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“Now who is joking?” I ask in return, lifting a brow. Almost grinning at her. Which is about as much of a grin as I ever do. “I was a child. I remember it vividly. It was hell. There’s no time in your life where you’re more helpless than childhood.”

Her brows knit and she forgets about her food. “That’s true, which is why I look at it differently. I think kids should be treasured and protectedbecausethey’re helpless. They don’t know anything yet. They’re still figuring out who they are and the world is a scary place.”

I let her answer linger between us, simply watching as she picks up her spoon and starts eating again.

There’s no calculation on her face. No pretense or grandstanding layered in her voice. She means every word she’s said.

That soft, stubborn goodness of hers is a splinter under my skin. We fundamentally look at the world in a different manner. I would call myself a realist, though some would say my outlook is so dark, it’s more on the side of pessimism.

By contrast, Monroe is bright. She’s an eternal optimist. She’s pure enough to choose a noble profession like a schoolteacher, and she volunteers her time at orphanages. This is a woman who lost a fiancé, and from what I gathered by her interactions with her mother, still mourns him two years later.

I take a slow bite of my kimchi. “Your students are lucky. Not all kids have adults like you around. Ones who actually care.”

“Did you?” she asks gently.

“I told you I grew up in an orphanage. Adults like you were few and far between.”

Her pity is unspoken, but visceral. It’s written on her face as she frowns.

“Don’t feel bad for me,” I say before she can decide how to respond. “Just keep doing what you’ve done. Be a good presence for your students.”

It’s the end of our conversation during breakfast, but her mood seems to lighten. I’ve possibly made her feel better.

There’s a first time for everything.

The Claw Lounge stinks of sweat, liquor, and cheap perfume.

I’ve just come off a collection run in Gwangan-dong. My knuckles ache from pounding in some idiot’s jaw. I’m returning the ammo my men and I borrowed when a gruff voice calls out to me from the end of the lounge floor.

“Ya, Jin-tae! You’re just in time! Come drink with us!”

I stop mid-stride. Hwang Do-gil—one of the older lieutenants—waves me over, already three soju bottles deep and red in the face. His stomach hangs over his belt like it’s trying to escape the confines of his shirt. He’s seated in the center of a private room, surrounded by other captains and lieutenants. All of them howl with drunken laughter and grope the girls who pour their drinks.

I should walk away. I hate these nights.

The captains and lieutenants gather to be loud, sloven and useless, indulging in liquor, prostitutes, and showboating. None of these things interest me in the slightest.

But if I refuse, it’ll raise suspicion. They’ll view it as a snub and draw their own conclusions.

I give a stiff nod and step inside the private room.

The room was once opulent—gold-trimmed moldings, velvet carpet, expensive crystal lights. Now it’s a faded relic like the restof the Claw Lounge, permanently reeking of cigarette smoke and liquor.

“Sit, sit,” Do-gil says, grinning. He gestures to the chair beside him. “You’ve been busy doing great things. Let us toast to our Silent Hunter.”

The men raise their glasses in my honor, clinking them together.

A girl in a skimpy leather dress rushes over and pours me a glass. I nod silently and let the liquor sit untouched on the table.

The door swings open with a theatrical creak. The Baekho-je himself waltzes in. Jae-hyun has a cigar clamped between his teeth, his eyes more alert than usual. He waves off the woman who immediately tries to massage his shoulders and claims the head of the table like a throne.

“I see my men are celebrating properly tonight,” he drawls, blowing thick smoke in our direction.

“You trained us well, Baekho-je,” Do-gil slurs, bowing his head. “And Jin-tae’s been doing the most. What he did to that Bulgeomhoe scum—Hah! That’s what I call a message.”

“Yes,” agrees Jae-hyun, turning his gaze onto me. A slow grin comes to his face, his crowded, crooked teeth on display. “Kwon Sang-bae and his whole crew wiped out in one night. It’s very impressive.”

“That’ll teach those fuckers not to test our territory!” cries one of the other captains.