Transmigrated as the Side Top used as an Emotional Trash Can - Chapter 63.2
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“What the hell, does that bastard seriously want to get expelled?”
“He got protective disposition in middle school too for robbing a store.”
“Ah, seriously?”
When I entered Classroom 1-2 after morning swimming practice, I saw the kids murmuring restlessly.
“What is it? Why’s the classroom atmosphere like this?”
“Oh, Snow White, you should check if anything of yours is missing too.”
I asked what the hell he was talking about and unconsciously felt around my back pocket. My envelope was still there. While I was checking my belongings, the kid beside me answered.
“There’s a fucking thief in our class. Scary as hell.”
At the word ‘thief’, I suddenly remembered that someone had stolen Kim Jihwan’s school uniform too. Could it be the same person as the thief who had apparently come into our classroom?
“What did the kids lose? Their uniforms?”
“Dunno? So far, they confirmed some expensive sneakers?”
“Dirty bastard, why would you even want to steal those smelly things, dumbass-!”
“I heard his dad has a criminal record too.”
The kids mocked and criticized the thief, crowding him into the middle of the classroom and pointing fingers at him. Had they caught him in the act or something?
“I said it wasn’t me, you fucking bastards!”
The kid accused of being the culprit furiously insisted that it wasn’t him, sounding wronged.
“If it wasn’t you, then go to the faculty office and fucking tell a teacher! Shut the fuck up, you’re so damn loud!”
“I heard from the others that you’ve done it before too? Scared?”
“That was back then, you motherfuckers!”
That voice, shouting without backing down even while cornered, sounded strangely familiar.
Normally, I would’ve stopped watching and called a teacher to end the situation, but I wanted to see his face for myself.
Because.
“You think I’m some money-crazed bastard?!”
Kwon Jayoon.
It was the voice of Mafia Purple, who was crazy for money. I recalled the name of the person being treated like a thief and briefly thought back to the contents of the original novel.
It was probably from the part not long after the obsessive top’s confinement had begun. That scene during breakfast.
.
.
.
Jihwan let the food he couldn’t swallow drift around inside his mouth.
Because sitting at the same table with the man before him without being able to resist in any way was miserable.
Clink, clink.
The silence created by the man was louder than the sound of the dishes striking each other, making his head ring.
Jihwan suddenly remembered the warm breakfast table he had once shared with his family long ago. That made his head hurt even more. Trying not to think about it, he turned on the news.
—The swindler, Mr. Kwon, who deceived the entire nation through a virtual asset investment scam and caused astronomical losses, has finally been arrested by police. Mr. Kwon impersonated a senior manager of Investment Management Team 2 at the major domestic corporation, ○○ Asset Management….
“Do you know that person?”
When the familiar name of the company where the man served as a director came from the news, he looked at Jihwan and asked.
“I don’t. Don’t talk to me.”
Jihwan cut off the conversation before the meal could turn into a pleasant chat with the director.
More than anything, he simply didn’t want to listen, and he hated being looked at. That threateningly low voice, those eyes boiling with twisted possessiveness and obsession while pretending otherwise behind a cold facade.
He hated having any of it directed at him.
Of everything Jihwan knew, he was the most elegant beast of a bastard.
“He went to the same school as you.”
“I said I don’t know him.”
“He gave me his business card while talking about you.”
The director slid a business card across the table.
The name ‘Kwon Jayoon’ was written on it. Even after seeing it, Jihwan couldn’t tell who it was. There was no reason anyone from his short school days would have left enough of an impression for him to remember.
“He broke into the company and pretended to be an employee. He prepared quite thoroughly. He even looked into my background.”
Irritation simply surged up inside him. It sent a worse chill down his spine than the sound of nails scraping a chalkboard.
“He had some nerve.”
Crash!
The ceramic dish slipped from Jihwan’s hand and shattered across the smooth marble floor.
“If you keep talking to me, I’ll jump.”
It was clearly the dish that had broken, and the man’s house that had become a mess, but pain throbbed through Jihwan’s ankle, making him swallow a groan.
“If you can.”
He spoke with an amused sneer, looking at him as though watching an insect struggle.
The memory of his anklebone, once brutally crushed beneath the heel of that man’s shoe, throbbing as though it were screaming all over again, made Jihwan feel sick.
.
.
.
I knew Kwon Jayoon.
A future criminal who was only mentioned briefly in the novel.
There is a theory known as determinism, or fatalism. The result has already been decided, and the intervention of human free will is merely subordinate to it. If I applied that to the present, then the board inside the novel had already been completely set, and I was merely being played on it.
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