Beomjin cut himself off. He realized he was piling too much on Samdu, though part of it was also to clear his own head.
The company he worked for, at least on the surface, claimed to avoid anything illegal. While its roots were in loan sharking, its growth had led it to diversify into other types of businesses. They no longer relied on threatening to sell off someone’s organs to settle debts.
Instead, they extended loans to small businesses under the guise of investment, carefully vetting repayment potential. The company even established an IT firm to better collect personal data.
But at the grassroots level, performance pressure still existed. Not everyone followed company rules, and there was always the possibility of an employee resorting to extreme measures to meet recovery targets.
I hope this isn’t on us, he thought, clicking his tongue as he hurried down the stairs.
From Jung Mansu’s reaction, it didn’t seem like a prearranged incident. His fear was genuine, and it felt like an unexpected shove had sent him falling.
If it’s not our company, all the better.
Lost in thought, Beomjin reached the parking lot and froze.
Standing next to Samdu, who looked unusually stiff, was Junyoung. She stood casually, one shoulder slouched, with Samdu’s jacket draped over it.
“Heading out, Mr. Kim?” she asked, raising her hand in a half-hearted wave.
What is she doing here now?
Beomjin frowned, scanning her disheveled appearance. Her hair was loosely tied back, and her shirt, slightly damp, clung to her frame.
“Did you get caught in the rain?” he asked bluntly.
“It might as well have been,” she replied, glaring at him and stamping her foot. “Someone dumped water on me.”
“Maybe you should think before you speak,” he retorted dryly.
The source of this c𝐨ntent is freeweɓnovēl.coɱ.
He could feel his nerves prickling. It hadn’t even been that long since she’d been hooked up to an IV in the emergency room.
Junyoung smirked, her lips curling as if she’d anticipated his irritation.
“You must not realize this, but I’m one of the most calculated people you’ll ever meet, Mr. Kim.”
“And that ‘calculation’ led you to stand here waiting for me in front of everyone? Really, Deputy Yoon from Hangyeong’s Risk Management Team?”
His tone drew a clear line, but Junyoung’s eyes lit up with a rebellious gleam. Folding her arms, she dislodged the jacket from her shoulder, exposing her damp shirt.
“Well, care to tell him why I’m waiting here, Mr. Not-Park-Sam?”
The odd nickname made Samdu flinch. Judging by his slouched posture and helpless expression, it was clear he’d endured some interrogation from Junyoung.
“Uh, she said she wanted to thank you for taking her to the emergency room,” Samdu stammered.
“I already said that wasn’t necessary,” Beomjin replied curtly.
“Sorry, but I hate owing anyone anything,” Junyoung shot back, her smile sharp.
At the word owing, a flicker passed across Beomjin’s face, but he quickly shook his head.
“You don’t owe me anything.”
Junyoung ignored him and turned back to Samdu. “And the other reason I’m waiting, Mr. Not-Park-Sam?”
Why she kept calling him that was anyone’s guess. Beomjin watched as Samdu hesitated, caught in her gaze, and finally muttered under his breath.
“She... reminded me of my first love...”
The confession came out strained, and his ears turned bright red.
Junyoung blinked innocently, as though she hadn’t just forced the words out of him, then smiled sweetly.
“Well, I’m not one to give up easily. So, if you don’t want me pestering you to repay my debt, you might as well humor me. Otherwise, I might just barge into your room in the middle of the night.”
“Can you not—”
Before he could finish, Junyoung cut him off, her voice dropping into a coaxing whisper.
“I need someone to drink with right now.”
Her eyes softened, drawing him in. Those same eyes that seemed to see no one else but him, just like before.
“And I’d prefer it to be you, Mr. Kim.”
For a moment, all he could do was stare at her. Her gaze was captivating, fragile yet strangely resolute, like a structure on the verge of collapse but holding on stubbornly.
He knew he should refuse. It was the logical thing to do. Yet deep down, he also knew he wouldn’t.
With a heavy sigh, he finally relented. “At least clean up first.”
“See? I told you he’d agree,” Junyoung said triumphantly, flashing a grin at Samdu.
Caught off guard, Samdu’s wide-eyed expression screamed disbelief as he floundered under Beomjin’s sharp glare.
“W-wait, hyung, I—”
“So, what’s your name?” Junyoung asked, cutting him off again.
Beomjin’s brow furrowed, but before he could intervene, Junyoung waved dismissively.
“See, I told him I wouldn’t go unless he gave me his name. Your cousin here wouldn’t tell me.”
It was clear Samdu had no chance against her. Resigning himself to his fate, he glanced at Beomjin, who gave him a curt nod. Finally, he stammered out, “P-Park Samdu...”
“Nice to meet you, Park Samdu. I’ll be counting on you from now on,” Junyoung said cheerfully, extending her hand for a handshake.
Watching Samdu awkwardly accept her handshake, Beomjin turned away and suppressed another sigh.
Junyoung had only grown more formidable with time.
How much longer can I hold out against her? He wasn’t sure he wanted to find out.
***
“Two bottles of soju, please. Also, chicken feet and udon. Make the chicken feet extra, extra spicy. I’ve had a stressful day,” Junyoung rattled off as soon as she stepped under the tent of the pojangmacha. She didn’t hesitate, brushing aside the plastic flaps and walking straight in.
Beomjin followed her, about to take a seat, his damp hair still clinging to his forehead. He paused to watch her in silence as she ran her hand through her not-yet-dry hair and glanced back at him with a shrug.
“Order something for yourself. I’m treating tonight,” she said casually.
“...You’re planning to drink two bottles of soju by yourself?” he asked.
“Yep. Two bottles is my lethal dose. Just enough to kill me,” she replied matter-of-factly.
Beomjin turned to the ajumma who brought their soju and glasses. “Two bowls of rice, please. Whatever you have.”
Junyoung frowned as she deftly twisted off the soju cap. “Just rice? Facing me sober isn’t going to be easy.”
“Drinking won’t make it easier either,” he countered.
Without missing a beat, he snatched the soju bottle from her hand and filled two glasses. Junyoung smirked at his swift movements, raising her glass to clink it against his.
“To our reunion,” she said, her tone half-sarcastic. “Even if I’m stuck living like Hong Gil-dong, without the right to be called by my name.”
She downed the shot in one go, squinting and letting out a small gasp as the alcohol burned her throat. As she reached for the bottle again, Beomjin’s hand shot out to grab it first. Her narrowed eyes locked onto his.
“What now?” she asked.
“You’re drinking on an empty stomach.”
“So?”
“Did you forget you were in the ER recently?”
“And?”
Anticipating her move toward the second bottle, Beomjin tightened his grip on its neck. Their silent standoff was interrupted when the ajumma returned with steaming udon. Seizing the moment, Junyoung raised her hand.
“Auntie, one more bottle of so—”
“What’s going on?” Beomjin’s calm but firm voice cut through hers, stopping her mid-sentence. Junyoung scowled as the ajumma placed the bowl of udon on the table, the aroma quickly spreading.
Reluctantly, she picked up her chopsticks and poked at the noodles. After a few listless swirls, she finally spoke.
“I just came from meeting Jung Mansu,” she said flatly.
Beomjin watched her slurp a mouthful of noodles. Her straightforward nature was evidently intact. With a slight shake of his head, he asked, “I thought they weren’t allowing visitors?”
“They weren’t. But if I couldn’t get in, I wouldn’t be Yoon Junyoung, would I?” she replied, licking her lips and diving back into the udon. The slight smirk tugging at her lips didn’t go unnoticed by him.
“So, was the water bath worth it?”
“I don’t know what you’re expecting from being here, but I doubt the compensation payout is likely.”
Her words, muffled by the food in her mouth, made her hard to understand. Still, she shoved her empty glass toward him, raising her eyebrows expectantly.
“You’ve eaten now,” she said as if that settled the matter.
“Eat more,” he insisted.
“Are you my dad or something? You know I don’t have a dad, right? Acting like one won’t work on me.”
Her blunt tone hit him harder than she likely intended. His gaze sharpened, and she immediately noticed the shift in his demeanor. Junyoung knew exactly when her jokes wouldn’t land. She sighed, slumping her shoulders, and begrudgingly stuffed another mouthful of noodles into her mouth.
“You know, every time you act like you care, I wonder what the hell you’re trying to do. You say we’re not close enough for you to even use my name, yet you go pale and come running when I almost get hit by a motorbike. Why don’t you make up your mind, Kwon Beomjin? Stop confusing people.”