PON 00

Prologue

Huff, huff…!

Jung-oh forced his heavy eyelids open.

Beyond the fog of his blurred vision, he saw someone — a man with a face so beautiful it didn’t seem to belong to this world.
And that man was hovering above him.

Is this a dream…?

But it felt far too real to be one.

“Ah… ah…!”

A sharp wave of pleasure climbed up his spine, bursting in his head like a blown fuse — the world went white.

He didn’t know what was happening anymore. Only that his body was burning, and that the heat wasn’t unpleasant.
Instinctively, Jung-oh wrapped his arms around the man’s neck.

The man lowered his head, and their lips collided.

Jung-oh closed his eyes, parting his lips to receive the man’s breath — not knowing if this was dream or reality.
Somewhere deep inside, the emptiness in his chest felt, for a moment, less hollow.

Was it because of the loneliness?
Years of silence, of cold nights with no one beside him — was that why he was so desperate, so willing to accept the warmth of a stranger?

He stopped thinking.

The only sounds left were the wet rhythm of movement, and their rough, uneven breaths.
All he could do was cling to the man, lost in the tide of sensation.

The pleasure became unbearable — his body trembled, lips parting in a cry that filled the dark room.
And then, just as suddenly, the man stopped.

Through his dimming vision, Jung-oh stubbornly tried to make out his face.
The man said something — his voice a low murmur — before pressing a soft kiss against Jung-oh’s lips.

English…?

Before he could even process the thought, sleep swallowed him whole.

When Jung-oh opened his eyes again, a pounding headache greeted him.

His mouth tasted like stale alcohol, and he realized — he’d drunk himself unconscious again.

Damn it.

He cursed under his breath. He’d sworn to never touch alcohol again… but last night, he hadn’t been able to bear the silence.

Then, out of nowhere, an arm — long and solid — wrapped around his waist.

An arm…?

Still half-asleep, Jung-oh blinked and turned his head—
and froze.

A man was lying beside him. Completely naked, face turned toward Jung-oh.

Not just any man — it was the stranger. The one he’d taken in on a whim.

No way. No, it can’t be—

He tried to deny it, but the soreness in his body told the truth.
Swallowing dryly, Jung-oh lifted the blanket. His bare skin was marked with red blotches.

“Mmm…”

The man stirred, his pale brow twitching as he slowly opened his eyes.

Beneath thick lashes gleamed ash-gray irises, strange and beautiful like a storm.

For a fleeting second, Jung-oh forgot to breathe. The sight was too unreal — as if the dream had followed him into the morning.

Then the man smiled, lazy and bright, and leaned in—

“Morning, honey.”

Jung-oh turned pale as death.

Holy sh—.

He’d done it. He’d actually done it.

“Y-you crazy—! Who the hell’s your ‘honey’?!”

He shouldn’t have let that man stay here.
No — he shouldn’t have picked him up in the first place!

In a blind panic, Jung-oh shoved the man off the bed, denying every bit of reality.

Waves crashed against the side of a luxurious yacht.

Inside, a slow, mournful requiem played — an odd choice for such an extravagant party.
Soft conversation and warm yellow light mingled through the air.

A tall man in a tuxedo stood by the railing, looking utterly bored.

He was close to 190 centimeters, slim but strong, with a face so beautiful it was almost unreal — a perfect blend of East and West, with an undercurrent of quiet sensuality.

He pulled a cigarette from his pocket and lit it.

Click.

The flame flared, and soon smoke coiled toward the night sky.
He inhaled deeply, cheeks hollowing, then exhaled slowly, watching the gray drift upward.

The sky was heavy with clouds. The sea roiled below, restless and dark.
Anyone could see the storm brewing — except, apparently, the partygoers.

A damn yacht party in this weather. Typical of that cursed family.

A phone buzzed inside his jacket. He picked it up, cigarette still between his lips.

[“Did you find him?”]

The man spoke in low, fluent English.

— [“I found him! I really found him!”]

At that, his dull gray eyes flickered with light. He crushed the cigarette under his polished shoe and spoke again.

[“So, Jack — who killed my brother?”]

— [“Man, you’re not gonna believe this. I had to double-check, it’s that insane!”]

[“Jack. Normally I’d humor your rambling, but right now? I’m this close to putting a bullet in your mouth. So, I’ll ask once more. Who. Killed. Him?”]

— [“It’s… it’s—”]

Just as the answer was about to spill out, a sound came from behind him.

He turned sharply—

THUD!

A blunt blow struck his head. His vision went black.
The phone slipped from his fingers and clattered to the deck.

What the hell—?

Before he could regain his balance, his body tipped over the railing.
He caught a glimpse of a man in a black raincoat through the downpour—
and then the ocean swallowed him whole.

SPLASH.

Smack!

Something struck Jung-oh on the forehead.

“Ow…”

He groaned, rubbing his eyes. His fingers brushed against something small and cylindrical — a red lipstick.

Lipstick?

Frowning, he sat up. His eyes felt sticky — he must’ve cried again in his sleep.
But when he wiped them, his fingers came away smeared with something thick.

Dragging himself to the old mirror, Jung-oh froze.

“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me…”

His face was a disaster.

Red lipstick was scribbled all over him — circles drawn around his eyes like glasses, bright dots on his forehead and cheeks, lips painted like a clown.
His short hair had even been braided into two neat pigtails.

Sighing heavily, Jung-oh trudged outside and crouched by the basin in the yard.
He splashed water on his face, scrubbing furiously with soap, but the stains wouldn’t budge.

Finally, he couldn’t take it anymore. He grabbed a towel, stormed up the porch, and slammed open the inner door.

“Grandma! I told you— if you’re gonna draw on me, at least use something that washes off!”

But the room was empty.
The blankets were rumpled, her trousers tossed aside — that was all.

She was gone. Again.

“Not again… where the hell did she go this time?”

Suppressing a groan, Jung-oh shoved his feet into his sneakers and bolted outside.

He ran down the winding hill, breathless, until he spotted three old women sitting in front of the village mart — the island’s self-proclaimed “Three Sisters,” grandmothers Il, Ee, and Sam.

“Have you seen my grandmother?”

They all turned at once, their neatly pinned white hair gleaming under the sun, floral shirts loud enough to hurt the eyes.

The eldest clicked her tongue, tossing aside her half-peeled melon.

“Disappeared again, did she?”