The searchlights tore through the darkness in volleys of red, blue, and white, catching faces, hands, and bodies gliding in the dance. The air was thick, saturated with smoke, alcohol, and perfume. The blend of pheromones made the atmosphere viscous, and even his own breathing felt alien, as if someone else was breathing nearby. Do-yoon moved between the tables with his tray, smiling the way any waiter did. The white shirt fit him perfectly, the vest accentuated his figure, and outwardly there was nothing unusual about him. He looked like part of the decor, just another club employee. But every step he took was calculated, every glance was a fixation of detail. He caught phrases, movements, and expressions. He worked the room as if nothing had changed, as if there hadn't been an argument yesterday, as if Seungho had never stood inches away from him, making his heart tremble.
The tray was heavy, glasses clinked, but his attention wasn't on them. A group of men sat at table six. Four of them. Strict suits, identical ties, measured movements. Too meticulous to just be relaxing. One played with keys in his hand, the second checked his watch every few minutes, the third scrolled through his phone, but his fingers barely touched the screen. Their eyes were cold, observant. They ordered a lot, but no one was getting drunk. All of this formed a picture, and Do-yoon filed it away in his memory.
At the bar, the bartender met him, placing cocktails on his tray. — For table six, - he said and, leaning over, added quietly: - They're here often. Always the same bunch. And the waitress said one of them went to the back room "for a call" a couple of times. Strange.
Do-yoon merely nodded. He pretended it wasn't important, that he was just another glass carrier. But inside, the note had already flashed red. The back room. A call. Too obvious for a casual customer.
He moved on, feeling the music and the crowd's noise pressing in from all sides. His eyes slid to the mirror behind the bar counter. In the reflection, he saw not only himself but also the men, saw one of them lean toward another, saying something short. And again, that look. Cold. As if they knew something too.
He paused for a minute in the staff changing room, setting down his tray and pretending to search his locker. Two employees were smoking in the corner—a guy with brightly dyed bangs and a girl fixing her makeup in the mirror. Their conversation was quiet, but every word was audible in the cramped room.
— They say Director Lee is going to change suppliers, - the guy said, exhaling smoke. — So what? - the girl shrugged. - What's that got to do with us? — Us? - he scoffed. - What about the ones who disappeared? You think it's not connected?
The girl frowned, fixing her mascara. — Do you really believe those rumors? — Do you think it's all coincidence? - his voice was mocking, but fear was audible beneath it. - No one argues with Lee just for fun. Even the other directors keep quiet.
Do-yoon didn't raise his head, continuing to rummage through his locker as if searching for a change of shirt. But he absorbed every word. Lee's name came up in conversation again and again. Too frequently to be a coincidence.
He returned to the room. The crowd pulsed like a single body. People laughed, danced, shouted. But through the chaos, he saw the four men at the table again. This time, one of them abruptly pushed back his chair and stood up. Their eyes met. Cold, penetrating, too observant. Do-yoon lowered his eyes, as if apologizing for the noise of the tray, and stepped aside. His heart pounded harder, but his face remained calm.
He returned to the bar, and the bartender shot him a quick look. — You look like you're searching for something, - he said under his breath.
Do-yoon gave a slight smile. — Maybe I'm just looking.
The bartender chuckled, shrugged, and returned to his cocktails. But his gaze lingered on him a moment too long. Do-yoon walked back into the main room. Tray in hand, habitual smile, a slight bow to the customers. Everything looked as usual. But inside, he felt the club's noise beating under his skin, felt every step become heavy. The enemy was close. He knew it. And so he kept moving, working, smiling. Because it was in that silence beneath his skin that he heard the most important thing.