Tae Sagi, catching his look, nodded like a director giving an actor the cue.
"Go for it, Uncle Hwan."
Tae Hwan inhaled. The air seared his lungs. He raised his head, and his gaze, full of silent rage, slowly crawled over the faces of his stunned subordinates. His throat constricted, but the words had to be spoken:
"Bow your heads before our new boss, now!"
The gangsters froze. They thought they had misheard. They looked at Tae Hwan, searching his face for a hint of a joke, of playacting, but found only a distorted grimace of forced submission. The spectators on the benches gasped in unison, and the sound pierced the silence.
Slowly, reluctantly, with the creak of broken pride, one by one, like puppets with severed strings, the gangsters began to lower their heads. Some just lowered their gaze, others bowed their chins to their chests. The youngest among them, a guy with an eyebrow piercing, stood straight, trembling, until Sung Wo jabbed him in the side with his elbow, forcing him to bend sharply, almost into a bow. Taek Jung was the last. His massive neck seemed made of stone. He stared straight ahead, at Ming You's chest, his jaw working. Several unbearable seconds passed before he, with an almost audible grinding of teeth, lowered his head, but didn't bow it – he just jerked it down in a sharp nod, as if paying a brief, furious tribute.
Ming You stood among them, smiling. His gaze slid over the bent backs, reading the degree of hatred in each incline.
"Not a bad play," the cold, detached thought flashed through his head. "If only Taek Jung had done it, I'd have believed it, since he's responsible for these bets. But when the head does it... hehe. Too pompous. Too royal a surrender of an entire kingdom over a single loss. This, too, can be used."
Then he slowly turned, breaking the circle of his new "subordinates," and addressed the crowd. His face once again took on an expression of friendly openness, as if he were the host of some show.
"Alright, now I'll address the esteemed spectators." Ming You gave them a cheerful look, then continued, raising his voice so all could hear. "I withdraw my objections and allow the organizers to take on the debts and pay them to me. Since I am now also considered an organizer of these games, your next winnings really will be increased by fifteen percent."
The crowd froze in confusion. Simple guys from the surrounding houses, students, thrill-seekers – they had just witnessed the humiliation of the local authority, and now they were being offered a chance to profit from it. Their eyes held a mix of fear, greed, and bewilderment.
"So if I place a huge bet, I can become a boss too and have such subordinates?" shouted someone from the back rows, a young guy in a cap, his voice filled with greedy, naive hope. "If so, I can't wait for the next game!"
That shout, like a match thrown into dry grass, ignited the atmosphere. The crowd came alive. People whispered, already calculating potential winnings in their heads, building fantasies of power and money. Emboldened, they began to disperse, but now there was an energy in their step that hadn't been there a minute ago. Fear gave way to excitement. Tae Hwan's humiliation became for them not a warning, but an advertisement, a promise of dizzying possibilities.
When the last spectators disappeared into the darkness of the alleys, a heavy, thick silence fell over the square. It was different now – without spectators, without pretense. Only the soft rustle of leaves in the roadside bushes and the occasional rumble of a distant car disturbed it. The lamp above the square flickered, casting trembling shadows on the faces of the men who were slowly, as if waking from a nightmare, raising their heads.
Taek Jung stood with his arms crossed over his chest. His face was an impenetrable stone mask, but his fingers dug convulsively into his elbows, whitening from the strain.
"What about the debts of the newcomers to your basketball club?" he asked, trying to keep his voice even, almost businesslike. "You're not planning to cancel their debts, are you? You don't necessarily have to play against them."
Ming You turned to him, and his smile suddenly became sharper, thinner, like a razor blade.
"Of course not, a debt is a debt. Besides, I want to play myself... or rather, to win." He paused, and his eyes, black and bottomless, reflected the cold, yellow light of the lamp for a moment, turning into two narrow slits. "That's why I'll crush them into even greater debt."
"Fine, we understand," Taek Jung said through gritted teeth, lowering his gaze. But inside, his mind raged: "Damn it, it's obvious this shameless, cunning bastard doesn't know any feelings, not even towards his own team members!"
Ming You seemed to read his thoughts – or simply didn't care about them. He lazily waved his hand, turning towards the exit of the square as if leaving after a friendly chat.
"Alright, guys, until the next game."
Tae Sagi, who had been observing all this with a lazy smile, took a step forward.
"Hold on, if you want, we can give you a ride in the car, you are the 'boss' now, after all."
Ming You didn't even turn around. His silhouette was already at the border of light and shadow.
"Thanks, but I'll walk myself."
His figure slowly dissolved into the darkness, his steps on the asphalt light and unhurried. Only the last glimmer of the lamplight slid over his shoulder, illuminating for a moment the fabric of his school uniform, before he disappeared around the corner, merging with the night.
As soon as he was out of sight, Tae Hwan jerked sharply, as if invisible shackles restraining an explosion had been removed from him. His face contorted with pure, uncontrollable fury, a vein on his forehead bulged and pulsed like a living worm.
"That fucking little shit!" His cry burst out in a hoarse, ragged roar. "How dare he! Damn it, damn it... FUCK!!!"
He spun around and punched the wooden bench with wild force. A dull, resounding blow echoed through the deserted street, causing a couple of pigeons to startle from a cornice. The wood cracked.
Tae Sagi sighed, pulling a pack of cigarettes from his pocket. He didn't look agitated.
"Don't get so worked up, Uncle Hwan. You need to get laid, or at least jerk off, there's so much hatred in you it's making even me uneasy."
"FUCK!" Tae Hwan turned to him, his eyes bloodshot. "I want you to kill that bastard! Shoot him, nephew! Chase him down right now and shoot him like a dog!"
Tae Sagi lit his cigarette, squinting at the lighter flame. He took a drag and slowly exhaled a stream of smoke.
"Sorry, can't do. I'm definitely not planning on going to prison over his death. Not even for you, Uncle Hwan."
The gangsters exchanged glances. They saw their boss, the pillar and fear of the entire neighborhood, losing face, thrashing about in helpless rage, and this spectacle was worse than any defeat. It undermined the very foundations of their world.
Taek Jung stood motionless, but his huge fists were clenched so tightly his bones creaked. His breath escaped his chest in heavy, ragged puffs, steaming in the cold night air. He stared into the darkness where Ming You had gone.
"That immoral, unprincipled, ruthless schemer!" Tae Hwan hissed, and every sound was filled with such concentrated hatred it seemed the air around him was boiling. "He took advantage not only of his own reputation but of mine! Damn you, Ming You!!!"
His cry, low and full of despair, tore into the night, carrying over the empty streets. But the only answer was the all-consuming silence and the cold wind that began to tear scraps of paper from the ground and whip up dusty whirlwinds on the empty basketball court.