IOTF Ch 7

I habitually cracked open a can of iced tea and crunched on an ice cube. The boss stood up, and I followed him out of the room. The hall was packed, peak hour in full swing. We rode the elevator down, escorted by the waiter.

He was silent, lost in thought, then suddenly clicked his tongue. An inexplicable tension filled the air. We got into his sedan.

The car pulled out of the parking garage, leaving the bustling Namgudong behind. I straightened my rumpled clothes, wondering if we were heading to Queens. He glanced at me, a hardened look in his eyes, then turned away.

Neither of us spoke. I started to sober up. The expensive whiskey was wearing off quickly. The car stopped at a hotel.

“Sunjung, feeling better?”

“Yes, I’m fine.”

I expected him to ask if I needed anything for my hangover, but he just strode through the hotel lobby, Kalbbang trailing behind, and me beside him. We took the elevator to the 35th floor. As the doors opened, he said, “Sunjung, do you want to use the restroom?”

I realized this wasn’t a regular guest floor. Soft classical music played; it seemed to be a club lounge.

“Yes, I’ll be right back.” I needed to pee anyway. I quickly found the restroom, relieved myself, and checked my reflection in the mirror under the flattering lighting.

My hair was a bit messy since I hadn’t been to the salon, but it had a natural charm. My skin looked a little dull, but overall, I was presentable. The suit he’d bought me looked great, as expected. My sharp features and youthful appearance reminded me why I’d chosen this path.

My neat face and the two moles under my eyes, often complimented by clients, gave me a distinct look.

“You’re so flirtatious.”

“You know, those moles under your eyes are really charming.”

I deliberately widened my eyes, my moist pupils gleaming. Even I could see the allure, though it was a childish charm compared to the boss’s. Still, I figured I could make a living off this for another ten years.

I adjusted my clothes one last time and stepped out of the restroom. Kalbbang was waiting.

“Follow me.”

I followed, anticipating a nice cup of coffee. The boss was sitting in the middle of the large, empty lounge.

He was talking to three bulky men. The surrounding tables were empty. There were no bartenders or waiters. Just the boss, the three strangers, Kalbbang, and me.

I felt a flicker of unease, then he beckoned me over. Kalbbang led the way, and I followed towards the table. As I approached, I noticed the men’s unusual appearance.

They wore dark sunglasses indoors, late at night. The man in the middle had a toad-like face and a shaved head.

“Sunjung, are you thirsty?”

He asked without looking at me. I shook my head. Kalbbang pulled out a chair next to him.

“I’m fine.”

The toad-like man tilted his head slightly at my voice. As if on cue, one of the men in sunglasses whispered something to him. The toad stared at me intently, and the boss spoke.

“Guests from Japan.”

“What?”

My voice might have been a bit loud. The man whispering to the toad spoke to the boss in Japanese.

I couldn’t understand a word. The tone and expressions suggested a tense negotiation, likely related to the trouble caused by the Versace hosts.

I froze, staring at him. His face was devoid of humor. He placed his arms on the chair’s armrests and muttered in Korean, “Fucking bastard.”

The atmosphere was so thick with tension you could cut it with a knife. Men in suits materialized from the shadows of the empty lounge. They were clearly Yakuza. The toad raised his hand, and the boss suddenly laughed and spoke again in Japanese.

I still couldn’t understand, but I sensed it was about the incident the Versace hosts had caused.

“Bring the documents.”

Kalbbang placed a brown envelope on the table. The toad examined the contents and signed.

The boss didn’t even bother checking the signature before turning to me.

“Sunjung, our guest is leaving. Will you see him out?”

His lips finally curled into a smile, the tension melting away. He smiled reassuringly, and I nodded involuntarily.

“Just see him out?”

“Yes. He came a long way; our pretty boy should see him off.”

He wanted me to be the face, the escort. I didn’t understand why he’d brought me here, but I stood up calmly and gave the toad a small smile. He heaved his bulky frame up, and the men in sunglasses followed suit.

“I’ll be right behind you, Sunjung.”

Was he telling me not to worry? I nodded and escorted the toad, who looked to be in his fifties, through the empty lounge, offering him occasional smiles. Up close, he was shorter than me. His skin glistened, and he wore a thick gold chain that made me want to gag compared to the boss’s. I glimpsed Irezumi tattoos under his shirt.

The clinking of his gold chain and rings filled the silence as we walked. We reached the entrance, and Kalbbang pressed the elevator button.

“Just to the room.”

The room? It seemed odd, but Kalbbang joined us in the elevator without a word. He pressed the button for the top floor. The doors opened to a single hotel room door. I thought I would just say goodbye and leave, but Kalbbang swiped the room key.

The door clicked open, and I bowed my head in farewell. As I straightened up, someone shoved me from behind.

I stumbled into the hotel room, not understanding what was happening. The door clicked shut, and I locked eyes with the toad-like man.

“…….”

My mind went blank. The door was definitely closed. We were alone. The men in sunglasses and Kalbbang were gone. What was going on? Who pushed me in here?

“Uh… so… um…”

Shit, what do I say? The only Japanese I knew was “konnichiwa” and “itai,” and this wasn’t the time for greetings. I stood frozen, facing him, then started towards the door.

He moved towards me, his thick, ringed hand outstretched as if inviting me to take it. I shook my head.

Something felt wrong. My gut told me I was in danger, perhaps even worse danger than when Park Jun framed me as a drug mule.

Dry-mouthed, I felt a wave of nausea.

“白い肌だよ. (White skin.)”

He continued to close the distance, speaking in unintelligible Japanese. I knew backing away would push me deeper into the room, so I feigned retreat, planning to dodge to the side. But he was surprisingly agile for his size. His eyes, beneath heavy lids, tracked my movements. He reached out, his arm blocking my escape route. I was trapped.

“チュ社長のやつが見る目があるんだよ. (Joo has a good eye.)”

He pulled something out of his silk jacket – a small camera. He turned it on and pointed it at me.

“しんぱいしないで.これは私が個人的に所蔵するよ. (Don’t worry, it’s for my personal collection.)”

I didn’t understand a word. As the red light blinked on, I dodged him and ran. I lunged for the door, but he grabbed the back of my neck.

“Ugh! You fucker…!”

Blows rained down on me. His rough hands yanked me back and threw me towards the bed. I couldn’t think straight. My cheeks burned, and blood trickled from my split lip, staining the white sheets.

The toad grinned, revealing yellowed teeth. Still filming me, he unzipped his pants.

“Come here.”

He pulled out his penis, speaking broken Korean. The sight of the dark, engorged flesh made me recoil in disgust.

“Fuck! Get away!”

Terror washed over me. He was shedding his shirt now, advancing towards me. The sight of the thick hair on his glistening skin made my hair stand on end. I wanted to kill him.

I’ll kill him. I’ll fucking kill him!

He chuckled, a sickening, toad-like smell wafting from him. His large body disgusted me. I scanned the room and spotted the vase. Without hesitation, I rolled over and grabbed it. I was about to hurl it at him when he grabbed my hair.

Whack! Whack! Whack! His large hand struck my stomach, my face. The blows to my cheek felt worse than a club, a hammer. Blood exploded, blinding me. My vision turned red; I thought my eye had ruptured.

“Aagh! Help me! Fuck!”

The relentless assault broke me. Despite my vow to fight back, the blood and pain terrified me. I crumpled to the floor, hands raised in supplication, just like when my father beat me as a child.

“Please stop. I’m sorry…”

His large hand slapped my cheek. The searing pain sent a surge of blood into my mouth. I coughed up a bloody clot, and he slapped my other cheek.

Tears streamed down my face as I collapsed, helpless. Blood splattered on his penis, making it look like a butchered animal. Blood stained the marble floor. His breathing grew ragged. How long did the beating last?

He dragged me to the bed and tried to pull down my pants.

“Don’t… don’t…”

His disgusting breath hit the back of my neck, and his tongue touched my skin. I thrashed, trying to wriggle free, as he tried to bite me.

I felt utterly helpless, crushed beneath his weight.

Through my blood-soaked vision, I saw the overturned vase. Gasping for breath, as he fumbled with my pants, I thought of the boss. His smiling face, his thoughtful expression, the way he’d clicked his tongue and stared at me silently in the car.

That bastard set me up.

He planned this all along. He brought me to the hotel, fed me, gave me money, made me suck his dick.

He turned me into a whore. He sacrificed me to save his two prized aces. He plied me with alcohol, took me to the room salon, dressed me in this expensive suit, all to sell me off.

A burst of laughter escaped me, tinged with blood. I didn’t even know what I was laughing about. The toad backhanded me hard.

Another explosion of blood. The blow to my ear made me dizzy and nauseous. My blood-red vision blurred, and the alcohol and fear surged up from my stomach.

I vomited blood and bile onto the carpet. I felt his hand on my pants again. Was this how I was going to break? Would I ever be able to recover from this?

Death. Suicide.

This is why people do it. I closed my eyes, anticipating the violation. I saw the vase again and remembered the boss’s words – flower, I like flowers – and imagined smashing it against his head.

Suddenly, an earsplitting sound erupted.

“これはまた何だよ. (What the hell is this?)”

Water poured from the ceiling, a torrential downpour soaking me.

The toad scrambled off me as men in police uniforms burst into the room. Alarms blared as the sprinklers rained down on us.

“Police! Hands up!”

“何だよ！消えろ！ (What the hell! Get out!)”

“Comply or we’ll shoot! Hands up!”

I struggled to open my eyes, to see what was happening. I was beaten so badly, my vision and hearing were impaired. I thought I heard someone yelling, You fucker! Jap bastard! Then, someone pulled me up, draped something over my head, and dragged me away.

“Stay with me.”

A familiar voice. Who was pulling me through this chaos? I saw Han Doopil’s face through the fabric covering me.

“Just stay quiet.”

He steered me away from the screaming toad and out the door. I saw the tip of a familiar shoe beneath the fabric, planted firmly on the blood-stained marble floor. The boss’s shoe, the one he’d used to block my path at the food stall.

The same boss who’d toyed with me, used me.

I lifted my head. Han Doopil tried to cover me again. I heard the toad’s screams and the angry shouts of the Japanese men as they ran in. Han Doopil shoved me forward, away from them.

I seized the opportunity and looked back. The boss, now in a black shirt instead of his usual flamboyant attire, moved with a fluid grace, like a fish in water. He grabbed the toad by the hair and plunged a knife into his neck.

A silent scream ripped through me.

The geyser of crimson blood seemed unreal, a nightmare I wanted to wake up from.