Passion (BL Novel)

“Uncle seems smart, but he’s not, really…”
Jeong Tae-ui whispered like a sigh.

He knew. Even if his uncle caused him hardship, he ultimately couldn’t hate him.
Tae-ui clicked his tongue bitterly and closed his eyes again.
Then it happened. He thought he heard a sound.

He opened his eyes.
Footsteps approached from afar. The old wooden floor creaked faintly. The heavy steps were neither slow nor fast.
Tae-ui looked toward the instructor room door.

Maybe it was an early-arriving assistant instructor. Or perhaps a staff member who came up to breathe some fresh air.
The footsteps grew closer. They brushed past the front door, then past the office. Tae-ui kept his gaze fixed on the door until the footsteps stopped in front of the instructor room.
At last, the door opened. The man beyond the door stopped when he saw Tae-ui sitting alone in the dark room. Tae-ui sat facing the window, backlit, so the man squinted trying to make out who it was. Tae-ui could clearly recognize the man frowning slightly at him.

It was Mackin.
The person he wanted had come. Tae-ui had wondered how likely it was that Mackin would be the first to show up in the instructor room, but it seemed he, like Tae-ui, had not slept well.
Mackin entered and recognized Tae-ui, raising his eyebrows slightly. Then he went to his seat and sat down.

“You came early. Looks like Instructor Riegrow hasn’t come out yet.”
Mackin’s voice was lower than usual. Tae-ui, hidden behind a partition, silently nodded. It would be troublesome if Riegrow was here.
As usual, Mackin unfolded a newspaper first thing. The sound of flipping pages came faintly from beyond the partition. One page, two pages—only after slowly flipping did he ask in a casual tone, as if nothing was wrong,

“So, did you finish the work?”
“Yes… mostly.”
Tae-ui tightened his clasped hands on his lap. A vague unease rippled within him.

The sound of flipping stopped. After a brief silence, Mackin repeated,
“Mostly?”
His voice was faintly sharp. Hearing the wary, uneasy tone, Tae-ui felt his anxiety ease a little.
“I finished everything you said, but I haven’t sent it to the last address written.”

“...Why?”
Mackin asked sharply. In contrast to Tae-ui’s easing tension, his tone grew more unstable.
He folded the newspaper he hadn’t flipped much. Then left his seat and approached Tae-ui, sitting quietly opposite him. Tae-ui met his gaze.

For a moment, Tae-ui looked away. Somehow the situation felt absurd. From the start when he helped—with his uncle’s job, precisely—he knew it wasn’t legal work. So he couldn’t preach morality to Mackin. Even if Tae-ui weren’t involved, the outcome would happen anyway. The leaked documents would leak through some hands, and whoever wanted to use them would find a way. Knowing all this and still stepping in, pretending noble now was ridiculous. Yet ignoring it felt like a thorn stuck in his throat.
“Did you know what kind of file that was?”
Tae-ui raised his head and asked, looking Mackin directly in the eyes. Mackin didn’t avoid his gaze, but only furrowed his brow.

Tae-ui hoped his suspicion was wrong—even if it meant becoming a laughingstock. In fact, he didn’t care if someone sold a nuclear weapon to a militant group in the Middle East. He wasn’t the type to rouse indignation over such things. Even if Mackin sold something somewhere, it didn’t matter. Even if it was something Tae-ui’s brother had developed, or if it was extremely dangerous.
But he couldn’t tolerate that his uncle, knowing well, was stealing it illegally.
If even one of those things weren’t true, Tae-ui could pretend ignorance. He could apologize politely for making a fuss based on assumptions and send the file immediately. Even if his uncle scolded him later, it would be fine.

Why hadn’t his uncle answered the phone? Even that small possibility unsettled him.
Mackin stared silently at Tae-ui. After a long look at Tae-ui’s expressionless face, he sighed deeply and spoke.
“You must know this isn’t something to be talked about outside.”

“Yes.”
“Then what’s the problem? I won’t ask about your shame over the illegality... But you don’t like that your brother’s invention was leaked, do you?”
Mackin picked up an ashtray neatly placed by the window and set it on the table. Then he opened a small drawer under a nearby cabinet and took out a pack of cigarettes. Offering one to Tae-ui, he hesitated but took one. He didn’t light it, instead placing it quietly in the ashtray groove.

Tae-ui smiled bitterly.
Of course. It was his brother’s formula. If Mackin knew it was something his brother touched, his uncle surely knew too.
“Can I ask something? How did you know your brother invented it? Was that his specialty? I heard he was in the military.”

“I didn’t know for sure. I only guessed. Was it really made by your brother?”
When Tae-ui muttered this absentmindedly, Mackin frowned for a second time. He seemed to regret his words and intended to be more careful. But Tae-ui had already heard what he wanted.
Now... it was time to rethink. What should he do?

He couldn’t prevent the leak fundamentally. Nor did he want to. If Mackin and others had conspired in this, Tae-ui wouldn’t have minded. Actually, he didn’t care where this was headed. He only felt bitter about his uncle’s involvement.
Because of that bitterness, Tae-ui didn’t want to help. He even considered exposing the matter to stop it—even if it caused a commotion now and, later, someone tried the same again after things calmed down.
“If this gets out, both Instructor and Director Jeong Chang-in would be in trouble.”

Tae-ui muttered, not intending to threaten, just voicing his thoughts. But Mackin took it differently.
Mackin looked at Tae-ui silently while smoking. Then he flicked ashes and muttered,
“Jeong Instructor was so confident he wouldn’t mess up... and look where it got us... Even if this leaks, it won’t be as bad as you think for us. If anything, you’ll be in more trouble. So it’s not much of a threat.”

“Threat? I have no intention of threatening.”
“Then why say that?”
Tae-ui closed his mouth again.

Why say it? That was what he himself wondered most. He wished someone would tell him what to do here. All he could do now was complain to his uncle.
Why? Why his brother? Why did his uncle try to steal what his brother created? Why was it his uncle?
He wanted answers. His uncle must have had answers that could satisfy him. Then his heart wouldn’t feel so heavy. After answering, his uncle might even say, “Don’t fuss over such a small thing.”

Tae-ui bowed his head, silent for a long while, then muttered, not quite to himself,
“Well, what did I expect? Why did I do it? …Why?”
Though the “why” was aimed at his uncle, to Mackin it didn’t sound that way. Mackin looked at Tae-ui with a bewildered expression—as if staring at a crazy person. A flicker of difficulty crossed his face for the first time. Mackin knew many ways to manipulate clever people but found those who were a little crazy harder to handle because he never knew what they might say or when.

To Tae-ui, Mackin wasn’t important. He looked weakly at Mackin and muttered the question he really wanted to ask his uncle:
“Why did you do it... why?”
“……”

Mackin stared hard at Tae-ui, as if doubting whether he was truly crazy.
Then, suddenly, laughter burst out. It sounded like suppressed laughter finally released, echoing heartily down the corridor from outside the door.
Mackin’s face stiffened. Tae-ui frowned slightly. Though he had brought up the subject to Mackin, he didn’t want anyone else to hear. He knew well that no one else should overhear.

But someone was standing outside the door. Without hearing footsteps, they had been leaning on the door, eavesdropping on their conversation.
Before the man who entered and turned to them with a dismayed look could be seen, Tae-ui already knew who it was.
“A masterpiece, Tae-ui.”

The man who came in still had laughter in his voice. It was Ilay—the same man who had been with Tae-ui just hours ago.
More than the awkwardness of being caught overhearing a sensitive talk, Tae-ui blankly wondered why he was here. It was still too early for the instructors or assistants to have come out. Was this a coincidence, coming early by chance?
…No, it wasn’t.

Tae-ui hadn’t heard him approach. If he hadn’t walked carefully to avoid making sounds, the old wooden corridor would have announced his presence from the far end. He already knew they were in the instructor room.
“Ilay... you…—”
Tae-ui weakly tilted his head and looked at him, opening his mouth but unable to speak.

A faint smile flickered at Ilay’s eyes as he looked at Tae-ui. Then his gaze shifted away to Mackin. With a pretended troubled expression, Ilay said ambiguously,
“Well now...”
Mackin’s face hardened further. Anger surfaced in his eyes as he coldly glared at Tae-ui.

“So, it was a scheme you and Riegrow cooked up together.”
Jeong Tae-ui’s anger flared as he opened his eyes wide.
“That’s not—”

But before he could finish denying, his words trailed off.
He had not conspired with Ilay. Yet Ilay was here now, feigning surprise but wearing a smile that said he had known all along.
Tae-ui closed his mouth and lifted a suspicious gaze to Ilay. Their eyes met. Ilay only smiled faintly and said nothing.

But then, with a softer voice than usual, he gently said to Mackin,
“I have no idea what you’re talking about, Instructor Mackin. I just came out early because I had unfinished business from yesterday. If I had known you’d be having such a troublesome conversation, I would have come later. This is awkward indeed…”
“...—”

 
Mackin glared at him with a face like he had just bitten into something foul.
Indeed, thought Jeong Tae-ui faintly, still confused in a corner of his mind. Mackin had surely prepared an escape route in case things went wrong. So even if Tae-ui complained to his superiors, the situation would already be arranged so it couldn’t be used as leverage against him. There would be no evidence left behind. Rather, Tae-ui would be the one in trouble. At least that uncle of his wasn’t careless in his work.
But if there was testimony from a correctional officer, the story might change. Even if no direct effect occurred, no /N_o_v_e_l_i_g_h_t/ one could predict what internal problems might arise. Mackin wouldn’t be so confident then.
While vaguely thinking this, Tae-ui stared blankly at Ilay. With a vague smile, Ilay muttered, “I really have no idea what you’re talking about…” and pulled something from his pocket, fidgeting with it as if his phone was ringing.
A short mechanical sound, like a lighter’s click, echoed briefly. Tae-ui stared fixedly at the small silver recorder in Ilay’s fingers as he coolly put it back into his pocket.
Tae-ui no longer looked at Mackin. Only Ilay filled his vision.

It felt like the darkness of the blue dawn hanging thickly in his head was slowly, very slowly brightening.
Light often came from small words carelessly passed over. The words they had casually thrown to Tae-ui were actually clues.
—Instructor Jeong Chang-in doesn’t like Jang Til very much.

Suddenly, Ilay’s words from some time ago flashed in Tae-ui’s mind. He had smiled and called it a joke.
Tae-ui looked at Ilay with a blank expression. His mind was still shrouded in dim darkness. But one thing he knew: Ilay knew everything. Even when he came to see Tae-ui just a few hours ago.
Just like his uncle had predicted everything from the start, Ilay had already known.

“There might be some misunderstanding, and this isn’t something I can solve on my own authority. I don’t want to embarrass Instructor Mackin over nothing... —For now, I’ll temporarily send my assistant instructor away on duty by my authority. We can talk about the rest later.”
Ilay’s voice sounded unreal, as if coming from somewhere distant. Without blinking, he glanced briefly at Tae-ui, who was staring at him. A chilling smile flickered in Ilay’s eyes.
The only way to sense the passage of time was when meals arrived. He could have looked at the clock by lighting a fire, but Tae-ui had come in, settled down, and did not move from there. He sat quietly with his head bowed, lost in thought, and when the food came, he gauged his position in the darkness and took a few bites before stopping.

When he first came in before, he had desperately wished for even a faint light, but now he did not need it. He knew which switch to touch to turn on the light, but he had no reason to need light now. He just sat there quietly. The detention was still the same. Well, it wouldn’t change much in a few months. In that dark, gloomy prison, Tae-ui looked down at his own hands, invisible in the pitch black. He touched the base of his pinky. The thin skin brushed his fingertips. The palm just below was calloused, but his fingers were still soft.
“Hey. You asleep?”
The voice came from just one wall over, but the wall was very thin, and in front of it was a sparse iron grate. The voice was clear as if spoken right beside him. Tae-ui sighed and answered curtly, “No.”

The man in the adjacent cell had been talking to Tae-ui since earlier.
Tae-ui didn’t really feel like talking to anyone and often answered absentmindedly or ignored him completely, but the man paid no mind. He had said with his own mouth, “I’ve been rotting here in detention for a long time, I’m bored to death, and I’ve got mold growing in my mouth for lack of anyone to talk to.” So he was clearly very bored.
Tae-ui wanted to be quiet now. He wanted to close all his senses and lock himself inside. That was why he thought detention was perfect. Unless he purposely looked for light, he could be engulfed in total darkness. If not sharing a room with anyone, no other sounds would bother him. So he thought it was good when he came into the empty room, but he didn’t expect a surprise like that man next door.

He thought it would have been better if he’d been in the same room as that man. Then at least he could have stuffed a towel into that bastard’s mouth to shut him up.
Before lunch arrived, Tae-ui learned that the man next door was born into a wealthy family in Kuala Lumpur and at fifteen had gone alone to Shanghai to study. While staying with relatives in Shanghai, he had safely entered university and joined an overseas volunteer camp as a freshman, which led to his decision to join UNHRDO. The man had two older brothers: an accountant and a trader, and younger siblings—a brother and sister still in school. The sister’s name was Retching. She was so beautiful that she had been cast by chance on the street and once appeared in a TV commercial.
Unfortunately, the next room down this corridor was empty, so Tae-ui was the closest person to the man.

Unable to endure it any longer, Tae-ui spoke gruffly when lunch came, “I’m going to eat and then sleep, so don’t talk to me.”
The man quieted down a bit as promised. Tae-ui sighed and sank into silence. But before long, the man suddenly spoke again, “You asleep?”
Tae-ui said nothing. He wasn’t in the mood to reply. The man closed his mouth again, which Tae-ui took as a relief.

Until dinner came, the man tried talking a few more times, but Tae-ui kept quiet. He didn’t even feel like eating dinner. Though he had managed a few bites at lunch, he didn’t touch his tray at dinner.
At dawn, before the workday began, Ilay immediately put Tae-ui into detention. He gave Tae-ui no chance to say anything. Only when they reached the seventh basement floor, just before entering the detention room, did he give a faint smile and say one thing: “Rest comfortably until I come to get you.”
Rest comfortably, he said. Rest comfortably.

“Rest, my ass… damn bastard.”
Tae-ui muttered low.
If he tried to rest here, this would have been a good place. He could catch his breath away from the chaotic world. If only they had put him here a day earlier, Tae-ui might have smiled and said thanks.

“Hey, you up?”
No sooner had he muttered this than a voice flew over from next door. Damn it. Tae-ui shut his mouth again.
“You sure sleep well. You’ve been out since lunch, huh? Must have been pretty tired. But you must have walked in here holding a grudge. Who’s that damn bastard?”

The man asked cheerfully. Tae-ui sighed and answered, “There is. A guy who doesn’t see people as people.”
“Ah. That’s a real bastard. I know one like that. There’s a guy I know who’s so full of himself he crushes everyone else. …No, you don’t have to look far.”
Suddenly, the man’s voice turned grim. It continued with a chilling bitterness.

“That’s exactly why I came in here. A guy who doesn’t see people as people. A butcher who kills humans with bare hands. A mad killer who laughs covered in blood!”
“……”
Tae-ui stayed silent. He knew one such person—truly despair-inducing if there were two in the world.

“Man… you shouldn’t get involved with that guy. So, how’d you end up here again?”
Tae-ui asked subtly. The man’s voice suddenly cut off. After a moment, he muttered through clenched teeth, frustrated and depressed.
“That crazy bastard killed my comrade. So I got a big revolver and fired at him…”

“Hm……”
Tae-ui answered ambiguously and fell silent. He seemed to know who this man was—the third oldest brother of the beautiful Retching from Kuala Lumpur, who grew up in Kuala Lumpur and went to university in Shanghai.
“That dumb newbie messed up by sticking his nose where it didn’t belong! Damn it. That idiot was just carrying an empty gun and going wild. When I get out of here, I’ll find him and twist his arm!”

“Hmm……”
So that crazy bastard was this guy. The madman who stormed the crowded cafeteria with a .50 caliber revolver, firing wildly. Tae-ui recalled the promise to beat him up if he met alive.
Tae-ui glanced that way. Nothing could be seen in the darkness, but he stared silently in the direction of the voice. He changed his mind—he was glad not to be in the same room with this guy. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have just shoved a towel in the guy’s mouth; he might have strangled him with it. That would have caused a murder charge.

But then again, depending on how you look at it, you could say all of Tae-ui’s current misery stemmed from that man. That damn guy probably targeted him when he was alone, and instead of attacking quietly, burst into the cafeteria, dragging Tae-ui into the mess. Tae-ui regretted interfering then and had to avoid that crazy murderer at all costs, running whenever he saw him even from afar.
It couldn’t be said for sure, but Tae-ui thought about ninety percent of his misfortune was that damn guy’s fault.
For a moment, a wave of resentful rage surged through him like a wildfire. If he had been nearby, he might not have killed him for real, but he probably would have choked him nearly unconscious.

But as he thought that, Tae-ui sighed. People say when you’re unlucky, you break your nose even falling backwards. How could everything be that guy’s fault?
Maybe all this misfortune was predicted the moment he entered here—or even before that.