A Contracted Gangster Who Has to Die to Survive - Chapter 121

“What is this? Is Hyun Wookyung… kidnapped?”

Both men stared at the phone screen, their gazes sharp with tension.

The video showed someone holding a camera, following a man dragging Wookyung by the legs. Just as the man turned his head, the camera abruptly shifted, capturing only a dark wall and a window before the footage ended.

The entire clip lasted less than thirty seconds.

“I’ll track the sender’s IP address and check which cell tower the message was sent from.”

Who was behind this?

Who the hell would do something like this?

A cold numbness crept through Taejoon’s limbs. His mind spiraled into dark possibilities, imagining the worst scenarios he didn’t want to consider.

Whoever sent this video—were they taunting him? Daring him to come find Wookyung?

Or was this another trap laid by Kang Jaewook to lure Taejoon in?

Or perhaps—was it the same bastard from Jeju Island? The one who had already tried to kill Wookyung before?

If that was the case, then they wanted something. Money. Power. Blood.

But this short, taunting clip offered no clues.

Taejoon parked his car on the shoulder of the road and stepped toward the edge.

This was where they had found Wookyung’s shattered phone.

Beyond the metal guardrail, a narrow strip of flat ground led to a steep, sloping drop.

If his phone had fallen all the way down, it would have been impossible to retrieve.

And if it had been Wookyung instead—

The thought sent a chilling shiver down Taejoon’s spine. His entire body tensed involuntarily.

He turned to head back to his car, but a sudden, deafening rush of water filled his ears.

The pitch-black river below roared, its currents carving through the landscape.

The rising mist carried the sharp scent of wet stone and something sickly metallic.

Something about it felt wrong. Ominous.

For the first time, Taejoon felt an unshakable, suffocating fear take hold of him—

The fear that he might never see Wookyung again.

His fists clenched so tightly that his knuckles turned white. His jaw tightened until his teeth threatened to crack.

Taejoon turned back to the car and dropped into the driver’s seat, his expression drained of all color.

This was why he had always been so meticulous. Why he had spent his life eliminating risks. Why he had drowned himself in work, seeking perfection.

Because deep down, he feared situations he couldn’t control.

Situations like this.

And now, everything he had buried inside himself was clawing to the surface.

His mouth was unbearably dry. A desperate thirst burned in his throat as he grabbed a water bottle and twisted the cap open.

The very first memory Taejoon had in this world—was thirst.

A scorching summer when he was five years old. Lying on the asphalt like a crushed insect, barely breathing.

His throat had burned. His body, dehydrated.

But worse than the pain—was the torment of knowing that water was just out of reach.

His small, weak hands hadn’t been able to twist open the bottle cap.

How had he survived back then? Why hadn’t he died?

He couldn’t remember.

And now, in this moment, he felt just as powerless.

Like that five-year-old child again.

The sharp ring of his phone jolted him back to the present.

“Did you find him?”

It was Team Leader Seo.

– “Yes, we tracked the IP address that sent the video. It’ll take more time to pinpoint the exact location, but we’re expanding the search range around the cell tower—”

“Where.”

Seo rattled off an address.

– “We’re heading there now. Also, about the phone number you asked us to trace—it’s not a domestic number.”

Taejoon’s grip tightened on the steering wheel.

The Terminal screenplay.

He had almost forgotten.

“What do you mean?”

– “The number is registered to someone currently residing in Turkey. I’ll send you their direct contact info now.”

Taejoon immediately dialed.

No answer.

After a moment of hesitation, he left a voicemail.

It was an absurd question, even to him.

But right now, it felt essential.

In Terminal, Wookyung had died of an incurable disease.

What was the name of that disease?

Would knowing change anything?

Probably not.

But Taejoon needed to know.

He ended the call and reached into the glove compartment, pulling out a Beretta M9 pistol.

The cold, heavy weight in his hand steadied his racing thoughts.

He hadn’t expected to need it.

Not really.

But now—

If the worst of the worst happened…

If Wookyung was—

Then no one was leaving alive.

Taejoon shoved the gun into his jacket and gripped the steering wheel.

He slammed his foot on the gas, the car speeding down the highway toward the east coast.

It felt as if he were racing against something—

Something dark, something relentless.

Something clawing at his heels, threatening to pull him under if he hesitated for even a second.

The night stretched long, but at last, dawn broke over the horizon.

Taejoon pulled the car to a stop and replayed the video.

Again.

For the hundredth time.

Desperate to find something—anything—he might have missed.

The screen stayed black for the first second. Then, Wookyung came into view.

A gray hoodie.

His back turned to the camera.

Taejoon felt his breath catch in his throat.

The walls were peeling.

The concrete floor was cracked, exposing rusted boiler pipes.

And Wookyung—

Wookyung lay sprawled on that filthy, decaying floor.

The man in the video grabbed him and dragged him toward a metal drum.

Then, the screen flickered—

Just for a second—

And Taejoon saw it.

The real clue.

Not inside the building.

Outside the window.

It was only visible for one brief moment, but it was enough.

A large window.

At least three stories high.

A warehouse-style building with wide, open views.

Taejoon’s mind sharpened.

He needed to search for buildings that fit this description.

Warehouses, abandoned structures—places people wouldn’t look twice at.

But that was the problem.

Seaside towns were littered with abandoned buildings.

Empty factories, construction sites left to rot, ghost-town apartments waiting for redevelopment.

He had already checked dozens of them—

And still, no sign of Wookyung.

Taejoon lifted his gaze toward a gray building in the distance.

Five stories tall.

Large windows on all sides.

It fit the profile.

And more importantly—

A car was parked behind it.

A car that didn’t belong there.

A high-end luxury sedan, practically falling apart, as if it had been dumped there.

Taejoon’s phone rang.

Seo’s voice crackled through the receiver.

– “Yes, sir?”

“What’s the situation on your end?”

– “Still searching. No leads yet.”

Taejoon exhaled sharply, his eyes never leaving the suspicious building.

“I think I found their car. Run the plates.”

Seo hesitated.

– “It’s probably a burner vehicle.”

“Do it anyway.”

Even if the car was untraceable, it didn’t matter.

Because Taejoon knew.

Wookyung was there.

– “Yes, understood. Also, where are you right now?”

“23-33, Heeun Road, Lot 30.”

– “We’re heading there now.”

“Don’t. I’m not certain yet. Keep searching elsewhere.”

– “Then I’ll go alone. Please don’t do anything reckless—just wait.”

Taejoon ended the call and stepped out of the car.

The sharp winter wind tore at his skin as if it had been lying in wait.

His breath came out in thick, white clouds, vanishing into the night.

His footsteps echoed sharply against the pavement, cutting through the silence.

Let him be here.

That single thought repeated in his mind as he approached the building.

The barrier tape and “No Entry” signs peeled away easily.

Beyond them, a set of stairs loomed in the darkness.

The building was silent—just like the countless others he had checked, each one leading to nothing.

But there was one key difference.

The dust that should have been settled thick and undisturbed—

Had been scattered.

A trail of footprints disrupted the fine layer of grime.

Taejoon slipped his hand inside his coat, gripping the cold steel of his gun.

His gaze followed the narrow staircase leading upward.

The blackened dust swirled in the dim light, thick as storm clouds.

Pressing his fingers against his temple for a moment, he steadied himself.

Then, silently, he climbed.

The second floor was empty.

Halfway up to the third floor, dawn light filtered through a right-side window, slicing through the dim stairwell.

The moment his eyes adjusted—

A shadow that wasn’t his own stretched long across the steps.

And something—cold, lethal—lurched behind him.

Taejoon moved instantly.

With a sharp twist, he dropped low.

His hand shot out, seizing the attacker’s knee and yanking—

The man lost his balance, tumbling down the stairs in a violent roll.

The glint of a knife flashed in his grasp.

From this angle, Taejoon couldn’t see his face—

But he recognized the build.

Someone I know.

“Wookyung’s here, isn’t he?”

The attacker lunged without answering, blade slashing toward Taejoon’s throat.

The motion brought his face into full view.

“Han Youngsoon…”

So, the squad leader had been missing for a reason.

Han Youngsoon stood there, his knife curling tighter in his grip.

His expression unreadable.

Seeing him, Taejoon felt something unexpected.

Relief.

Because if Han Youngsoon was here—so was Wookyung.

His stomach twisted with urgency.

Taejoon’s eyes flicked toward the upper floors.

“Wookyung! Can you hear me?”

If Wookyung was truly here, then wasting time on this fight was pointless.

He turned sharply to dash up the stairs—

Pain exploded in his leg.

A wet, ripping sensation spread through his calf.

His knee buckled.

Han Youngsoon had driven his knife into the muscle—

And the moment Taejoon staggered, he ripped it free, immediately plunging the blade into the back of his thigh.

“Tch—”

Taejoon swallowed the pained noise threatening to break free.

He barely had time to react before the next attack came—

A sharp edge flashed toward his side.

Too fast.

He twisted, but the blade sank in, biting into flesh.

It wasn’t a fatal strike.

Not aimed for the throat, the heart.

No—

This bastard is trying to wear me down.

Deliberate cuts.

Not enough to kill, but enough to weaken.

The moment the next blade came, Taejoon moved.

His hand lashed out, slamming against Han Youngsoon’s wrist, throwing the attack off course.

The knife missed his side—

But the second blade, the one already in his grip—

Swung upwards.

A sharp hiss of steel slicing flesh.

A line of searing pain burned across his face.

Taejoon stumbled back, pressing a hand to his cheek.

Warmth spread across his palm.

The cut stretched from his nose bridge across both eyelids.

A fraction higher, and he would have lost his eyes.

Exhaling slowly, he wiped the blood away.

“I don’t have time to waste on you.”

His voice was low, cold.

“Where’s your master? Cowering upstairs, trembling like a rat?”

A metallic click echoed.

Taejoon had pulled his gun.

He aimed.

“Oh? A gun?”

A flicker of hesitation crossed Han Youngsoon’s face—

But it was gone in an instant.

Instead of backing down, he smirked.

And tightened his grip on the blade.

“Not stepping aside?”

“And ruin the fun?”

The man lowered his body, knife shifting in his grasp.

“I think you’re making this too easy, Executive Director.”

The hammer clicked back.

“Your master must’ve done a poor job training you.”

“Ah, well.”

Han Youngsoon grinned, tilting his head.

“I was never the obedient type.”*

Then, without hesitation.

He lunged.

Not wildly.

Not recklessly.

But with the precision of a predator.

Taejoon sighed.

A brief flicker of annoyance crossed his face.

Then, he pulled the trigger.