A Contracted Gangster Who Has to Die to Survive - Chapter 125

A sliver of dim light pierced through the darkness behind my closed eyelids.

What’s that sound?

A soft, irregular tapping echoed from somewhere distant thud, tick, tap-tap as if something light was striking a surface, then trailing upward, crawling over my legs, chest, and finally gently tapping my cheek.

I stirred.

Then, suddenly,

An overwhelming force crashed down on me.

It felt like I was sinking, dragged into the crushing depths of an abyss.

Bubbles popped and burst in my ears, the pressure against my chest squeezing so tightly I thought my ribs would crack.

Was I underwater?

I couldn’t breathe, I was drowning.

Terror surged through me, and I thrashed desperately, fighting to break free.

I tried to scream.

“—!”

And then—

A sound cut through the chaos.

A familiar melody.

At first, I didn’t recognize it.

<Short-Lived>.

It was our group’s debut song, set as my alarm ringtone.

Wait.

That song,  shouldn’t exist in <Alcohol Swab>’s world.

A creeping realization slithered through my mind, snapping my awareness into place.

Memories flooded back in disjointed flashes.

Taking the drug from Park Ha-hyun.

Falling unconscious.

Waking up to Taejoon.

His face.

His voice.

My breath hitched. I swallowed, carefully forming his name.

“Taejoon….”

The moment I said it, it was like a switch flipped inside me.

My eyes snapped open.

“Ah.”

‘You really need to work on that habit of yours.’

Taejoon’s voice.

It rang so clearly in my head that for a second, I thought he was right there.

Air rushed into my lungs, sharp and fresh.

I bolted upright, pressing my palms to my ears as my gaze darted around the room.

“Where—?”

Where was Taejoon?

This wasn’t his place.

Not his office, not a hotel, not a safe house.

No—

It was too familiar.

And that’s what made it feel utterly foreign.

My room.

My old room.

The tapping sound that had roused me earlier came from the window, where bits of sleet and rain pattered against the thin glass.

My gaze roamed the space—hesitant, uncertain.

The same rickety desk I used as both a vanity and a workspace.

The mirror propped up in the corner.

The posters on the wall—my group’s album cover, my personal profile photos.

Everything.

Everything was exactly as it had been before I was pulled into <Alcohol Swab>.

“I… I’m back?”

I couldn’t trust my voice.

“It’s just a dream, right? Just a—”

No.

No, this wasn’t a dream.

I scrambled for my phone.

“The date—”

20XX, December 8th. 6:35 AM.

Exactly the same as before.

Not even a single day had passed.

My hands trembled as I typed into the search bar:

<Alcohol Swab>.

Nothing.

I checked again.

Still—nothing.

That wasn’t possible.

I had purchased the full series. Read it over and over.

I switched to a web search, tried different keywords.

Still—nothing.

Not the novel.

Not the author.

Not even my name.

No trace of the story existed.

“What the—?”

A sudden voice startled me.

“Whoa, Wookyung, what are you doing up this early?”

I turned sharply.

“…Hyung?”

Manager Kang.

I stared at him in disbelief.

The last time I heard that voice, I had responded without hesitation:

“Who? Oh, you mean Manager Kang? Yeah, I know him. He’s our manager.”

But back then—that wasn’t what Taejoon had meant.

“Why do you look so out of it?” Hyung frowned, stepping closer. “And what happened to your face? Your eyes are all puffy—”

I jerked away, gripping my jacket tight.

“I— I need to go somewhere.”

“What? Where?”

“I just— I have to go.”

“Wait, hold on— are you working a part-time job now, too? Jangwook already left early for one—”

I barely heard the rest as I bolted out the door.

I needed to see them.

My family.

My real home.

My sister. My aunt.

If—if all of that was real, if Taejoon was real—

Then I had to make sure this was, too.

“What are you doing here this early?”

“Sis—”

I barely choked out the word before throwing my arms around her.

Startled, she hesitated before returning the hug, a soft laugh escaping her lips.

“What’s with you?”

Hearing her voice—her real voice—made something inside me snap.

I squeezed my eyes shut, willing myself not to cry.

“Wookyung?”

My aunt peeked out from the kitchen, dressed for work.

Then—another familiar voice.

“What the hell is wrong with you, showing up like this?”

I turned, spotting my younger sister rubbing sleep from her eyes.

A sharp pang shot through my chest.

She was here.

She was real.

She was—

“Why do you look like you just crawled out of a ditch? What happened to your clothes?”

I let out a shaky laugh, barely holding myself together.

“She’s nagging me. She’s actually nagging me.”

Everything felt so overwhelmingly normal.

“Go wash up and change,” she muttered. “You’re dripping all over the floor.”

But instead of heading to the bathroom, I spun toward the bookshelf in the corner of the room.

The place where my sister hoarded her collection of BL novels.

I ran my fingers over the spines, searching.

No.

No, no, no.

It wasn’t here.

“It was here before—”

I had seen it.

<Alcohol Swab>.

It had been right here.

It had—

“What the hell are you doing?”

My sister shot me a wary look.

I swallowed hard.

“…Do you know a book called <Alcohol Swab>? Or <Terminal>?”

She blinked.

“Never heard of them. Are they good?”

Never heard of them?

“But they were here. I know they were here.”

“Are you okay?”

“…Yeah.”

My hands curled into fists.

I took a deep breath.

Then another.

I had to be sure.

“Sorry, I—I have to go.”

“What? Where—?”

“I’ll see you later, I promise! I love you!”

Silence.

Then—

“What the hell? Is he possessed?”

A beat later, my eldest sister chuckled.

“He’s an idol, remember? Maybe he’s just practicing for fanservice.”

“Ugh. Gross. At least do it outside the house.”

I barely heard their voices as I ran back outside.

I wasn’t dreaming.

I was here.

Back in my own world.

But <Alcohol Swab>—

Taejoon.

Wasn’t.

“No, it’s not like that! Noona, Aunt! I really, really love you all!”

This world—my world.

The world where I lived as the real Hyun Wookyung.

If <Alcohol Swab> had only been a dream, then there was no death hanging over my head. No need to struggle against fate.

I bolted outside, running headlong into the streets as snow mixed with sleet pelted my face.

Maybe I was just stressed lately. Yeah. People have vivid dreams sometimes. It happens.

It was all just my imagination.

A very realistic delusion.

I came to an abrupt stop, my heart hammering so hard it felt like it might burst. Sweat dripped down my face like rain.

Cold drops splashed against my palms. My breath came out in thick, hot clouds. My shoes were soaked through, the wet fabric pressing against my wriggling toes.

I bent over, bracing my hands on my knees, gasping for breath.

This was reality.

A world without Taejoon.

A world where my family, my friends, my bandmates existed.

<Alcohol Swab>—<Terminal>—

It was all just… a dream.

A dream I needed to wake up from.

My lips curled into something that wasn’t quite a smile or a frown. The corners of my eyes burned.

Days passed in a blur.

At first, I frantically searched for any trace of <Alcohol Swab>.

Then, I focused on grounding myself in this world.

I reached out to old friends and acquaintances I had neglected, calling just to check in. I spent more time with my family.

And my bandmates—

We were all struggling.

Juggling part-time jobs just to keep our dreams afloat. Trying to survive in an industry that had already decided our worth.

“Wow, it’s been forever since we’ve gone to a karaoke room.”

I grinned, quickly punching in the number for our debut song.

“You always pick that one, hyung,” Jihoon, our youngest member, groaned.

“Aren’t you sick of it yet?”

Sukhoon leaned back, resting his chin on his palm. “Wookyung never gets sick of it. Never will.”

“And why would I?” I shot back. “Have you ever seen a classic get old?”

Despite their earlier complaints, the others quietly readied themselves for their parts.

They loved this song.

Even if they wouldn’t admit it.

— The place where you stayed, the voice I long for…

As the melody played, memories rushed in.

That dingy coin karaoke room.

Singing this same song, alone.

Then looking up—

To see him watching.

Taejoon, silently listening, his expression unreadable.

I closed my eyes.

I wasn’t ready to let him go.

“It was just a dream.”

“A dream, a dream, just a dream—”

The moment the thought crossed my mind, I heard it.

—Tap, tap.

A soft, rhythmic knocking.

The sound of a tambourine being idly tapped—

“No—”

“Ah!”

I jerked, my voice cutting off mid-note.

A sharp mic feedback screeched through the room.

“What the hell?”

“Wookyung, why’d you stop?”

I scanned the room frantically.

“Who—” My voice came out hoarse. “Who was playing the tambourine?”

Jihoon frowned. “What tambourine?”

“You didn’t hear it?” I demanded.

I had heard it.

I knew I had.

That idle tapping—

Taejoon’s habit.

Whenever he was lost in thought, his fingers would drum on whatever was in reach.

The tambourine sat untouched on the table.

Right where it had been.

I stared at it.

Sukhoon clicked his tongue, standing up. “You want tambourine? Fine. I’ll give you tambourine.”

He grabbed it, shaking it wildly.

Jingle, jangle.

“Happy now?”

“Ugh, cut it out!”

“Too loud!”

The others groaned, covering their ears.

Soon, the room erupted into familiar, playful chaos—laughter, teasing, playful shoving.

It should’ve made me feel better.

But instead, something inside me cracked.

I suddenly felt exhausted.

Sitting back down, I curled my fingers into my lap, staring blankly at the table.

What was I supposed to do now?

A single tear slipped down my cheek, landing on my hand.

The noise around me quieted.

“…Wookyung?”

My chest ached.

Every time I thought of Taejoon, it came with a wave of guilt. Of longing. Of an indescribable sense of loss.

I missed him.

So much it physically hurt.

I clenched my fists.

“I’m just… tired.”

Changwook patted my shoulder. “We all are.”

“Maybe it’s time to stop trying so hard,” someone murmured.

“Yeah… maybe we should just let it go.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” Jihoon snapped. “We agreed to keep going!”

“But what’s the point?”

“We tried, Jihoon. We did everything we could.”

“Yeah, and our agency couldn’t care less about us.”

“Did you see the name they gave our comeback project? XHD09BF? What even is that?”

“Forget that—Wookyung’s crying. Someone shut up and do something.”

“…Hey, Wookyung. Want to go get some ice cream?”

“What? He’s not a kid.”

“Yeah, but it works.”

“Wait, really?”

I barely registered their voices.

Their jokes. Their concern.

Because no matter how much they tried to comfort me—

No matter how much I told myself this was where I belonged—

There was still an ache that wouldn’t fade.

A hole that wouldn’t close.

Because somewhere, in a place no one else remembered, in a story no one else believed in—

Taejoon was gone.

And I was still here.