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Doojoon felt his heart sink when he heard the news of Yongguk’s sentencing through the grapevine. The first thing he did was to bust into Inspector Kang Minsik’s office like he usually did.

“Did you hear?”

Inspector Kang looked up from his work without even batting an eyelid. As a matter of fact, he had heard, and he’d been anticipating this outburst ever since. “About what?” he asked, more out of habit than actual curiosity.

“Yongguk is being suspended without pay for six months before being re-assigned to an outpost,” Doojoon clarified, closing the door behind him. He stared accusingly at his superior. “You said that it was going to be a light sentence and he was going to be back in no time.”

Kang sighed, removing his reading glasses so that he could rub his eyes. “I said that because I assumed that he was going to follow the plan and say what was expected of him. He had a full meltdown at the hearing. If you’d heard what he said, you’ll know that it’s a miracle he still has a job.”

Doojoon looked doubtful. “Why? What did he say?”

“Nothing you need to know,” Kang dismissed. “What’s it to you anyway? Since when did you care so much about him?”

Doojoon sat down at the chair in front of Kang. “Don’t you feel sorry for him?”

Kang looked deep in thought for a moment. “He doesn’t need us to.”

“I know,” Doojoon said. He knew that Yongguk had very strong pride, and that he hated to be pitied, but he couldn’t help it. “I just can’t help feeling sad. He was so confident and had so much talent. In fact, he’s just pulled off something that no one else has been able to do for decades, and he should be proud of his achievement, but he just looks like he’s lost all will to live. It’s cruel.”

Kang snorted. “What’s cruel? Reality?”

Doojoon stared at his superior, a challenge in his eyes. “Our methods. Don’t you think this could have been avoided? Don’t you feel even the least bit guilty?”

Kang wanted to tell his junior that he was over-stepping his boundaries, but he knew that it wouldn’t have any impact on Doojoon. He was too logical and simple-minded. It made him a bit dense. “Do you know what’s the difference between you and Yongguk? Do you know why a guy like him was chosen for this dangerous mission while guys like you would never in a million years get to go undercover?”

Doojoon got the sense that Kang was mocking him, and what was more embarrassing was that he couldn’t quite figure out what about. “Why? He can act better?”

“It’s not just the acting. He’s street-smart,” Kang pointed out. “If we talk about IQ, the two of you are probably not too different, but he far outstrips you in terms of EQ. He’s been around people from all walks of life, and he knows how to read social situations. Most importantly, he knows how to react and adapt. The stories we fabricated were not iron-clad; when people doubted him, he had to improvise and convince them. He had to re-invent himself constantly. Most of us would get flustered in such situations, but he pulled it off.”

Doojoon blinked, not getting the point of the story. “Why are you telling me this?”

“Being in touch with emotions can swing both ways,” Kang continued. “While it makes him a better actor, it also makes him empathize with others easily. He spent a long time with those people, so it’s understandable that he started to feel for them, and at some point, I believe he lost sight of himself. He doesn’t have a family, so he had nothing to ground him in reality. Ji Eun was the closest thing I could think of to save him, but unfortunately, he developed feelings for Choi Nara much earlier than I’d expected. I think he started seeing that other world as his reality, which is why he’s having a hard time now.”

Kang sighed when he thought about Yongguk. Although he’d never admit it, Doojoon was right. Yongguk was a sad sight to behold.

“But, you know what? He’s not the only undercover who’s been through this. He needs time to re-adapt, but he eventually will. He doesn’t have that world to fall back into, so he’ll slowly learn to let go of that false identity and live as himself again. People like him are strong mentally, so there’s no reason for you to pity him. You should watch your back because when he comes back to his senses, he’ll be challenging you for promotions.”

Doojoon was silent. Maybe Inspector Kang was right. Based on what he’d observed, Yongguk had been really in love with Choi Nara. During the time that she’d been in police custody, he’d seen how Yongguk would just sit in front of a CCTV and just look at her with that guilty, broken expression on his face. He knew that the brawl that had broken out at Choi Jung Hoon’s funeral that eventually led to Choi Nara’s escape was no accident. Maybe without Choi Nara, he’d come to his senses.

“Anyway, I have another piece of news that’s sure to get your in a twist again,” Kang said, pushing the file he was reading across the table. “Yoo Young Jae and Moon Jong Up were sentenced this morning.”

Doojoon perked up and reached out to grab the file. His eyes scanned the report, and then his jaw dropped. Predictably, his next words came out in an exclamation. “Five years?! For trafficking drugs and arms, murder, extortion, rioting… I could list their offences for a day and a half! Five years?!”

“Lack of evidence, plus their lawyers discredited every single witness we put on the stand,” Kang said nonchalantly. “They presented a very convincing case about them being young and ignorant and just wanting to gain social acceptance from being in a gang. They even managed to put in a plea bargain with some sob story about broken families and low IQ. If they behave, they can even get out in as little as three years.”

Doojoon was dumbfounded for a full minute as he read the report. “But… they’re the right-hand men to Choi Nara! They’re two of the privileged few who were even allowed near the guns! And isn’t Yoo Young Jae the brains of their entire little unit? Poor judgment, my !”

“It’s our word against their lawyers’, and damn, those lawyers had a lot of words to back them up,” Kang pointed out. “They must have a lot of cash stacked away somewhere that we didn’t manage to find.”

“How is this even fair?” Doojoon exclaimed. “I can get more than three years for stealing a loaf of bread!” He stared incredulously at Kang. “How can you be so calm? After we worked so hard to put them behind bars, they’re making a mockery of the law!”

“Didn’t I always tell you to look at the big picture?” Kang admonished. “These guys are small fry. The big fish are gone. Even if they get out of prison in three years, so what? They’re followers, not leaders. Without their organization, they’re not going to be able to do any harm at all. In fact, they might be better off staying in prison. They’ve built up a reputation of being Choi Nara’s men, and nobody is going to take them in readily.”

“Still, five years is ridiculous!” Doojoon declared. “How do those judges even live with themselves knowing that they gave petty thieves longer sentences than two of the most dangerous criminals in the country?”

“Haven’t you figured it out yet, Yoon Doo Joon?” Kang said, shaking his head at his foolish junior. “We live in a world of appearances. Why can’t they live with themselves if the facts have been presented to them as such? It doesn’t matter what you think of your own deeds; what matters is how the people that are important perceive them. That’s why gangs can survive and grow so well.”

That made the whole conversation come full circle for Doojoon. Now he understood. Everything was a mind game for the people who could see the big picture. It was like a chess game that the pieces had no control over. He was just a pawn, and as much as Yongguk’s abilities had been hyped up, so was he. They were important for the moves to be completed, and so were given the illusion of power, but in truth, they had no authority to effect any changes, even if they saw impending danger.

The biggest difference between him and Yongguk was that Yongguk had already realized it long ago.

Nara lay in bed, letting her mind wander to the past. She had to lie down a lot lately. The doctor said she was anemic, so even with the pills to curb the nausea, she felt dizzy and weak often. Since she couldn’t do much, that left her with a lot of time to think. Over time, it hurt less to think about Yongguk, so she occasionally allowed herself to think about him for short pockets of time. In small doses, the pain was manageable. It reminded her that she was alive.

She couldn’t help thinking about the last time they’d seen each other, outside the funeral parlor. That image of him sitting in the pouring rain, looking at her with so much sadness, was seared into her brain.

“Nara, I need… I love you.”

She hated him so much for saying that to her, after all he’d done. What did he wish to achieve by telling her that? Was it another game? Was he being sincere? If he was, was she supposed to care about his feelings, after he’d deliberately cheated her and ruined her whole life? She’d lost her family, her livelihood, and two of her closest friends because of him, and he thought his feelings mattered to her? It didn’t matter that she felt the same way, that she couldn’t get her heart to quit feeling like it still longed for him. Nothing was going to change the fact that he’d taken everything away from her. Even at the last moment, he was selfish for not letting her let go of him.

It would probably have been easier to move on if she was sure that everything had been a lie, and she could hate him whole-heartedly. If she didn’t wonder if he’d really felt something for her during the deception.

She was so deep in thought that she didn’t notice Himchan standing at the doorway of her room, just watching her.

It pained him to see her like this. It reminded him of the times she’d lost people close to her – after Jonghyun and Butler Lee had passed. Although he told himself that she was probably mourning the death of her father, a part of him knew that thoughts of Yongguk was probably causing her more anguish. He knew it wasn’t just that she felt responsible for everything that had happened. He knew very well how much she loved him, and how hard it was going to be for her to stop loving him.

He knew this because even if she’d done the same thing to him, he wouldn’t have been able to stop loving her.

He stepped into the room hesitantly. Ever since they’d arrived at Daejeon, he’d kept his distance from her. He was afraid that he wouldn’t be able to handle his emotions around her, because he was so angry. He was angry at Yongguk for causing her so much pain, and at her for letting him continue to hurt her. He was furious at her for carrying Yongguk’s child, and keeping it despite how much he’d hurt her. He was furious at Yongguk for not even knowing it and appreciating how lucky he was. If he allowed himself to admit it, he was insanely jealous, and that jealousy manifested into an irrational rage that he had to fight to suppress. But he’d come to terms with it. He knew that there was no point in being jealous, and that it was foolish to let his emotions get the better of him. There were bigger things to worry about, and as the oldest one in the house, it was his responsibility to worry about them.

It’d been a while since they were close enough for him to do it, but it felt normal now for him to lie down next to her. He turned to face her, and he saw the momentary surprise in her eyes. They used to lie beside each other and talk for hours until they fell asleep, but a lot had changed since then.

“You feeling okay?” Himchan asked softly.

Nara nodded. “I took my medication. I’m just feeling a bit tired.”

Like old times, Himchan reached out to brush his hand through her hair, and he was relieved that she was relaxed and comfortable with his gesture. “I need to discuss something with you. Do you feel up to it, or should I come back later?”

“I can talk now,” Nara replied. “What’s the matter?”

“I’ve just been thinking,” Himchan said. “If you’re going to keep the baby…” He paused, his dry lips. It was still hard for him to talk about it. “You can’t be living and going around with three men. People are going to talk, and the last thing we want is to draw attention to ourselves.”

Nara understood his concern. In Seoul, the police were still raiding places linked to the Black Dragon, and the trials for those arrested were ongoing, so they were still being mentioned in the news. Being certified as deceased didn’t mean they were in the clear yet. She’d experienced herself the discomfort and judgment when she’d gone for the ultrasound with Daehyun and Junhong, neither of whom were her husband. People were bound to talk. “What do you suggest?”

Himchan drew in a deep breath and exhaled heavily. “Let’s get married.”

Nara’s eyes widened in surprise, and she stared incredulously at Himchan for a moment. She searched his eyes for signs that he was joking, but found them humorless.

He was absolutely serious.

“No.”

Even though he knew that she didn’t mean it in a malicious way, the bluntness with which she said it still hurt a little. “Why not?”

“I know you’re doing this for me,” Nara said. “But I can’t accept it. Eventually, you’re going to meet someone you love, and you’re going to be stuck in this pretend marriage with me. It’s not fair to you.”

A look of sorrow creased Himchan’s handsome features. “You mean till now, you still don’t know how I feel about you?”

Nara felt all the words die in as he stared intensely at her. She had always had some idea that Himchan cared about her a bit more than what was considered normal between friends, of course. She’d always made it clear that she thought of him as a brother, and he seemed to respect that. He’d never said anything to disagree with her, so she’d just assumed that it was something that he was going to work through and get over. His sudden confession was unexpected.

“Oppa, I-I… I can’t…”

“I’m not asking anything from you,” he clarified. “You don’t have to return my feelings. That’s not the purpose of this conversation. I just think it’s for the best if we look like a normal family, and I’m suggesting that I’m the best candidate to play your husband because I actually want to be with you for the rest of your life. Daehyun and Junhong will potentially meet other women that they want to marry, but I’m quite certain that I won’t.”

Nara shook her head. “I won’t do this to you. I don’t want you to be stuck in a loveless marriage, having to take care of someone else’s child.”

Himchan smiled and her head. “It’s not a loveless marriage. I know you love me. It’s not the same kind of love that I have for you, but it doesn’t matter. We know that we’ll always have each other’s backs, right?”

“Yes, but…”

“And I’m going to love your child anyway,” he continued, although his smile carried a tinge of sadness that he couldn’t hide. “Whether as an uncle or as a father, I’m going to spoil the hell out of that kid when he’s born.”

Nara hesitated. He was beginning to convince her, but she still felt like she was being unfair to him.

“I’m not trying to be a hero,” Himchan pointed out, grinning playfully. “My reasons are mostly selfish; I want to keep you to myself. Also, if you meet another man, you’ll need me to approve and grant a divorce. It’s not like I’m the only one who has to sacrifice something.”

His attempt at lightening the mood failed. Nara merely gave him a blank, unamused expression.

“Anyway, there are practical reasons too,” he continued. “There were many people in the gang who doubted your abilities, and your father thought that if we operated as a pair, it would be easier to gain their trust. If people find out that you have a son, they’re going to target him to try to bring you down. Now, more than ever, we really need to stand together.”

It was clear that he’d thought deeply about this and considered all factors before approaching her. From the beginning, she’d never wanted to take her father’s place as the leader of the gang. She’d always thought that Himchan was more capable and more suitable for the job, and it was clear her father thought so too. Unlike her, Himchan was similar to her father in that he was always thinking ten steps ahead of others. While she’d always thought they were paranoid, she now understood that it was this skill that made them good leaders. She’d learnt the hard way that she was too emotionally driven.

She needed him.

She sighed. “Are you sure you won’t regret this?”

Himchan furrowed his brow, deep in thought. “About 90% sure.”

Nara narrowed her eyes at him. “What about that other 10%?”

“I can’t tell the future, so I’m going to keep that 10% as insurance.”

Nara couldn’t help chuckling. Indeed, he was Kim Him Chan, master strategist. The gang was safe in his hands. “Fine, keep it.”

He raised an eyebrow at her. “So, does this mean we’re getting married?”

Nara could feel her heart pounding in her chest. She wasn’t quite sure if it was a good or bad thing. This wasn’t the way she’d pictured being proposed to, especially not by a man she wasn’t even dating, but all things considered, there was no better man than Himchan. 

She smiled wryly, raising a hand with her thumb and forefinger about an inch apart. “For your reference, I want a diamond this big.”

Yongguk lay motionlessly on his side, staring unblinkingly at the wall in front of him. He’d woken up hours ago, but felt absolutely no motivation to move even an inch from his bed. He’d received the call about his suspension earlier that morning, but that barely registered. He was sure that even if they hadn’t suspended him with immediate effect, he wouldn’t have made it to work anyway.

He was in too much pain.

Yesterday was Nara’s funeral. He’d been too ashamed to attend, but he followed the news closely, and he knew that it’d been a joint funeral with Himchan and Jongup because none of them had any family members that had come forward. The Yakuza guys were the chief mourners. Other than the hordes of press that swarmed the event, the turnout didn’t look very good. Most people with gang connections would probably be too afraid to show their faces at such an event.

Daehyun’s family held a separate funeral for him. From what he’d seen on the news, they were extremely distraught and still in disbelief that their beloved son had been a big-shot in a notorious gang. They couldn’t come to terms with it. They might as well have been mourning a complete stranger.

A funeral was supposed to be a congregation of one’s loved ones, to reminisce the life of the dearly departed, but neither funeral seemed to fit the bill. It was all a huge spectacle that didn’t mean a thing and didn’t at all reflect the lives of the deceased.

He’d spent the whole of yesterday hiding in the evidence store in the office, staring at the one personal effect of Nara’s that they’d managed to retrieve from the wreck. It was a customized gold Rolex watch, its screen cracked and the hardware tarnished by soot, sealed in a labelled plastic bag. He knew the watch was a present from her father for her 21^st birthday, and had her initials engraved on the underside of the watch face. He had nothing else left from her; her house, the Gangnam apartment they used to hang out in, and his fake apartment that she used to stay over at were all cordoned off as investigation sites. He didn’t have a single tangible memento to bring over into his real life, to indicate that she’d once been the most important woman in his life. If every eye in the office hadn’t been on him, he’d probably have stolen the watch.

But he didn’t manage to, which was why he was just lying here, having nothing, feeling nothing.

He’d long since run out of alcohol in his house to dull the pain, but even going to the nearest convenience store to stock up felt like too much effort. He found himself wishing he was still a gangster so he could still pilfer pills easily.

His mind wandered back to the lowest point of his life.

At first, he had been sneaking little samples here and there from his deliveries because he had been ordered to. He’d bring different drugs to Ji Eun, who’d pass them on to headquarters to store as evidence of the Black Dragons’ drug empire. Then, Ji Eun had died and for a period of time, he’d had no handler to report to. Kang Minsik had made contact with him immediately, but with Ji Eun’s whereabouts unconfirmed, he couldn’t be re-assigned a handler. During this time, he found himself in possession of narcotics that he somehow succumbed to in his moments of weakness.

He wasn’t stupid. He did his research, and he found Valium to be one of the least dangerous drugs of choice. It wasn’t addictive in small doses, and it was a relaxant that worked wonders for his anxiety during that time. Just a few pills helped him calm down and forget all the chaos in his life. The same effect would have taken a much larger amount of alcohol, and a much longer time to achieve. He’d been a ticking time bomb, and without the Valium to mellow him, he would have imploded before the mission was over. He just hadn’t counted on the side effects. He became sluggish and irritable, and when his body developed a tolerance to it, he started craving something stronger.

He remembered the time that Nara had found the drugs in his drawer. He was at a point where he wasn’t thinking straight anymore, and he’d become aggressive towards her. He remembered yelling at her and pushing her, causing her to cut her head on the edge of a dresser. Seeing her hurt, and knowing he was the cause of it, was that one sobering moment that snapped him out of his funk.

On hindsight, he was thankful towards her. If she hadn’t been so stubborn and so insistent on confronting him about the pills, he never would have realized how much of himself he’d lost. That momentary paralyzing fear he’d felt when he’d hurt her also put into clear perspective how much she truly mattered to him. It showed him with painful clarity that he was spiraling downward in a way that could cause him to lose both his old self and his new self. He was forced to confront himself and to start making his own decisions—not Inspector Kang’s, not Choi Jung Hoon’s, not even Nara’s.

Call him stupid or naïve, but he’d thought that he could straddle both worlds and do what was best for everyone. He never realized until it was too late that he was in over his head, and that he never had control over the mission to begin with. He was just a pawn in the game, and the moment he stopped doing what he was supposed to, Inspector Kang played the other pieces.

Even now, just thinking of the massacre that had happened in the Chois’ house sent an involuntary shudder through him. He could still remember how completely and utterly powerless he had felt as he watched it all unfold before him. It was a sobering reminder of how little he mattered and how dispensable he was in the grand scheme of things. He’d never imagined the extent of the destruction that could result from what he’d helped engineer. He’d helped create a monster, and realized too late that he couldn’t control it.

He remembered how he’d tried and failed to protect Nara, and the look of betrayal in her eyes when the truth was revealed to her. He could remember her exact moment of realization, and the subtle tensing of her features that indicated that her defenses were up. He could see that she was branding him and everything they’d built over the past year as nothing but lies.

He wanted to scream; he wanted to shout. He wanted to hold her. He wanted to grab her hand and run away forever with her. He wanted to tell her that he was sorry, that what she imagined wasn’t true. He wanted to tell her that he truly loved her, and he wanted her to believe him.

But he didn’t. He couldn’t.

And now he’d never get the chance to again.