A Contracted Gangster Who Has to Die to Survive - Chapter 101

Instead of reacting to Assistant Manager Yoon’s ghostly pale face, Choi Taejoon spoke as if nothing had happened.

“Assistant Manager Yoon.”

“E-Executive Director, I—”

“Get another bowl.”

“…What?”

“Beef soup.”

It was almost as if Choi Taejoon hadn’t heard a single word we had been saying. Assistant Manager Yoon must have thought the same because he shot up from his seat, looking strangely relieved, as if he had just been given a second chance at life.

“I-I’ll bring it right away!”

As soon as Assistant Manager Yoon hurried off, Choi Taejoon pulled the side dishes closer to me and said,

“Eat a lot.”

“…Yes, sir.”

I silently lowered my head and continued spooning food into my mouth.

If what Assistant Manager Yoon said was true, then it meant Choi Taejoon had sent Director Kim to buy ice cream, and he had died in an accident because of it.

“It’s not your fault.”

He poured water into a paper cup and placed it in front of me.

“Don’t think about it too much. If you want to blame someone, blame the one who did the stabbing. This isn’t on you.”

His voice was calm, steady, as if this were nothing of concern. I bit down on my lower lip.

“It was just bad luck. In this line of work, things like this happen all the time.”

“…Executive Director.”

For the first time since I had heard the news of Director Kim’s death, my tears began to well up.

At that moment, Choi Taejoon made the most troubled expression I had ever seen on him.

“Why are you crying?”

“Just because.”

“I told you, it’s nothing.”

“How can you say that? Someone died.”

“People die all the time.”

“But—”

He cut me off.

“If you start crying here, I’ll kill that idiot Yoon with my own hands for talking nonsense.”

His words were half a joke, half a threat, his expression turning eerily serious.

“One corpse is enough, don’t you think? Unless you want a string of funerals, don’t do this.”

Then, as he let out a bitter smile, Assistant Manager Yoon returned with the soup. He had clearly overheard what was just said. His hands trembled so badly that half of the soup had spilled onto the tray.

His voice was unsteady with fear.

“D-do you need anything else, sir?”

Even someone as clueless as him could sense how grave the situation was. He knew better than anyone how much Choi Taejoon cherished his only cousin.

“No. Leave it there and go.”

At Choi Taejoon’s command, Assistant Manager Yoon practically fled.

I grabbed the cup of water and gulped it down as if swallowing my tears.

He’s dead. Director Kim is really dead.

It still felt like a dream.

I sat silently, staring out the window as we drove home. Not a word had left my lips since we left the funeral.

“Why aren’t you saying anything?”

“…Because it’s my fault.”

“What is?”

Choi Taejoon asked, keeping his eyes on the road. The raindrops hitting the windshield were growing heavier.

“…Even after Director Kim passed away, you were so calm and composed. It made me realize just how much you are… you.”

“And?”

“But there’s no way you’re actually okay. It was Director Kim, of all people.”

“I don’t understand what you’re getting at.”

“You’re holding it in because of me, aren’t you? You want to cry and grieve, but you’re forcing yourself not to.”

“What nonsense are you talking about?”

“You’re pretending to be fine so I won’t feel guilty. So I won’t suffer even more.”

Choi Taejoon furrowed his brows and glanced at me.

“You stopped the car to buy ice cream… for me. And because of that, this happened. But if you openly mourn, I’ll feel even more responsible and suffer for it… That’s why you’re holding it in.”

“…Ha.”

He sighed heavily and rubbed his forehead, as if exhausted and unwilling to continue the conversation. If we weren’t on a highway, I had a feeling he would have pulled over right then and there.

He pressed his fingers against his temple and let out a quiet breath.

“…Fine. Think whatever you want.”

His tone was cold, dismissive.

After that, Choi Taejoon didn’t say another word. And I, too, remained silent, alternating between holding back sobs and wiping my tears. No matter how hard I tried, the sniffles kept slipping out, forcing me to clamp my mouth shut.

In the novel, Director Kim wasn’t supposed to die like this. He was supposed to survive long enough to witness Choi Taejoon’s final moments.

So why had things changed?

Everything felt tangled and wrong. It was all my fault.

Before I knew it, the car was climbing a long, steep hill.

He said he was taking me home, but this wasn’t my place.

The raindrops pounding against the car roof grew louder. Soon, the vehicle came to a stop beneath a broken streetlamp.

When he turned off the headlights, the darkness swallowed us whole, as if we had entered a cave.

Before I could even ask where we were, Choi Taejoon stepped out of the car.

Just as I reached for the door, it swung open, revealing him standing there with an umbrella.

“Get out.”

It looked like a quiet neighborhood, lined with single-story villas and small residential buildings.

Most of the houses here were abandoned, and those that remained had clearly been left unattended for quite some time. Construction debris and scattered trash littered the area, as if no one had bothered to clean up.

It was like a ghost town.

“…….”

I looked up at Choi Taejoon, who remained eerily silent. Dressed in the same black suit, black coat, and holding a black umbrella from the funeral, his pale face only added to the chilling atmosphere.

Walking beside him, I felt an unsettling illusion—like I was following the Grim Reaper.

Where was he taking me?

Why had he brought me here?

Choi Taejoon’s footsteps halted in front of a crumbling house.

Boom—

As if on cue, thunder rumbled, lightning flashed, and the wind howled as rain lashed down. I instinctively clung to his arm, my voice trembling.

“W-why did we come here?”

“Follow me.”

This was unmistakably a haunted house.

The kind that had scared me as a child, the kind I had once entered out of curiosity only to faint in terror. I loathed horror experiences, despised courage tests, and changed the channel the moment anything remotely paranormal appeared on TV.

I hated this kind of eerie, shamanistic vibe.

“I-I don’t want to go. I really don’t think I can.”

“Then wait here.”

Wait here?

I looked around in alarm.

“No way. That’s even worse.”

Outside was even scarier. Not a single person in sight, no streetlights, and now it was pouring. There was no way I was staying here alone.

“C-can’t I just wait in the car?”

But Choi Taejoon acted as if he hadn’t heard me. Without another word, he stepped inside.

“Ah! Wait—!”

Panicked, I scrambled after him.

“W-wait for me! Executive Director! Executive Director!”

The interior was even darker than outside. The courtyard was so ominous that I wouldn’t have been surprised if something jumped out at me.

When the door clanged shut behind us, the suffocating silence amplified the fear tenfold.

Despite the near-total darkness, Choi Taejoon navigated the space effortlessly. He climbed a few steps before reaching under a flowerpot.

My voice trembled as I pleaded.

“P-please, I swear I won’t cry anymore. You’re doing this to scare me, aren’t you?”

His rain-soaked hand grasped my wrist. The coldness of his touch sent a shiver down my spine, making me let out a silent scream.

“What are you so scared of? I’m right here.”

“I—I’m really scared. I’m terrified of ghosts, really….”

“How old are you? You’re still scared of ghosts?”

“G-ghosts aren’t affected by age!”

I couldn’t see his face well, but I had a strong feeling he was smirking mischievously. Meanwhile, I was too petrified to even attempt a nervous smile. The moment the idea of something being haunted lodged itself in my mind, my imagination ran wild.

If it weren’t for Choi Taejoon, I would have bolted screaming by now.

He folded his umbrella and walked under the narrow eaves. Then, using the key he had retrieved from beneath the flowerpot, he unlocked an old, rusted padlock.

A loud, creaking noise echoed as the corroded hinges groaned in protest.

“W-we’re going inside?”

The interior was just as dark as the outside, yet there was an unmistakable warmth in the air.

Surprisingly, it was far more livable than I had expected. Instead of a musty, damp stench, the air was surprisingly fresh.

Was someone living here?

“Uh…?”

As I turned my head, my body froze completely.

Dear God, Buddha, Allah, Virgin Mary, house spirits—whoever is listening, please help me.

“…I’m not the only one seeing this, right?”

A shadow emerged from the darkness.

A black mass, roughly half my height, crawled toward us at an agonizingly slow pace. It staggered, then slithered forward, moving in an unsettling, unnatural manner.

What… was that?

What the hell was that?

Choi Taejoon responded in a bored tone.

“What? Did you actually see a ghost?”

No. No, this wasn’t supposed to happen.

I had transmigrated into Alcohol Swab, a gritty, modern BL novel—not a supernatural horror.

Was this my fault?

Had I somehow messed up the world’s settings?

Had I accidentally opened a door to another dimension, mixing different genres?

It wasn’t impossible. If I could enter a book, who was to say something else couldn’t slip in?

“…Welcome, Executive Director.”

And then, the moment I saw the figure’s face, I nearly passed out.

It was the very person whose funeral I had just attended.

The same face from the framed memorial portrait.

The man who should be lying in a coffin right now sat in a wheelchair, attached to an IV drip and medical devices.

“D-Director Kim?”

“…Hyun Wookyung?”

At the sound of his familiar voice, I nearly blacked out.

The **ghost—no, the corpse—**no, Director Kim turned toward me, and my vision went dark.

I think I heard Choi Taejoon calling my name.

I vaguely remembered him catching me as I collapsed.

And then, everything went blank.

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