The morning sun crept through the curtains of Kang Tae-min's small apartment, spilling light onto the cracked walls and the faint steam still rising from his half-finished coffee. His muscles ached from the day before, but it was the kind of ache he welcomed — a reminder that he was moving, progressing, living.
He thought about dropping by the coffee shop early, maybe to catch Sang-ho before the day began.
When he arrived, the shop was quieter than usual. The smell of roasted beans lingered in the air, soft jazz humming in the background.
The barista — the same woman with calm eyes and a gentle smile — greeted him.
"Sang-ho stepped out for a bit," she said, wiping a cup. "If you're here for him, you can leave the money with me."
Tae-min nodded, taking out the thick envelope of bills he'd collected. She noticed his discipline — every note stacked neatly, every amount precise.
"You really take this seriously," she said, half-amused.
"I take everything seriously," he replied, matter-of-factly, and placed the envelope on the counter.
Then, without another word, he left.
That night, he stopped by the convenience store again.
But Rina — the goth girl with the soft laugh — wasn't there. Another part-timer, a tired-looking college kid, stood behind the counter.
Tae-min bought some instant noodles and a boiled egg, his usual dinner, but it felt strangely dull without her there.
He shook the thought off and walked home under the quiet glow of the streetlights, the same loop playing in his mind — eat, train, work, sleep.
Tomorrow would be the same. Or so he thought.
The next morning, the coffee shop was livelier than usual. Do Jin was behind the counter, wearing an apron that looked comically small on him.
"Sang-ho's not here?" Tae-min asked.
"He's at home," Do Jin replied. "Probably sleeping. He's been on edge lately."
"Because of the meeting?"
Do Jin nodded, lowering his voice. "Yeah. Things are… tense."
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a key. "Here. Take the other car. You'll need it for your rounds today."
Tae-min took the keys without question. "You're not coming?"
"Not today. Gotta go wake up the boss myself."
With that, Do Jin disappeared into the back room, leaving Tae-min with the same quiet jazz and the faint hum of the coffee grinder.
By the end of the day, Tae-min had already visited most of the clients. His efficiency was mechanical — polite introductions, calm persuasion, firm insistence. No wasted motion.
When he finally looked down at his phone, he noticed one last name on the list.
No emoji next to it. No status. Just an address.
That alone made him curious.
He drove there as the sun began to dip below the horizon. The address led him to a sushi restaurant near the city border — a quiet place with tinted windows and a foreign name he couldn't read.
When he stepped inside, the atmosphere shifted instantly.
The air was heavy. Every seat was filled, but not by locals. Broad-shouldered men with sharp eyes and thick accents turned toward him. Conversations died mid-sentence. The scent of wasabi and expensive cologne hung thick in the air.
Tae-min approached the counter, unfazed.
"I'm looking for this man," he said, showing the photo from his phone.
The server's smile disappeared. A few of the men at the tables stood.
Moments later, two bulky Russians approached him. One gestured toward the back with a silent nod.
Tae-min followed.
The back room was dimly lit, paper lanterns glowing faintly above an old wooden table.
At its center sat an elderly Russian man, sipping tea with perfect composure.
His hair was silver, his posture unbent. A small scar ran down his cheek, and his pale eyes gleamed like glass.
Around him stood half a dozen men, each armed.
The old man spoke first, his tone slow and deliberate.
"Ty dolzhen bytʹ tot koréets," he said in Russian — You must be the Korean.
A translator beside him started to repeat it in Korean, but Tae-min raised a hand.
"No need. I understand."
The translator blinked, surprised.
The old man smiled faintly. "A rare skill. Few of your kind learn our tongue."
"I learn what I need," Tae-min replied calmly.
The man chuckled softly, setting down his cup. "Then you know what they say — when the tiger approaches the dragon, the ground trembles."
Tae-min tilted his head slightly. "And when the dragon smiles, it means he's afraid of losing a tooth."
The room went still.
The translator froze mid-breath. The guards exchanged glances.
Then the old man laughed — a deep, genuine sound that echoed off the walls.
"Smart," he said in Russian. "You speak well for someone so young. You remind me of someone."
He snapped his fingers, and one of the guards disappeared into a side room.
Tae-min's eyes tracked the movement. The tension in the room thickened — hands brushing against concealed pistols, eyes narrowing on him.
He was calm, but inside, his heartbeat was sharp and quick.
After a moment, the guard returned with an envelope and handed it to the old man, who slid it across the table.
"No tricks," the old man said. "Your boss will get what's owed."
Tae-min picked it up, weighed it in his hand, then nodded. "He'll appreciate your cooperation."
The old man smiled again. "Tell Sang-ho to take care of my nephew."
The air froze.
Nephew.
Tae-min didn't react outwardly, but his mind was already running.
He gave a polite bow and left without another word.
When he returned to the coffee shop that evening, Sang-ho was there — sitting with his feet up on a chair, scrolling through his phone.
"Took you long enough," he said, smirking. "How many did you get today?"
Tae-min placed the envelope on the table. "All of them."
Sang-ho picked it up and opened it — then froze. The money inside wasn't just complete; it was more than he expected.
"Where'd this come from?"
"The client with no emoji."
Sang-ho looked up sharply. "...What client?"
"The old Russian man. Owns that sushi restaurant near the city border."
Sang-ho's smirk vanished. For the first time since Tae-min met him, he looked genuinely startled.
"The old man?" he asked, his voice low. "You met him?"
Tae-min nodded.
Sang-ho leaned back slowly, exhaling through his nose. "That's not just any client. That's Viktor. The man's a legend in the Russian syndicates. My European guy… he was Viktor's nephew."
He rubbed his temples, muttering under his breath. "No one deals with him directly. Not without bloodshed."
Tae-min simply stood there, calm as ever. "He gave me the money."
Sang-ho looked up at him again — this time, differently. There was respect there. And a hint of something else.
"You're something else, Kang Tae-min," he said finally, with a grin that didn't quite reach his eyes.
He stood, clapped a hand on Tae-min's shoulder, and added quietly, "But be careful. The tiger might smile at you… only until it decides you look better bleeding."