In the house, there were dozens of people, but none engaged in proper conversation. The sound of shuffling cards, spitting phlegm, and cursing amidst cigarette smoke filled the air with vulgar, low-grade noise. Among them, a child who did not belong was tightly gripping his father’s worn linen pants.
"Manager Yang, I’m begging you like this!"
"Ah, teacher. You haven’t even fully repaid the last bit you borrowed. What audacity to ask again? You’ve nothing left to give."
Manager Yang callously closed the ledger. His remaining eye darted towards the man’s shaking legs. Half-hidden and standing, a young boy met his gaze. Manager Yang grinned, revealing a gold-capped front tooth.
"Bringing a kid to a gambling den, using your own child as a plea? Think that will soften my heart?"
The child, perhaps eight years old, was skinny and small, clearly unkempt. If the man cared for his son, he wouldn’t squander money in gambling dens. Manager Yang, zipping up a money-filled bag, pulled out a few bills. Then, mimicking the tone used for calling a puppy, he flicked his fingers.
"How old are you?"
The small hand clutching the man’s hem trembled. The child’s frightened eyes scanned the room. The adults around the tables all bore weary expressions. The large room was clouded like fog from incessant smoking, filled with a stale, foul stench. Curses and loud voices echoed, causing the child’s breath to quiver. His palms began to sweat.
"Answer when an adult speaks to you, will you? Huh? Didn’t your father teach you any manners, too absorbed in gambling?"
Manager Yang chuckled while tapping the child's head with the bills. With each tap, the boy’s skinny shoulders flinched.
"Fine, I'll take him too!"
"Huh?"
Lying across the desk, Manager Yang lifted his head. The father’s eyes were sunken, dark, his mouth smeared with bruises. His nervous eyes flickered, the face of a true gambler.
"I'll give him as collateral. He’s young, he could be useful. Put him to work, or have him beg. Right, Manager Yang, please."
"Ah, teacher. You know how hard it is to raise a kid these days? Who takes a child as collateral?"
Manager Yang stuffed the bills into the worn orange T-shirt the child wore, then pretended to dig his ear, ignoring the situation. As the atmosphere failed to lighten, the man hastily added more.
"Hongju eats little, takes beatings without a peep. I’ll pay everything back if I win this round, including what I borrowed before!"
"Sigh."
Such a sight, using one’s child as a stake, was new to him. Manager Yang glanced back. The house owner lounging with his legs up on a windowsill caught his eye and subtly nodded. Manager Yang straightened up and pulled the money bag closer. The movement made the man’s musty eyes sparkle.
"Where did you say you were playing?"
"Over there, that table."
The man pointed towards a table under the window. A gambler there, puffing a cigarette while checking his cards, caught Manager Yang’s wink. The game was rigged; the man’s chance of winning was practically zero.
"Joined quite the interesting game."
Manager Yang rolled his one good eye towards the boy. Despite the worn T-shirt and tousled hair, one eye sparkled clearly.
"That’s why you need good parents, tsk."
Muttering to himself, Manager Yang unzipped the money bag. The crisp sound of the zipper revealed gleaming bills.
"Five hundred! Just five hundred."
"Five hundred? Let’s see, your name?"
"Goo Hyeongeun, Goo Hyeongeun."
Even as he stated his name, his tired eyes checked the time. The cards were sticking in his hands; losing money had him anxious.
"We usually don’t lend without recovering the principal. But for the sake of saving face in front of your child, you know?"
"Of course, I know."
Slowly, Manager Yang opened the ledger. His fingertips scanned for 'Goo Hyeongeun.' It didn’t take long for his stubby nails to tap on a spot.
"You’ve borrowed quite a lot, Teacher Goo? Now... remaining is a total of 4,000. With what you’re borrowing now, it’ll be 4,500? You’ll need to rewrite the promissory note."
"Right, right! Just a few rounds and I’ll win!"
Manager Yang snorted and opened a drawer full of promissory notes, starting to fill in the blanks.
Total amount, 45,000,000 won. Interest, 9,000,000 won. Collateral... His pen hesitated for a moment.
"The child’s name?"
"Goo Hongju, Goo Hongju."
"Pretty name." Manager Yang muttered soullessly and swiftly made a mark. Collateral, Goo Hongju.
"Sign here."
The man, trembling, picked up the pen. Without properly checking, he scribbled his name in the signature space. Meanwhile, Manager Yang placed four stacks of million-won bills on the desk. A million won was the maximum interest allowed.
"Take your money."
Casting the pen aside, the man quickly grabbed the stacks of cash.
"Ah, father..."
The small hand that held onto his hem was harshly shaken off. The child, sobbing, tried to follow his father but was grabbed by a rough hand.
"Where do you think you’re going?"
"Father!"
The money stuffed into the worn T-shirt scattered to the floor. The son's cries seemed unheard, as the man just walked through the smoky haze.
"Father..."
The child kept calling after his father, his eyelashes drenched and lips quivering. But the father, disappearing behind the smoke, never returned. That was Hongju’s first day in the house.
***
"Hey, Hongju. Get up. You need to eat."
Hongju, his body aching, forced his swollen eyes open. They felt as if they were about to burst, puffy and painfully hot to the touch. Struggling to sit up, a small tray was placed in front of him. As Yang opened the pot lid, a burst of steam hit him, revealing a well-cooked serving of ramen. Only then did he feel the pangs of hunger.
"Ha! You look just like Manager Yang, don't you? Where's your other eye?"
"What are you talking about?"
The thug handed him chopsticks and started to laugh raucously, his harsh laughter grating on Hongju's ears. He discreetly covered his right ear to dampen the noise, feeling a heat that seemed to emit from his earlobe.
"Who beat you up like this? At the billiard room?"
The thug slurped his noodles loudly. Hongju quietly took some noodles into his bowl and ate without making a sound.
"No. It was at the post office."
"Ah. That gentleman has a decent job and still can’t quit gambling? Right?"
The thug grabbed a mouthful of noodles and noisily chewed them. Hongju quietly moved his jaw and slowly nodded. In the house, everyone harbors the delusion that they will win money. Manager Yang thrived on such foolish hope, lending out money at high interest rates to those who inevitably ended up penniless from gambling, leading to either delayed payments or absconding. Just like his own father. Hongju's job was to chase down such people, collecting debts. He’d been beaten, drenched in cold water in the middle of winter, and suffered all sorts of abuse for it. Yet, he was rather good at collecting debts. It was his way of paying off his own debts.
"If we really hit the jackpot with a big house, ask for another guy to help with collections. Someone tough and fierce."
Tapping Hongju's bowl with his chopsticks, he added this thought. It was a rough comment, but Hongju knew it was out of concern after he’d been beaten to a pulp.
"Goobong would hate that. Says more mouths to feed cost too much."
"Goobong, that bastard, always freaks about food expenses. Stingy, isn’t he?"
The thug set down his chopsticks and gulped down the remaining broth. Clang! The pot he set down was now only left with some mushrooms and a few bits of noodles stuck to it. Just as Hongju finished the noodles in his bowl.
"All done? We need to head to the temporary house early today."
"I know."
"If you know, move it. Or Goobong will start freaking out again."
The thug roughly placed the empty pot and utensils in the sink. Watching the thug's grotesque figure dressed only in a trunk in the dead of winter, Hongju got up from his seat and headed to the bathroom.
"I'll come back and do the dishes later. Get dressed."
"Of course. Do you expect me to cook and clean?"
A quick retort came back, and Hongju gave a slight smile.
"Uh."
Then he winced as his cracked lips stung. Touching them, his fingertips came away with blood. Toothpaste is going to sting. With that thought, he took out his toothbrush.
After quickly getting ready, he and the thug left the house. Their current residence was essentially a staff dormitory for house employees. It was a ✪ Nоvеlіgһt ✪ (Official version) tiny one-room shared by three men, two of whom were large thugs referred to as security managers. Hongju was squeezed between them, but it wasn’t particularly uncomfortable. They didn't bother or harass him.
The temporary house was an old inn, barely standing. It had several rooms ideal for setting up gambling tables, and the surrounding buildings were mostly dilapidated, making it obvious if someone tried to flee. Rather than renting a truck for moving tables and equipment, which was too costly, Goobong made several trips with a van, utilizing Hongju and the security managers for labor. Recalling the endless task of moving stuff, Hongju felt his shoulders ache.
"Wow, lots of suckers showed up on the first day."
True to the thug's words, several cars were already parked in front of the inn. Even in such a rundown place, there were more than a few crazy folks who came trying to get their hands on some money. Hongju shook his head with a disgusted expression.
"Hey, are you slacking off?"
A large figure drinking canned coffee in front of the building turned around. It was Choi, who alternated shifts with the thug. Their job was simply to manage disruptions with force, but fights broke out in the house numerous times a day. Choi’s massive build and grim demeanor were highly effective in quelling disturbances, a fact well known to Goobong, who carefully maintained two security managers on alternating shifts.
"Fuck, I have to stay an hour longer."
It was time for them to switch shifts, but Choi muttered irritably.
"Why?"
"They fired Uncle. He asked me to cover an extra hour."
"Uncle" was a term used in the house for those doing odd jobs or serving. There had been one helping with moving the van just earlier. Why fire someone who was working just fine? Such curiosity didn’t last long, and neither Choi nor the thug dwelled on it.
"Let’s go up."