Passion Novel - Volume 6 - Chapter 134

He wanted to leave. And Jeong Jaeui likely understood that answer from Jeong Taeui’s immediate silence.

Jeong Taeui wanted to leave this place. The urgent anxiety he had felt immediately after hearing the brief news from outside had subsided somewhat, but a restless ripple, like tiny waves, still pulsed in his heart.

Leaving here was simple. As Raman said, Jeong Jaeui just needed to provide the appropriate design that he wanted. Jeong Jaeui clearly didn’t want to, and had said he would never make weapons again, but he would surely nod if Jeong Taeui asked him to.

However, Jeong Taeui didn’t want to do that. He didn’t want to make Jeong Jaeui do something against his will because of his own personal matters.

Jeong Jaeui, knowing Jeong Taeui’s thoughts, also knew Jeong Taeui wanted to leave, yet he chose not to speak first.

Jeong Taeui let out a frustrated grunt and rubbed his hair vigorously with the towel, as if tearing at it. It was almost dry now; no more water could be wrung out.

Jeong Taeui glanced at Jeong Jaeui.

He was sitting in a chair by the window in the study, listening to music. Raman, who had promised to provide anything to ensure his comfort, truly kept his word, readily providing any albums Jeong Jaeui wanted to hear or books he wanted to read.

Right, I want to leave, but perhaps my brother would be much happier staying here.

Jeong Taeui draped the towel he had used to dry his hair around his neck and looked around the study with a slightly weary gaze. He still clearly remembered the surprise he felt when he first entered this study. At first glance, it seemed simple: a large desk and bookshelf, a separate chair by the window—the very chair Jeong Jaeui was sitting in now—a few decorative items on a shelf, a small potted flowering plant, and on the opposite side of the bookshelf, audio equipment and countless records.

He had seen that desk and bookshelf in the UNHRDO general manager’s office. Even if it wasn’t the exact same, it was very similar. And rumors among the staff said that the cost of that desk and bookshelf was equivalent to outfitting an entire multimedia classroom.

That chair—yes, the one Jeong Jaeui was sitting in—he had seen it at an exhibition by a famous overseas furniture artist not long after he was discharged from the military. It was displayed preciousy in a separate partitioned booth in the very last corner of the exhibition hall, and the exhibition catalog boasted an astronomical price. It didn’t feel like a mere trick of the light that it looked so similar.

Perhaps because of this, the potted plants and decorations also looked unusual, and finally, Jeong Taeui was speechless at the audio equipment.

He wasn’t a fanatic, but Jeong Taeui had been interested in audio equipment as much as his friends were interested in cars or motorcycles. So, he knew very well that just one of those speakers was worth about the jeonse (lump-sum deposit) price of a small apartment in a big city.

It was a very belated realization, but the owner of this residence was none other than an Arab royal. Even if he was far down the line of succession, he was still someone who held oil money. Thinking that far, Jeong Taeui recalled Raman’s face and clicked his tongue in displeasure.

Indeed, just having a residence of this scale in such a place already said it all.

“I feel like I’m going to develop a prejudice against these diamond-spoon-fed bastards…”

Thinking about it, it was true. Ilay, Xinlu, and that Raman fellow—they all seemed to have unsatisfying personalities.

“Or maybe their personalities turned out that way because they have too much money…”

Jeong Taeui seriously considered that prejudice before shaking his head.

No. He shouldn’t harbor prejudices. Jeong Taeui had grown up repeating that to himself because his brother was a victim of prejudice.

He’s so smart, his personality must be a bit strange, or He’s so smart, he must have social problems, or If he’s that smart, he must be an utterly unlucky human being—Jeong Taeui had heard countless such whispers by chance.

So he tried not to listen to common prejudices. But thinking of the man Raman made him feel his prejudice deepening.

Jeong Taeui sighed as he watched his brother, comfortably seated in a chair as expensive as a house, gazing out the window.

Whatever. In any case, he was providing Jeong Jaeui with the utmost convenience. At least, he wasn’t resorting to violent treatment, either environmentally or behaviorally, to enforce his demands. In a situation where he could have anything he wanted, living a quiet life, reading books as he pleased, and researching whatever he wished, must have been a happy life for Jeong Jaeui.

Jeong Taeui sat on the floor, resting his chin on his arm propped on his knee, and silently watched Jeong Jaeui. And then he blurted out.

“What if that man gets tired of waiting and starts rampaging, threatening to cut your throat if you don’t produce it immediately?”

Jeong Taeui recalled Raman’s unreadable eyes. He didn’t seem like the type to act out with such fervor. But if he did, what would Jeong Jaeui do? Would he nod, thinking there was nothing more precious than life?

He had never thought about it before, but the Jeong Jaeui that Jeong Taeui knew didn’t seem likely to do that. He would probably ponder for a moment with an indifferent expression, then offer an alternative that would satisfy both parties—that seemed most like Jeong Jaeui.

Well… even if he came charging with a knife to cut his throat, with that Jeong Jaeui, the blade would probably snap suddenly, saving his life.

Jeong Jaeui shook his head at Jeong Taeui’s words.

“He’s not that emotional or hot-headed. He’s patient, very meticulous, and cold. He’s someone who can kill his emotions and wait as long as it takes to get what he wants, so there’s not much to worry about.”

Jeong Taeui recalled Raman. And he re-evaluated Jeong Jaeui’s words, who had observed him longer than himself.

Then, suddenly, someone came to mind, and he sighed, mumbling to himself.

“He’s the exact opposite of someone.”

Jeong Taeui knew someone who, driven by his emotions and boiling blood, would not hesitate to tear a person apart instantly.

The moment he recalled him, Jeong Taeui’s face began to feel hot again, and he rubbed it vigorously with the wet, cool towel he had used to dry his hair. He closed his mouth tightly, recalling the man’s face, which must be raging outside the walls of this annex.

He had even thought it might be good to hide here. Yes, instead of living a life next to that madman, where he didn’t know when his end might come, enjoying a quiet and secluded life here—though somewhat inconveniently confined—might be good.

That man Raman had threatened underground prisons if necessary, but considering his attitude of spending money to set up and treat Jeong Jaeui as a precious guest for an unknown duration, it didn’t seem likely. So, it might be good to live a peaceful life with his brother in this small paradise.

“……”

Still, he had to leave. He thought so.

The anxiety that had been subtly resurfacing in his chest caused Jeong Taeui to clench his fist, which had been propping his chin. In doing so, his fingernail scratched his cheek, and he let out a soft “Ouch.”

Jeong Jaeui watched Jeong Taeui silently for a moment, then asked.

“Who is that opposite person?”

“Hmm? Oh…—Ilay… Riegrow.”

For some reason, it felt awkward to say the name immediately. Jeong Taeui felt unnecessarily self-conscious and paused for a moment before slowly speaking the name, even though it was impossible for Jeong Jaeui—no matter how terrifyingly brilliant he might be—to know the full story between Jeong Taeui and that monstrous man.

Jeong Jaeui nodded.

“Ah. Kyle’s younger brother, wasn’t he…”

Jeong Jaeui said that and then fell silent again. He remained silent for quite a long time. Jeong Taeui, feeling awkward and mumbling little, noticed Jeong Jaeui continued to be silent. After a significant pause, Jeong Jaeui opened his mouth.

“I’ve met that person too… Taeui, did you become close with him?”

Jeong Taeui felt incredibly conflicted at Jeong Jaeui’s cautious question. He didn’t think their relationship could ever be described as “close.” And furthermore, he didn’t even want it to be described as “close.”

If Jeong Jaeui didn’t know what kind of person Ilay Riegrow was and asked if they were close, that would be one thing. But if he had met him, Jeong Jaeui would surely have understood what kind of bastard he was.

And yet you ask if we’re close, brother? Aren’t you being too cruel?

Jeong Taeui felt a momentary resentment towards Jeong Jaeui but quickly changed his mind. Perhaps, unexpectedly, Jeong Jaeui and Ilay had a brief encounter that left a relatively good impression. Perhaps they just exchanged polite greetings through Kyle’s introduction.

“No, not that close… but how did you meet Ilay, brother?”

“Hmm… It was when T&R was testing a prototype gun they made, and he shot at me, curious to see how much luck I had.”

Jeong Taeui stared at him in astonishment at Jeong Jaeui’s casual remark.

He knew Ilay Riegrow’s temper, but he had no idea he would do such a thing. And what was with this brother of his calmly recounting such an incident, then asking if he was close with that guy?

“No, we’re not close, not close at all. That Ilay, he’s absolutely dying to eat me alive.”

Jeong Taeui waved his hand. It wasn’t a lie, and he couldn’t think of any appropriate facts to elaborate on, so Jeong Taeui stopped there.

Jeong Jaeui looked at Jeong Taeui as if he wanted to say something, but remained silent.

Silence lingered for a moment. Jeong Taeui quietly stared at the wood grain on the floor in that silence, then softly asked.

“So, brother, do you dislike him?”

After saying it, he wondered if he had spoken unnecessarily. Asking wouldn’t change anything. Besides, it was none of Jeong Taeui’s business what Jeong Jaeui thought of him.

He’s not that bad a guy though. No, he’s definitely a bad guy, but to judge him solely on that one image of trying to shoot him… well, that’s enough to judge him. No, but still…

Jeong Taeui mumbled to himself, collecting thoughts that were more like curses than compliments. Jeong Jaeui, who had been silently watching Jeong Taeui, opened his mouth.

“I haven’t met him since then, and I haven’t had any reason to dislike him. But… I might come to dislike him a little.”

“Oh? Why?”

Jeong Taeui asked back, puzzled. But Jeong Jaeui didn’t answer.

At that moment, the record playing stopped. The record had finished spinning, and the sound ceased. Jeong Jaeui stood up and walked towards the audio component.

Seeing his resolute back, Jeong Taeui thought he didn’t want to talk any more. Jeong Taeui scratched his head. He had no disagreement that the guy was a bad guy, but hearing him say he might come to dislike him so decisively didn’t feel entirely refreshing.

Still, he has his good points, too, he began to mumble, but then suddenly came to his senses. He realized he had no answer if asked to list what those good points were.

Watching Jeong Jaeui’s white fingertips lightly brush over the tightly packed records, deciding which one to pull out, Jeong Taeui suddenly recalled a distinct white hand in his memory.

Jeong Taeui knew that hand.

How that hand looked, how it felt, how it moved across skin, Jeong Taeui knew.

Suddenly, he wanted to touch that hand. That white, beautiful hand, always hidden within menacing gloves. Its glass-smooth nails. Its powerful yet un-clumsy gestures.

“……”

Jeong Taeui shook his head.

I’ve been having strange thoughts again and again.

He lay on the floor. The cool wooden floor was as pleasant as the sun-warmed stone floor outside. But even as he felt that pleasant sensation on his back and shoulders, Jeong Taeui thought of the white hand.

“I really must be schizophrenic…”

Jeong Taeui suddenly mumbled to himself.

And at some point, he slapped his own cheek. The slap, which passed over his cheek quite painfully, was much harder than he intended.

“Ouch, ouch,” Jeong Taeui covered his face and rolled onto his side, rubbing his cheek with tearful eyes. He then felt Jeong Jaeui’s presence returning and sitting back in his chair behind him, so he sat up and turned around.

“Why are you suddenly hurting yourself?”

Jeong Jaeui said with a faint smile. Jeong Taeui vaguely mumbled, “Oh, nothing,” and shrugged.

If he couldn’t find an answer by agonizing and thinking alone, he wouldn’t think about it. Someday, when they met again, he could just grab him by the collar and ask. (Though, there was a chance his wrist, which had grabbed the collar, might be broken before he even got an answer.)

Jeong Taeui quietly looked at Jeong Jaeui’s white hand, different from Ilay’s. And he reached out, idly taking his hand. Jeong Jaeui raised an eyebrow, puzzled, but remained still.

Holding his brother’s hand, Jeong Taeui briefly thought about how strange it must look for two grown brothers to be holding hands, but then dismissed even that thought.

Suddenly, Jeong Taeui’s gaze fell. There were feet as white as hands. Even though he had just been out in the courtyard, there was no trace of dirt on his spotless feet.

Come to think of it.

“Where are your shoes? Why are you walking barefoot?”

When Jeong Taeui asked, Jeong Jaeui looked puzzled. He tilted his head, as if it was strange for Jeong Taeui, who had also been walking barefoot for days, to suddenly ask. He looked down at his own bare feet.

Jeong Taeui probably wouldn’t have asked until the day he left this place, had he not seen Raman’s feet earlier. He wouldn’t have found it strange here; he would have just assumed it was normal.

However, on second thought, others—like the man guarding the door or the women who occasionally passed through the corridor—were neatly wearing shoes.

“Well. I haven’t seen shoes since I came in here. They only bring me shoes when they allow me to go sight-seeing in Baheb sometimes. I haven’t really thought about it.”

Jeong Taeui frowned.

He couldn’t precisely know the hidden meaning behind not giving him shoes, but the immediate implication was imprisonment. Of course, not having shoes wouldn’t prevent him from stepping on the ground outside, but the word “imprisonment” suddenly came to mind with its full, literal image.

“…I don’t like it.”

Jeong Taeui blurted out. Jeong Jaeui tilted his head slightly, as if trying to follow the context of his words.

“Not wearing shoes?”

“No, not that…—that man. The owner of this house. I really don’t like him.”

Jeong Jaeui looked at Jeong Taeui’s face, which showed a sulky expression.

“What did he say to you?”

“It’s not so much what he said, but his personality and way of doing things just don’t sit right with me.”

Jeong Taeui said that, inwardly clicking his tongue. It sounded just like a child. He didn’t often think about liking or disliking someone. Let alone expressing it openly.

But.

That subtle tone of voice when he spoke of outside news. Those eyes that smiled without smiling. That chilling gaze that seemed to observe him.

“…Anyway, why does he come here so often when he keeps getting rejected? If he doesn’t have too much time on his hands, he should come less often.”

“Still, these past few days, since you arrived, his visits have been less frequent.”

Jeong Taeui frowned, puzzled.

“He comes every day.”

“Hmm…—But before that, he practically lived here.”

“…What does he do here?”

Jeong Taeui stared intently at Jeong Jaeui.

He had thought Raman seemed strangely familiar with every nook and cranny of this annex whenever he came here, because it was his property.

However, thinking about Jeong Jaeui’s words, it wasn’t just because it was his property, but perhaps he was accustomed to the space itself.

“He mostly asks questions he’s curious about. Like you used to ask me often.”

“Like you used to ask me often.” Hearing that, Jeong Taeui immediately understood.

This quiet, taciturn brother rarely initiated conversations or asserted himself first with others. Most of the time, he would only give brief, necessary replies when spoken to.

However, he knew many things, and his knowledge wasn’t merely academic. In every field—judgment in various situations, understanding, logical deduction—he was exceptional.

Jeong Taeui, too, would often hold Jeong Jaeui and talk at length whenever he had something important to think about. Then Jeong Jaeui would listen to what he said, ask questions to fill in missing parts of the story, remove excesses, or correct them, leading him to the conclusion he needed. This sometimes happened during arguments with friends, or with unsolved assignments, or important life choices. And the conclusions reached through conversations with Jeong Jaeui had never once disappointed Jeong Taeui.

If my brother ever runs out of ways to make a living later—though he’d never be like that, even if everyone else in the world starved from lack of work—he could be a counselor, Jeong Taeui had once said laughingly, as a joke.

“…I didn’t realize he’d be counseling here. But that man doesn’t seem like someone who would need counseling at all. What on earth does he ask?”

“Well, we mostly talk about the trends in power struggles… but it’s not really something that can be talked about with others.”

Jeong Taeui mumbled, “Haa.”

Perhaps it was because he viewed him negatively, but he thought that man lived a very comfortable life. Not content with kidnapping and imprisoning his brother to make weapons, it sounded like he was squeezing his brain every day under the pretext of counseling.

“My poor brother,” Jeong Taeui mumbled, then crumpled to the ground, collapsing where he sat. He felt the wood grain on his cheek and closed his eyes.

“Taeui.”

A voice as pleasant as the cool wooden floor. He wasn’t asleep, but he wanted to hear that voice again, so he didn’t answer. The voice called his name once more. Jeong Taeui opened his eyes instead of answering.

“Do you want to go outside?”

Jeong Jaeui asked quietly. He looked at Jeong Taeui with a calm gaze.

If Jeong Taeui nodded, he would nod too. If Jeong Taeui said he wanted to leave, he would undoubtedly seek a way out for Jeong Taeui. And there was only one way he could do it.

Jeong Taeui was silent for a while, then mumbled.

“Uncle looked for you. Yes, Kyle was looking for you too.”

“……”

“I didn’t look for you to take you back. Just seeing you is enough. I just missed you after not seeing you for so long.”

Jeong Jaeui nodded faintly, barely perceptibly. It was unclear whether he meant he understood, or that he felt the same way.

“I don’t mind going back alone.”

Jeong Taeui said. If Jeong Jaeui wanted to stay here, Jeong Taeui was fine with going back alone. That also meant Jeong Taeui didn’t want to stay here.

However, this time Jeong Jaeui shook his head. The meaning was immediately clear. Raman would not allow Jeong Taeui to leave alone and pose a threat to Jeong Jaeui’s confinement. He expected as much. Jeong Taeui wanted to leave and had to leave, but he had no intention of forcing his will by going against Jeong Jaeui’s wishes.

“……”

Sorry, Ilay. You’ll have to keep looking for me out there for a while. I might have to stay here for a while.

But the anxiety you might be feeling, I share it too, so don’t be too angry. And… if we ever meet again, please don’t kill me instantly…

He woke from a light sleep.

He thought he heard a voice somewhere. But when he opened his eyes, there was no one there.

“…—lay…?”

Jeong Taeui called the name of the person who seemed to have called him just moments ago. He was sure that person had called him.

But when he woke up and found himself alone, he soon realized he must have been dreaming.