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Ahn Yong-sun only gave Namjoon a pleasant smile as he took the envelope.
It was a Sunday morning. Namjoon would have ordinarily turned away any visitors, but the man was pleading and bellowing and sporting a dribbly line of snot underneath his nose. He worked for Namjoon - a general manager at one of the dozen bars scattered throughout Seoul.
When Namjoon heard of the man's monetary and marital problems, he held in his tender heart a dismayed feeling. His wife was depressed and in debt from an unkind miscarriage, and Yong-sun himself was quickly running low on the money required for his mortgage.
"I'm sorry to ask," he had wept with a bewailing, "please, fund my food for a week or so, please, my wife and I just need to pay off our debts and we'll be earning correctly again."
Namjoon didn't think too hard on the topic, overtired and welling up with commiseration for the poor man. He flicked through the wad of notes in his hand, counting the sum and taking note of it, including the man's name and home address, before giving the money to Yong-sun.
Yong-sun only gave Namjoon a pleasant smile as he took the envelope.
He walked out of Namjoon's house while wiping the back of his hand over his face. His muscles throbbed from forcing a frown for something short of an hour.
Without wasting so much as a minute, Yong-sun bounced into his car and took off towards his house. He coughed a silly greeting to his naive wife before shutting himself in the office.
Yong-sun sighed aloud while collapsing into his desk chair.
The proud smile on his face illustrated his triumphant win and his eyes glittered as they settled on the envelope. Carefully, Yong-sun peeled it open and removed the stack of notes.
"Beautiful," he brushed his thumb over the abundance of money, "just perfect."
It didn't take long for his plan to come into action. Yong-sun, after inhaling down half of the brume his wife had made, hurried to his car. He disregarded the unsettled look his partner displayed through the window as he drove away.
It was when he got out of the car that the smell of alcohol and a highly illegal drug plagued his nose. Yong-sun cackled a little too loudly and journeyed straight into the building.
"Good evening, Sir," the bartender welcomed, "can I get you anything?" While rarely taking his eyes off of the beautiful women frisking around behind him, Yong-sun ordered a bottle of lager.
He sat on a barstool with the chilled bottle cooling down the sweat in his palm, eyes lingering a little too long on each dancer as they flaunted around on the catwalk-like stages. His knee bounced up and down in rhythm with the sultry tune pumping through the club.
It was almost unnoticed as the dishonest man slid ₩300,000 worth of notes into a woman's hand.
It may not be surprising to learn that Yong-sun was being observed intensely and unwaveringly.
