Do-gil swallows thickly and glances at one of the lieutenants to his right. He promptly nods, the final encouragement Do-gil needs to proceed.
“Baekho-je,” he begins, fidgeting like a child. His ears are red and beads of sweat shine on his doughy face. “We, uh… we need to discuss what happened at the gathering a few nights ago.”
I lean back in my chair and study him with cold detachment, offering nothing in response—no encouragement or curiosity or any indication at all that I’m remotely interested in whatever concerns he might have.
“Do we?” I ask finally.
“Uh… y-yes,” he stammers. “The men are… unsettled. W-what you did to Lieutenant Nam— the manner of his execution—it wasn’t discipline. It was?—”
“I must have missed the part where your opinion on how I conduct our affairs matters,” I interject icily. My glare darkens, focused solely on him and him alone. “Is that what you think, Lieutenant Hwang? That your input matters?”
“N-no… I… I mean…” His ears redden and he sucks in a sharp breath, still fidgeting with a hang nail on one of his fingers. “Burning a man’s face in hot coals while everyone watched. Holding him there until he stopped screaming. U-until he… he died from the agony. That’s not justice, Baekho-je. That’s not the way we’ve ever done things.”
“And I’m supposed to give a fuck because…?” I demand loudly and impatiently. “Do I look like Kim Jae-hyun? Do I look like any of the ineffectual leaders you’ve had in the past?”
“No, of course not. B-but?—”
“Hurry the fuck up and get to the point. You’re wasting my time.”
“The men… they’re questioning if…” Do-gil looks on the verge of passing out as he forces himself to choke out more words. “They’re questioning if their leader has…”
“Lost his grip?” I supply almost mockingly. The corner of my mouth tilts up in a half-grin. “Gone mad? Been driven to insanity? Is fucking crazy? Is that what you’re asking? Spit it out!”
At my bark, Do-gil and several of the others flinch like they’ve been struck. You’d think they were terrified battered housewives and not ruthless gangsters in a mafia syndicate.
I suppose I inspire that much fear in them; something many would say indicates how cruel and evil I’ve become.
But to me it has quickly become a point of pride.
As Do-gil’s whole face turns a shade of deep red I’ve never seen before, Min-gyu steps forward. He’s one of the few hubaes in attendance, clearly having snuck his way into the small crowd last minute.
“Baekho-je Jin-tae has not lost his mind. He is as ruthless as this brotherhood requires. He’s?—”
“Min-gyu, don’t defend me,” I say coolly, my intimidating and unblinking gaze still set on Do-gil. “I don’t need it nor care for it. I can defend myself. But what I want is to hear more from Lieutenant Hwang. Go on, tell me why you disagree with my decisions as Baekho-je.”
The men beside Do-gil stiffen as if recognizing this is a trap.
There is no correct answer, because no matter what he says, this won’t end well for him. He seems to realize it too as he sputters out a breath and more beads of sweat slide down the sides of his face.
“No one disputes th-that he deserved punishment,” he explains, voice wavering. “But the method… it was not—executions are never handled in that manner, Jin-tae. Not even for our most treacherous of members.”
“Let me understand this correctly.” I slowly rise from mychair, regarding Do-gil as I’d done Joo-wan the night I ended him. I move from behind the desk, coming around to stop directly in front of him. He shrinks half a step back, barely able to meet my eyes. “You disagree with what I did to your fellow lieutenant. So now you are questioning my sanity. You are deciding to challenge my authority. You no longer think I’m fit to lead. Is that it?”
“No… Jin-tae, I never said?—”
“Because if you’re challenging me,” I continue over him, “then do so directly. Do so in a manner that Baekho Pa tradition calls for. A Gyeol-sa for us to settle this once and for all. I am more than happy to oblige. You can fight me to the death and see which one of us doesn’t get up. Is that what you want?”
The bright red coloring to Do-gil’s face drains all at once. He goes from the color of a pepper to the cast of a ghost, his eyes rounding.
He’s older than me by two decades and carries at least fifty pounds of unnecessary fat. He’s out of shape and never has been a fighter, even in his young days.
Going against me would certainly be an immediate death sentence, and he knows it.
“I… that’s not... I wasn’t suggesting...” he stutters, breathing heavily.
I’m about to count the seconds until he really does pass out when we’re interrupted.
Choi Woo-sik rushes into the room clutching what appears to be an envelope.
