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# Chapter 212: The Beginning of Betrayal
Minjun exhaled slowly, his shoulders sagging as his chest heaved. He stared at the contract again, and the figure jumped out at him: 250 million won. While his mind struggled to process the number, the world seemed to darken before his eyes, and the acrid smell of cigarette smoke filled his nostrils. He looked at Junho, whose face remained utterly expressionless—as if wearing a mask. No, Minjun realized. This wasn’t a mask at all. This was Junho’s true face.
“Who died?” Minjun’s voice trembled, his hands shaking faintly. His shoulders remained hunched, his heartbeat quickening with each passing second. The sound of footsteps echoed across the café floor, and Minjun felt his pulse accelerate.
Junho lifted his eyes, meeting Minjun’s gaze. Fear flickered across his expression—genuine fear. His eyes wavered, his voice unsteady.
“That’s not important.”
His tone was gentle. Too gentle. It terrified Minjun more than any aggression could have. The coffee machine hummed in the background as Minjun’s heart pounded harder.
“What matters is this.”
Junho pointed to another section of the contract. Minjun’s eyes followed. Legal terminology assaulted his mind: confidentiality agreements, mutual silence, damages for breach. The words felt foreign, incomprehensible. He tried to make sense of them, tasting unspoken words on his tongue. The aroma of coffee drifted past, but Minjun’s heart only beat faster.
“What is this?”
His voice cracked with uncertainty. His hands trembled, his shoulders collapsed inward, his breathing shallow and rapid. Leather shoes scraped against the café floor, and Minjun felt his pulse quicken further.
“The money you’re receiving…”
Junho’s voice remained soft, terrifyingly soft. Minjun listened, his heart hammering against his ribs.
“…is the price of your silence.”
Minjun stared at him. Junho kept his eyes on the contract, his face blank—a mask. But no, Minjun understood now. This wasn’t a mask. This was the true face beneath the mask. Everything Minjun had seen before was a performance. This was the reality. His heart raced, his fingers trembling at their tips.
“I won’t agree.”
His voice shook. His hands trembled. His shoulders drooped, his chest heaving. He fixed his gaze on Junho, watching fear bloom in the other man’s eyes—unmistakable fear. Junho’s eyes wavered, his voice unsteady.
“You have no choice.”
Junho’s tone was soft. Dangerously soft.
“You have to take this money.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s the price of your silence.”
Minjun studied Junho’s face. Blank. Expressionless. A mask—no, not a mask. The true face. Everything before had been performance. This was reality.
“I won’t agree.”
His voice wavered. His hands trembled. His shoulders slumped, his breathing rapid. He looked directly at Junho, seeing fear crystallize in the other man’s eyes.
“You have no choice.”
Junho’s voice remained soft, impossibly soft.
“You have to take this money.”
“I won’t.”
Minjun’s voice shook. His hands trembled. His shoulders sagged, his heart racing.
“You—”
Junho began, his voice gentle, terrifyingly gentle.
“You—”
Minjun started, his voice unsteady. His hands trembled. His shoulders drooped, his pulse quickening.
“I—”
Junho spoke again, his tone soft, dangerously soft.
“I—”
Minjun’s voice cracked. His hands shook. His shoulders collapsed inward, his breathing shallow.
The café door opened, and a new customer entered. Minjun caught sight of their face, and his anxiety eased slightly. The customer smiled at him, and Minjun felt a moment of relief. Footsteps crossed the floor—leather shoes on tile—and Minjun felt himself return to reality.
“Hello, Minjun.”
The customer spoke. Minjun’s heart grew heavier. He felt the weight of his decision, the burden of responsibility. His pulse thundered in his ears, his fingers trembling.
“What am I supposed to do here?”
His voice came out thin, fragile. His eyes held the look of someone desperate to speak but unable to find the words.
“You need to tell me the name of the dead person.”
The words struck Minjun like a blow. His heart sank deeper. He felt the gravity of his choice, the weight of what he was about to do. His pulse raced, his hands shaking to their fingertips.
The café air carried the scent of coffee again, and Minjun breathed it in, finding temporary solace. Yet his heart continued its frantic beating, his hands still trembling. He understood his decision mattered. He understood he bore responsibility. His voice remained thin, his eyes betraying the conflict within.
Then his phone rang. The sound made his heart heavier. He felt the importance of what was coming, the weight of his choice. His pulse pounded, his hands shaking. He checked the caller ID. It was Junho.
“Junho?”
His voice wavered, thin and fragile. His eyes reflected his internal struggle.
“Minjun, let’s meet right now.”
Junho’s words made his chest feel heavier. He understood the significance of his decision, the responsibility he carried. His heart raced, his hands trembling.
“Where?”
His voice remained thin, uncertain.
“At the café.”
Junho’s response settled over him like a weight. His heart continued its frantic rhythm, his hands shaking to their fingertips.
Minjun hung up and sat back down. He took a deep breath, steadying himself. He understood his decision mattered. He understood he bore responsibility. His heart still raced, his hands still trembled. But he had found resolve.
“I will tell them the name of the dead person,” he promised himself silently. He felt the weight of his decision, the burden of responsibility. His heart pounded, his hands shaking. Yet he had strengthened his will.
He breathed deeply, steeling himself. His decision was important. His responsibility was real. His heart still raced, his hands still trembled. But he had committed to his choice.
The café air still carried the scent of coffee. Minjun inhaled it, finding brief peace. His heart still thundered, his hands still shook. But he had hardened his resolve. His decision mattered. His responsibility was undeniable. His voice remained thin, his eyes still betraying his inner turmoil. Yet he had committed to his path.