Passion: Suite

“……I have no intention whatsoever of self-harm. I don’t make threats I can’t carry out.”
Taeui muttered through heavy lips. A short, weighty chuckle escaped him, more so than usual.
“Even so, I would’ve stopped.”
Ilrey took a pace, his boots crunching on the floor. He turned his back to Hogan as if disinterested, glancing over his shoulder at Taeui. After a moment of silent scrutiny, Ilrey curled one side of his mouth.
“I’m the one who’s hurt, yet you look the worse for wear.”
“…….”
“Fine. As you say, I’ll leave it at this. For today.”
With a light wave of his hand, Ilrey spoke coolly—and with that, he turned and exited the information data room. His slow, measured footsteps receded down the corridor.
Taeui stood rooted to the spot, staring long after Ilrey’s vanishing silhouette. Only when the footsteps died away entirely did Hogan—a strange whimper escaping him as he writhed—lift his head to look at Taeui. His lips trembled with fear and pain.
Have you betrayed me? Or will you help me? Whose side are you on?
Reading the eyes still brimming with suspicion and resentment, Taeui laughed as though on the verge of tears.
Because of a man like this.
“Not at all. I’m only keeping you alive. I’m not aiding your actions. I’ll always stand with Ilrey.”
What a pathetic voice. So deflated, so beaten down that he sounded ready to cry. Taeui twisted his lips in distaste. Then he lifted his foot and stomped down on the memory drive that had fallen from Hogan’s pocket. A sharp crack echoed as the little device shattered beneath his boot.
With a sudden bang, the door swung open and the room’s occupant looked up.
Jeong Chang-in, seated at his desk and tapping at the keyboard, blinked in surprise at Taeui’s abrupt entry. He pressed the save button, closed his laptop as if pausing his work, and removed his glasses.
“Taeui. What brings you here at this hour without warning?”
He gestured to the sofa. Although it was past midnight, it wasn’t so late as to be rude. Yet Taeui should’ve been with Hogan at this time—Hogan would have just finished his overtime and been catching his breath, and Taeui, who never left Hogan’s side until he fell asleep, would have had no reason to be here.
“Did Hogan turn in especially early tonight? Or did he send you on some errand? Well, since you’re here, help yourself to a beer.”
Chang-in rose and went to the minibar. He always kept a stock of beers—even ones Taeui didn’t much like—on hand for him.
“Come to think of it, I saw Hogan alone at dinner, so he must have stayed late today. Everything all right?”
As he fetched a beer and a glass of water, Chang-in fell silent. It wasn’t just that Taeui had thrown something onto the sofa. Taeui stood there, silent, his face set and weary as though crushed by exhaustion.

Chang-in regarded him for a moment, then looked at the object Taeui had tossed. It lay intact on the cushion: slightly larger than a palm, clearly a component from the main computer in the information data room. Chang-in raised an eyebrow as he recognized the recording disk—and saw it smeared with blood. Only then did he notice Taeui’s disheveled state. His dark clothes were soaked—perhaps in something darker than water.
“Are you hurt?”
Chang-in asked with a faint frown. Taeui’s lips quivered, and he spoke slowly.
“Yes. Though not me.”
Chang-in opened his mouth to ask who, but stopped himself. Taeui’s face looked childlike—on the brink of tears.
“Hogan is in the infirmary now. He won’t be able to use his right arm for months. It shattered below the elbow.”
So it was Hogan who was hurt. Yet Taeui’s tone was matter-of-fact, even cold. Chang-in picked up the disk and wiped the blood off with his thumb.
“You can’t just remove this from the data room. Did Hogan take it out?”
“No— I did. If it’s so important, you should have locked it in the safe.”
Chang-in watched Taeui speak quietly. The disk, Hogan in the infirmary, Taeui’s exhausted face. He soon grasped the missing piece: Regrow. But instead of asking about it, Chang-in tapped the disk with his finger.
“Even if you bring back one copy, you know there are countless backups.”
“I don’t care. Have uncle retrieve the rest. Then lock them in whichever safe you like.”
Taeui’s voice was rigid, seething with anger. Because this hardly ever happened, Chang-in seemed unsure how to respond. Taeui bit his lip between words and glared at the floor.
“I’m angry, uncle. I knew what I was getting into from the start, and I didn’t back out despite knowing how things would go. I won’t blame you now, but I’m still angry—at you and at myself.”
Chang-in said nothing. He probably didn’t expect an answer. Taeui continued, voice trembling with pent-up fury.
“Why did I have to hurt Ilrey with my own hands to save a man like that? It’s one of the dirtiest feelings I’ve ever had.”
Taeui’s face twisted in helpless rage. Chang-in finally caught the thread of the situation—why Taeui was so distraught, how the other pieces fit together.
“Taeui.”
“Don’t worry—I’m not quitting. But since it’s come to this, it’s as good as over.”
Taeui cut off Chang-in’s attempt to comfort him. He didn’t want to hear anything; whatever words came now would only anger him further. His eyes, full of bleak fury at Chang-in and at himself, fixed on Chang-in.
“Tonight, I don’t care anymore. No matter whose hands that damn data ends up in, tonight I won’t give a damn.”
His voice dropped a notch, the confusion and rage seeming to turn inward, leaving a pained expression.
“……Taeui.”
“Let me be. I just came to vent my anger. The person I should really be angry at is me.”
Taeui spoke bitterly, then turned away, shoulders slumped. Chang-in called after him once more, but he didn’t look back. His small silhouette slipped through the door.
 
As he left, a thought struck Taeui: it wasn’t fair to unload all this on his uncle. Chang-in bore some responsibility, but it wasn’t right to heap upon him all the emotions Taeui felt now. Still, the act of venting left Taeui even more drained.
“……Why am I lashing out at the wrong person, Taeui?”
He muttered to himself. He knew perfectly well whom he should be angry at—himself. He alone made the choice, and even if given the chance to go back, he’d do the same: save Hogan’s life at the cost of Ilrey’s arm.
A torn ligament was nothing extraordinary—no hospital stay needed. A life mattered far more. And to Ilrey, it was barely an injury at all.
Yet.
The sensation in his hand lingered. The sickening snap as the joint popped. The horror of that sound.
He found himself stopping in front of Ilrey’s door, staring at his own hand. This hand had wrenched Ilrey’s shoulder out of its socket.
He said nothing, showed no pained expression—only a slight grimace at the joint’s dislocation, more annoyance than pain. But it must have hurt.
Pain tolerance and the absence of pain are different; this was pain.
And the pain was inflicted by—this hand of his.
“…….”
Taeui looked up from his hand to the door. A thin line of light seeped through the crack. He stood there a moment, then quietly pushed the door open. The sliver of light flared, revealing the room.
Ilrey sat with one foot on the table, leaning back on the sofa. His free hand rested on his forehead, eyes half-open as he regarded Taeui.
“…….”
Taeui entered without a word and closed the door behind him. He walked slowly to the chair opposite Ilrey and sat, watching him in silence.
Ilrey wore no shirt, his broad shoulders exposed. His right shoulder was simply taped—no professional dressing, just rough self-applied tape with a faint bruise visible beneath. A loosely wrapped bandage encircled the hand resting on his thigh; through the gaps, a line of scabbed wound showed clearly.
“What a sight. You always come back unscathed from worse.”
Taeui blurted out. His sullen voice forced its way through a tight throat.
He felt hurt. He’d seen Ilrey badly wounded before—far worse. This was nothing.
Yet it stung.
This was a wound he never should have had. If not for him, Ilrey’s hand would still be unscarred, his shoulder clean and free.
“Why me?”
Ilrey replied tersely, as if nothing had happened. Taeui frowned.
“Why did you hold back? You knew how exposed you were. You could’ve just struck once and been done. Better to be knocked out than come to like this.”
“Had I done that, you’d never know if you’d ever see me wake up again.”
Ilrey snorted.