earned yours through courage and honor. You didn’t inherit your father’s position, Gun-woo. You earned it.”
He opens the folder and withdraws something that makes my breath catch.
It’s a small pin made of a blue dragon’s head, his red horns polished and distinctive.
The mark of a Cheongryong lieutenant.
“Rhee Gun-woo,” he says formally, rising from his chair. “I name you Red Horn of the Cheongryong. You will carry your father’s responsibilities, but you will not carry his methods. You will be your own kind of dragon.”
I stand as well, bowing deeply as he comes around the desk. When he pins the insignia to my lapel, his hands are steady despite his age, a paternal air in the gesture.
“Your woman,” he muses. “She has honor. Loyalty. Fire. These are good qualities in a lieutenant’s woman.”
I meet his eyes. “She’s not just my woman. She’s my equal.”
He smiles, the first amused expression I’ve ever seen of him. “Even better.”
The cemetery sits on a hill overlooking the Han River, blanketed by manicured lawns and chiseled headstones that speak to the kind of money that buys dignity even in death. The only suitable place for Appa to be laid to rest.
Storm clouds roll overhead, thick and angry and signaling heavy rain to come. It happens to match my mood as I make my way through the rows of graves and stop in front of the one bearing my father’s name.
Rhee Tae-hwan.
March 28th, 1961 - October 27th, 2025
Beloved Father. Respected Leader.
The words carved into the stone feel as complicated as his passing. But they’re the kind of complex feelings that remind me nothing is ever simple. Certainly not father-son relations in families like mine.
I adjust the Red Horn insignia pinned to my shirt and wonder what he’d say if he could see me now.
He always thought of me as the slacker with a defective brain that could never be great. But I’ve excelled despite the odds. I’ve become what he thought I never could.
“You weren’t here to see me flourish,” I say in reflection. “But I’ve done it anyway, Appa.”
The headstone offers no response, of course.
Just cold, chiseled stone and the distant sound of honks and blares from the city traffic below.
One of our last conversations comes to mind—him questioning my loyalty while I refused to give him the blind allegiance he demanded.
Both of us too proud and too stubborn to find middle ground before it was too late.
Neither of us knew time was running out.
And yet I don’t regret any of it. I made the choices I did because I knew it was what was right. I knew it was what I needed to do.
“I understand now why you did what you did,” I think aloud, pulling the white chrysanthemum from inside my jacket.
The traditional flower of mourning in Korean culture, its petals already wilt in the gusty wind.
“You lived your life in a different way than I am. The Cheongryong came before all else. But that friendship you found all those years ago still meant something. And that’s why you tried to help in your own way.
You showed your own kind of mercy, Appa. Which is why I forgive you.”
I place the flower at the base of the headstone, the lone symbol of grief that’s been left.
“But I also understand you were wrong for how you treated me. You had two sons and were ashamed of one. Should I ever become a father, I won’t make that mistake.”
The first drops of rain begin to fall, dark spots appearing on the pale stone.
I should leave. Get back to my Porsche before the storm really hits.
But I find myself rooted to the spot, staring at Father’s name and thinking about his life and our family legacy.
Lightning flickers in the sky, yet another warning to get indoors.
I’m halfway turning to go when I see him—a tall, lone figure in a long dark trench coat headed my way.
It takes me another second to recognize him. Mostly because he looks so different from usual. Much less polished and put-together.
Ho-seok looks like he hasn’t slept in days, his usually perfect hair rumpled and his shirt wrinkled under the coat he’s wearing.
His dark eyes meet mine across the gravel path, as accusatory and unforgiving as ever.
We haven’t spoken since the day after our father died. I was already in Jeju, and he was left in shock by the unfortunate events.
He closes the gap between us until he’s stopping next to Father’s headstone.
“Didn’t expect to see you here,” I say.
“It’s my father’s grave too,” he replies flatly. His gaze lowers to the insignia pinned on my shirt, barely visit with the jacket I have on. “If I didn’t know better, Gun-woo, I’d say inheriting his position made you think you inherited exclusive mourning rights…”
I bite back my first response, which is to tell him to go fuck himself.
That would be what the old Gun would say. But I’m not looking for conflict or to battle my own brother.
We’re both grieving, even if it’s in different ways.
“I didn’t inherit anything. I earned it.”
“Right,” he sneers. “Through recklessness and bloodshed and dragging our family name through the mud. You know what the rest of the family’s saying about it? About how Tae-hwan’s own son got him killed?”
“They’re saying a lot of things. Most of them wrong.”
“Are they?” Ho-seok steps closer, rain dripping from his hair. “Because from where I’m standing, it looks like you chose some assassin over your own family. Like you put your dick before your duty and got our father murdered for it.”
“Is that not what you’ve done, Ho-seok?” I counter. “You went off to medical school and pretended you were not the son of a gangster. You were too ashamed, weren’t you? Yet father prized you anyway. You could do no wrong in his eyes. But I’m not bitter over it, hyung. Not anymore.
“I chose the truth over comfortable lies. I chose justice over blind loyalty. The woman I fell in love with happened to be a part of that. If that makes me a bad son in your eyes, I can live with that.”
“Justice.” He laughs coldly, not a trace of humor to be found. “You mean revenge. Some other woman’s revenge. Your obsession with her drove everything you did. Reckless like always.”
“Her name is Elise. And she is my obsession. Because she’s worthy of being so, Ho-seok.
I fell for a woman organically and didn’t choose a cookie-cutter obedient bride like you’ve done.
The perfect doctor’s wife. What we have is real, and that’s why I discovered the truth of what was going on. You wouldn’t understand.”
“You sold Appa out. He was a good man who—”
“Appa was a complicated man who made mistakes,” I cut him off. “Just like we all do. But at least I’m willing to acknowledge that instead of pretending he was perfect.”
Ho-seok stares at me for a long moment, rain running down his face like tears.
When he speaks again, his tone has quieted and grown more solemn.
“I… I never expected him to be gone so suddenly. There were things... things I wanted to say to him. About our relationship and the troubles we had. It wasn’t all perfect like I pretended. ”
The admission costs him, I can see it in the way his shoulders sag slightly. For just a moment, he looks less like the cold, calculating doctor and more like the older brother who used to sneak me extra dessert when Appa wasn’t looking.
He looks like the boy who was plucked from our home and went to live with his mother while I stayed behind with our father.
“A lot was left unresolved,” I agree. “For both of us.”
“Yeah, well.” He straightens up, the moment of vulnerability passing. “Maybe if you hadn’t been so busy playing Romeo and Juliet with the enemy, we would have had more time to figure things out.”
And just like that, we’re back to old patterns. Old resentments. The same dynamic that’s defined our relationship since we were children—him the responsible heir, me the disappointment.
“I’m not interested in a family feud, Ho-seok. We’ve lost enough already.”
He studies my face as if trying to decipher a riddle. “Then maybe this is the last we see of each other.”
The parting words should hurt more than they do. Maybe they would’ve a few months ago.
But standing here in the rain, with Father’s insignia pinned to my chest and Elise waiting for me back in the warmth of our loft, I find it’s for the best.
I can accept the distance between us.
Some things can’t be easily repaired; some things can’t ever be repaired.
“Maybe it is,” I say simply.
Ho-seok releases a deep sigh, taking one last look at the Red Horn insignia and stuffing his hands in his coat pockets. “He would’ve been proud. In his own twisted way.”
He turns and walks away, his long coat fluttering in the wind like wings.
I’m not bitter or angry about it.
We are who we are. He’ll carry his grief and his anger and his need to preserve our father’s memory intact.
I’ll carry the truth and my choices and hope for something better.
The storm is picking up, more lightning flickering across the sky. It drives me to finally head toward the gates at the front entrance, mind full of thoughts about what’s to come.
About the life I’m building with Elise. About the possibility of all the things it once seemed like I’d never earn because I wasn’t good enough.
But I’ve always been. I just had to realize that I was.