Flowers Are Bait

Chapter 118:

Having disappeared from the stage as soon as he turned 20, he was now a hound on the front line of violence to help with the family business. The concentration camp that voluntarily entered was a private education battalion of the Kwon family, where Kwon Chae-woo completely permeated into the darkness of society through a hellish training process.

From a genius cellist who once dominated the classical world to a shallow torturer who became a heinous racketeer and took out debt. It took a ridiculously short amount of time for Chae-woo to become addicted to violence.

Cello, the instrument that most closely resembles a human vocal range.

“Gahhhhhhhhh!”

He stamped a foot down on his opponent’s back one more time.

The sense he’d once had to be able to fall into a trance and make music from something as simple as a few notes was long lost, but violence has many similarities. In this place of torn flesh and blood curdling screams, the needle numbing his system seemed to press ever deeper.

Only then was able to pick up his cello bow once more. Like a parched man searching for a well, he fell hopelessly into sadistic behavior.

“How did it go?”

Chae-woo stepped out of the cage without hesitation and crossed the musty basement. Whenever he climbed the stairs, small creases of light crossed his forehead as little by little he rose from the darkness. Jang Beom-hee followed closely behind and lowered his voice.

“I’ve identified a suspect.”

“Who?”

“A few years ago, she was a maid for the family, but she can’t speak.”

“Was her tongue cut or was she born that way?”

“Her tongue was cut, sir.”

There is a fine line between genius and maniac. Kwon Chae-woo controlled the hounds with nothing but a lust for violence. He did not hesitate to do dirty work for his own pleasure, rather than for the survival of the family, and since the hounds were a gang famous enough to be used by previous presidents, he was a perfect player in that field.

Once he’d gained some power, he’d begun to do all the things he’d put off when he was helpless.

“I’m guessing it wasn’t because cutting off her fingers was too much work.”

“It’s…”

When Jang Beom-hee hesitated, Chae-woo, who was ahead of him, stopped walking and looked back. “Don’t make me angry and tell me.”

“…I think Director Kwon lied to you, sir.”

Jang Beom-hee couldn’t bear to look into his eyes and bowed his head.

“I don’t think Jooha’s death was an accident…

She had many names and titles.

Yoon Jooha, that woman, crazy hag.

And… his mother.

Even now, it was like looking at a melody whenever he closed his eyes. Warm sunlight, fine hair fluttering in the wind, their humble thatched house, big trees.

A mother who nurtured with love and devotion and created a source of music. A warm woman who taught the echoes of the trees and the cello.

A benefactor who sang a lullaby every night and told irrevocable lies at the same time. A sinner who kidnapped Chae-woo, who was only three years old at the time, by concealing him in a cello bag.

“Tell me.”

His face stiffened.

“It is to my understanding that the Kwon family has held her in custody for quite some time.”

At that moment, Chae-woo finally opened his eyes, feeling the intense pain of his broken ribs. The dream has ended and now he was finally conscious after months of sleep.

“Oh, my…” He sucked in a breath, hoisting himself up into a seated position. His chest shook roughly like someone struggling to breathe.

Darn it, Chae-woo cursed in a strangely unfamiliar voice. His head, which had been foggy up to that point, was brutally clear. He grimaced in pain.

Eventually he looked around at the familiar, yet unfamiliar seemingly strange interior.The pattern on the ceiling he’d never seen before, the unfamiliar furniture, and the medical devices checking his vitals. He ripped the pad off his body and got out of bed.

He casually overlooked the first thing he saw, the wild animal rescue center’s jacket, as if it were part of the wallpaper, and scanned the neatly organized wallet, cell phone, and ID card on the dresser.

“…what is all this?”

He crumpled his forehead and lifted his ID. The picture was definitely of him, but the numbers were ridiculous. His birthday from the day to the year was all fake. He laughed audibly at the sight of his age; four years older than he really was.

Like a well-made film set, this place had no sense of reality. Chae-woo kept looking at the house unfamiliarly, rubbing the nape of his neck.

His hands felt rough as he opened drawers and searched through closets. Nevertheless, his steps moved naturally like a person who knew exactly where to go. His head couldn’t keep up with his body. Chae-woo clicked his tongue in annoyance at his lack of memories.

“Exactly what kind of drugs was I subjected to. Who bastards did this to me?” Chae-woo came down the stairs, stretching and cracking his stiff neck, arms, waist, and legs one after another.

However, the further he went down, the more spectacular the sight was. With two pairs of indoor shoes, pastel-toned cushions, couple mugs, twin pots, and dream catchers, the lower floor’s interior was cute and cozy.

Completely the opposite of him.

At the sight of the lower floor, his stomach lurched. Chae-woo held onto the railing and bowed his head. Whenever he took a deep breath with his teeth clenched, the veins sticking out in the center of his forehead writhed.

Fake, fake, fake. The whole thing was an outrageous facade. He could feel it in the sporadic twitches of his body.

It was a level of disgust he’d felt for the first time in a long time since the world he knew had been overturned at the age of 13.

At that, his memories came rushing back to him like pieces of metal to a magnet, shocking him to the point where he saw lights in his eyes.

“Ah…”

His adam’s apple bobbed once and a meaningful groan slipped from his lips. The man lifted his bloodshot eyes and slowly stared into the air.

Yes…

He had come to Hwaido to catch So Lee-yeon.