Three Eight

The only one who read between the lines wasn’t just Hongju. Guppping, who had hesitated for a moment, turned his body away as if to ignore the situation and sat facing Doksu.

"The guy you brought in, never seen his face before. Have you?"

"No. That’s why I told you to stay put, Guppping. Why the hell didn’t he just die there?"

"If you had folded earlier, we could’ve swept it clean, no? You’re too damn slow, that’s why!"

"Then why don’t you do it yourself? What’s the point of setting up a plan if you’re not gonna stick to it?"

The two kept snapping at each other, blaming one another.

Mu-gyeong’s hand, which had been resting on Hongju’s shoulder, slowly slid away. He dusted off the worn-out armrest of the old sofa and casually perched himself on it. Then, this time, he wrapped an arm around Guppping’s shoulders, who was still fuming.

"A big man like you making such a fuss over two grand?"

"It’s the principle! The fucking principle! It was my turn to get a Gabo hand. But I got three points! Three! And those bastards had four! It’s so fucking obvious they used a burn card!"

"Even monkeys fall from trees. Sometimes the cards just don’t go your way."

Mu-gyeong lightly patted Guppping’s shoulder, as if offering comfort.

Hongju remained standing near the entrance, silently observing the scene. Mu-gyeong or Doksu might be in a position to challenge or add their two cents. But he wasn’t. It was best to stay quiet.