A Contracted Gangster Who Has to Die to Survive - Chapter 79

“Damn bastards. At least they could’ve avoided the face. It’s going to take a while for those bruises to fade.”

Without warning, Choi Taejoon’s thick, long fingers brushed against my cheek.

Then, in a dissatisfied tone, he added,

“Make sure to apply the ointment properly.”

His words made me chuckle awkwardly. I rubbed my cheek where his hand had touched and turned my gaze toward the vase of flowers.

“I must look so terrible if you went as far as to say my face is a mess… You did say that.”

“Who said you were ugly?”

Choi Taejoon frowned slightly, as if he didn’t immediately grasp what I meant. But then, he seemed to understand.

“Don’t worry. You’re not that bad yet.”

“…Yet? Am I supposed to be relieved by that?”

At my disgruntled response, Choi Taejoon reached out and carefully lifted my chin.

“How is it? Does it hurt?”

“A little.”

“How much?”

Even the smallest change in my expression made my face throb.

“It hurts when I blink, when I open my mouth too wide, even when I talk. When I sleep and roll over, everything aches….”

“And what else?”

He pulled me closer, subtly guiding me to sit on the bed as he continued questioning me.

“The inside of my mouth hurt too, but it’s better now. Ah—look, you see the cut?”

“Where?”

“Here, here. Look closely.”

Choi Taejoon leaned in to examine the inside of my mouth.

Oh, hell.

I quickly clamped my mouth shut. It seemed that because he was taking my side, I had unknowingly started talking too much.

“What?”

“Stop looking.”

“You told me to look.”

“Well, I’m telling you to stop now….”

Choi Taejoon finally let his expression soften, a faint smile appearing on his lips.

I let out a deep sigh.

I couldn’t even die properly, and this was probably the umpteenth time I’d been beaten to a pulp.

To make things worse, the ones who did it were trained professionals—thugs who knew exactly how to inflict the most pain with maximum efficiency.

I just wanted a painless way out of this mess, but I kept getting caught in these situations. It wasn’t just frustrating—it was infuriating.

Maybe there really was some kind of predetermined quota of suffering I had to endure before it all ended.

“…Maybe there’s something like a ‘total amount’ of pain we have to go through.”

“A total amount?”

I meant, like in Alcohol Swab, where Hyun Woo Kyung had to get beaten up a lot before his story ended. Maybe I had to go through the same thing.

“There’s no such thing. If your logic were true, then the amount of food you eat in a lifetime would be predetermined too.”

“Well, yeah.”

“So if you just stopped eating, you could live forever?”

If I stopped eating, I wouldn’t live forever—I’d be dead in a matter of days.

“The moment you die, it just means you’ve reached your ‘quota’ of meals. …Why are you laughing?”

“Because that sounds just like something you’d say.”

Despite his gruff tone, his expression and attitude showed he was actually listening to me seriously. It wasn’t unpleasant.

“I wish life really did have a set quota like that.”

“Would make it easier to live recklessly, huh? If fate was already decided.”

“No, I think I’d actually try harder. Even if things were tough now, I’d know that once I reached my limit of suffering, happiness would come after.”

Choi Taejoon let out a short, amused laugh.

“You’re more of an optimist than I thought.”

“I hear that a lot.”

For my theory to hold, I’d need to know what my personal quota was.

In my case, since I already knew how much suffering the original Hyun Woo Kyung had endured in Alcohol Swab, I could make some guesses. But ordinary people wouldn’t have that advantage.

So how much longer would I have to go through this?

Honestly, the only reason I had been able to endure everything since possessing this body was the hope that, if I held on a little longer, I’d be able to return to my original world.

No matter how bad things got, I always thought—this isn’t forever. I have a world to go back to. That belief made everything easier to endure.

But now, it didn’t seem like dying was going to be easy. The seasons were changing—summer had passed, and autumn was settling in.

The original novel had ended before mid-autumn.

“…I should’ve killed them all that day.”

Choi Taejoon must have been seething inside, especially after kneeling before Kang Jaewook. Maybe suspending Director Kim was his way of showing mercy.

“When the doctor comes later, show them your injuries.”

“No, it’s fine. My face is actually in decent shape. My body is worse….”

“Is it that bad?”

Choi Taejoon’s expression turned cold. Ah, damn. I shouldn’t have said that.

“Let me see.”

He grabbed the hem of my t-shirt. Without hesitation, he yanked it up.

A rush of cool air swept over my stomach, chest, and back.

“W-What are you doing?!”

I panicked and tried to pull my shirt back down.

“Stay still.”

Choi Taejoon held me in place, then swiftly pulled my shirt over my head. Before I knew it, both my arms were stuck in the tangled fabric, raised helplessly above my head.

“Are you insane? What the hell—”

“There’s not a single unbruised spot on you. Your stomach, back, and shoulders—what the hell is this? Have you taken any medication?”

“I took a painkiller, but… that’s not the point! Why are you stripping me?”

“This is awful. Your ribs are completely black and blue.”

I tried to lower my arms, but he tightened his grip on my wrists, refusing to let go.

“What about your legs?”

Wait. Was he seriously about to strip me further?

The moment I realized he was reaching for my waistband, my body stiffened.

“D-Don’t touch me.”

But Choi Taejoon moved his hand as if he was about to undo my belt.

“Wait a minute—”

This bastard! Does he ever listen?!

“I told you—stop!”

With my arms still trapped in the shirt, I swung them down with all my strength, aiming for the top of his head.

“Ugh!”

Choi Taejoon flinched, clutching his head with both hands. He looked at me, utterly bewildered.

“…Did you just hit me?”

“Yes! What the hell do you think you’re doing?!”

“What?”

“You—you were obviously trying to strip me down completely!”

“I was just checking your injuries—”

“Like hell you were! This is a hospital room, we’re alone, and—”

And you’re Choi Taejoon.

In Alcohol Swab, Choi Taejoon was the type of man who did whatever he wanted, wherever he wanted. It didn’t matter if it was a hospital, a park, or even a police station.

Choi Taejoon frowned, as if he were genuinely offended by the accusation.

Was he insulted by being treated like a pervert? Or had he simply decided that, since he was already being accused, he might as well go through with it?

“Ah!”

Choi Taejoon suddenly pushed me lightly on the shoulder.

With my arms still tangled in the shirt, I couldn’t catch myself. I fell back onto the mattress, landing flat on my back.

“Want me to show you what real mischief looks like?”

“N-No! I’m good!”

My whole body felt like it was overheating from the inside. My throat was dry, and my palms were damp with sweat.

“After getting smacked on the head, I think I finally sobered up.”

He tapped his temple with his fingers, as if reminding me that I had hit him.

“Does it hurt? You were hospitalized, after all. You shouldn’t be moving around like this….”

He was supposed to be recovering, wasn’t he?

“It hurts. The part where you hit me.”

As he spoke, his face drew closer. His other hand, the one not supporting himself on the mattress, trailed down toward my waist. The warmth of his body, his breath, all of it pressed against my already hypersensitive skin.

If I closed my eyes, I felt dizzy. If I opened them, all I saw was the sharp intensity of Choi Taejoon’s gaze.

“You know what’s great about hospital gowns?”

“…W-What?”

“The waist.”

Just one word—“waist.”

But the meaning was crystal clear: Elastic bands. Easy access. Perfectly convenient.

My cheeks flamed with heat.

“S-Stop messing around.”

Knock, knock—

Just then, a soft knocking came from the hospital room door.

“Mr. Choi Taejoon, the professor is here for his rounds.”

“Did you hear that? They’re here for the check-up.”

“We don’t need it.”

Without missing a beat, Choi Taejoon called out toward the door.

“Come back later.”

What kind of patient refuses a doctor’s visit? That wasn’t even a request—it was just common courtesy to confirm before entering.

“We’ll be coming in now.”

Choi Taejoon shot a glare toward the entrance, looking slightly irritated.

“I said later.”

But thankfully, the medical staff were not the type to take orders from him. They ignored him completely, and the sound of the door unlocking followed.

I seized the opportunity, scrambling up from the bed and hastily fixing my clothes. Pressing my heated cheeks with the back of my hands, I all but fled toward the door.

A group of white-coated doctors and nurses filed into the room.

As I passed them, I slowed my steps slightly, eavesdropping on their conversation.

“It seems you had a visitor. How are you feeling today?”

“I’m fine.”

Despite Choi Taejoon’s blunt response, the doctor remained pleasant.

“That’s good to hear. Let’s have a look, then.”

I lingered near the door, listening closely.

“Your recovery is progressing quite rapidly. At this rate, you should be discharged soon.”

Discharged?!

I silently cheered. As expected, Choi Taejoon’s body was practically indestructible. The fact that he was recovering so quickly was a relief.

And being discharged meant one thing—

Choi Taejoon would finally be going home.

To a house where I no longer lived.

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