Chapter 120: A Favor with a Price

After meeting the two men from Knocker and Gwangmyeong, Jung Joo-hoon sank into thought for several hours. He even skipped dinner. His mind was in chaos, yet at the same time, it felt as though it were cooling down—becoming strangely clear.

He had always known that a moment like this would come someday. There was no such thing as a favor without a price. That was a truth Jung Joo-hoon understood all too well.

The documentary filmed under the pretense of helping raise funds for hospital bills, and all the attention and contact that followed. Among them, there might have been a few gestures of genuine goodwill—but most were not.

The fact that the Association had never openly recruited test subjects, and that they had inserted penalties worth hundreds of millions into the confidentiality clauses—

All of it explained the current situation perfectly. And yet, even if he could go back in time knowing everything, Jung Joo-hoon was certain he would still take the Association’s hand again.

Suhan had said he preferred staying at the research facility. The researchers weren’t particularly kind, but that was no different from a regular hospital, he said. More importantly, he wasn’t in pain there, which made it better.

After years of illness, Suhan’s tolerance for pain was far higher than most people’s. Just because he didn’t say he was hurting didn’t mean he wasn’t.

Jung Joo-hoon knew such thoughts were sinful, but he was exhausted. So he justified it to himself—if his child said he was doing fine, what was the problem? With a promotion approaching and his workload and business trips increasing, he hadn’t had the bandwidth to pay attention the way he used to.

Even though Suhan had entered as a test subject, all the expenses related to his daily life were still paid by Jung Joo-hoon himself. He rubbed his dry, withered face.

The price of covering up the truth and turning away from it was bitter.

At 7 p.m., people from the Association came to see him. Their tense gazes cut sharply toward him.

He stiffened, just in case—but the Association staff seemed completely unaware of what had happened earlier in the day. As always, they wore gentle smiles and presented Jung Joo-hoon with a proposal.

“So, you’re saying the research institute will help with my treatment?”

“Yes. It’s possible that the reason your recovery has been so slow is related to that surgery you had back then.”

The Association avoided speaking plainly about anything related to the experiments. Most of their explanations were wrapped in vague, ambiguous language.

Only now did those empty gaps begin to grate on him.

“This is probably something doctors here aren’t very familiar with…”

The man glanced at Jung Joo-hoon, gauging his reaction. By then, Jung Joo-hoon wore a mild, agreeable expression as he listened intently. Encouraged, the man continued in a more confident tone.

“If you come with us, you’ll receive far more precise treatment. On the Association President’s special instructions, we’ll also cover all hospital expenses.”

Once again, the Association extended its goodwill to Jung Joo-hoon.

And Jung Joo-hoon—

“Alright. Let’s do that.”

Accepted it.

Jung Joo-hoon slowly opened his eyes. It felt as though something were stuck to his eyelids, making it hard to focus. His head swam, as if he’d just come out of anesthesia.

It felt like he’d suddenly been dropped somewhere—space and time themselves felt distorted. It took time for his dulled senses to return.

The silent space was filled with the low hum of wind. His first impression was that it was vast and cold. Then, through his blurred vision, he saw concrete walls. Bare, unpainted concrete had hardened unevenly, and exposed rebar jutted out menacingly.

The unreal scene unfolded like a movie. That was when Jung Joo-hoon realized his entire body was restrained.

A dull ache spread through his shoulders. His arms were twisted tightly behind the chair, wrapped around the backrest.

The most recent memory left in his mind was the conversation he’d had in the car with the man who came to pick him up.

The rambling, circular explanations were hard to recall clearly. He only remembered being told that once they arrived, he’d undergo a few tests and then begin treatment—simple, obvious words.

Then drowsiness had washed over him. He thought he’d merely closed his eyes for a moment, only to leap across time and space and arrive here.

“……”

No matter how much he’d anticipated something like this, the wave of betrayal was unavoidable. Jung Joo-hoon let out a hollow chuckle and scanned his surroundings.

At the very least, he’d expected them to pretend to take him to a hospital. Their intentions were so blatant that he was left speechless. He waited for the culprits to show themselves.

“This makes no sense!”

Sung Ji-woo shouted, his voice raised in anger. Park Sujin, who had been about to head home, rushed to the general store after receiving his call. Sung Ji-woo had no doubt—the Association had abducted Jung Joo-hoon.

“If we hadn’t installed a tracking function, this would’ve been a disaster.”

It was pure luck that Sung Ji-woo had added a location tracker to the artifacts he’d given Jung Joo-hoon. He’d agonized over whether to include it at the last moment, never imagining it would be needed so soon.

Park Sujin quickly pulled up the artifact’s location. A blinking signal appeared on the outskirts of Gyeonggi Province. The area was surrounded by nothing but fields. The place Jung Joo-hoon was at was an abandoned food factory, its operations halted years ago.

“A research lab, or a factory. Which one do we go to first?”

If the Association had moved, something was surely happening at the research institute as well. The lab and the factory were far apart—nearly an hour’s drive.

At Sung Ji-woo’s question, Park Sujin hesitated, lips parting without an immediate answer.

Creeeak.

With an old, predictable sound, the iron door opened. Jung Joo-hoon craned his stiff neck back to see who had entered. He expected someone he’d occasionally seen at the Association or the research institute—but the figure that appeared was completely unexpected.

“…Jedoe?”

It was Park Ji-chan, the guild master of Jedoe, currently ranked number one. His face was so frequently exposed in the media that Jung Joo-hoon recognized him instantly. Before Yoo Heero’s rise, he had been the undisputed top hunter in South Korea.

Now in his late thirties, he reeked of stale cigarette smoke. The scars once glorified as marks of honor were etched deeply into his face—one long scar stretching from his temple down to his cheek, wrinkled and creased with age.

Each time Park Ji-chan took a deep drag of his cigarette, the scar sank in along with his cheek, then puffed back out.

Jung Joo-hoon stared at him blankly.

‘Why is Jedoe here…?’

“You’re awake.”

Though he’d been there for some time, Park Ji-chan only spoke after finishing his cigarette. Unsure how to respond, Jung Joo-hoon gave an awkward nod. Park Ji-chan approached him indifferently, as though uninterested.

Whenever those lifeless eyes turned his way, a chill ran down Jung Joo-hoon’s spine. He licked his dry lips. There had once been a time when Park Ji-chan’s hearty laughter filled the largest digital billboard in Seoul.

Unfortunately, it had been placed right along Jung Joo-hoon’s commute route, forcing him to see that image for months. Even now, the memory was vivid.

Yet the man standing before him didn’t match that image at all.

Stretching out his long legs, Park Ji-chan dragged over a chair lying on the floor and plopped down. Meeting Jung Joo-hoon’s gaze, he curled his lips upward.

That clean, handsome smile—often seen in interviews—flickered briefly, then vanished.

“Your son will be safe. After all, he has to bring glory to our country.”

It was a sincere statement, devoid of mockery. For a moment, Jung Joo-hoon couldn’t tell whether the man before him was an ally or an enemy.

Still, hearing that his son would be safe brought him a sense of relief.

“…That’s a relief.”

“Yes. Unfortunately…”

The corners of Park Ji-chan’s eyes curved pleasantly, deep wrinkles forming.

“For your son to be safe, sir, you cannot be.”

“…What?”

He asked again, unable to grasp the meaning at once. Park Ji-chan gently swayed his body, as if keeping rhythm.

“The timing worked out nicely, too. You were already hospitalized, so choosing a cause of death wasn’t difficult.”

“A cause… of death?”

“Yes. You were admitted for acute cerebral infarction, weren’t you? Isn’t that the perfect reason to die?”

“Are you saying that I’m going to die…?”

“Yes. You, sir.”

His gentle tone settled softly over the words. Nothing about it felt right. Park Ji-chan rolled up his sleeve and checked his watch.

His exposed wrist bore a familiar mark—one Jung Joo-hoon often saw on his son Suhan as well. Freckle-like red dots scattered across the skin.

“Oh, this?”

“……”

“You’re thinking what you think you are.”

“Then…”

“I just got a bit of a boost from items. Cash items. That’s not a bad thing, is it?”

Only then did Jung Joo-hoon begin to vaguely understand the connection between Park Ji-chan and the Association. From the Association’s research labs, he’d been supplied with prohibited substances—drugs akin to ability enhancers.

And in return—

“Ah. They’re here.”

At the sound of footsteps outside, Park Ji-chan slowly stood up. His movements were unhurried, relaxed.

Bang! Bang!

With a violent noise, the iron door swung open. Heavy sounds echoed as light poured in. Jung Joo-hoon vaguely wondered if the visitors might be the two men he’d met earlier that day.

But the person who appeared was—

“You arrived just in time.”

A complete stranger, wearing a flustered expression.

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