Chapter 200

“Inigo... at first, because of me, he refused the job offer in the U.S. He didn’t want to leave me behind in Mexico. That man... came to persuade my son. He looked like a good person. Joseph Elliott. That man’s name was... Joseph Elliott.”

Isaac remembered Sonia’s words, along with the graduate school photo of Inigo she had shown him. The young man, who had looked so fitting in his cap and gown, would just a few years later be swept into a completely different torrent of life.

Inigo had been offered an employment opportunity in the United States by Joseph Elliott, and after much hesitation, he finally crossed the border. Working at a dubious company that bought and sold “virtual money” on computers, Inigo one day suddenly disappeared, leaving behind a crushing debt of 800,000 dollars.

Marta’s report still held the traces of their early movements. In 2010, Inigo Mendoza visited the United States together with Joseph Elliott. At the airport they purchased tickets for America, with the fare paid using one of Joseph Elliott’s forged cards.

There was an intriguing part in Inigo’s departure record. Unlike Joseph Elliott, who had forged every entry, Inigo had dutifully filled out and submitted the immigration card on the plane to the U.S.

Marta mobilized her network and found Inigo Mendoza’s entry record in the immigration system. His basic personal details were recorded truthfully. From the record, Marta was able to extract Inigo’s email address: menluz00@and**.es*.

Even though he had filled out his card faithfully, it turned out that the residence address he had listed in the U.S. and the company where he claimed employment had been scheduled simply did not exist. Moreover, there were no records of him inside the United States. No credit transactions, no insurance, no tax filings. It was as though he had become invisible the very moment he set foot on American soil.

But Marta did not give up. After combing through hundreds of databases, she eventually arrived at a coding forum page created in 2011.

There, a post written under the nickname Mendigo11 contained a question about open-source structures, along with the email address menluz00@and**.es*. The post read that he would leave his email and wait for help from any user who could provide a solution. Though Mendigo11 had later deleted the post, the comments remained, and the archived page had surfaced in a Google search.

By tracing the profile of the user who had left a comment on Mendigo11’s post, Marta was able to make contact. She discovered that Mendigo11 had been working on a unified trading system related to cryptocurrency.

“Inigo Mendoza was likely involved in building a dark-web-based exchange, or some kind of experimental decentralized trading system.

If Joseph Elliott truly was connected to Hybris, then it seems Hybris wanted to use Inigo to design a platform that could launder ‘black money’ in real time.

As of now, we can’t track the physical server location, nor the operator’s identity. I feel myself drifting further and further from any hope of finding my son.”

At the end of her report, Marta Monto confessed her despair with calm resignation. Reading what she had left behind—her last testament of life—Isaac closed the laptop.

If, as she had deduced, Hybris had indeed designed a platform for laundering black money, uncovering their trail would not be easy. But she had overlooked one thing: they were not mere ghosts that existed only in the online world.

They not only offered online community services to their users, but had branches established and operating across many places. The reason they had so boldly committed crimes out in the open was because a vast power had silently condoned them.

“I can’t make out their true nature at all.”

Isaac was consumed by curiosity about the identity of the core figure running the dark-web exchange and human trafficking organization. Until his own abduction to the island, Isaac had believed that the shadowed figure’s driving force was nothing more than the accumulation of wealth. But after seeing evidence of followers devoted enough to risk death itself, he could no longer explain Hybris as a mere criminal syndicate.

Where should he begin unraveling the thread?

Deep in thought, Isaac quietly left the living room and headed to his room. As he opened the door, a smoky stench hit him. From the wide-open window, pale gray smoke drifted into the room. He walked over and looked out the window. Across the darkened plain, the faint chorus of insects rose up.

Baekgyeong and Siron were sitting side by side before a campfire. Around the fire lay scattered stalks of fresh artemisia, its earthy, forest-like smoke carried by the breeze in all directions. A mosquito-repelling fire.

Uncharacteristically for Baekgyeong, who always schemed for chances to be alone with Siron, he looked utterly dejected. Siron, on the other hand, tried to ease his mood, resting his left hand on Baekgyeong’s shoulder while scratching his bare back with his right.

Their closeness felt strangely tender. Isaac silently watched them. Baekgyeong sat hunched, swinging a bundle of artemisia stems slowly, now and then releasing a faint, weary laugh at Siron’s words.

But the moment Isaac stepped outside, their conversation cut off instantly. Baekgyeong glanced at him irritably, then lay down on the ground, resting his head on Siron’s thigh.

“Hey, it’s hot. Get up.”

“Just let me borrow it for a while.”

“My leg isn’t your pillow.”

“...Once, it was my exclusive pillow.”

Siron’s lips parted as though to speak, but he pressed them shut hard at Baekgyeong’s dispirited retort.

“Only for today.”

“Mmh.”

Baekgyeong ignored him, curling sideways toward Siron’s stomach. Siron, glancing sideways at Isaac, forced an awkward smile and spoke.

“It’s late. You should sleep first.”

Isaac shrugged and sat across from them on the other side of the fire. At that moment, Baekgyeong extended an arm, pulled Siron by the waist into an embrace, and muttered:

“Scratch my back. I’m getting eaten alive by mosquitoes.”

With a reluctant look, Siron gazed down at Baekgyeong’s face, then halfheartedly scratched the center of his back.

“You’ve got two bites here. Weird. Why is it always you?”

“Then marry me and I’ll take mosquito bites for you my whole life.”

Siron’s lips curved into a fleeting smile before sinking again. It looked for a moment like a shard of happiness, only to fade into an expression weighed down with worry.

“Are you insane? Why would you say something so heavy?”

Isaac couldn’t even begin to measure the depth of the past between them. Their shared, private history excluded him as an outsider. But he was never one to care for boundaries erected by others. Rather, he was the kind of man who broke them down and stained what lay beyond with blood.

He watched the fire’s orange tongue flicker and lick across Siron’s cheek. Suddenly, it struck him just how sculpted Siron’s profile was. So perfect it made him want to mar it, to leave behind his own scar as proof.

That flawless face didn’t suit the innocent aura he radiated. With that desolate look, he would still give off defenseless smiles, like a child who had never known injury.

“How did you even find this hideout? You’re practically a secret land baron.”

Land baron. The unexpected question made Isaac burst into laughter.

“I bought it after looking at satellite maps. As you can see, there’s no sign of people around.”

“Well, I’ll admit the location is perfect for a hideout.”

Long ago, a volcano had erupted across this wide plain, its land worn down by erosion over ages. The hideout sat at the mountain’s edge, cloaked under dense trees, while beyond the river encircling the mountain stretched a vast, overgrown plain.

“You put a lot of work into building this house. Did you make it yourself?”

Siron asked while gazing up at a nameless flower blooming from the vines hanging down from the eaves.

“Yes.”

Isaac followed his eyes to the honeysuckle spilling down under the roof. The blossoms gave off a thick scent, somewhere between vanilla and jasmine. He suddenly recalled the old days, watching hummingbirds drawn to that scent together with his brother.

“When I was a child, I lived with my family in a similar environment.”

Siron’s eyes widened in surprise.

“Family?”

“Is that so shocking?”

“No, not exactly... it’s just hard to imagine your childhood.”

With an awkward smile, Siron rubbed his cheek, trying to smooth over the moment.

“Must’ve been somewhere hot.”

Without answering, Isaac placed another handful of artemisia on the mosquito fire. At that instant, Baekgyeong tightened his hold around Siron’s waist and broke in.

“Why’d you stop scratching? I’m itching like hell.”

Siron sighed, slapped the middle of Baekgyeong’s back lightly, then gently scratched at the mosquito bites.

Isaac couldn’t help but find Baekgyeong’s childish attempts to monopolize Siron’s attention amusing. Yet the way Siron so naturally gave in, tending to him with quiet docility—that was far too irritating to ignore.