TS 040

Yoon Taehwa settled into a seat, the space cramped, dimly lit, and thankfully, devoid of people. Han Suryeon, standing awkwardly beside him, pouted, but Yoon Taehwa ignored him, his gaze fixed on the menu.

“Take a seat, or leave.”

“That’s mean.” 

“What is?”

He lowered the menu, glancing up at Han Suryeon. His chin resting on his hand, his eyes crinkled in amusement, he looked… relaxed. Almost playful.

“You wanted someplace small, dark, and not too crowded, remember?”

He gestured towards the seat across from him. Han Suryeon, with a dramatic sigh, sat down. The plastic table, barely big enough to accommodate two tall men, felt even smaller with their knees practically touching.

“What do you want to eat?” 

“Whatever you’re having.” 

Yoon Taehwa, leaning back, rattled off his order. 

“Two bowls of janchi guksu and a bottle of soju, please.”

“Coming right up.” 

The owner, wiping his hands on his apron, disappeared into the tiny kitchen. 

They were at a pojangmacha^[1], a street food stall tucked away in a secluded alleyway. A makeshift tent, its plastic walls illuminated by flickering fluorescent lights, it was, as Han Suryeon had requested, small, dark, and sparsely populated. 

“Who has dinner at a place like this on their first date?”

“I never agreed to a date.”

“We kissed, and you’re pretending we didn’t?” 

“Kissing doesn’t obligate me to date you.” 

The owner returned with a tray of banchan, the small plates laden with kimchi, pickled vegetables, and other savory treats.

“What brings you here with someone else? And a handsome young man at that.”

“He offered to buy me dinner. Plus, I was craving your noodles.”

He didn’t come often enough to be called a regular, but it was a street food stall he visited occasionally. He liked that the owner was quite old and uninterested in gossip. It was especially comfortable that she couldn’t recognize Espers or any other gifted individuals, including Yoon Taehwa himself. 

“You seem close to the team leader.” 

“Hmm? Team leader? Oh, right. I keep forgetting. He comes by sometimes to eat my noodles.” 

“I see. Our Team Leader is so cold, though.” 

Han Suryeon smoothly carried on the conversation. He’d noticed it when Han Suryeon quickly befriended the other team members, but his sociability was almost excessive.

“Is he now? Why?” 

“Auntie, don’t you think I’m pretty?”

Where on earth did he learn the word ‘Auntie’? From the Center cafeteria? Yoon Taehwa took out his chopsticks and watched as Han Suryeon continued to chatter away.

“Oh my, you can say that again. So many demihumans come here, and it’s rare to see someone as pretty as you.”

“But our Team Leader never compliments me… He’s so stingy with his praise.” 

“You have to tell pretty people they’re pretty, or they won’t stay pretty.”

The owner, nudging Yoon Taehwa playfully, offered her unsolicited advice with a wink. Yoon Taehwa, stifling a laugh, replied, “Noted.”

“Oh dear, look at me, rambling away. The broth’s probably boiling over. I’ll be back with your order soon.”

The moment the owner disappeared into the kitchen, Yoon Taehwa kicked Han Suryeon under the table, the cheap plastic wobbling precariously.

“So, now you’re using other people to fish for compliments?”

Han Suryeon winced, his face momentarily contorted in pain. 

“Have you been here with anyone else?”

“I come here alone.”

Whenever he treated his team members to a meal, meat was usually the main menu. Kang Jaemin and Kim Su-an absolutely loved it, and even Hae Na-eun enjoyed it, so they often had meat, just switching up the kind. This was the first time he’d brought someone else along.

“You’ve never brought anyone else here?” 

His intentions were obvious. It’s not like he was interrogating a lover. A slow smile spread across Yoon Taehwa’s face.

“Wouldn’t it be a bit off to bring a girlfriend here?”

“Are you talking about your ex-girlfriends? In front of me?”

“What, I can’t?”

Han Suryeon, habitually squinting one eye, placed his hands over his chest and lowered his eyelids.

“Well, it’s fine. I’m a virgin.” 

Yoon Taehwa gave him a look that clearly said, ‘What does that have to do with anything?’ which only made Han Suryeon grin even wider.

“It’s good to try new things, right? Objects, people, dic—” 

“You said you wanted a bottle of soju, too, right?” 

The owner, returning with their drinks, interrupted him, saving Yoon Taehwa from whatever absurdity was about to leave Han Suryeon’s lips. He nodded, taking the bottle and a couple of small shot glasses.

“Call me if you need anything else.”

“Yes, we will.” 

“Thanks, Auntie.” 

“Enjoy your meal, pretty boy.”

Two steaming bowls of noodles were placed before them. Janchi noodles, a simple noodle soup dish, garnished with egg, seaweed, and scallions. Yoon Taehwa, mixing the ingredients, glanced at Han Suryeon. He wasn’t a picky eater, usually enjoying team dinners, no matter the cuisine. 

“What is this?”

Han Suryeon, his chopsticks hovering over the bowl, pointed at the soju bottle. 

“Alcohol.”

“…16.9 percent.” 

“Drink it if you want.”

He only ordered out of courtesy since it felt wrong not to drink at a street food stall, but he wasn’t actually planning on drinking. He had driven here, and he preferred not to drink outside anyway. It would be troublesome to get caught up in an altercation while under the influence.

‘If something happened, it will be front-page news tomorrow.’

Even the headline was predictable: ‘Chaebol Heir’s True Colors: Is Yoon Taehwa Unfit to be an Esper?’

He found the thought of others laughing at him more annoying than being lectured by his noona.

“I’m not good with alcohol.”

Han Suryeon, his eyes wide, carefully set the bottle down. Yoon Taehwa was surprised. He’d always assumed Russians were heavy drinkers.

“You look like you can hold your liquor.”

In his experience, those with delicate features often possessed a surprising tolerance for alcohol. Seo Yeon-eum’s face flashed through his mind. 

“I’m not…”

There was a flicker of curiosity in his eyes as he reached for the bottle. Yoon Taehwa snatched it away, twisting off the cap with a sharp, decisive movement.

“Try it, then.” 

He poured a generous amount into the small shot glass. 

“What about you, Team Leader?” 

“I’m driving.”

He offered the excuse, not wanting to explain himself. Han Suryeon, after fidgeting with his glass for a moment, raised it to his lips. 

“Will you be responsible for me if I get drunk?” 

“I’ll drop you off at the Center.” 

“You know I don’t sleep there.” 

“Which hotel are you staying at?”

“Telling you would ruin the fun.” 

Yoon Taehwa noticed his nails. They were painted a delicate shade of pink.

As if sensing his gaze, Han Suryeon took a sip, his lips parting as the clear liquid slid over his tongue. Yoon Taehwa, watching as he winced slightly, chuckled, finally turning his attention to his noodles.

“This tastes awful.”

“Soju isn’t exactly known for its… delicate flavor.”

“It’s like drinking… rubbing alcohol.”

Despite his grimace, he refilled his glass.

“You said it tastes like rubbing alcohol.” 

“It’s… intriguing. I can’t stop.”

He wasn’t supposed to be good with alcohol. Yoon Taehwa, anticipating a potential headache, decided to let it go. He wasn’t a child. He could handle his liquor.

“Is Wing H for… criminals? Considering Pavel’s there.”

“Pretty much.” 

“Wouldn’t it be easier to just… let him die?”

Han Suryeon, apparently enjoying the noodles, asked the question casually as he slurped down the broth. Yoon Taehwa, chewing thoughtfully, had to admit, it would be easier. 

“It would be, but… human rights, and all that.”

“Ah, right, human rights. Russia has those too, I think.”

From a Guild member’s perspective, the Center’s adherence to legal procedures probably seemed inefficient. 

“I have a question.”

“What is it?” 

Han Suryeon, tilting his head, his eyes softening, took another sip of soju.

“How do Hunters usually handle these situations?”

“You mean… cases like Pavel’s?”

“Yes.”

“They usually… extract the information they need… and eliminate the threat.”

Yoon Taehwa grimaced. 

Hunters, while not government affiliated, weren’t above the law in South Korea. There were rules, even for inter-Guild conflicts, and the government had the authority to intervene. 

“What about punishment? Even Hunters aren’t… exempt from the law, are they?” 

“Not sure about other countries… but Russia has its own rules.”

He set down his glass, the sound almost… triumphant. 

“You know where Kasatka originated.” 

“The government turns a blind eye?”

“We have an… understanding. We don’t interfere with their affairs, and they don’t interfere with ours. We don’t touch ordinary Guilds, though.”

Han Suryeon, popping a piece of kimchi into his mouth, continued his explanation, his tone matter-of-fact. 

“We know the difference. And as you know, most major Guilds operate the same way.”

Which meant the government condoned violence, as long as it was confined to inter-Guild conflicts. Their worlds were indeed… different.

“Any other questions?” 

Han Suryeon, raising his glass, asked, a playful smile curving his lips. 

Yoon Taehwa, narrowing his eyes, thought, ‘He’s going to get drunk at this rate…’ 

***

Yoon Taehwa sighed as he opened the passenger door, peering inside. Han Suryeon was asleep, his cheeks flushed, his breathing shallow, his chest rising and falling rhythmically. 

‘He drank himself unconscious.’ 

He couldn’t leave him passed out in a random hotel, and going back to the Center was…unappealing. He’d brought him home, his detached house, with its private garage, offering a level of privacy he couldn’t find at the Center. 

“Han Suryeon, wake up.” 

A frown creased his brow as he ran a hand through his hair. He leaned into the car, intending to unbuckle Han Suryeon’s seatbelt before dragging him out. They were both tall, which made maneuvering in the cramped space a challenge. 

He braced himself against the headrest, his body contorting as he reached for the buckle, his shoulder bumping against something soft. Han Suryeon’s nose, judging by the lack of bone. It dawned on him that unbuckling him from the driver’s seat would have been much easier.

“He’s the one who drank, and yet, I’m the one making stupid decisions…” 

As he reached for the buckle, a hand shot out, gripping his waist.

“Ugh…”

His balance, already precarious, shifted, and he stumbled forward. He braced himself against the seat, pushing himself up slightly, his gaze meeting Han Suryeon’s.

Han Suryeon was smiling a goofy, drunken grin, his words slurred and unintelligible.