Chapter 5: $370,000 Isn’t Won

“…?”

When the man didn’t react for a long moment, Si-hyeon slowly lifted his head. At the same time, Hae-jun spoke.

“I didn’t realize 370,000 U.S. dollars would become 370,000 won in your mind. Surely you didn’t think 5.6 million dollars was 5.6 million won either. At that rate, even if you collected every Carnelli painting in existence, it wouldn’t qualify as much of a hobby. Are you lacking, or just not thinking?”

Why does he have to say it like that?

Fire sparked in Si-hyeon’s eyes. He turned sharply to retort, but the next sentence froze him solid.

“Three hundred seventy thousand dollars is roughly four hundred million won.”

Four hundred million?

Before the words could properly register, he felt the blood drain from his face.

“Did you think we’d bill you in a currency other than dollars in the United States?”

It wasn’t even mocking, just a flat recital of fact. Still, Si-hyeon stood there like a statue, mouth hanging open. Only when his tongue felt bone-dry did he manage to croak:

“…What?”

“The painting wasn’t 5.6 million won. It was 5.6 million dollars. Approximately 7.1 billion won.”

Four hundred million. Seven point one billion.

Amounts he had never touched, never even imagined as numbers in his lifetime.

Dollar.

The word spun in his head.

Of course currency values were different. How could he have mixed that up? Did hitting his head once scramble his brain?

Hae-jun watched his expression carefully.

“Does it make sense to claim collateral over my property with a few hundred thousand won? The item you stole isn’t something that can even be properly valued. I’ve wasted enough time.”

As soon as he finished speaking, he moved to stand.

Si-hyeon shot up halfway and grabbed the sleeve of Hae-jun’s shirt. The pristine fabric wrinkled instantly beneath his desperate grip. Hae-jun’s gaze sharpened, but only briefly.

Money he had never seen in his life was about to become his debt. A wrinkled shirt meant nothing.

“President Cha Hae-jun.”

“…”

“Did I ever tell you how impressive you are, sir?”

There was no pride in front of money. Si-hyeon forced a smile so hard his lips trembled.

The response was merciless.

“They say dementia is trending among young people these days. I suppose that was self-introduction.”

“…What?”

“I’ll cover the cost of a dementia test. Rest. While you’re hospitalized, I’ll ensure you’re comfortable. You should be grateful for even that much generosity.”

‘This bastard is messing with me on purpose.’

Si-hyeon’s eyes widened, but Hae-jun walked out without a backward glance.

****

“Please, just let me go! I need to find my wallet!”

“I’m sorry.”

“On what grounds are you stopping me from leaving? I need to reduce that hospital bill and painting debt even a little! I didn’t steal anything! Um- uh- what was it-! The embassy! Let me go to the embassy!”

“I’m sorry.”

“Please! I have to find my wallet! I didn’t steal anything! Call the police! Sue me if you want! Report me! I didn’t do it!”

“I’m sorry.”

After Hae-jun’s visit, Si-hyeon made continuous attempts to leave his hospital room. None worked. The explanation was simple: as a key suspect, he could not be released.

Clutching his hair with his one functional hand, he eventually collapsed back onto the bed. There was no solution in sight. He didn’t have time to lie around like this, but the guards stationed at the door blocked even a single step outside.

Hae-jun had claimed they were security personnel assigned to prevent his escape. In practice, they were stone Buddhas.

“I need to use the restroom-”

“There is one inside.”

That excuse died mid-sentence.

“Please let me go find my wallet. I really need it!”

“I’m sorry.”

Their attitude was impenetrable. He tried saying he wanted fruit from the convenience store. That he just needed a short walk in the garden. Every request was met with the same calm apology.

Even his last attempt had failed minutes ago. Conversation was impossible.

“Unbelievable…”

Muttering, Si-hyeon dragged both hands through his hair. No one had ever told him how to handle something like this. No guidebook for paying off billions. No instructions for when disaster struck overseas.

‘Maybe I shouldn’t have lost my temper. Maybe calling him “president” with that goofy smile was the problem.’

Lying there, he replayed Hae-jun’s final words about dementia and squirmed in regret.

He shouldn’t have just called him “president.” He should’ve gone higher, chairman, at least. He shouldn’t have stopped at saying he was impressive. He should’ve added that he looked strong, capable, kind even.

If he’d just played along with the dementia comment, maybe claimed memory loss…

Four hundred million. Seven point one billion.

The numbers floated before his eyes like hallucinations.

Meanwhile, treatment continued regardless of his protests. He tearfully insisted they stop anything that cost money, but the medical staff simply did their work and left. Whether it was because his English wasn’t strong enough, he couldn’t tell.

After two days, he felt like he was going insane.

The cast on his arm and the bandaged leg made movement miserable. He hadn’t had a proper conversation with anyone, only muttered to himself.

Back at the factory, the older men used to joke: if someone gave you food, clothes, and money, could you stay locked in a room alone for a month?

Back then, he’d said that sounded like the best deal in the world. Free food, free lodging, alone in a room.

Now he was living that exact scenario.

Except there was no money. Only debt piling up.

“Ah! I didn’t steal anything! I said I’d pay it back! I won’t run! I swear!”

After thrashing around in frustration, Si-hyeon jumped up and scanned the room. The only possible exit was the window, and it barely opened wide enough for a wrist.

He checked the walls. Solid. No convenient movie-style ceiling vent.

Refusing to give up, he searched every corner for over thirty minutes.

He paused at a painting on the wall. The hotel painting he’d thought was worthless had turned out to be worth 7.1 billion won. Who knew how much this one cost? Slowly, he withdrew his hand.

Instead, he crouched and inspected the heavy planter beneath it. Later he even crawled under the bed, sweeping the floor with his stomach like a human mop. Nothing.

Like a hedgehog expanding its territory, he combed every inch of the spacious hospital room. Dust gathered in his nose.

Still nothing.

Finally, he stormed to the door and flung it open, glaring up at the broad-shouldered guard.

“I’m going to find my wallet.”

“I’m sorry.”

“If the goal is surveillance, just come with me.”

“Yes. We will accompany you.”

For the first time, a different answer.

Si-hyeon’s eyes lit up.

“Really?”

“We were instructed that if you request it, you may leave accompanied by security personnel.”

“Then why didn’t you say that before?”

“You didn’t ask.”

“Wow…”

He was too stunned to even swear. The curse rose to his throat but he swallowed it.

Without changing out of his patient gown, he hobbled out immediately.

Exactly fifteen minutes later, he returned quietly on his own.

“Ah, damn…”

Humiliation burned hotter than anger.

Was Cha Hae-jun some kind of expert in psychological torture?

“Can’t just one of you come with me?” he asked weakly.

“I’m sorry.”

After hearing “I’m sorry” three more times, he shut the door and retreated.

Why did he have to walk around trailed by seven massive men in black? Anyone would think he was a gang boss.

Stubborn pride flared.

What crime had he committed, really? If anything, his only sin was having catastrophic bad luck, wallet stolen, jaw punched.

If not for that, he wouldn’t have returned to the hotel. Wouldn’t have been accused. Wouldn’t have broken a 7.1-billion-won painting.

While lingering near the door, he noticed a dome-shaped security camera mounted high in the corner.

His gaze shifted between the camera and the door.

Slowly, he returned to the bed.

He tore the bedsheet into thin strips, tying them together into a length of fabric. Then he rummaged through the planter and retrieved a heavy, smooth white stone, slipping it into his pocket.

“Didn’t think I’d ever use this like this…”

It was a trick he’d learned as a child while drifting around the countryside, from an old man who’d owned the land.

With nimble fingers, Si-hyeon locked the door from the inside. He gauged the height, rotated his wrist experimentally.

It had been a long time, but his hands remembered.

He was furious at being branded a thief in a foreign country. Furious about losing his wallet. With misfortune piled on top, it felt like rock bottom.

At this point, he had nothing left to lose.

Facing the camera, Si-hyeon raised his middle finger several times.

Then his wrist began to move.