Passion (BL Novel)

If someone had predicted this and placed that bastard in the instructor's position as soon as there was an opening, then whoever made that decision would deserve an award. Although it had stirred up a storm of complaints within the European branch, and ruined the lives of many people, including Jeong Tae-ui, who was one of those whose lives were destroyed, he briefly thought about his own situation and became melancholic, but soon shook his head. After all, he was still alive, even while being next to that bastard. Thinking that, Jeong Tae-ui realized that maybe he was actually quite lucky.
As he tried to think that way, feeling oddly forlorn, Jeong Tae-ui headed to the instructor's office, fanning the documents Ilay had asked for in his hand. It wasn’t even 8:00 AM yet when he reached the office. When he opened the slightly ajar door to the instructor’s office, there were two instructors inside.

The two instructors were Grimson and Mackin. Of the two who had taken the members to the Australian branch and had rarely been in the instructor’s office, only one had remained, the one who usually roamed around near the office. And the one who was missing was Ilay, who had asked Jeong Tae-ui to bring him the documents.
It seemed that Ilay had just stepped out for a moment, as there were traces left on his desk from when someone had been sitting there not long ago. Unfinished work was scattered on the desk.
Grimson and Mackin barely acknowledged Jeong Tae-ui’s entrance and continued their tasks. Grimson, who appeared slightly more relaxed, was reading a newspaper while checking something on his computer. He was seated at the innermost desk, with Ilay’s vacant seat next to him, and Mackin was sitting across from him. Ilay’s desk was adjacent to Mackin’s.

"Is it a report? Can I see it for a moment?"
Muttering under his breath about where Ilay had gone, Jeong Tae-ui neatly placed the documents on Ilay’s desk. Mackin, who had spotted the papers despite the partition, gestured for Jeong Tae-ui to pass them over. Jeong Tae-ui nodded, replying, "Ah, yes," and handed the papers to Mackin. Since these were not private documents belonging to Ilay but were shared materials, it was not unusual for Mackin to look at them. Mackin briefly thanked him before accepting the documents.
Jeong Tae-ui stood silently, waiting for Mackin to finish reviewing the papers. As he glanced down at Mackin, he noticed that Mackin, like any UNHRDO instructor, looked fairly ordinary when out of uniform. With drooping eyes and a round face, he appeared almost gentle at first glance. However, he was, in fact, one of the hardest people to get along with among the instructors.

While Mackin and Jeong Tae-ui’s uncle seemed to get along due to their shared position as deputy directors, Jeong Tae-ui had never seen Mackin laughing or joking comfortably with anyone else.
――――Come to the instructor’s office.
It had been past midnight. Just as Jeong Tae-ui was about to go to bed, he received a call. The voice on the other end of the line was Mackin’s, distorted by the mechanical static of the phone.

Jeong Tae-ui glanced at the clock, now approaching 1:00 AM, and thought, Ah, that’s right. My uncle had asked me to help Mackin. Although it had been phrased as a polite request, it was clear that his uncle wanted him to do Mackin’s bidding. Jeong Tae-ui had been uneasy since hearing the request, and this late-night call only made him more reluctant. Moreover, he had a pretty good idea of what kind of task Mackin was going to ask him to do.
The method might be unclear, but it was undoubtedly going to be related to the "power struggle" situation. Ilay had casually mentioned it, and Jeong Tae-ui had felt an increasingly ominous atmosphere every time he entered the instructor’s office recently. There was an air of tension in the room, almost as if a dark, threatening presence loomed. It had been more noticeable when all the instructors had been present before the training began, and now, with half of them gone, it was slightly better. But there was still a palpable unease, even in casual moments.
Power-hunger drives so much of the world, but I really wish I could avoid getting caught up in it, Jeong Tae-ui sighed, thinking that he had no choice but to go since he had promised to help Mackin.

When Jeong Tae-ui arrived at the instructor’s office after midnight, it was completely empty except for Mackin, who was sitting and waiting for him. The office at this hour felt unfamiliar, and Jeong Tae-ui instinctively glanced around. Seeing this, Mackin said, as if reading his mind, "There are no recording cameras in the instructor’s office, so there’s nothing to worry about."
Realizing why he had been called, Jeong Tae-ui sat down in the chair as Mackin had suggested. The conversation was brief. It wasn’t as dangerous or as ominous as Jeong Tae-ui had worried, and in fact, it was strangely simple and straightforward.
"Tomorrow—no, since it’s past midnight, I’ll say it’s the 27th, from 4:30 AM to 4:40 AM, for a solid 10 minutes. That’s the time. You’ll need to log in at that exact time and download a piece of data. The name of the file is written here, but just to be sure, after you download it, check the contents. You probably won’t understand it at first glance, but just compare the first few lines and the last few lines to make sure they match. If it matches what’s written, then you’re good to go. Then, you’ll send the file to the address listed at the bottom."

Mackin handed over a note, and Jeong Tae-ui glanced at it. The note contained some addresses and passwords, but he quickly scanned it and put it back.
I see.
Jeong Tae-ui had been puzzled as to why he was getting involved in such a secretive task. Even though he was Jeong Chang-in’s nephew and wasn’t an official member of the branch, he still wasn’t sure if it was okay for him to be involved in something that should be kept secret. He would inevitably figure out more details as he helped, but it felt strange to be tasked with such a job.

If his uncle hadn’t mentioned it, Jeong Tae-ui would have wondered, Am I going to be killed off after the job’s done, quietly and without a trace? But after reading the note, he understood. It was certainly a matter that had to remain secret, but while carrying out the task, Jeong Tae-ui felt that he wouldn’t fully know what he was involved in. He could only guess at it. The symbols and numbers mixed together in a complex sequence on the note weren’t clear to him. He had glanced at it briefly but didn’t delve deeper into it.
It seems like they’re pulling some confidential data from somewhere and sending it somewhere else... but where? And what is it? He thought, but before he could ponder more, he chuckled at the absurdity of it all.
He recalled a lecture in a security class about someone who had carelessly passed along sensitive information and had ended up dead. He could list five such cases in an instant.
Jeong Tae-ui nodded and tucked the note away. Mackin, who didn’t seem to plan on lingering, stood up as soon as Jeong Tae-ui finished. After emphasizing, "Don’t forget, keep the time strictly," Mackin left the office. Jeong Tae-ui waited until the sound of Mackin’s footsteps faded in the hallway before following slowly behind.

That had been the night before. It hadn’t been more than a few hours ago.
Mackin was sitting in the same spot, casually reviewing the materials Jeong Tae-ui had handed over.
"Hmm. Looks like McCaddy got injured at the Australian branch."

Mackin said nonchalantly. From across the partition, Grimson, having heard him, responded, "McCaddy? Tsk. Bring that file over here too."
 
As the conversation moved on, Jeong Tae-ui couldn’t shake off the sense of unease. He had known that this joint training with the South American branch was going smoothly compared to the European branch, but it was the underlying tension that was bothering him. The instructors, including Mackin and Grimson, were all aware of the shifting dynamics within the branch, and Jeong Tae-ui couldn’t help but feel like a pawn in a much bigger game.

The mention of McCaddy’s injury was just another piece of the puzzle, but it wasn’t the only thing on Jeong Tae-ui’s mind. The growing sense of danger in the air, the way certain people seemed to be moving behind the scenes, made him question the true motives of everyone involved. He couldn’t ignore it any longer. There were murmurs of dissatisfaction, whispers of betrayal, and he was caught in the middle of it all.
The clock ticked away, the minutes slipping by as Jeong Tae-ui sat in the quiet office, reflecting on the path he was treading. He was no longer just an observer; he was becoming an active participant in whatever scheme was unfolding. He had agreed to help Mackin, but it felt like each step he took pulled him deeper into a web of intrigue he hadn’t anticipated.
After all, this wasn’t just about the training. The training was {N•o•v•e•l•i•g•h•t} a facade, a smokescreen for something far more dangerous. He could feel it now. The way Mackin and Grimson exchanged glances, the subtle hints of tension in their voices—it was all adding up to something far larger than just another assignment. The branches were connected, and each move they made was a calculated one.

As Jeong Tae-ui stood up and prepared to leave the office, he couldn’t shake the feeling that he was being watched. The eerie silence in the office, the absence of others, was unsettling. But it wasn’t just the physical emptiness that bothered him; it was the sense that he was being drawn into something far darker.
Mackin’s voice broke through his thoughts, calling out to him from across the room.
"Jeong Tae-ui, make sure you follow the instructions carefully. We can’t afford any mistakes."

Jeong Tae-ui nodded, though his mind was elsewhere. Mistakes, he thought. There’s no room for mistakes, and no way out if things go wrong.
As he walked out of the office, the cold hallway stretched before him. The building was eerily quiet, the only sound the faint echo of his footsteps. He glanced at the door to the instructor’s office one last time, his heart heavy with a sense of foreboding.
 

Especially the footage with Ilay was almost always like that.
It wasn’t that people were dying, but watching three consecutive scenes where the victims were dragged out looking like bloodied lumps made Jeong Tae-ui lose his appetite. As he scanned through the ten days' worth of footage, he felt sorry for the person who would have to edit it—probably the officer in charge of the records. He stopped the video. He had only watched half, but seeing the red-drenched screens was giving him a headache. He decided that after taking a short break, he would rush through the rest, flipping past it all.
With a bitter taste in his mouth, Jeong Tae-ui scratched his head. It felt pitiful that, during his free time in the evening after regular work hours, he had to be stuck watching those videos. He was considering going up for some fresh air, when the phone rang.

The red lamp was flashing. It was an outside call. The only person who would be calling Jeong Tae-ui from outside was someone he could easily guess.
"Hello?"
"How are you doing?"

As expected, it was his uncle.
Jeong Tae-ui had guessed it was most likely his uncle, but he still muttered, "What’s going on?" in a slightly disappointed tone, not expecting this call.
"Well, I just wanted to check in. You're still alive, right? How’s the training going?"

"It’s fine. The reports will go to your side anyway. There haven’t been any deaths, but there are a lot of injuries. It’s nothing special. At least it’s better than the last joint training. No one died this time."
Jeong Tae-ui muttered, and from the other side of the phone, he could hear his uncle’s faint laughter. "Well, that’s a good result for him, huh?" It was hard to tell if it was a joke or not.
Jeong Tae-ui fell silent for a moment. He thought his uncle might bring up something else, but there was no sign of that. Besides, his uncle wasn’t the type to have serious conversations over the phone.

"...Ah, that’s right. I got a message from there."
Jeong Tae-ui casually mentioned, as if it had just occurred to him. After a brief pause, his uncle chuckled.
"Ah, I suppose it's time for that."

His uncle’s brief reply made Jeong Tae-ui simply respond, "Is that so?" I see, it’s time for that. It seemed like the timing was carefully chosen for a reason. Jeong Tae-ui didn’t ask any further questions, as it was clear what the conversation was leading to.
He was ready to hang up, thinking the call had no real purpose, when the door suddenly opened without a knock, and Ilay entered.
Jeong Tae-ui paused. It had only been a few minutes since he had seen the red-streaked footage of that man, and seeing him in person was an entirely different experience. There was an odd feeling of disconnection.

"Ilay..."
He was about to ask why he was there but then realized he was still holding the phone. It seemed his uncle had overheard.
"Ah, so he’s there?"

"Ah, yes, well..."
Jeong Tae-ui muttered awkwardly, staring at Ilay. Ilay, seeing that Jeong Tae-ui was still on the phone, raised an eyebrow and gestured for him to continue the call. He then casually laid down on the bed as if it were his own room. Jeong Tae-ui sighed, feeling resigned.
"Well, I guess I’ll see you soon. If anything happens, just contact me. You remember the direct line, right?"

It seemed his uncle was done with the conversation. Jeong Tae-ui nodded.
"Yeah. I’ve written it down. But there probably won’t be any need to contact you. I’ll see you in a few days. Take care, and be careful on the way back."
When Jeong Tae-ui spoke indifferently, he could hear his uncle chuckle on the other end, as though saying, You probably expect me to come back in one piece, but we both know that’s not guaranteed.

The call ended with a quick goodbye. Jeong Tae-ui set the phone down and turned toward Ilay, who was still lying on the bed. Ilay lazily spoke.
"Jeong Chang-in, your uncle?"
"Yeah."

"What's the deal with him calling you?"
"...He’s probably just worried about me surviving."
Jeong Tae-ui wanted to add ‘He must be worried since I’m stuck here with a murderer running rampant,’ but held himself back. After saying that, Jeong Tae-ui realized that his uncle wasn’t the kind of person who would be calling for something trivial. Still, Ilay seemed satisfied with the answer, nodding.

Jeong Tae-ui turned his chair to face Ilay, intending to ask why Ilay was there, but Ilay’s gaze was no longer on him. He was staring at the still image frozen on the screen, the footage from earlier.
"Ah, I see. You were checking the records."
Hearing those words, Jeong Tae-ui’s frustration grew. This was supposed to be Ilay’s job. Yet, Ilay had nonchalantly passed the task to him, claiming he had other things to do, and now Ilay was sitting comfortably, as though everything were perfectly fine.

Jeong Tae-ui muttered under his breath, "Even after I pass it on, the red screen always reflects your face. It’s not like I’m watching your personal documentary. At least the footage has been edited a little."
 
He muttered a grumpy remark under his breath. As he did, Jeong Tae-ui thought to himself. To be able to talk so freely in front of this murderous maniac—he must have gained quite a lot of courage. If anyone saw him, they’d think he had already given up on life. With only a few days left before his own departure, if he were to die at that man's hands, it would be terribly unjust. He reminded himself not to act recklessly anymore and sighed.

He hadn’t wanted to, but as the guest in his room, he stood up and asked, “Do you want something to drink? …Actually, now that I think about it, I only have water. Would you like some?”
"No, I’m fine."
Ilay shook his head and began rewinding the paused footage on the screen. The scene of blood and flesh splattering began to play again. Watching Ilay, who was observing the fight between the members as if it were a sport, Jeong Tae-ui took a swig from the water bottle. He then turned his gaze to Ilay’s side profile and examined it carefully. If you looked at him like this, he seemed like an ordinary, neat young man. Who would think that the man who appeared on the screen covered in blood and madness was the same person sitting here now? Even Jeong Tae-ui, who had witnessed both sides of him, found it hard to reconcile.

Holding the water bottle, Jeong Tae-ui turned his eyes back to the screen. The moment his gaze shifted, what he saw was Ilay, with his hands gripping the head of a man much larger than him, coldly slamming the man’s head into the stone wall. With a sickening sound, the man’s head embedded into the wall, and blood splattered everywhere.
Jeong Tae-ui mumbled, “Ugh…” and frowned. He had seen countless gruesome scenes worse than that, but still, it was not a sight one could enjoy.
Thinking that it would be better to watch a splatter film, Jeong Tae-ui continued to watch the screen but then widened his eyes slightly. The man from earlier—the one holding the axe—was in the footage. As expected, next to the man, Jeong Tae-ui could see his own figure in the reflection. Then Ilay muttered something and pulled the axe out of the wall.

Right. He had been ready to take a solid hit from that guy, but Ilay ended up helping him. The words Ilay had said to him back then...
"People who go out of their way to get hurt..."
Yeah, that’s exactly what he had said. He really didn’t know how to speak a kind word.

Jeong Tae-ui turned his gaze back to the screen. Ilay’s image still appeared on it, and he looked perfectly at home holding the axe. In fact, Jeong Tae-ui almost felt a strange familiarity with it.
"By the way..."
Jeong Tae-ui suddenly spoke but then closed his mouth. He thought for a moment but realized that he had never said it aloud. Ilay briefly glanced at him when he noticed Jeong Tae-ui hesitating. Jeong Tae-ui, still expressionless, continued staring at the screen.

"Thanks for helping me back then."
"...Help you?"
Ilay tilted his head, as if he didn’t understand what Jeong Tae-ui was talking about. However, once he followed Jeong Tae-ui’s gaze and looked at the screen, he seemed to understand and shrugged nonchalantly.

"No problem."
Of course, it wasn’t a problem for Ilay. Jeong Tae-ui had already known that when he said "thank you," it wasn’t because Ilay had intended to help him. Ilay hadn’t saved him out of goodwill but had simply done so because the big guy had originally targeted Ilay. Yet, for some reason, Jeong Tae-ui couldn't help but think back to what Shin Lu had yelled out, her face filled with emotion just before.
"You're harboring ill intentions towards him! That guy likes you!"

"..."
Jeong Tae-ui raised his hand to his mouth, rubbing his lips with his thumb. There was no one to look into his mind, but it felt terribly awkward. If someone were to look inside his thoughts, it would probably be better to understand what had gone through Shin Lu’s mind, but Jeong Tae-ui, realizing that he hadn’t even said it aloud, felt embarrassed to the point of wanting to erase the thought from his mind.
Amid the silence, Ilay, still lightly swinging the axe, passed through the frame of the screen. Finally, the footage of the discipline sparring began, and Jeong Tae-ui was able to free himself from the bloody images.

"By the way, what’s going on?"
Jeong Tae-ui, taking a breath after finally escaping the red-streaked footage, suddenly remembered and asked. In truth, there wasn’t much to ask. If Ilay had something important to say, he usually called or summoned him to his room. On the rare occasion that he came to deliver something, he would typically say what he needed and leave. The fact that Ilay was here, lounging casually, meant there was no real purpose.
Sometimes, there were moments like this.

Ilay had, on occasion, come by to look through Jeong Tae-ui’s books, talking about random things related to old books, or rummaged through the fridge and left without saying much. And sometimes, as though remembering something, he would approach Jeong Tae-ui and engage in almost self-gratifying petting. Those damn nights had slowly become more frequent, and Jeong Tae-ui couldn’t help but feel that Ilay had probably pegged him as an easy target.
It had been a mistake to let it go so easily back then. Ilay, the bastard, had raped him and showed no sign of remorse, and even when Jeong Tae-ui had been on the verge of dying in bed, Ilay had come over and shamelessly asked if he was okay. He even found himself thinking that, given Ilay's character, it was somehow admirable that he didn’t completely ignore him. (In reality, though, even if Jeong Tae-ui had wanted to call it quits, the situation was more complicated.)
Even after everything, this man, with his calm face, treated Jeong Tae-ui’s body like a tool, as casually as exercising. Every time it happened, Jeong Tae-ui would remember the traumatic events, his anger flaring up, but eventually, he would end up succumbing to Ilay’s hands or mouth, crossing the line.

It was only natural that he would be filled with self-loathing as a victim of such casual abuse. He had never known how weak he was in terms of his own desires. He had always thought he was someone who could make clear decisions about relationships, but he realized for the first time how emotionally fragile he was. But when he thought about the fact that he was now hanging around with the very same man he once thought of killing, the term fragile didn’t even begin to cover it...
His brain felt like it was melting.
Jeong Tae-ui felt like he had lived a hundred years in one moment, and his mood sank further.

"Aha. I suddenly feel like reading Hilsen's Crusade and I want to borrow it."
Ilay spoke lazily after a brief pause as if he had just remembered. Jeong Tae-ui raised an eyebrow, slightly confused.
"I don’t have that book."

"Director Jeong has it. I got it for him this spring."
Jeong Tae-ui looked at Ilay with an awkward expression. The key to his uncle’s room was in the nightstand drawer within easy reach, but that was a separate matter.