Into The Thrill

"Moon Haewon met with Seo Ok-hwa."

—Sorry.
"I asked you to make sure they didn’t come into contact. Was that such a difficult request?"
His voice was thick with irritation. It was low to begin with—already enough to unnerve people—but now, with displeasure layered on top, it carried a crushing pressure like something bearing down on your skull.

—I tried to block it however I could, but Madam Seo Ok-hwa sought out Mr. Moon Haewon multiple times. There was a limit to how much I could interfere...
The tail’s voice trailed off into disorganized excuses. Woojin frowned harshly, as if scolding the man even though he wasn’t present.
He couldn’t understand it at all. Haewon had no manners, and his way of speaking was ruder than his actions. With her notoriously fiery temperament, Seo Ok-hwa should’ve been utterly incompatible with him.

He didn’t know what had gone on between them, but Seo Ok-hwa treated Haewon unusually. A woman from a chaebol family, someone who never let people close, made an exception only for Haewon.
Things Woojin couldn’t foresee or anticipate were happening—around Moon Haewon of all people. And the one involved was Hayeong’s mother.
Woojin bore no fault in Hayeong’s death, but just like with Taeshin, they blamed him. As if there was something wrong with Woojin that made the people who loved him die.

He had done nothing wrong. Even if Haewon and Seo Ok-hwa met and argued or gossiped about Hayeong and Woojin, it didn’t matter—because he bore not even an ounce of responsibility for Hayeong’s death.
And yet… Woojin was afraid.
He was afraid of Haewon learning something. He feared that whatever it was he didn’t want revealed would come to light. But since he couldn’t even define clearly what that something was, he had no way to resolve it—and that made him anxious and afraid.
He tried to trace back when things had gone wrong.

When had the anxiety started? When had the nerves begun?
It was from that moment—
The day he found Lee Taeshin’s diary.

From the moment someone Woojin had dismissed as insignificant called him an emotionless aberration, from the moment Taeshin gave Haewon that earnest advice: run away. Don’t love him.
Run away…
Woojin had spent his whole life trying to prove wrong his father’s claim that no such monster could be his son.

But Taeshin, who never truly knew Woojin, who never even got close to the core of him, judged him exactly like his father had.
A snake. A butcher. A monster incapable of emotion.
And now, Woojin feared that Haewon might come to believe that same "truth"—the one others insisted on and he refused to acknowledge.

That Haewon might believe in a lie so deeply it would become real.
He didn’t know where the line was—what counted as normal, what didn’t. So it was better for Haewon not to know. It was better for him to stay unaware… to stay safely within the comfortable, luxurious space Woojin provided.
Knowledge could become pain. Just like it had for Kim Hayeong. Just like it had for Lee Taeshin.

—I apologize. The two of them looked quite close. If I hadn’t known, I would’ve thought they were mother and son.
"So you mean it was impossible from the beginning to separate people that close?"
—I’m sorry.

"It’ll be troublesome, but make sure they don’t meet again."
Woojin hung up the phone. Rather than scolding the tail, it might be more effective to make Haewon understand just how uncomfortable it made him for him to get close with Hayeong’s mother.
Then Haewon would do as he wished.
Just like he always had.

When he entered the bunker, the pop of a champagne cork rang out.
Im Hyosang theatrically popped the champagne and shoved the spraying bottle toward Woojin. His chest soaked with golden sparkling wine, Woojin just looked down with an emotionless face and shook off the wet hem of his shirt.
"Congratulations. I hear you’re fucking your cousin."

"……."
The displeased gazes shifted from Woojin to Lee Seok-jung, sitting on the sofa.
Im Hyosang poured the champagne. Woojin accepted the glass he offered and took a sip. Lee Seok-jung, who had surely already blabbed about Haewon to the rest of the bunker group, chuckled gleefully when his eyes met Woojin’s.

"A high-and-mighty prosecutor fucking his own cousin—more shocking than my brother getting caught fucking his wife’s sister at a hotel."
Yoo Gijae, the son of the Chief Justice, puffed out a plume of weed smoke and chimed in. His older brother was a presiding judge at Seoul Central District Court, and his sister-in-law was a senior attorney at a major law firm. Woojin found it more shocking that they thought his situation was worse.
"What kind of bullshit is that."

Woojin responded as if he knew nothing.
He took off his soiled jacket, threw it onto the sofa, and unbuttoned his shirt. With a dry towel that had been prepared, he wiped down his wet chest.
"You brought that cousin of yours to our hotel, didn’t you?"

"Don’t even start. He’s the prettiest one I’ve ever seen. You know those types? The kind you just know would taste amazing if you fucked them? The kind you wanna make sob."
"Didn’t you say it was a guy?"
"Since when did I care? Isn’t that one over there a guy too?"

Lee Seok-jung pointed with his chin at someone sitting on the long sofa.
A young man, face pale with fear, sat stiffly. He looked to be in his early twenties—probably an aspiring celebrity brought along by Lee Seok-jung. He was sourced from a K-One Group subsidiary talent agency.
"I didn’t know our dear prosecutor was such a face freak."
He was thinking of Haewon.

Im Hyosang slumped down next to the trembling would-be celebrity and handed him the joint he’d been smoking. The young man frowned like he’d tasted something foul, then inhaled. As he exhaled, he coughed hard.
The moment he stepped into the bunker, the young man had become an accomplice. Here, victim or perpetrator, everyone was complicit.
"He really is my cousin. Watch what you say."

Woojin’s words made Lee Seok-jung snort.
"Yeah, sure. Whatever. But that cousin of yours borrowed thirty thousand won from me. Gave me a business card but never called back. I told him not to throw it away since it was actual gold-leaf. Do you know how much that card cost?"
"What the hell are you talking about."

"He didn’t tell you? Said he was hungry, so I drove him to a convenience store. Then right before we got there, he says he has no money. No cash, so he asks for my card. So I lent it."
"……."
"He was so cute, I almost did him right in the car—but I figured our noble Prosecutor Hyun would give me that look, so I held back. You pay me back. Or I’ll call your cousin."

"……."
Woojin pulled out his wallet. No 10,000-won bills, only 50,000s. He pulled one out and handed it to Lee Seok-jung, who took it with a sickening smile.
Holding the bill, Lee Seok-jung wandered around, then tossed it into an ashtray full of cigarette butts. A spark must have still been lit—it caught fire from the center. The fifty-thousand-won note went up in flames with a whoosh. Gazing ecstatically at the burning note, he murmured like talking to himself.

"He says he wants to join our group."
"What?"
"Your cousin. Said he wants to join. I told him he needs two sponsors and unanimous approval. If he can’t get that… he comes as tribute."

"…Seok-jung."
"Yeah, Woojin?"
Woojin pulled a cigarette from the pack in his jacket and held it between his lips. He flicked the lighter on the table.

Under the dim bunker lighting, the flame lit one half of Woojin’s face, the other half swallowed in shadow—split cleanly down the middle in a grotesque symmetry. With his chest exposed from the open shirt, he looked even more dangerous. He inhaled deeply and exhaled in a long, slow breath.
"Hey, wanna try being tied up over there?"
Woojin pointed toward the pole in the center of the room. Seok-jung followed his gaze, then looked back at him.

"You try being tied up over there."
"What the fuck kind of crazy shit is that?!"
"I just feel like tying you up there and fucking you until your hole turns to shreds."

"You son of a bitch! I’ve been letting shit slide ‘cause you’re some half-assed prosecutor, but now what?!"
Seok-jung’s fists clenched as if he were about to lunge, his chest heaving violently, but his muscles only twitched in place with pent-up rage. When Woojin blew a puff of smoke, Seok-jung’s face flushed red, and ~Nоvеl𝕚ght~ he erupted into a fit of shallow coughing.
"You fuck—cough, cough—fucking... cough... piece of shit."

Woojin stood up from the couch.
He stubbed his cigarette out on a half-burnt bill and stepped closer to Seok-jung. The latter instinctively backed away. Woojin leaned in, closing the distance between their faces. Seok-jung, whose lungs were weak, held his breath, and his eyes reddened further with strain.
"They say getting done from behind feels pretty good. I’ll help you find out. You trust me, don’t you?"

Woojin flashed a charming smile. Then, without warning, he grabbed the back of Seok-jung’s neck and pressed their lips together. Im Hyosang burst into laughter—whenever he was high on weed, he laughed at anything, funny or not.
Woojin pried Seok-jung’s lips open with brute force and shoved his tongue in. Seok-jung struggled violently, pushing back, and they both toppled over onto the couch. Woojin intentionally blocked his breathing entirely, pouring down a rough, crushing kiss. The resisting limbs trembled for a moment, then slowly fell still.
Woojin finally pulled away. Seok-jung doubled over in a fit of coughing that resembled dry heaving. He chugged champagne in an attempt to calm himself, his throat convulsing like he was about to vomit.

Woojin wiped his wet lips with the back of his hand in clear disgust, then rinsed his mouth with liquor and spat it out like it was something filthy. The young aspiring celebrity stared around in confusion, eyes darting as if completely lost in the chaos unfolding around him.
"You piece of shit!"
"Wanna do it again?"

"Fucking asshole!"
"Seok-jung, come over here and suck me off."
"You seriously insane? Do you even know who I am, you fucking gutter prosecutor bastard?!"

"I got hard after kissing you. Hurry up and suck it."
"Fu—... fuck off already. Enough is enough."
"Hurry up and suck it."

"Fine! I’ll drop it! I’ll fucking drop it, okay? What the hell does it matter what your shitty cousin says."
Seok-jung flinched in revulsion, his whole body recoiling as he averted his eyes from Woojin’s piercing gaze.
Meanwhile, Im Hyosang handed a drink to the blank-faced aspiring celebrity still sitting there. The young man forced the alcohol down like it was poison, trying his best to appear unaffected. Im Hyosang placed a hand on his shoulder and began to gently stroke it.

After downing his drink and stifling a few remaining coughs, Seok-jung glared sharply at Woojin.
"Try that shit one more time, I dare you."
"What, the kiss? Wasn’t to your taste?"

"You fucker…"
Seok-jung spat on the floor and walked away from Woojin, choosing instead to sit beside the celebrity trainee—who was now kissing Im Hyosang.
Woojin watched them as he poured himself another drink. The burning liquid scorched his throat and slid down his esophagus with noticeable weight. The alcohol was strong.

Soon, the aspiring celebrity was tied to the pole.
When Woojin approached, Im Hyosang asked:
"Your gonorrhea cleared up?"

"Fuck, yeah it did. Why else would I bring my cousin to a hotel... Ah, fuck it, whatever."
"Then it’s all good, I guess."
Woojin always leaned in hard when he felt suspicion.

He grabbed the trembling man’s hair. He gripped the limp penis with his hand, stroking to make it rise—but there was no response. Seok-jung looked down at Woojin’s groin with a strange expression.
"Talking about fucking someone with a limp dick... Get the fuck out of here, you're killing my mood."
Seok-jung shoved him aside. Then, as if to flaunt something, he hardened himself and rammed it into the young man’s hole.

∞ ∞ ∞
Facing a monitor with K-One’s continuously plummeting stock chart, Woojin looked out the window toward the bustling front yard of the prosecutors’ office.
The stock drop wasn’t enough. Woojin thought of Seok-jung licking his lips while mentioning Haewon. Of all places, they'd run into each other at a hotel they’d both invested in—of course Seok-jung had probably spent the whole time gossiping about Haewon like some snack for the table. Woojin had told him to back off, but Seok-jung was never the kind of man to read a room.

The moment he recalled Seok-jung handing Haewon his business card, a sharp and vivid sting shot through his chest. It wasn’t the same situation, but it resembled the discomfort he’d felt seeing Haewon crying with his back hunched.
Conflicting emotions brought about the same kind of pain, and it threw Woojin into confusion. Part of him wanted to stomp it out like a bug. The other part—
He decided to start by collecting K-One’s internal data through media sources and HanKyung Group’s strategy team. The bunker files weren’t meant to be exposed just yet. They were the last resort, for when it was time to tighten the noose.

The bunker wasn’t a record of crimes. It was a soundproof chamber—faithfully serving its role as a hidden space for conspiracies and schemes.
At the sound of a knock, Woojin closed his laptop. The one who stepped in was Jung Ho-myung.
"Sir, aren’t you going to lunch?"

"I’ll just grab something simple from the cafeteria."
"Oh, I was heading there too. Let’s go together."
Woojin picked up his phone and rose from his seat. He and Ho-myung headed to the second-floor cafeteria of the Central Prosecutors’ Office. After picking up their trays, they sat at a random empty table. Ho-myung took a spoonful of yukgaejang and spoke.

"Lately the media’s been praising HanKyung for repaying public funds."
"Yeah?"
"You’re not planning some dramatic redemption arc or anything, right?"

"Why would I? I already own quite a bit of their stock."
Woojin said plainly.
"Then why haven’t you resigned yet?"

Jung Ho-myung looked at him with a face that said he just didn’t get it. If he had that kind of money, he’d become a chaebol himself—why keep slumming it as a prosecutor?
"Power without capital always has to watch capital’s mood. That’s how capitalism works."
"Yeah... that’s how the world runs."

"If you’ve latched on to a line, stop calculating every angle and just hold on tight. Don’t overthink it."
"Understood."
Jung Ho-myung nodded as if he’d just received some profound revelation.

Resting his elbows on the table, Woojin continued eating without much interest. The employee cafeteria wasn’t known for quality, so it remained fairly quiet even at lunchtime—everyone spoke in low voices.
Lost in thought, Woojin mechanically brought food to his mouth with a blank expression.
Without thinking, his eyes lifted and settled on the large wall-mounted TV in the cafeteria.

Legal news, public information, and occasionally promotional content produced by the judiciary played on loop.
Some people kept their eyes there out of habit, but few actually paid close attention. It was mostly just for show.
Woojin’s gaze froze on the screen.

Ho-myung, who had just raised his head to speak again, followed his senior’s unblinking line of sight with a puzzled look.
It was Moon Haewon.
Dressed in a white shirt and black slacks, Haewon stood before an orchestra of over a hundred musicians, playing the violin.

His face was full of rich expression, as though lost in emotion, on the verge of tears—moving through the silent screen like a dream.
His fingers danced across the fingerboard, while his right hand gripped the bow, slicing it with intensity from one end to the other.