Was he resentful? He left without a word. Was it because he was resentful that he told them to bring me? If so, he could have just said one thing: that Shin Lu was looking for me, and then I would have followed without hesitation.

But as Jeong Tae-ui hurried back toward the lobby, a strong hand grabbed him from behind. The grip on his shoulder made him freeze, stopping in his tracks. When he turned anxiously, Ilay held him with an indifferent expression.

“That guy is probably already at the hospital or somewhere else. Even if he’s still there, he’s not in a state to take you to the Ling family.”

“Where is that?”

Tae-ui asked immediately, but there was no answer. Instead, a cold gaze returned. After a brief pause, a slow voice came.

“You want to go?”

“...”

Tae-ui didn’t answer. Slowly, beneath that cold stare, he recalled reality. The emotions that had briefly seized his mind began to subside.

If I go. If I meet Shin Lu again. Will anything really change? It didn’t seem so. Shin Lu would still be the Shin Lu he knew, and he himself would be the same. So, ultimately, nothing would change.

But it felt like there was something to say. Words left unsaid still lingered. What could they be? Tae-ui wondered quietly, meeting Ilay’s gaze. Suddenly, he heard a short click of the tongue.

“Good grief... You really lose your head the moment you hear that name, Jeong Tae-ui. Let me tell you something. I guarantee you—once you step into that family, you’ll never come out alive. Not until you’re a corpse.”

The hand gripping Tae-ui’s shoulder loosened slightly, then the neat fingers gently patted his shoulder, as if reprimanding a disobedient child.

“You can’t avoid meeting.”

He had to meet him at least once. And say something. Otherwise, he would remain trapped in this limbo. Even after decades, relationships linger that way. If you don’t settle things one way or another, the situation lasts forever.

Suddenly, the hand patting Tae-ui’s shoulder stopped. Ilay’s gaze froze too.

“Alright...”

Ilay released Tae-ui’s shoulder, sighed lightly, and took a step back. He shrugged as if saying it couldn’t be helped.

“I’ve been a bit scatterbrained these past few days. I guess my head’s clearing a little. I’ve just been rambling nonsense.”

He clicked his tongue and spoke in a tone both regretful and icy.

“Just say the conclusion simply. You’re not going.”

That was the last thing he said.

Ilay may have said a few more words after, but Tae-ui didn’t understand them. It wasn’t until he realized a fist was digging into his abdomen that he began to feel the pain—several seconds later.

“...”

No words came out. A wave of nausea rose from inside. Reflexively, he clamped his mouth shut and collapsed where he stood. Ilay lightly supported him with one arm.

His vision blackened. A ringing buzz filled his ears, and cold sweat drenched his spine. Surely the organs inside his abdomen were shattered into pieces.

If he lost consciousness now, he would die and never open his eyes again. Half-conscious, Tae-ui watched the ground tremble before him as if through a pinhole in a blackout screen. Ilay hoisted him on his shoulder and headed back toward the elevator. Tae-ui couldn’t move a finger.

The pain was unbearable. No, it was beyond pain. It was the sensation of imminent death.

As the elevator began its heavy ascent toward the room, Tae-ui barely managed to move his lips.

“That guy earlier... really didn’t deserve that...”

Despite having been hit himself, he found his words strangely ironic, but the thought was the first to cross his mind. He’d rather die quickly.

He relaxed his body and sagged. It hurt worse than running on a shattered ankle. He wished he could faint, but even that wasn’t possible. Shaking on Ilay’s shoulder, he muttered inside, “This guy’s a monster. A monster...”

When Tae-ui thought he might regain his senses enough to move, they were at the room door. Ilay casually reached into Tae-ui’s coat pocket, pulled out a card key, and opened the door.

Each step Tae-ui took caused his injured abdomen to throb painfully, and he pressed one hand against it as he followed Ilay inside. He collapsed onto the bed like a sack.

Ilay ignored his presence and went to the window. He took off his suit jacket and draped it over the chair back, loosened his tie, and fetched a beer from the minibar.

“...”

Trying to move caused his abdomen to ache like muscle soreness, but lying still was bearable. Tae-ui decided to remain still for a while.

Strangely, Ilay said nothing. Though not normally very talkative, even in cases like this, he usually said at least a word or two. What could he be thinking, staying so silent?

Tae-ui shifted his gaze around, slowly lifted his head, and lightly rubbed his belly. Damn, he’d been beaten badly. Perhaps Ilay had wanted to make sure he stayed quiet by punching him himself.

Tae-ui took the beer can and looked sharply at Ilay’s back by the window. Still, he didn’t forget to keep watch, ready for Ilay to suddenly turn around.

Then, suddenly, Ilay emptied the beer can in one gulp and set it down by the window. He kicked the nearby chair hard.

Bang!! The large wooden chair crashed against the desk. The mirror hanging on the wall behind the desk shattered with a loud crash, breaking into pieces.

Tae-ui, clutching his abdomen on the bed, stopped moving and stared wide-eyed.

Ilay’s expression as he turned from the window was no different than usual—indifferent, slightly languid. He walked to the broken chair and stomped on its frame, crushing the thick wood like a rotten branch. The shards of mirror tinkled crisply.

Tae-ui raised an eyebrow slightly.

He’d seen this man’s abnormal side countless times. His daily life was abnormal. Just moments ago, he’d beaten a man like a butcher. So breaking some furniture wasn’t such a big deal.

But Tae-ui had never seen Ilay direct his violence toward objects like this without purpose—like breaking a table leg to strike someone or pinning down a weapon-wielding attacker on a table. Even venting anger by breaking things would be more human, but Ilay wasn’t that kind of man. When angry, he killed the cause immediately.

“...”

Just a moment ago he seemed in a good mood, so why was he kicking things now?

Tae-ui muttered under his breath, watching Ilay with a strange expression, then sighed.

“Why vent your anger on things when it doesn’t suit you?”

He almost regretted saying that, realizing it could easily be misunderstood. Not that he meant Ilay should vent his anger on him.

But thinking it over, what reason did Ilay have to vent anyway? Tae-ui wasn’t about to run off searching for Shin Lu. In fact, even just speaking his mind without resorting to fists would have made Ilay comply, since he ❀ Nоvеlігht ❀ (Don’t copy, read here) had no chance to win.

Ilay’s sudden mood change seemed to come from Tae-ui saying he wanted to meet Shin Lu. That meant Ilay didn’t like the idea of Tae-ui meeting Shin Lu. Why? Did he dislike Tae-ui or Shin Lu...?

Tae-ui looked into empty space, thinking deeply, and came up with the simplest hypothesis. Then he quickly shook his head.

No, that couldn’t be. Absolutely not. Ilay wasn’t the type to have such human feelings. Moreover, that feeling would be the furthest removed from the essence of this man. It would be easier to connect a goldfish to a space shuttle than understand that.

So maybe there was some reason Tae-ui shouldn’t meet Shin Lu. What could it be? Or maybe not that at all...

“...Ah.”

After thinking hard, Tae-ui reached a very simple and easy-to-understand conclusion.

Maybe Ilay just doesn’t want Tae-ui to argue. If Tae-ui quietly goes to his room and tries to return to the lobby, Ilay would get annoyed. If so, that’s easy enough to understand.

With Ilay’s temper, Tae-ui muttered grumpily, stepping on the broken mirror shards while Ilay looked at him, suddenly opening his mouth.

“Doesn’t it suit you...? Ha ha, if I act like this, doesn’t it suit me? Then what would?”

With a half smile and slow voice, Ilay took a step forward—one step, two steps—toward the bed where Tae-ui sat. Tae-ui clicked his tongue. Damn, he’d handed him an excuse.

“Good timing. I have to ask you something. Lately, I’ve been confused about what suits me. I’ve never felt like this before, but lately what you say... and what I say... are different.”

His index finger touched his chest over his heart. Ilay paused his hand there, smiled awkwardly, maybe really troubled. That subtle smile vanished the moment he stopped in front of Tae-ui and gazed down with an expressionless, doll-like face.

“Tae-i. You sometimes do ridiculous stupid things, but you’re also pretty smart. So let me ask you something: between the advice of the head and the advice of the heart, which is right?”

“...”

Ilay was right in front of him. He bent his waist and leaned over Tae-ui’s head, whispering quietly as his hand brushed Tae-ui’s nape. The hand, soaked in blood moments ago, was now unbearably smooth.

Tae-ui frowned.

He couldn’t exactly grasp what Ilay meant. Still, he suddenly felt this might be a very serious issue. But he didn’t know which way.

He thought deeply. Ilay was looking down at him from about a foot above.

“When you’ve treated others roughly until now—more specifically, when you knocked that man out earlier—”

“Hmm...?”

Tae-ui opened his mouth seriously, and Ilay raised his eyebrows, signaling him to continue.

“At that time, whose advice did you follow—the head’s or the heart’s?”

Though “knocked him out” was a euphemism for turning someone into a bloody mess, Tae-ui secretly thought neither the head nor the heart should ever advise making someone that mangled. Rationally or emotionally, there was no good outcome. So he wondered how to respond regardless of Ilay’s answer.

But it turned out he didn’t have to worry.

“My head and heart aren’t that contradictory. Most of the time, they get along very well. Whether it’s stabbing someone in the neck or ripping out their heart, neither side has ever opposed the other.”

Hearing this, Tae-ui fell silent.

He’d known it but still realized: this man truly felt no conscience. How did his life come to cross with such a man?

He scratched his head. Whether following head or heart, if neither felt guilt for destroying people like that, the outcome was the same. But if he answered “Either is fine, they look the same to me,” he’d be in trouble.

Tae-ui frowned, thought some more, and gave an answer that might fit most cases, though probably not Ilay.

“The head’s better. Logic over emotion. You’ll have fewer regrets later.”

Though useless if the logic itself was broken, he concluded silently.

Ilay looked at Tae-ui blankly, then muttered slowly.

“The head, huh? Follow logic over emotion...?”

“Yeah. I think it’s better.”

Despite his serious interpersonal problems, Ilay Riegrow was terrifyingly smart in different ways from Jung Jae-i. His ability to read people’s minds and predict futures based on behavior was chilling. So his logic might be the path that spared him regrets.

“Follow what the head says, huh.”

A whisper came like a murmur. Looking at Tae-ui with unreadable eyes, Ilay slid his hand down again, stroking Tae-ui’s nape, then lowering his hand to wrap around his neck. His thumb pressed gently against the middle of Tae-ui’s throat, just above the windpipe.

Tae-ui’s face tightened slightly. A memory flashed—the white hand clutching a neck, piercing skin and muscle with those fingers.

Right now, if this man wished, he could take Tae-ui’s life in an instant.