BOOK 2 of 'Bubblegum Gucci Punk & Gangster Model Hunk'
•Be it night or be it day, the voices in his head, always mange to stay•
Ex-underground fighter and overnight sensational idol Park Dae Ho, dropped out of sight, making the people of South Korea...
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Dae Ho fixes his leather racer jacket and untucks his white undershirt, tying his shoelaces with a huff. It's D-day. He stands in front of the building he had been to not long ago. Seoul Army Hospital. The only difference is, this time he is alone, without Haneul by his side. Taking in a long breath, he enters the premises, hands in his pockets.
Upon his arrival, a flash passes through him but Dae Ho is fast enough to block the kick that's thrown his way. He grabs the man's shin and twists him around, flinging him to the ground. A punch from the side and another kick from behind comes in next, the fighter protecting his face but failing to dodge the kick. He flies into the wall with a thud, his back but he then recovers quickly and takes his stance.
"Come at me," he smirks, cockily signaling the men with his hand. He's oddly excited, adrenaline rushing through him. He goes all out, he has nothing to lose anyway. The fighter throws punches like there's no tomorrow, and lands kicks like that's his only function. He trips and falls, bruises when the men fight back, but that doesn't wipe off the grin he's wearing.
A bleeding lip and torn knuckles later, Dae Ho strides into the hall, wiping the sweat glistening on his face and ruffling his sticky hair. The space where dusty items and burnt furniture were thrown is no more, clean white space in view, although the sooty marks on the walls are still visible. A swivel chair sitting in the middle turns, revealing Vee in a crisp black suit and neatly combed hair.
"Isn't it beautiful to end something in the very place it started?" The Chinese man claps with a smug smile. "Welcome! Shall we begin?"
"Why did you call me here?" Dae Ho questions with gritting teeth, the previous burst of energy dissipating into boiling anger at the sight of the man who killed his sister.
"Do you have the USB drive?"
"I'm not giving you until you tell me about Minji. What did you mean by she didn't die that day?" Dae Ho already feels bile rising to his throat, his fingers digging into the skin of his palms.
Vee slides a blue velvet box on the floor without any explanation and the fighter picks it up. He takes in a sharp breath at the writing on the card when he opens it. Something he'd recognize easily.
'Congratulations on another successful tour, Oppa! Keep spreading your wings and soar high! —the only songwriter to exist'
It's undoubtedly a message from Minji as 'the only songwriter to exist' had been an inside joke between the two when the girl tried writing a song but failed miserably and Dae Ho mocked her with the title with a burst of rumbling laughter. He runs his finger over the words, nostalgia creeping in. A silver necklace is placed beneath the card, with two wings spread wide, joined by a black stone in the middle. It's ironic, Dae Ho thinks. The pendant contrasts with the one-winged tattoo he has on the left side of his back, shackled by a metal chain, constricting its movement, bounded, representing something fallen.
