Taesung
I'm lying naked in bed, hidden under the covers.
I can feel someone's body pressed against me from behind. They're also naked. I slowly turn around and see a figure with long hair. They approach me and wrap their arms around me.
Judging by his physique, I'd say it's a man. But I can't see his face. It's shrouded in fog. Just like in my dream in the hospital.
Does that mean I'm dreaming again? Is the man in the fog Hyunjin again? Is this another memory coming to the surface?
I want to remember. I'm scared by the fact that I'm lying naked in bed with him, but I want to know what happened in my life during those five months.
I focus on his face, trying to remember Hyunjin and hoping the dream will help me recall the memory. The fog ripples across his face, and it seems to me that it is fading, slowly revealing his features.
But before I can find out, the dream fades away. For a moment, I float in the darkness like a tiny dot.
When the dream reassembles itself into a coherent image, I realise that I am standing in a destroyed bar. I clutch a pen in my hand, preparing to attack the man running towards me.
I dodge his blows, knock him to the ground and stab him in the throat with the pen. Right in the middle. Blood pours into his mouth and he starts to choke. I wait until the life fades from his eyes, then stand up.
I'm covered in blood, but it doesn't bother me. The feeling spreading through my body is familiar. It's not the first time I've felt it.
I look up. He's walking towards me. I recognise him as Hyunjin, even though his face is covered. I can feel it. He reaches out his hand to me. Is he going to hug me?
Before I get the chance to find out, I become conscious again.
I feel a stinging coldness permeating my body. I am naked. I have goosebumps, my head is throbbing and I can hear voices in the distance. I open my eyes and am blinded by a bright light.
I focus on the figure sitting opposite me. It's the man, who kidnapped me. He smiles at me in a repulsive way, then speaks.
„So," he says, his voice repulsive. „Now you're going to tell me everything I want to know." Then he addresses me by name. „Taesung." He knows me, but I don't know him.
... ༺༻ ...
He says my name.
The sound stings me more than the cold that is creeping into my bones. How can he know my name when I don't know his? I swallow. My tongue is dry and my throat is tight.
„I don't know what you want from me. I don't remember anything," I croak. My voice sounds strange and weak. As if it doesn't belong to me. He smiles. Slowly. Calmly. It's the kind of smile that doesn't bode well. He tilts his head as if examining me.
„You don't have to say anything," he says, sounding almost bored. „You'll listen. You won't like the sound of this song." He holds a cigar in his hand. The flame briefly illuminates his face, which is sharp and cold, as if carved from something that has long since lost all mercy.
Then I hear it. His song.
The hand sander starts up. The sound runs down my spine. It is a metallic roar that cannot be ignored. My muscles tense and my fingers twitch in the ropes.
„You know, he protected you better than I expected."
The metal touches my skin. Just lightly. A warning. I groan, clenching my teeth so hard that my jaw aches.
„But everyone has a weakness," he continues. „And you...," He smiles. „are his."
„You're wrong," I breathe hoarsely. „I don't know what you're talking about." The hand sander moves again. Closer this time. I can feel the vibrations running through my body as if someone has pushed fear right under my skin.
„That's the beauty of it," he replies. „You really believe it." He nods. One of his men puts a sander on my thigh. A sharp, stabbing sensation runs through me as he rubs the grinder against my bare skin. I clench my teeth tightly. I try not to make a sound, but it fucking hurts. The sander grinds my skin until it slowly cuts into the flesh. I can't take it anymore and scream in pain. The bastard sitting opposite me smiles. He enjoys it. Seeing me like this. The pain stops.
„When I killed Byun," he continues calmly, as though recounting a tale over dinner, „he screamed less than you'd expect." I freeze. That name. Something tugs at me. Like a flicker of pain with no memory attached. Just an echo.
„He was important to him," he continues. „And I took him away. And I'll do it again." His henchman puts the sander aside and reaches into a bucket of water. He pulls his hand out and crystals of undissolved salt glisten on his glove. I know what he's going to do. But I don't have time to prepare for it.
With a sharp movement, he presses the salt into my wound. I swear to God, I had to fight hard not to pee myself from the pain. The pain is indescribable. It's like pouring salt into an open wound.
I clench my teeth, almost biting my own tongue, but I manage to stop myself and only a painful groan escapes me. No scream.
„You," he says, leaning closer, „you will end the open circle." I shake my head. Tears flow freely, but not because I remember. It's because I feel that he's telling the truth, even though I don't know why.
„He won't come for me," I sigh desperately. „No one will come." I swallow. „Kill me. Don't wait, just do it." He laughs. A quiet, satisfied laugh.
„See? You still protect him, even though you say don't remember him. But don't worry, I don't think he'll come for you. I'll just leave your dead body outside his house." He takes a drag on his cigar. „It won't have the same effect as if he'd seen you die live, like he did with Byun. But what can you do? Desperate times call for desperate measures." He gets up from his chair and walks over to me. He stops right in front of me. He stubs out his cigar on the metal edge of the table. „It's enough to know that he came too late."
The silence after his words is broken again by the sound of the sander, this time, it's my other thigh being ground. The process repeats, and then comes the salt.
Then he puts it on my chest again. Then it's salt again. I admit that I would rather die than undergo this torture. It's revenge. Revenge for what happened to Nishimura.
Nishimura. He was Mishimoto's right-hand man and we tortured him. We killed him and sent his head to Mishimoto as a warning.
Mishimoto. He's the asshole sitting across from me. It's interesting how memories can come back to you in certain situations.
A sound.
At first, I thought it was just another echo of the sander, followed by my scream. But Mishimoto freezes. The sander stops mid-motion. The sharp scream fades away, leaving a silence so thick that it makes my stomach clench.
The cellar door swings open. Light. Shadows. Gunshots. The metallic clatter of weapons. Bodies fall onto the concrete. Blood splatters onto the walls, onto the floor, onto me. I feel the blood before I see it.
Mishimoto stands up abruptly, knocking over his chair as he takes a step back. Then I see him.
He walks in calmly. Too calmly. As if he knows this place. As if he belongs here.
His long hair, covered in blood, falls over his shoulders and his eyes are dark, focused and empty.
My chest tightens. My breath catches. Something snaps in my head. Images. Touches. A voice. Warmth. Blood. Laughter. Silence. The kitchen. The bed. His hands. My name, spoken differently to how anyone else has ever spoken it before.
Mishimoto turns just as Hyunjin raises his gun. He doesn't shoot right away. He steps closer. Slowly. Each step is precise and controlled. Meanwhile, Saturnia clears the room, but I don't see them. I only see the two of them.
„So after all," Mishimoto whispers. Those are the last words he will ever utter. His body collapses to the ground like a puppet, whose strings have been cut. Blood spills across the concrete, stopping just short of my bare feet.
Hyunjin looks at me. That look! It's indescribable. There's no panic in it. There's no fear in it either. It's something worse. Something final.
He approaches me. He kneels in front of me. He carefully cups my face in his hands as if he's afraid I'll fall apart. His thumbs wipe the blood from my cheeks.
„I'm here," he says quietly.
... ༺༻ ...
BLOOD DEBT (피의 빚)