Scene 1 - 3. [A Traitor's Breakfast Table]

  The light from the crystal chandelier overhead was a needle piercing the optic nerve.

  Lee Kang squeezed his eyes shut and forced them open again.

  The afterimage lingered on his retinas—flickering like the bloodstains from last night.

  On the pristine white tablecloth, the smell of freshly toasted bread and butter was overwhelming.

  The moment that rich aroma touched his nose,

  his stomach clenched and pushed bile up to his throat.

  The metallic taste of blood clinging to his esophagus tangled with the smell of butter.

  Clatter.

  The fork hit the plate. The sound scraped straight down his eardrums.

  The tips of Lee Kang's fingers vibrated faintly around the fork.

  The bones, shattered and forcibly reset through the night, screamed with every small movement.

  Across from him, at the head of the long table.

  The wealthiest man in Joseon. The wealthiest man in Joseon.

  A man decorated with a title bestowed by the Empire itself.

  He turned the page of the morning paper behind his reading glasses.

  Rustle, rustle.

  Rustle. Rustle.

  The sound of paper cutting through the air was sharper than a knife.

  Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author.

  [Gyeongseong Military Police Wiped Out—The Tiger's Doing?]

  The bold headline burned itself into Lee Kang's vision.

  The old man clicked his tongue—tsk—and set his coffee cup back on its saucer.

  tsk—and set his coffee cup down on the saucer.

  "A mad beast is roaming Gyeongseong."

  His voice was dry. He didn't even glance at Lee Kang as he spread jam on his toast.

  "You be careful too. Don't go crawling around late at night."

  The corners of Lee Kang's mouth twisted up grotesquely.

  Eyes unfocused. Jaw slack. The face known all across the streets of Gyeongseong.

  "Hehe… Yes, Father. I'll… be careful."

  He aimed his fork at a sausage. The tines slipped off the casing and struck the plate hard.

  Clatter!

  The fork tumbled onto the tablecloth.

  Brown sauce splattered across the white fabric—eaving stains that looked like drops of dried blood.

  "Oops… slipped."

  Lee Kang fumbled to pick it back up.

  Deep furrows cut into the old man's forehead.

  He dabbed his mouth with a napkin, wearing the expression of a man about to spit out

  what he's chewing.

  "Useless."

  The old man's gaze didn't go to Lee Kang's hand. It went to the stained tablecloth.

  "To think something like that came from my bloodline. Tsk."

  The muttered words drove into Lee Kang's ears. But he kept smiling, mouth hanging open.

  His upper body swayed above the table like a puppet with loose strings.

  Under the table, it was different.

  Lee Kang's left hand clamped onto his own thigh.

  Five fingers dug into the muscle with enough force to tear through the fabric.

  Nails gouging into flesh.

  The urge to flip the table and tear out the old man's throat—Converted into grip strength.

  Stabbing inward. Into his own flesh.

  'You made this.'

  His nails broke skin. Hot liquid seeped out from his thigh and soaked into the fabric.

  'That mad beast. You carved it from my bones.'

  Unaware that his son was carving into his own flesh beneath the table,

  the old man fixed him with a cold stare.

  "The useless ones should at least live long.

  Don't go dying in the gutter and disgracing the family name."

  Lee Kang's smiling face went rigid for a fraction of a second.

  He forced the corners of his mouth back up, dragging the muscles into place.

  What gathered at the edges of his eyes wasn't laughter.

  It was the body's physiological answer to pain.

  "Yes… I'll keep that in mind. I'll live a long, long time."

  Lee Kang grabbed a piece of bread with his right hand—pale from cut-off

  circulation—and stuffed it into his mouth. Dry. It chewed like sand.

  The old man rose from his seat as if he'd seen enough.

  "Clear this. I've lost my appetite."

  The moment the old man's back disappeared from the dining room,

  servants rushed in to clear the table.

  Lee Kang sat frozen, like a taxidermied specimen.

  Cheeks stuffed with bread. Jaw stopped mid-chew.

  Under the table, the left hand released his thigh.

  The black suit trousers hid the damage—

  but bits of red flesh and blood were packed beneath his fingernails.

  Lee Kang thrust his trembling hand deep into his pocket.

  The idiot's grin was wiped clean in an instant. What remained in its place was cold. Murderous.

  '...Not yet.'

  He spat the bread out into a napkin. The mashed lump was wet and

  faintly red—like something that belonged inside a body.