Passion (BL Novel)

Jeong Tae-ui habitually rubbed his pinky finger in the darkness. Then, as if trying to find something unseen, he lowered his gaze. Originally, a red string was tied there. He had never seen or felt it, but that was the red thread connecting him and his twin brother. Since his brother said so, it must be true.
Even after hearing that, he still couldn’t see the red thread. Maybe /N_o_v_e_l_i_g_h_t/ it had been cut. Before his brother left home, he had snipped the air between his fingers with scissors where the thread should have been.

“Come to think of it, maybe my luck has gone bad since that thread was cut…”
Tae-ui muttered to himself quietly.
Actually, Gil Sang-cheon must have been his brother. Sharing his fortune with Tae-ui, bringing him blessings so he wouldn’t meet misfortune. And then, once the thread connecting them was cut, Tae-ui could no longer receive his brother’s luck.

“That explanation makes more sense. It fits the logic.”
Someone like Gil Sang-cheon was meant to be someone lucky like his brother. It was understandable if you thought he was a person overflowing with luck who shared it around.
“That red thread was actually my fortune… Ah, I really need to meet my brother soon and have it tied again.”

Though he thought he muttered quietly, it seemed loud enough to reach the next room. The man in the neighboring cell, who had been cursing that madman alone while Tae-ui didn’t listen, suddenly asked:
“Did you part ways with your brother?”
“Ah… something like that. I don’t know where he is… or what he’s doing…”

Tae-ui muttered like a sigh. He wanted to meet him. But he couldn’t. That had never happened before. His brother had always been reachable. Even if not, whenever he missed him, he would soon meet or talk with him.
Yeah. He missed him. More than ever now.
Maybe the sigh reached the man, who fell silent as if deep in thought. Or maybe he had fallen asleep. Tae-ui leaned his head against the wall and quietly breathed in the silence, then heard the man’s low voice:

“You’ll meet him. If he’s alive… My friend I most want to see is dead.”
Tae-ui said nothing. The man said nothing. The man, who had been so talkative earlier, was now silent, thinking of a friend he could never meet again. Feeling sorry, Tae-ui hesitated to speak but closed his mouth again. Now was a time for silence. Perhaps that friend was the colleague killed by Ilay. Or someone else. Tae-ui mourned this unknown friend.
And for him too.

For those left behind, life remains that the departed were not given. Life remains with loss. Tae-ui had seen that loss. He quietly stared into the darkness covering his body, then muttered bitterly:
“But I will be angry, Uncle.”
A sigh melted into the darkness. He thought about it all day long.

Starting last night—or rather, much earlier—he traced the events carefully, step by step.
There was only one plausible conclusion. But plausible though it was, it was a conclusion he did not want. So he thought it over and over again. The more he thought, the darker his insides turned. Exhaustion overwhelmed him.
Tae-ui tried to organize his thoughts but gave up, slowly tapping the wall twice with his heavy head. His tired body slumped.
He wanted to get out of here. He wanted to see his brother. He wanted to escape these tangled relationships. Random desires floated through his mind.

Then.
From afar came the sound of an iron door opening. Evening had already passed, so no one was expected from outside. Maybe an instructor came to check around. But when footsteps on stone stairs approached, Tae-ui thought he knew who it was.
The footsteps drew nearer. The sound came without hesitation, as if the person could see clearly in the darkness. While Tae-ui wandered, unable to clear even a faint suspicion, that man did not hesitate even in this pitch-black darkness. Tae-ui gave a bitter smile.

“Tae-ui.”
When the footsteps stopped and a familiar voice came just a few steps ahead, Tae-ui did not raise his head. He quietly looked down at his feet.
The faint sound of a lock clicking and a flood of light above his head came almost simultaneously. Though not very bright, the light was dazzling to eyes accustomed to darkness all day.

Tae-ui winced and covered his eyes with his hand. He kept his mouth shut until his eyes adjusted slowly. The man quietly waited before him.
“Did you rest well? I came to get you.”
When Tae-ui opened his eyes, Ilay was right there. He opened the cell door and waited for Tae-ui to come out.

Tae-ui didn’t move, staring at him intently. Ilay seemed patient, showing no sign of impatience.
“Hey, you’re already leaving? Someone came to get you, huh?”
Then the silence in the next cell ended, and the man’s voice was heard. Ilay glanced briefly toward that direction. But from where he was, he probably couldn’t see who was inside the neighboring cell. Likewise, the man didn’t know it was Ilay standing nearby. When the man realized that fact, he felt a strange sensation—something hard to describe.

That man had tried to kill Ilay. Without looking around, risking his own life, he lunged at Ilay. Maybe it was just a momentary rage or impulse, but at that moment, he surely hated Ilay more than anyone in the world. Yet he didn’t recognize Ilay. Even though the footsteps, presence, and even voice clearly belonged to Ilay, he didn’t know simply because he couldn’t see him.
“Leaving less than a day, that’s fast. Ha ha, let’s meet outside.”
The man greeted cheerfully. Tae-ui slowly stood after hearing the greeting and stepped out beside Ilay, who opened the door and waited. Tae-ui didn’t say goodbye to the man. He only said, “Take care until next time.”

The heavy door on basement level seven closed behind him. It was barely half a span wide, but beyond it lay pitch-black darkness inside and shining light outside.
Tae-ui checked the time. It was close to 10 o’clock, hours after the regular workday had ended.
“I just ran here straight after the last meeting, which ended ten minutes ago.”

Ilay spoke behind Tae-ui, adding with a slight smile not to be mad at him for being late, saying he’d come as fast as possible.
Tae-ui glanced at that smile briefly before turning away. It was the most unpleasant smile he’d ever seen—the same smile he had seen at dawn. Tae-ui showed his displeasure plainly and sighed.
“Every joint training I end up in detention.”

“Didn’t like it? I thought today it would be better for you to spend the day there.”
Ilay raised his eyebrows in surprise. Tae-ui looked up at the ceiling briefly. As Ilay said, spending the day in detention wasn’t bad. He hadn’t felt well, wouldn’t have done well in sparring, and probably wouldn’t have spent the day safely in his current mental state. Today, burying himself in the dark was better than spending a day in the usual routine.
“Yeah, better than usual. Even if I don’t think they put me there for my sake.”

Tae-ui said indifferently. Ilay chuckled.
Tae-ui headed toward the stairs not far from the entrance. Ilay paused near the elevator but followed a few steps behind as Tae-ui began climbing the stairs.
“Gonna take the stairs? Isn’t that tough?”

“Tough. My migraine’s starting.”
Tae-ui answered curtly without stopping. His body was better. Staying still in detention all day had made him comfortable enough.
But his head had started throbbing a little while ago. It had always been that way—if he overexerted himself physically or mentally, migraines came. Medicine didn’t work well. Only sleep helped. Following Tae-ui up the stairs, Ilay gestured behind.

“There’s the elevator right there.”
“You want to take the elevator just to go up one floor?”
Tae-ui scoffed, adding it would take longer waiting for the elevator. Ilay was silent for a moment.

“One floor, huh? You’re going to your room?”
This time, Tae-ui was silent.
Only then did they realize their destinations were different. Ilay was obviously headed to his room on the first basement floor, while Tae-ui was going to his room one floor above.

Tae-ui stopped walking. Ilay stopped behind him.
The headache didn’t seem to ease on its own. It was getting worse, and sleep wouldn’t come easily. He wanted to rest in his room, but there was something he had to check. Though he vaguely knew what it was and didn’t want to confirm it, he had to.
 

“Let’s head to my room. I stocked the fridge with plenty of beer this afternoon.”
“...Maybe I will.”
No matter how much he stocked it, it looked like all that beer would be gone soon. Jeong Tae-ui looked at Ilay with a sour expression, then followed him toward the elevator as he led. He didn’t feel much like drinking beer anyway.
He thought he should stop by the infirmary before going to the room to get some headache medicine, but recalling the late hour, he tightened his lips. If he went to the assistant instructor’s room at this hour asking for medicine, he was sure he’d get scolded again.

He just hoped the situation wouldn’t worsen his headache.
Tae-ui said nothing until they reached Ilay’s room on the first basement floor via elevator. Ilay glanced at him once but didn’t speak. He just smirked. Seeing that made Tae-ui feel even worse.
“...You look just like a sulky child.”

When Tae-ui muttered irritably beside Ilay, who was pulling out his key, Ilay raised his eyebrows slightly. Tae-ui realized that what he said wasn’t much different from a sulky child’s complaint, but the words were already out.
“Not at all. A sulky child usually feels better after a night’s sleep, but you don’t seem like you will. Then again, you do tend to cheer up on your own.”
Tae-ui shut his mouth. This is why a person shouldn’t mess up the first button. Getting angry is troublesome, and if you just brush it off with “let it be,” others come to see that as natural for you.

He sighed internally because that wasn’t entirely wrong. Even if something twisted his insides and made him furious, how long would it really last? Getting angry at someone drained his energy so much he’d always say “Ah, forget it” and bury it. But that didn’t mean he forgot what made him angry or what pain he felt.
“I guess I must have made you upset…”
Tae-ui muttered. After a day in detention, he’d come to nearly one conclusion—a very unpleasant one.

Ilay didn’t answer this time. He only opened the door and gestured for Tae-ui to enter.
Inside the silent room, Tae-ui stood briefly then sat down at the desk chair. Usually, he would have perched on the bed, but nothing seemed to please him now.
“...What about your uncle?”

Tae-ui asked. Ilay shrugged, tossing his shirt carelessly onto the bed.
“If you mean Instructor Jeong Chang-in, he’s in Canberra.”
“That’s not it. I mean… he didn’t answer earlier at dawn, but can you reach him now?”

Ilay laughed. From that laugh and the short silence, Tae-ui realized it wasn’t by chance that his uncle hadn’t answered. Ilay also noticed Tae-ui’s realization. Without feeling the need to answer, he went to the fridge and pulled out beer—one for himself and one for Tae-ui.
“Here.”
Ilay tossed a beer lightly to Tae-ui, who wasn’t inclined to drink but toyed with the can for a moment. He tore off the pull-tab, and foam bubbled up and dripped onto the floor. He clicked his tongue, set the can on the desk, and shook his hands.

Since he didn’t really want to drink, he didn’t pick the can back up.
Ilay watched Tae-ui with amusement and took a sip of his own beer, leaning back against the wall and tilting his head.
“Shall I tell you the cause first, or the result?”

“Just about my uncle.”
Tae-ui said shortly. He had thought about everything all day, but the most important thing was that one question.
Ilay looked at him briefly, smiled, then suddenly asked:

“You said you’re Instructor Jeong Chang-in’s son… genetically.”
Ilay added as if to prevent misunderstanding. Tae-ui frowned slightly.
He quickly understood what Ilay meant. It wasn’t exactly a secret. But it wasn’t something someone outside the family should know either.

“...I guess your uncle said so.”
What he said didn’t matter much. Tae-ui didn’t care who passed down his blood and flesh. His father was in heaven, and his uncle was his uncle.
“He never said it directly. I just happened to find out... But honestly, we don’t look alike. Though being the son of Jeong Jae is no guarantee, your personality is totally different from his.”

Ilay chuckled as if finding it amusing. Tae-ui sighed, tapping the armrest of his chair slowly with his palms.
“You seem to know him well. So, you and your uncle worked together on this, huh?”
Ilay smiled and waved his hand. “No, we didn’t.”

“Saying you worked together sounds unpleasant. It’s not wrong, though. I know him well. Or rather, my brother knows him well. Since we do things together, I’m probably the one who knows him best among the instructors. But about this matter—I’m just his assistant. I only helped a little bit with what he wanted.”
He showed just a tiny amount with his fingers.
Assistant.

Tae-ui gave a bitter smile.
“So, did you know in advance that seeing that file would lead to all this mess?”
Not wanting to hear more, Tae-ui brought up the question right away. Ilay paused briefly, then shrugged casually.

“More than a fifty percent chance. But I also thought it might not turn out as hoped.”
“If it had, you planned to drag me in too and trip up Mackin?”
Ilay laughed softly.

“Tae-ui, you’re already involved. Though all the correctional officers will know, and the branch and headquarters will be reported to, it’s a scandal that shouldn’t spread. So it’ll be quietly handled inside. But you’ll probably be held responsible somehow. One way or another.”
Tae-ui silently watched Ilay say, “Don’t worry. I’ll make sure you don’t get kicked out,” but that didn’t matter. The deadline he mentioned when he first came was almost up anyway.
Suddenly, he wondered if that was why his uncle set the deadline like that. Tae-ui leaned his head weakly on the chair.

“...So, the result?”
Fatigue showed in Ilay’s voice. He finished his beer, tossed the can in the trash, and sat on the bed, shaking his head casually.
“Nothing special.”

“What?”
“Nothing special. This is just one of many unfortunate incidents caused by Jang Til and those under his management. One incident alone doesn’t cause damage. On the surface, it’s an ‘impossible accident,’ but in reality, it’s an ‘unlucky incident.’ Everywhere is like that. Of course—Mackin will probably have to give up his promotion. Depending on how you see it, leaving UNHRDO might be better for him.”
Tae-ui listened quietly and spoke softly when Ilay paused.

“It’s not just Mackin.”
“Hmm...?”
“My uncle helped with this too. No matter how you define ‘practical,’ my uncle helped Mackin. Or maybe Mackin helped my uncle.”

And I danced like a fool, a puppet. Tae-ui smiled bitterly.
Then Ilay suddenly burst into laughter—a cheerful laugh, as if hearing something very amusing.
“Ah, hahaha, that’s right. Mackin and Jeong Chang-in were definitely working together. We could gather plenty of evidence if needed. But you know, Tae-ui.”

Ilay lowered his voice while still smiling.
“Instructor Jeong can’t quit UNHRDO. He’s indispensable.”
“To Deputy Mao?”

Though he didn’t intend to mock, it sounded like a sneer. Ilay shook his head.
“You’re wrong. He’s indispensable to UNHRDO.”
Hearing that with a subtle tone, Tae-ui sighed deeply.

He had felt like things were going around in circles from earlier.
Yeah, this isn’t it.
He didn’t care if his uncle was Mao’s man, Jang Til’s man, or neither. He didn’t care how things moved internally. He didn’t want to know how the situation would progress or the power dynamics.

All he wanted to know was that his uncle didn’t think of him as someone to be ruthlessly cut off if things went wrong. That was enough. That was all he needed.
His headache was getting worse. His head was ringing, and he felt nauseous. Tae-ui clenched his fist.
Then.

Like tearing his headache apart, a mechanical sound started in the quiet room. The phone was ringing.
Ilay raised his eyebrows, looked at the clock, and muttered “Ah,” as if he knew who it was. He got up from the bed with a smirk, approached the desk, and checked the caller ID on the phone beside Tae-ui. He nodded to Tae-ui.
Tae-ui looked at the screen. After the international dialing code was the number 61-2. Canberra. At this hour, only one person would call from Canberra. Tae-ui’s lips went pale. Biting nervously, he picked up the receiver.

“...”
He tried to say “Hello,” but the words didn’t come. So he quietly held the receiver, and from the other side came a voice after a short silence.
‘Rick?’

“...Tae-ui, it’s Uncle.”
‘Ah, Tae-ui. Why are you there? Did I dial wrong? ...No.’
The voice seemed to check the number briefly, then returned. It sounded normal. His uncle was no different from usual, calmly calling Tae-ui. Maybe his uncle didn’t know. Or perhaps it was never part of his plan.

Though he knew that was impossible, Tae-ui clung sadly to that fleeting hope.
“When will you come? I was locked in detention all day today.”
Like a child whining, Tae-ui complained softly to his uncle.

From the phone, his uncle laughed.
‘Did Ilay tell you about it?’