Chapter Text
I made the decision to move out after my family broke the lift to our flat.
Well, to be honest, it was me who broke it. The lift was already packed with my parents, little brother, older brother, and two cats in their carriers, but of course it was only when I got on that the fifty-year-old, bloody machine went and died, refusing to budge an inch. Now I’m being blamed as the middle child and the last one to get on.
I’m also eighteen, fresh out of high school. While all of my friends are at university living their best lives, I’m stuck at home with six other loud, unrelenting living things. I love my family, but I should already be living by myself, bombarded with exams and party invites. The issue is that I’m just so stuck. ‘What the heck should I do with my life?’ is a question I ask myself every hour. I’ve got nothing to do, nothing that I want to do either. People said I’d figure everything out by now. I feel like this is it: I was born to just exist in my bed, watch anime and K-dramas, and have daily existential crises. I wish someone could tell me what to do. I wish someone could give me a purpose.
“Get a summer job,” my mum suggests over the dinner table, sympathetic for my lifeless self.
I raise my eyebrows. “It’s not summer.”
She rolls her eyes and sighs exasperatedly. “You know what I mean. Getting a part-time job could spark some inspiration in you, maybe? It could be good for you. And don’t you want to save up some money so you can move out?”
“Mum. No part-time job salary would ever land me a new place. This is Seoul, for goodness sake.”
When I said that I’d decided to move out, it was more like I can only dream of moving out. I’ll never be able to in this city, unless I win the lottery or something. I don’t have that kind of luck. And that ‘inspiration’ my mum’s going on about? I don’t think I’d feel inspired at all by getting assaulted while working at a fast-food restaurant or having to clean up someone’s puke and crap off the floor of some shady bar. At most, I’d probably be inspired to never get a part-time job ever again.
I try my best to relay these thoughts to my family over the rest of dinner, toning down some of my apprehensions because of my younger brother’s presence. Jeongin raises an eyebrow at me when he notices my cautious glances aimed at him. No matter how hard I plead my case, it doesn’t work. My parents are set on forcing me out of my bed and out of the flat into the great, big world of work.
Feeling ‘inspired’ after dinner, I scour the internet for temporary jobs on my older brother’s glitchy laptop, which I had earned by begrudgingly calling him Younghyun instead of ‘Brian’ after he had screamed ‘Who’s Brian?’. I curse at the device every time it freezes and crashes. Even after hours of intense Googling, nothing I manage to find interests me at all. It’s just as I expected: deep-frying chips, cleaning up puke and waiting on hostile customers, most of whom are moody pubescent teenagers. It’s definitely not like I’m still a moody pubescent teenager.
“Come on, give me at least one job that won’t kill me,” I groan, slapping the edge of the laptop’s screen. That was probably a bad move since the computer starts glitching again, even more severely than the previous hundred times. I sigh and wait for it to get a grip. When it finally does, ten minutes later, the job-finding website I was last on has been replaced by an advert for a completely different genre of job.
“What the heck?”
It’s not the creepy way that the advert suddenly appeared before my eyes that surprises me. What’s got me dumbstruck is the fact that the hourly wage is more than double that of all the other part time jobs. I should probably be more suspicious than impressed, but my dream of achieving independence and getting my own place is too tempting to just ignore this job. It also sounds pretty harmless: just manning the till of a tiny bookshop that’s literally twenty-five minutes away from home. It sounds like this job was fated to be mine. I might still be just a tiny bit worried about why the pay is so high for such a small role, but I’m not complaining. Surely I can handle whatever catch comes with the work. It’s only a bookshop after all.
***
This was supposed to be a normal Saturday. I was supposed to just come to the bookstore for a simple interview, hopefully get the job, and look forward to my first paycheck. What was definitely not meant to happen was for some shady guy in sunglasses to hand me a shady box after asking me if I was here for ‘the job’. Anyone normal would have thought ‘the job’ meant the one I’d found two days ago. This guy was not normal. I didn’t know it then, but none of this is normal. There really was a reason why the pay was so good.
I figured out that this wasn’t actually a bookshop once I was led by another abnormally handsome, blonde guy in a suit to the back room, which turned out to be a massive, almost ballroom-like space lit up by an overly grand crystal chandelier. There are velvet red curtains lining the walls despite the total lack of windows. The 19th century Western decor makes this situation feel even more surreal, as if it wasn’t already made surreal by the presence of what I assume are a bunch of smartly-dressed gangsters. Seated on opposite sides of an elegant, vintage wooden table are two men. One of the guys looks about my age, maybe a little older. The first thing I notice about him is that he is admittedly extremely handsome and dressed to perfection in a pristine black suit. If he wanted to, he could probably become a supermodel with those annoyingly sculpted, feline-like features. It can also certainly be said that this man is way too young to be addressed as ‘Boss’, but the gangster who had let me in does that anyway. The other man at the table is white and soberingly different in his attractiveness - or lack of - and aura. This guy is probably triple the Boss’ age, but he definitely lacks the maturity and composure of the younger man. He also lacks the looks, but to be fair, no one could possibly match the Boss - maybe not even me. I realise it sounds like I’m fanboying over a gangster. The boss of these gangsters, to be exact.
I shake myself out of my stupor once the Boss starts speaking. His voice is inexplicably soothing, like I wouldn’t mind listening to his narration of one of my old History textbooks. What he says, though, is certainly not soothing.
“This is the token of goodwill I mentioned before,” the Boss announces with a flourish of his hand, indicating for me to approach without even sparing me a glance.
Another blonde, handsome man standing beside the Boss translates the sentence into English. I start to notice that most of the gangsters in this room could probably pull off a career in modelling or even as idols. The translator’s accent catches me off-guard slightly. Not American… Australian, I think. He has a much deeper voice than I expected for such a delicate-looking guy.
The other man narrows his eyes, glancing at the box in my hands. I also look at the package I’m holding, and I suddenly feel like I’m handling a ticking bomb. I get the feeling that everyone in the room is really tense since no one is paying much attention to me, so I obey and place the box on the table between the two men and step back, itching to run away. I can’t find a good time to interject.
“How can I trust you?” the negotiator asks bitterly with a characteristic American drawl.
The blonde, pretty translator mumbles in Korean again.
The Boss raises his eyebrow and pouts. “Honestly, Miller, I thought you already did. Isn’t this treaty based on mutual trust?”
Miller scoffs. “Yes, it is. But the Haven and the Mafia have a dark history full of betrayal and lies, after all.”
The Boss sighs and shrugs, then replies, “Trust me, then. I trust every person in this room. Every single one of them.”
The Boss looks at all the people in the room - a dozen at most, including myself. His eyes land on me, and he freezes. I swallow, making direct eye contact with the Boss. Both of us know I’m not supposed to be here. But the Boss had just declared that he trusts everyone in the room. If he suddenly takes it back and reveals there’s a complete stranger in the room, well, the whole negotiation dies. I’ve seen enough movies to know what would happen. This whole situation feels like a film, not quite real. I seriously can’t be in the middle of a room full of bloody gangsters. I pray that I’ve only just intruded on a film set. Maybe the director will scream ‘cut’ and order security to drag this poor, confused, jobless boy away. If only. There are no cameras, no director, no actors. This is real.
I take another step back, but Miller snaps his fingers and gestures at me.
“You, boy, open the box for me,” he demands.
I haven’t used English for a while, so it takes me a moment to process his order.
I jump and stutter in broken English, “Uh, no - I mean, I’m not supposed to -”
“Do it,” the Boss orders, staring at me. Strangely, his tone wasn’t harsh at all. His calmness strongly juxtaposes my internal panic-tornado, defying my expectation that he’d kill me on the spot for just being there. There is also no hostility in his strangely entrancing dark brown eyes. I can’t quite place what kind of emotions make up his gaze, though.
I clear my throat and come forwards, internally dying. I pick up the package and strip off the tape gingerly.
I’m really not sure what was supposed to be inside, but I’m pretty certain that nobody was expecting a note written in what looks like blood. ‘DEATH TO THE ALLIANCE’ the letter says in both Korean and English. As if that isn’t bad enough, there’s also a gun resting on the bottom of the box. I take a couple of steps backwards, sensing the tension in the room rise exponentially.
Miller and the Boss both stand and look at me.
“No, no, no, I have absolutely nothing to do with this, I swear!” I shout.
Miller snatches the gun from the box and points it at the Boss and I. At the same time, everyone else in the room - apart from the Boss - takes out some kind of weapon: mostly guns, knives, a few machetes here and there. How these people managed to conceal machetes is beyond my knowledge. They start pointing their weapons at each other, but I can’t tell who’s on whose side. They’re all dressed the same, wearing the same stupid black suits.
“Trust, you said? Trust?” Miller sneers. “I won’t forgive this insult.”
The blonde guy is still translating their hostile exchanges passionately, like he isn’t that fazed by the rising levels of bloodlust in this room.
“Really?” the Boss drawls. “Well this gun seems very convenient for you. How should I know this wasn’t you?”
I, meanwhile, am crouched down on the floor, wishing I was somewhere else.
I look up and see Miller frown and look down at me cowering and struggling to breathe. The weapon is pointed right at my face. I yelp and fall on my butt. My mind conveniently goes blank as I try to conjure some sort of plea or excuse so that I can avoid getting my face smashed to pieces by a bullet.
“Please, I swear, I only came here for the interview!” I blurt out desperately in English.
“Interview? What interview?” Miller snarls.
He cocks the gun. I think I’m going to pee. I find it a bit concerning that I’m mostly worried about wetting myself instead of how I’m about to die. I can imagine my last moments: me peeing or even shitting myself in front of a dozen or so gangsters, then dying in agony and shame.
I will not accept such a lame fate.
“The bookshop! I applied to work at the bookshop! I came for the interview but I came too early! Some dodgy guy came in and gave me that box after asking if I was here for the ‘job’, then he just left. This is just a misunderstanding, I swear!”
Miller just scoffs in response to my honest explanation.
Yep. I definitely peed. I’m getting ever so closer to taking a pre-death dump.
“Bullshit,” he spits.
Yes, that’s what’s about to come out of my ass.
Miller grins: an eye-watering sight that I really don’t want to be the last thing I see.
“Any last words?”
It’s a bad habit, but I always have inappropriate reactions to very emotionally-charged situations. I start to laugh hysterically, tears and sweat streaming down my face. Miller’s smile disappears. Thank god. My eyes were beginning to hurt because of that face.
“Yeah,” I answer in Korean with a sweet but terrified smile. “You’re gonna have a lot of crap to clean up after I’m dead.”
I squeeze my eyes shut. The gun never fires. I open my eyes, confused. What’s left in front of me is Miller’s dead body. He has a knife in his neck, right in his carotid artery. I whimper, unable to break eye contact with the corpse, whose empty eyes are locked with mine. One of my defining traits is that I really can’t stand blood. Usually I’d faint or puke, but I’m too terrified of the situation to care about the blood pooling out of Miller’s wound or the drops of blood that have landed on my shoes.
“How unfortunate. I was hoping there’d be no bloodshed today,” the Boss sighs, twirling a knife identical to the one that killed Miller between his fingers. After a pause, he breaks the stunned silence by issuing a chilling order. “Kill them all.”
Before I can fully process what he said, I feel cold, thin fingers wrap around my wrist. The grip is gentle and almost comforting. It gives me a strange sense of security which is very ironic in this situation. What’s more ironic is that this calming wrist-hold has been initiated by the very man who just murdered another person in front of me. I numbly obey as he guides me underneath the table, lifting up the lace tablecloth. Before he lets go of the cloth to block my view of the bloodbath, he flashes me a smile. My already racing heart pumps even faster. Maybe I’m having a heart attack.
“Stay here,” he tells me. Then he’s gone. Somehow, I can still see that grin, like it’s been burned into my retinas. It’s disturbing.
I cover my ears to try blocking out the sounds of gunshots, blades slicing through the air, and the subsequent screams. Of course, nothing I can do helps. At least I can’t see any of this. I have the Boss to thank for that. I don’t want to be grateful towards him, though. He’s a killer. Right now, he’s murdering people. He’s ordered his underlings to take other lives. I can’t begin to guess how many lives he’s ended during his lifetime.
I’m not sure how long has passed when all the screams and gunshots stop. Even after the sounds of death have ceased, I remain crouched underneath the table. I hear weird shuffling, like multiple large objects are being dragged across the carpet. I don’t have to look to know that bodies are being moved around like furniture. I don’t want to look. I want to stay here, veiled from the world beyond the tablecloth.
Luck or whatever higher power is definitely not on my side. The tablecloth is lifted, harsh chandelier light blinding me for a moment, and rough hands reach for my arm to tug me to my feet beside the table. The person holding me like a criminal is not the Boss. It’s the shoulder-length-haired man who had brought me to this room, his suit now bloodstained, more blood on his aggressive hands and scowling yet still attractive face. He looks at me like I’m scum. More accurately, he looks like he wants to slit my throat with the blade tucked into his belt. I look around the room to find that there are no corpses in sight. The only sign that this room had been a battlefield is the blood on the surviving gangsters and smeared on the ground and walls. I have no idea where they put the bodies, but I’m definitely not going to ask. I do my best to comply as the man violently steers me towards his boss. The Boss is standing by the door, busy wiping blood from his hands with a handkerchief. Once he notices me being dragged towards him, he gives me the same smile as before the bloodbath. His cheerful demeanour makes me feel a little sick knowing he and his gang have just killed a bunch of mafiosos.
“Ah,” he exhales softly, studying me with that gentle smile. “You seem to be in one piece. Good.”
I can feel the man holding me bristle with irritation. He tightens his grip on my arm, digging his nails into my flesh. I wince but I don’t dare to shake him off.
“Boss, why did you save this boy? You ruined the negotiation because of a stranger! We were so close to settling everything with the Mafia. You’re endangering the whole of the Haven,” the man hisses in an accusatory tone. I’m almost impressed with his total lack of fear when addressing his leader. I’m also slightly offended that this gangster has called me a ‘boy’ when he looks my age.
The Boss shrugs and replies nonchalantly, “It wouldn’t have worked out anyway, Hyunjin. Miller was right; we have a ‘dark history full of betrayal and lies’. Anyway, we all survived, right? Well, of course we did.”
Hyunjin scowls, digging his nails even deeper. I fail to hold in a yelp of pain.
“That’s not what I mean! The Mafia will want revenge on all of us. All because of this boy!” he growls, shaking my arm like I’m a stuffed doll.
The Boss points at us. “Hyunjin, let go of him. He’s in pain.”
I can almost see steam rise from Hyunjin’s head at this point. He is still furious, but he relents and releases me. I sigh in relief and rub my freed fingernail-marked arm. Contrastingly, the Boss is still unbothered by Hyunjin’s serious statement. He turns his full attention onto me.
“What’s your name?” he asks.
“I’m… Han Jisung,” I choke out in reply. Sheepishly, I ask, “What’s yours?”
“Boss,” he answers with a shrug.
I really hope that isn’t his real name.
“So, Jisungie. What do we do with you?” he muses lightly, his lips curved upwards slightly in what I interpret as amusement. His sudden informality startles me. I thought that such a richly-dressed, pristine man would have respect for our customs, but he automatically decided to address me by my nickname, one which only family and close friends can use.
His rhetorical question makes me feel even more sick. Maybe he really will kill me. Ninety percent of the people in this room want to kill me, I can feel it. They’re all glaring at me with suspicion and disdain, especially Hyunjin and the translator, although the latter’s glare is somewhat toned down in comparison to the others’. Spurred on by desperation and terror, I clear my throat and contribute a suggestion.
“Maybe you could let me go?” I squeak.
Boss shrugs. “I could, but I’m not quite sure if you’d like that. To be clearer, I doubt you’d survive without me.”
I frown, both perplexed and slightly frustrated. “What makes you think that?”
“I did just upheave an entire negotiation for you. This is the Mafia. I’m sure you know how dangerous they are. They won’t dare dream of going straight for me, but they’ll want their revenge.”
I scoff. “You killed everyone who saw me. The rest of the Mafia won’t know I was here. I’m not even part of your gang or whatever you guys are.”
Boss looks at me with an entertained expression. He reaches into his pocket and takes out a ball. At least, I thought it was a ball. It takes me a while to realise it’s an eye, still with nerves attached. I really want to vomit. Boss doesn’t seem disturbed as he chucks the eye up high in the air and catches it like a rubber ball, repeatedly.
“Your point is?” I rasp, swallowing back vomit.
Boss takes out a knife and digs into the iris. I gag involuntarily, clapping my hands to my mouth. When he pulls the knife out, there’s a small cylindrical device on the end of the blade, having been speared through with expert precision.
“What the hell is that?” I whisper.
Boss lifts the object to the light and replies, “We had an agreement that no part of our meeting would be live-streamed, recorded or documented, but, like I said, this is the Mafia. This was their chance to partner with the most powerful organisation in Korea so that they could secure themselves here using our services. Of course they’d livestream and record everything.”
There’s a painful ringing in my ears as I grasp this reality. This stupid eye camera thing has practically sealed my fate. I’m an easy target. I’m the only one in this room who isn’t a highly-skilled murderer. Of course they’d come for me. I shudder at the thought that they might even go after my family. This is all my fault. I shouldn’t have chased this job. I should have listened to my gut-feelings that double the salary means double the danger. Double the danger is an understatement. This is the most perilous circumstance I’ve ever found myself in.
“What do I do?” I mumble dejectedly.
Boss smiles, almost kindly. Can I even consider a killer kind?
“Join us. Join the Haven,” he proposes casually.
“What?” Hyunjin, the translator and I all exclaim at once. There’s a slightly awkward, tense silence that follows our identical reactions. Only Boss looks unperturbed, as if his suggestion wasn’t too serious - as if he hadn’t just asked me to join a gang. In fact, I have no clue whether or not this is a gang. I’d imagine gangsters to be dressed in baggy black hoodies, faces scarred and heavily tattooed. Everyone here is smartly-dressed and composed, nowhere near my previous impression of gangsters. They still give off gangster vibes, though, what with all the murdering and violence.
Hyunjin shakes his head like he’s trying to recover from a nightmare. Somehow, he looks even angrier than he was before. I inch away from him slowly, my gaze alternating between his knife and his reddening, frustratingly charming face.
“Boss, have you finally gone mad?” Hyunjin spits, sounding enraged and notably horrified. He turns to the translator with desperation in his eyes. “Felix, help me out here.”
Felix jumps a little, looking very lost. He glances at me, Hyunjin and Boss with a desperate, hopeless pout.
“Um, Boss… I don’t think this is a good idea. This guy won’t fit in. He’ll never be able to go on missions. I mean, look at him, he’d be hopeless in a fight!” Felix mumbles, looking at me almost apologetically. I don’t blame him, though; I’m really not a fighter. Anyway, I’d never hurt anyone like they do. Felix ruffles his hair and continues, “And… I don’t think Chan-hyung would let him join.”
So there’s someone above this guy called Boss? This Chan guy must be terrifying.
Boss rolls his eyes. “He will be restricted to just the Haven. I have another job in mind for him. It’s not like he’ll just be drifting around in Stray Kids. He’ll be under our supervision at all times. I’ll go to Chan-hyung myself.”
‘Stray Kids’? That name doesn’t really suit an intimidating, powerful gang.
“Boss, you are not thinking straight,” Hyunjin hisses.
“I assure you, I’m perfectly aware of what I’m doing,” Boss replies, relaxed.
I can’t hold myself back any longer. I take a few steps closer to Boss, resulting in both Felix and Hyunjin drawing out a gun and a knife respectively. I stop, Hyunjin’s knife millimetres from my throat. I’m too full of adrenaline and anger to cower in terror like before.
“I am not joining a fucking gang. All of you are utter maniacs. I want to go home right now,” I declare fearlessly. My bravery is just a facade. I am very, very scared. I know that if I leave, the Mafia will find and kill me and possibly my family. But right now I don’t want to spend another minute with these criminals.
Boss chuckles, only making me more frustrated. I try my best to keep my face emotionless.
“We’re not a gang,” he scoffs.
“What are you then?” I sneer.
“The Haven is a branch of the Stray Kids organisation. We’re the assassin branch,” Boss explains.
“How the fuck is that any better?” I seethe.
“Gangs are messy and tasteless. We’re definitely not a gang,” Boss asserts with a nod.
I stare at him, open-mouthed. I truly don’t know what else to say.
Felix lowers his gun, realising that I don’t mean to go any closer to his leader. Hyunjin, on the other hand, doesn’t budge.
“What would you make him do, Boss?” Felix asks, squinting at me critically.
Boss hums in thought for a few seconds before suggesting, “Well, he came here to apply to work at the bookshop. I’ll give him that job. He’ll be safe with Seungmin. We always go in and out, too, so this place will always be protected.”
“You can’t just leave him with Seungmin! He’ll become a more likely target too if he’s stuck with this brat. He’ll die for sure!” Hyunjin shouts. He sounds a bit panicked. Who the hell is Seungmin?
Boss sighs. “He won’t always be with Seungmin. He’ll be with me sometimes, too. Maybe he could be a part-time secretary or something. My personal errand boy?”
“Fuck, no,” I growl. The idea of being stuck with the leader of a bunch of assassins disgusts me.
Hyunjin nods. “I agree. Fuck, no. He’s not gonna become your right-hand man!”
“He won’t be my right-hand man. He’ll just do little tasks, like picking up some clothes with me. He could carry the shopping, perhaps. There are a lot of things I could use him for,” Boss states.
“Look at this boy! He’s puny! He won’t even be able to carry groceries! He’s useless!” Hyunjin shrieks, poking me hard in the chest.
I glare at him and retort, “I’m not puny! And stop calling me a boy! I’m probably the same age as you, so learn your manners, you murderer!”
Hyunjin’s nostrils flare, the hand holding the knife at my throat trembling with rage.
“You little-” he starts to mutter. He is cut off by Boss’ laughter. It sounds strangely sincere and melodic, pleasant to listen to. I’d probably appreciate it better if he wasn’t laughing at me being held at knifepoint.
“Well, Jisungie said it himself. He’s got spunk. He’ll be a perfect errand boy. He’ll also match Seungmin’s savagery,” Boss chuckles. “It could be fun.”
Both Hyunjin and I gape at this madman’s amusement. Hyunjin is so taken aback that the hand holding the knife drops down to his side.
“Oh god, you’re so far gone,” he whispers miserably.
“I think he should move into one of my apartments, just in case,” Boss mumbles thoughtfully to himself.
Hyunjin looks like he’s having a meltdown. He covers his forehead with his free hand and squeezes his eyes shut.
“You- I- agh-” Hyunjin splutters, malfunctioning. He fails to complete whatever sentence he was trying to produce. Instead, he lets out a pained groan and storms out of the ballroom.
Felix sighs, sounding completely drained of life. “I’ll go after him.”
He leaves, a visible grey cloud floating above him. The remaining gangsters - or whatever they should be called - shuffle in their positions uncomfortably, obviously itching to run after Felix and escape this messed-up situation.
“So, Jisungie, what do you say?” Boss asks cheerfully, not at all bothered by how two of his subordinates have just stormed out.
I don’t know what to say to this lunatic. He wants to give me a job. He wants to give me an apartment. He wants to protect me.
He wants to fucking ruin my life.
Except, a part of me agrees with his thinking. Alone, I’m helpless. I’ll be murdered brutally in a matter of days. Tomorrow, even. My family will die, too. Jeongin is only sixteen. The Mafia is most likely too evil to spare my cats. Their lives are in my hands. My choice decides all of our fates.
“My family…” I murmur.
“Oh, yes. You have a family,” he says, as if he hadn’t thought of that before. I’m guessing he must not have one. Typical for a gang or assassin group boss. He smiles reassuringly at me. “Don’t worry. They’ll be safe. My people will look after them.”
I feel a little comforted, but the image of some assassins turning up on my family’s doorstep to become their personal bodyguards is still rather disturbing.
I sigh in defeat before nodding. “Okay. I’ll… I’ll join the Haven.”
For some reason, Boss’ entire face lights up at my answer. He actually looks happy. What a weirdo.
“Great,” he chirps. He holds out a hand to me. “It’s nice to have you, Jisungie.”
Hesitantly, I take his hand and shake it half-heartedly.
“Yeah. Great,” I say under my breath.
I’ve probably made a giant mistake, but oh well. At least it can’t get worse than this.
Okay, maybe it can, but I’m not going to worry about that right now. My brain is in the process of imploding. Too much has happened in the span of an hour. Too many decisions have been made. Too many mistakes.
A few days ago, I had wished for someone to give me a purpose, to tell me what to do with my life. Now my wish has come true, but in the most twisted way.
I’ve got a purpose now.
This purpose will probably - no, definitely - kill me.
Wonderful.