Retire 553
by Cristae553 (Hunter Academy Side Story 20) A Father’s Heart_1
The day he heard the news that the Jirisan fairy dungeon had closed—
Hong Seok-young felt relief.
Sometimes in life, it’s better not to know certain things. Sometimes, not digging any deeper is the wiser way to live.
For Hong Seok-young, this little scrap of paper fell into that category.
“You found this?”
“Yup.”
“…Did anyone else? Does the Association know?”
“Nope.”
Han Tae-kyung answered in his usual dopey tone, but there was no hint of mischief. Having known Han Tae-kyung since he was a child, Hong Seok-young knew it wasn’t because he took things lightly.
If anything, it was closer to avoidance. He couldn’t stand being at the center of things.
There had been a time when Hong Seok-young found it frustrating. But he’d changed his mind. If it had been back when Han Tae-kyung was all enthusiasm, he might have scolded him to be more serious, but now… Well. He knew, for all appearances, Han Tae-kyung was doing his best in his own way. You can’t scold someone for trying.
And look—if Han Tae-kyung were really just a thoughtless troublemaker, he wouldn’t have come to him with this, avoiding the Association’s eyes.
“Alex saw it.”
“Alex?”
“I told him to keep his mouth shut. He knows not to talk about this to anyone else.”
Han Tae-kyung looked away from the scrap of paper in Hong Seok-young’s hand.
“Not that he’d tell anyone but the doctor anyway. Don’t you think he needs more friends?”
“You’re the one to say that?”
“Why not? I have plenty of friends.”
“In the Middle East?”
Hong Seok-young didn’t know the full extent of Han Tae-kyung’s connections. Like Lee Mi-seon, he was curious. It seemed to go deeper than what he’d vaguely known back when he worked in the Middle East.
“I’ve got some there. Some here.”
He was tempted to coax the whole story out of Han Tae-kyung, but he didn’t.
There were more important things than curiosity right now.
“…Was there anything else?”
“Nothing worth remembering.”
If you didn’t know what it originally looked like, the torn card would be impossible to identify.
The cheesy chauffeur ad was cut off, and the phone number for the Awakened Crime Investigation Unit was missing all but a few digits.
But Hong Seok-young knew. He knew how many of these cards he’d made. Who he’d given them to. Some, he’d collected himself after the job was done, others—like Han Tae-kyung—he’d left with people just in case.
Of course, some were never recovered. The card he’d given to Kim Yoo-hwa was on the “impossible to recover” list. He’d managed to find it in the end, but it wasn’t a happy discovery. Still, it wasn’t unexpected.
Hong Seok-young looked at the faint burn marks on the card, now sealed in a thin plastic sleeve like evidence.
“Oh, that… I thought it might get damaged if I just carried it around.”
“You did well.”
“…Why do you keep praising me?”
Han Tae-kyung looked at him with suspicion. Even when he was being praised…
“You said you were going to see Eun-young, right?”
“Yes.”
“I’ll handle this. Since you’re in Korea, take a good rest. Rest while you can. Right?”
“You sound just like the master now. Always quick to pick up the bad habits…”
“What’s that? Want to do a dungeon run together, for old times’ sake?”
“I’ll take the master’s advice to heart, deep in my bones!”
Watching him scamper off, Hong Seok-young shook his head and laughed, then leaned back in his chair, fatigue on his face. The chair teetered, then found its balance.
When was the last time he saw Kim Yoo-hwa?
‘I trust you.’
That junior had an unerring eye for people. In this line of work, his junior’s experience came first. Hong Seok-young never doubted his judgment.
‘When family’s involved, people get desperate.’
‘That sounds a bit villainous, but you’re a cop.’
‘It’s just true, isn’t it? If we follow the trail, we’ll find the kidnapped kids.’
It had been the only clue to a network scattered like clouds.
Kim Yoo-hwa had said it would be hard to meet in person for a while, and had taken a card.
‘If I can’t get out, I’ll tell them to contact you through this…’
‘Don’t jinx it.’
‘You’re the one who always says to be prepared for anything.’
That mischievous grin was the last he saw.
They kept in touch regularly after that. He gave the card, found the kids, smuggled out information, set dates.
But Kim Yoo-hwa and the inside contact never showed up at the appointed place.
Time passed, relentlessly.
Even Hong Seok-young had been powerless. All he could do was wait and hope his junior was still alive.
And then everything changed, in that moment.
‘I’m just a passerby.’
Blue flames devouring a Minotaur in Myeong-dong. A man in a suit.
Woo Hee-jae.
A son from the future.
“……”
With a deep sigh, Hong Seok-young buried his face in his hands.
He’d put subtle tricks into each card, since he’d made them with care. On some, the last letter of “chauffeur” was intact, on others it was cut off, or there might be a scratch on the bottom edge.
But the most obvious difference was the phone number. In case things went wrong, he’d arranged it so that if someone called that number, he’d know which route it had come through.
The two digits left on the card fragment matched Kim Yoo-hwa’s card. Not the second card he’d given to pass to the inside contact, but the first card he’d given Kim Yoo-hwa before he went undercover with the Ark.
The card found on Kim Yoo-hwa’s body was the second one. Given what he knew about the circumstances before Yoo-hwa disappeared, it was obvious who’d had the first card.
‘If it was going to be found, it would have been found sooner…’
He knew he was dead.
There was no way he could have survived.
He was someone who would do anything for his younger brother. The children scattered from the lab to orphanages weren’t under tight surveillance. Even when they brought Woo I-rok over, they’d called it a kidnapping—he’d just climbed over the wall and taken him.
Could he really have failed to find him?
If so, he would have tried the number on the card.
Kim Yoo-hwa was dead. The exact details were unknown. But there were reports that the lab had found a traitor, and it was obvious who that was.
Even if he allowed for the slimmest chance that he’d survived, he would have tried to make contact when Woo Hee-jae caused that uproar in France. If he’d seen a man wielding his own sword on TV, he’d have tried to find out how that man got it. And if his own brother was by that suspicious man’s side, even posing as his older brother? If it were Hong Seok-young, he’d have found out the man’s identity or killed him, no matter what.
…But with no body, there was always hope that somewhere, somehow, he was alive.
‘I used to want to find him, no matter what.’
‘Did you.’
‘Whether he was dead or alive.’
After the new student arrived—
Woo Hee-jae had once said that, offhandedly. It was after Han Tae-kyung and Alex had left for America to chase Henry Lehmann.
Somehow, the topic of Kim Yoo-hwa had come up, and since his older brother had been close to the dead cop, it was natural for him to think of him. When Woo Hee-jae hadn’t revealed he was the younger brother, he’d even suggested they help each other find Yoo-hwa and his brother’s body.
It was one of the few honest things his not-so-forthcoming son had ever said.
‘But now, I’m not sure.’
‘You don’t want to find him?’
‘If I don’t see him, I can keep thinking he’s alive.’
It was the only thing his son had ever avoided, when he was usually determined to handle everything himself.
Hong Seok-young wanted to know for sure, but he understood Woo Hee-jae’s feelings. If his wife had gone missing instead of dying, as long as he hadn’t seen her body, he could have lived believing she was happy somewhere.
So Hong Seok-young hoped nothing would ever be found—no matter who, or what.
Because if anything was found, he’d have to face the truth, even knowing there was no happy ending.
His shoulders felt heavy.
Being an adult means doing things you don’t want to do. Being a father means saying things your child doesn’t want to hear.
Hiding isn’t an option. Hong Seok-young wasn’t that kind of parent. Whatever Woo Hee-jae chose after seeing this, Hong Seok-young would respect it.
Of course, knowing his son, running away wouldn’t even occur to him.
So, after all, he hoped nothing would be found.
Hong Seok-young stared intently at the little scrap of paper in its thin plastic sleeve.
What had this little piece of paper witnessed? How old was that man? Woo Hee-jae didn’t know much about his brother. With so many eyes in the lab, even as the director’s kids, they wouldn’t have been able to talk freely.
He was probably even younger than Woo Hee-jae is now. Kim Yoo-hwa had once mentioned that he was younger than himself.
That would make him about the same age as Han Tae-kyung or Kim Chae-min. That kid had suffered so much, just for having the wrong parents.
Right to the end.
According to the Jirisan fairy, there were humans chasing after him…
Now that there was a clue, there was no choice but to search. At the very least, so that Woo Hee-jae could say goodbye to his brother. Or, if not, so that the siblings his brother had given everything to protect could know they were doing well.
It’s not as if adding one more son would be a burden, with all the money he had. To give a proper funeral, they’d need an identity. He could ask Lee Mi-seon, or Isabella…
Hong Seok-young carefully tucked the scrap of paper into his pocket. This wasn’t his—it belonged to Woo Hee-jae.
“Let’s all calm down.”
Hong Seok-young raised his voice, stopping the argument between Kim Chae-min and Sandra. In the middle, Alex’s eyes went wide. He’d grown a bit since the Noah Michel incident, but in Hong Seok-young’s eyes, he still seemed like a child. Not that any of the guild members were much different.
It was amusing to realize that the kid who acted so brazenly actually hated conflict. It was proof he’d learned how to live as a person. Probably, he just didn’t like seeing people close to him fight.
“It was good that you spoke up when you thought of something today.”
He gave the shy kid a bit of praise.
“We’re not going to change our approach to Lehmann right away.”
He cut off all the pointless speculation and worry in one stroke.
“If possible, keep gathering information on people who’ve changed bodies through contracts.”
He explained the next steps.
“Hee-jae?”
Hong Seok-young called out to Woo Hee-jae.
“Let’s talk for a bit.”
Han Tae-kyung quickly herded everyone else out. Sharp kid. Watching him go, Hong Seok-young’s expression hardened as he turned to Woo Hee-jae.
Woo Hee-jae, who’d been ready to scold his distracted father for not paying attention during the meeting, stopped when he saw that face.
“I haven’t made an official report, but Han Tae-kyung found something this time.”
Hong Seok-young took out the scrap of the business card. Woo Hee-jae recognized it immediately, but didn’t grasp its meaning—until he turned it over.
His eyes changed.
There was a name on it, not some subtle trick.
Kim Yoo-hwa.
Woo Hee-jae looked at Hong Seok-young. Instead of closing his eyes or showing fatigue, Hong Seok-young gripped Woo Hee-jae’s shoulder with steady eyes.
A silent promise that he wouldn’t let him face this alone.