Chapter 8: The Unspoken Burden

They extracted the magic stones from the dead monster and loaded its segmented corpse onto a trailer. Every bloodstain was meticulously cleaned, and the shattered debris was cleared away.

“Yongsik, your gloves again!”

Yongsik, who had been picking up the monster’s severed tail, let out a sigh.

“Ah, I told you it’s really fine.”

“Hey! What will you do if you get magic essence poisoning?! Do you want to be crippled for life?!”

Harsh words spilled from Park Myeong-seok’s lips, causing Yongsik to flinch at last. Magic essence poisoning was precisely why well-paying sites constantly suffered from labor shortages.

Over a century ago, half of humanity vanished from the world, not primarily due to monster attacks, but because of magic essence poisoning. It was a disease contracted by ordinary people exposed to ‘demonic energy’ for prolonged periods. Even hunters could fall victim to this incurable illness if overexposed.

Ordinarily, it presented no immediate symptoms, allowing for a perfectly normal life without any special precautions. However, one had to regularly consume an antidote made from magic stones. Missing a dose meant succumbing to seizures, bleeding black-purple blood from every orifice, and ultimately, death.

Yongsik grumbled but put his gloves on properly once more. The laborers clicked their tongues, remarking that such fellows only learned their lesson after suffering a terrible ordeal. Their chatter soon drifted to another topic.

“More importantly, shouldn’t Cheol-su really go on TV or something?”

“Exactly what I was thinking. He looks several times more handsome than those pale-faced kids on whatever audition show my daughter watches.”

“Ah, come on, it’s not that much.”

“…”

Cheol-su managed an awkward smile. To be precise, he probably thought he was smiling, but to others, his expression remained blank. He disliked being the center of attention. The noticeable one was that young punk Yongsik, so why did the laborers keep discussing him instead?

“Television is difficult, especially since Cheol-su… well, he doesn’t speak much.”

“Whoa there, watch your tongue.”

A laborer, moving a ‘Work in Progress’ sign, sharply nudged his companion with an elbow. The man, belatedly realizing his slip, glanced nervously at Cheol-su. Cheol-su, however, pretended not to have heard.

Whispered sighs of relief followed as the gazes drifted away. He felt utterly exhausted. Facing a monster would be far more comfortable, he mused.

It wasn’t that he couldn’t speak. He simply spoke very little, and the process from thought to verbal expression took an unusually long time.

Yet, somehow, everyone had begun to mistake him for a deaf person at some point. He found it too troublesome to correct them, so he simply let it be. It was much like how he’d let people misunderstand his name in the past.

Just then, an irritating voice abruptly pierced his thoughts.

“Everyone’s working hard, I see.”

The moment that voice registered, every brow on the site furrowed in unison. The first to recover their composure was the Hunter Association employee, who, positioned at the front, had to greet him. The employee met the young man with a broad smile.

“To what do we owe the pleasure?”

“What do you mean, ‘to what do we owe the pleasure’? I am the head of the Post-Processing Department; shouldn’t I occasionally tour the sites?”

‘Occasionally’ was the problem. ‘You bastard.’

The man was not the type to visit such places. He was the kind who belonged in a pristine office within the association, directing subordinates with a flick of his wrist while reviewing documents.

The laborers were well aware of why such a person was so frequently present at the site.

The employee’s gaze subtly flickered sideways. At its end stood a young man, silently patching the asphalt that had been gouged by a monster’s claws. The man, turning his head in the same direction, offered a languid smile.

“Brother, you’re always working diligently, no matter when I see you.”

‘Ugh,’ the employee thought to himself.

The man, Joo Jae-yeong, was the youngest son of the current city councilor, even before becoming the Post-Processing Department Manager. He was also a C-rank hunter himself. Though limited to Baekdam, this meant he was born with a silver spoon firmly in his mouth.

He used that silver spoon to exploit men.

He liked men. In this day and age, that alone was hardly a flaw. The problem lay in his specific tastes. The employee had only overheard snippets, but the details were so sordid that his face had momentarily paled. Even his position as Post-Processing Department Manager was supposedly a demotion after causing trouble.

‘Someone’s lifelong ambition is another’s demotion.’

The employee quickly dismissed his momentary philosophical musings. The spoon-shaped bomb was now heading towards the young man, who had just finished patching and was straightening his back.

“Brother. You’re out here again today.”

“…”

Cheol-su bowed his head towards Joo Jae-yeong, who approached with a grin. Then, he resumed moving the debris he had been carrying.

“Let me help you.”

Joo Jae-yeong spread his palm. The debris, which had been swaying in Cheol-su’s arms, floated gently into the air. Cheol-su reached his arm upwards. After firmly securing the debris back in his grasp, he calmly regarded Joo Jae-yeong before walking away with longer strides than before.

Joo Jae-yeong nearly got an erection right there. Everything about Cheol-su, from his face to his aura, was perfectly to his taste, and even this stubbornness was incredibly appealing. He gazed intently at Cheol-su’s receding back.

Even beneath the thick work clothes, the rippling, quality muscles were clearly visible. He wanted to strip him bare. The man’s skin would undoubtedly be as firm and smooth as the surface of a meticulously carved statue. What if he were to mark it with whip lashes?

Joo Jae-yeong narrowed his eyes, beginning to imagine in earnest.

Leather restraints tightened around the man’s entire body. With every strike of the black whip, his sweat-slicked muscles rippled. His broad, firm shoulders tensed rigidly as he endured the pain.

Even as he drooled from the gag and his thighs spasmed, the man made no sound. No matter how many times he was struck, or how hard, not a single whimper escaped him; only his vibrant eyes remained.

That imagined gaze, glaring up at him from below, was precisely why Joo Jae-yeong was so fixated on the young man now. It would surely be more stimulating than any drug. He licked his lips.

‘I should put rings on his nipples.’

He was like a sleek black panther. Nothing cheap would suit him. Upon returning today, he would commission custom platinum rings. Having decided this, Joo Jae-yeong hurried after Cheol-su, who had walked far ahead, and briefly touched his lower back before pulling his hand away.

“I’ll be going now. I just snuck out for a moment.”

The touch was indeed firm. Feeling as though he might truly lose control, Joo Jae-yeong left the spot without lingering.

Cheol-su lowered his eyes. He didn’t want to stand out, nor did he like noise. In that sense, Joo Jae-yeong was a truly difficult presence. He wished he could drag him into an alley and kill him, but that would only lead to endless commotion afterward, making it an unfeasible option.

Ignoring him was undoubtedly the best approach. Cheol-su refocused on his work.

Meanwhile, Park Myeong-seok and the other laborers, who still held somewhat conservative views in these matters, concluded their work under the misconception that the association manager must be quite fond of Cheol-su, perhaps even considering scouting him.

“Phew, it’s finally over.”

“Everyone’s going for dinner, right?”

The laborers erupted into simultaneous suggestions: soju with samgyeopsal, duruchigi with samgyeopsal, or simply both. Cheol-su silently returned his equipment and changed his clothes. Everything was done by the book.

“What about you, Cheol-su?”

Park Myeong-seok asked out of courtesy, though he already knew the man’s answer. Just as he had done that morning, Cheol-su bowed his back and head, then turned and walked away.

“Well, he certainly lacks warmth.”

“Leave him be. He can’t even speak; why would he want to come to a noisy gathering?”

“That’s true. Just let him be. He’s a diligent and good guy.”

“Indeed. A hundred times better than Yongsik, or whatever his name is.”

Three people were absent from the dinner that day: a laborer whose son was waiting for the ice cream he promised to buy, Yongsik, who had a night date with his girlfriend, and Cheol-su, for whom no one waited.

He walked home at a slow pace. At a crosswalk, he pulled out a palm-sized book and began to read. A person nearby glanced at him, as if seeing something peculiar. In this modern age, a paper book was already a rarity, but it was, surprisingly, a dictionary.

The light changed, and Cheol-su returned the dictionary to his pocket. The words he had just read lingered, floating in his mind.

After walking aimlessly for a while, he suddenly remembered he needed to check tomorrow’s site. It was certainly quite a distance. Upon checking, it was indeed on the opposite side of the city. It was so far that he would have to take a car early in the morning to arrive on time.

As Cheol-su checked the bus numbers, he stopped at a convenience store along the way and picked up three lunchboxes. With the warm lunchboxes, heated in a microwave, he soon turned into a secluded alley.

Opening the rusted gate, a staircase leading downwards immediately came into view. He descended the steps, which were slick with standing water and moss, his feet splashing softly.

A musty, single-room basement apartment—this was Cheol-su’s dwelling. It was much like the place he had lived in as a child. The only changes were the addition of a palm-sized window, however small, and the absence of his father.

The interior was stark. A bedding set, a single pillow, a salvaged chest of drawers, and a coffee pot constituted all his belongings.

Setting the lunchboxes on the floor, he entered the bathroom. Cold water poured from the showerhead, yet he paid it no mind, letting the stream hit him directly on the crown of his head. Transparent rivulets cascaded over his well-defined muscles.

The phrase ‘his entire body is a weapon’ seemed tailor-made for Cheol-su. Strangers, upon seeing him for the first time, would immediately think of a soldier or a gangster. Their gaze would then fall to his clothes, certain that stab wounds and bullet scars lay hidden beneath.

Yet, Cheol-su’s body was, in reality, remarkably smooth overall. Even the old scars on limbs that most people acquired in childhood were entirely absent from him.

There was only one true scar. However, that single mark was quite substantial.

Across the entire left side of his chest, an area roughly the size of two palms had a distinctly different texture. It was the indelible trace of skin having been completely ripped away once, only to be filled in with new flesh. Consequently, Cheol-su had no left nipple.

After soaping and rinsing, he dried himself with a towel. A faint pattern emerged over the scar on his chest. It was always subtly visible, but when his body warmed up like this, it became strikingly clear.

His calm gaze was fixed on his chest in the mirror. The lingering trace of a pattern remained alongside the scar. This signified that a collar still bound his neck.

For now, it was merely a trace, meaning the collar’s owner was unaware that he was alive or in the intermediate realm. However, if he were to wield demonic energy or undergo another shedding, causing the chest scar to vanish, the contract of subjugation would be restored. Then, the ‘bastard’ would be informed one way or another.

His calloused fingertips traced over the scar. Even scratching it hard no longer hurt the surface. Instead, a deeper ache resonated beneath. With dark, sunken eyes, he stared at the wall for a long time.

How much time had passed? As if waking from a daydream, Cheol-su belatedly came to his senses and silently exited the bathroom, acting as if nothing had happened.

The convenience store lunchboxes had grown cold.

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