Swallow Hunting

“Life’s just fucking awful.”

“Did you run into those assholes?”

He hadn’t even said it out loud, but Yohan nailed it like some needle-point fortune-teller. That was the scary thing about the years they’d spent together. Even if he didn’t know every last detail, Yohan knew most of Haejun’s history—the cause, the trigger, and the current state of him being hounded by loan sharks. He knew exactly what had happened to Haejun after he’d tried to run and got caught.

‘I’ll crack every single one of those fucking bastards’ skulls!’

It had been Haejun who stopped Yohan when he’d gone berserk with a kitchen knife in his hand. Yohan was the type who really would do it if he said he would, and Haejun couldn’t drag him into a life of crime just for his own sake.

They’d put their heads together and tried every possible way to get free of the loan sharks, but every plan had failed. If his father were dead, they could at least try for some kind of conditional approval or legal process—but that waste of oxygen, for all the trouble he caused, had a stubbornly long lifeline. No good news of his death ever came.

Haejun thought his wish was pretty modest. His father’s death, and freedom from debt. Just those two. But even those simple dreams refused to go his way.

“So what did that fucking bastard do to you this time?” frёeωebɳovel.com

Yohan’s eyes flashed with naked fury. Haejun shook his head. Molestation barely even registered anymore. Getting hit in the head wasn’t a big deal either.

“No.”

“Don’t hide it.”

“What could I hide from you. Even if I tried, you’d know anyway.”

“Well, that’s true.”

Yohan puffed up, bragging that his intuition was inborn. Haejun humored him with a compliment, then pushed his chair back. Yohan scanned the table with regretful eyes, like he still wasn’t full, then slowly stood up. The way he bellowed “Auntie!” was so rough it put some legendary tavern brute to shame.

“Today’s on me.”

“Why.”

“’Cause our little beggar’s pitiful.”

Yohan pulled a card from his wallet. No need to waste pride on pointless things. Haejun clasped his hands over his stomach and bowed politely.

“Thank you for the meal, hyung. I respect you, hyung.”

“Good boy.”

They left the restaurant and parted ways in the alley. Yohan worked at a host bar further uphill; Haejun’s place was further down.

Before clocking in, Haejun slipped into the back alley and lit a cigarette. He wasn’t a heavy smoker, but when he needed a moment to zone out or his head was too full, nothing worked like a single smoke.

He’d just taken a drag when he heard heels clicking sharply against the pavement. He craned his neck to look toward the street—and there was Han Yeonghwa, walking straight toward his bar like some bad joke of fate. Startled like he’d touched fire, he squeaked and ducked behind the wall.

“Hajin.”

There was no escaping her sharp eyes. Han Yeonghwa blocked the alley and looked up at him.

“I was just on my way to see you.”

This was bad. He didn’t want to get tangled up with her anymore. Haejun lowered his head and scratched his forehead with his thumb. Between his middle and index finger hung a cigarette he’d barely smoked.

“Noona, I can’t stop you from coming to the bar as a customer, but showing up like this to look for me is a bit—”

“What did you say to Kangjoo?”

“...Lee Kangjoo?”

Arowana. The tips of Haejun’s ears flushed faintly.

“Yes! What the hell did «N.o.v.e.l.i.g.h.t» you say that made Kangjoo block me?”

“I did exactly what you told me to. I said we were nothing, and that you still love him deeply.”

Han Yeonghwa’s face shifted through red and blue as she swung her arm violently. Her sharp hand cracked across Haejun’s cheek, and she screamed like she was tearing the air apart.

“Liar! If you’d done it right, Kangjoo would never treat me like this! What did you say to him!”

Haejun’s cheek burned red. Scratched by the large ring on her finger, angry red lines were drawn across his face. Clutching his hot cheek, Haejun looked down at her. She was trembling with rage, lifting her arm like she was about to hit him again. He grabbed her wrist first.

This world was a sewer overflowing with trash, full of dogshit men who didn’t hesitate to hit women. Customers or not, there were bottom-feeders who’d kick and beat people over nothing. But Haejun wasn’t one of them. He didn’t yell at women. He didn’t lay hands on them. He didn’t take out his irritation on them. Those three rules were his, and he upheld them no matter what.

Even if he was treated unfairly. Even if he was hit.

“Noona, your hand’s pretty damn sharp. My face is my livelihood—what am I supposed to do if you scratch it up like this. You gonna take responsibility if I can’t work?”

“Let go of me!”

“I really did enough. I went to that scary hyung and wagged my tail like my life depended on it, all for you.”

He’d risked his life and gone to Lee Kangjoo because her tears were pitiful. That alone was more than enough to repay whatever money he’d taken from her. He didn’t owe her any more kindness.

“You...!”

“If you’re gonna make me work more in the future, then pay me next time. I’ll charge a hundred times my TC. Plus hourly wages and hazard pay.”

He released her wrist and flicked the cigarette into an empty can. Han Yeonghwa clenched her fists and snorted angrily, but she didn’t grab him again.

Losing one customer wasn’t his loss anyway—it was the boss’s. Rubbing his throbbing cheek, Haejun went inside. From behind the metal door came a booming shout of “You fucking bastard—!” but he ignored it.

Maybe his dreams last night had been bad. His luck today was especially filthy. Haejun stopped by the kitchen and got a handful of salt from the cook. Praying for the bad luck to fall away, he sprinkled it over himself like he was salting cabbage.

* * *

There was no money.

He’d talked big to Choi Manseok, telling him not to worry, but his bank balance was bleak. Prices went up every time he slept, and this month there’d been unexpected hospital bills too. The bleeding was bad. Worst of all was the second round with customers.

Even after taking pills that supposedly got ninety-year-old men hard in an instant, once he came, his dick just gave up like its job was done. He was trying with his mouth and hands, but it wasn’t enough to satisfy customers. Naturally, the generous tips dried up. When what you’re selling is dick and it doesn’t perform, why would anyone pay well? His income dropped far below what it used to be.

Maybe rumors were spreading that he was broken—he suspected the culprits were those big-mouthed hosts with zero loyalty—but his regular bookings kept dwindling. The number of days he just sat around doing nothing increased. Even the boss clicked his tongue at Haejun, clearly wondering how best to deal with that bastard who only ate food and contributed nothing.

At the bar, the boss rode his ass. On his phone, the loan shark did the same. Haejun felt like a bug. A bug being mercilessly pecked by a bird’s sharp beak, yet still flailing around, desperate to live.

The person he trusted most was Yohan, but they were in similar situations—he couldn’t bring himself to ask him for money. And there was no one around him wealthy enough to help.

He couldn’t die like this, so he took on more work. On his days off, he wrecked his body working at a logistics center, but the interest rates were in the clouds. He made too many mistakes, even damaged goods, and sometimes his day’s pay got cut in half.

The repayment date was right around the corner. He scraped together even the last ten-won coins from his piggy bank, but it wasn’t enough.

“Should I just die.”

Their methods were simple. Miss the deadline, and they beat you like a dog on the hottest day of summer. Even if your job required showing your face to the public, they beat you first and asked questions later. Once you were thoroughly tenderized, they stripped you naked, made you say humiliating things, filmed it, and kept it as blackmail forever.

Once, Choi Manseok had cackled as he showed Haejun someone else’s video. In it, the victim was sobbing, shaking his limp dick with trembling hands.

— I’m sorry! I’m a worthless bastard who can’t pay his debts and can’t even get it up! I’m sorry I was born!

“Wouldn’t it be better to die.”

If he defaulted this time, it would be the second. They’d film the same kind of video. First time, nudity. Second, masturbation. He didn’t even want to imagine what kind of humiliating footage would come third.

He couldn’t leave something like that behind in the world. Even if he was a piece of shit who sucked other people’s dicks for a living and had long since thrown morality in the trash, he still wanted to keep the last shred of human dignity. Better to be found as a bloated corpse than be preserved forever as a video.

Normally, he’d at least try to think like a human being, but now he was so cornered that even his lousy brain could only produce extreme thoughts. For days, he hadn’t even been eating properly. Most of what filled his stomach was harsh liquor. A brain starved of nutrients wasn’t going to function right.

Haejun suddenly jumped up and ran out of his lodging. It was deep night. The area was bright with neon, being near the entertainment district. Wearing only slippers, he crossed the sidewalk at a fast pace.