TFN C8

Chapter 8

The system began to hurry him along.

It meant the bar had passed 90%.

Like a phone’s low-battery alert telling one to plug in the charger—obvious but useless advice.

“What is it?”

Even so, Wonhyo scraped up the dregs of social grace from the floor and spoke.

A displeased face moved a slightly crooked mouth.

“Can what you just showed be captured on camera?”

The tone implied it ought to be done as a matter of course.

“No, that—”

His uncle started to speak, but Wonhyo, short on time, cut in.

“Payment upfront. Photos are 5,000 won per shot; video is 500,000 won per minute.”

“Pardon?”

He wanted to lament how someone who talked so much failed to understand a single sentence, but there was no time to quarrel.

“For borrowed power, proper dues must be paid. Will you be recording?”

“Well, that’s…”

He hadn’t expected a ready yes from someone working at a publicly funded agency who would have to process costs, so he didn’t wait for an answer.

While the other fumbled in embarrassment, Wonhyo finished preparations to bolt.

“Leave the area.”

“Take this and, while you’re at the body, keep a pinch on you at all times.”

Handing his uncle a 500-gram bag of salt, Wonhyo left the scene without hesitation, just as the status window warned.

His uncle secured the salt and did not try to stop him.

He should have been sprinting, but the blurred voice of the dead, clutching at the back of his head, finally made him open his mouth.

As if he could no longer hold back, as if he had to speak now or never—his lips tingled.

It was like the very first time his mouth had opened.

“Cluck, cluck, cluck. Once you’ve got your ankle caught by a fiend like that, it’ll be an eternity to the next world.”

With that, Wonhyo slipped out the front door without looking back.

“What was that just now?”

“I didn’t catch it all. Sounded like he said the ankle was caught.”

“Come on, how can a hunter—how can you not catch all of it?”

“What can I do but go see an ENT? Even if I heard it fully, what’s the use if it makes no sense? It’s not like we’re taking dictation.”

The team began murmuring.

Cheongmun moved, leaving them behind.

In truth, his feet had moved before his head had time to think.

“Team leader, where are you going?”

Deputy Manager Kim tried to grab him, but Cheongmun went straight past and out the door.

“Where is he even going?”

He reached toward the elevator just as its doors were closing. With a hollow clang of metal, a pale face jerked up and stepped aside.

Cheongmun offered a brief nod and stepped in, pressing the close button.

His sudden disappearance flustered not only the Special Agency staff but also forensics and the Mapo detectives.

“Why did he run after him? Surely not to discuss covering expenses. Does the Agency cover things like that?”

“Would it?”

At the forensics chief’s remark, Deputy Manager Kim smacked his forehead with his palm.

He wasn’t the type to get himself beaten somewhere, so following wasn’t necessary—but the mere fact that Cheongmun had taken an interest and gone after someone sent a chill down the spine.

If we’re tallying strange things, that—what they’d seen earlier—was far more unsettling.

People’s thoughts ran the same track; they furtively raised their heads to look at the ceiling.

They were folks used to the roughest sights; even they shuddered and shook their heads.

“By the way, Chief Park received a bunch of something—what was it?”

The forensics chief jabbed the division chief’s side.

The division chief shrugged, looking at the light bag of salt.

He’d been told to keep a pinch on him when near the body; he’d do as told.

He knew well about Wonhyo—taken as a disciple by his eldest sister after her spirit descent and the start of a hard road—so the effect would be certain.

“I’ll hand out a pinch each. If you’ve got plastic baggies or something, bring them and pack some to take.”

Taking things out on scene could contaminate evidence, so shaking the salt bag, the division chief headed out; forensics filed out after him.

“For someone who looks like he wouldn’t believe this stuff…”

At the division chief’s chiding, the forensics folks glared.

“What are you saying? My wife spends a decent sum on temple candles every season. She does all-night vigils too.”

Grinning, the forensics chief raised the salt to eye level and examined it.

“Nothing’s really going to happen, right?”

“Who knows—I don’t. But if it turns black while you’ve got it, toss it. And get away from that spot immediately.”

The division chief added the warning he’d once heard from his eldest sister.

While the elevator descended, Wonhyo clutched his arms tight around himself.

He acted as if that could stop it, but he knew very well nothing would change.

“Exposed to powerful ‘ghostly energy.’ (…in progress…97.1%)”

Truly at danger level.

He gave a quick glance to the man whose presence seemed to fill the cramped space, then rummaged in his coat.

He pulled out a counter-charm written not in red cinnabar but with edible ink—a remedy talisman—put it in his mouth, and held it there.

Made of rice, bland and crumbly, with a faint sweetness—he had no time to focus on its texture.

He chewed perfunctorily and gulped it down, then checked the status window again.

He knew the man was staring straight at him, but he couldn’t stop.

“When does this thing arrive already.”

He felt a wave of futility as the talisman vanished without even buying a brief delay.

As the sensation of his body going light then heavy washed over him, Wonhyo shot out the door like an arrow.

He moved so abruptly he nearly pitched forward, but he barely caught his balance and pounded the ground.

“Where was the apartment entrance again?”

As the thought hammered at him—to get away—every hair on his body stood on end.

At this moment, he always felt as if the world were collapsing.

Perhaps it was because something human in him broke, and he had to live in a beast’s body with only the residue of consciousness barely held.

As his vision dropped from above to below, a thick blood-reek hit his nose.

Ox? Tiger? Which one? Blood smell suggests tiger, but, truth be told, an ox’s sense of smell is beyond imagination as well.

Confirming how close the ground was to his eyes, Wonhyo flinched.

He’d never run on all fours in his life, but as a beast able to move from babyhood, survival instinct pressed him on. For now, hiding came first.

He avoided the plaza-like open space in front of the apartments and instead noted a shadowy corner of the flowerbed out back, where he burrowed into the heap of clothes.

Three paces.

Cheongmun paused briefly before the collapsed pile of clothing.

He saw a small something moving amid clothes still warm with human heat; he immediately summoned cubes and set a barrier.

A cube of about five cubic centimeters swelled in an instant, delimiting a wide area around the clothing.

“Lifeform confirmed.”

His domain-recognized cube wavered briefly, then displayed the number of all living things on its surface.

So there’s an ant nest somewhere underground?

Tilting his head, he looked at the piled clothes and then gradually narrowed the range.

Soon the readout showed a single lifeform inside the desired boundary.

Whatever he’d seen earlier hadn’t vanished.

He surveyed the situation inside, separated from the outside.

He heard a small heart beating faster than a person’s, and a growling breath.

At that sign, Cheongmun narrowed his eyes.

Just a moment ago, a pale-faced man had fled before him—where had he gone, and how had a young life taken his place?

He kept silent instead of stepping away.

Trapped inside, it wouldn’t be affected by the outside; once he confirmed no issues, it would likely show itself.

As expected, soon the movement grew between the thick winter garments.

Then a pair of pricked ears with plush fur and black markings peeked out.

Wonhyo squeezed his eyes shut and ran his tongue around his mouth.

Front teeth first. Then he moved the tip to the side. Something sharp scraped his tongue.

Tiger, then.

Licking a saber tooth, Wonhyo rumbled in his throat with anxiety, then stopped. In fairness, this was better than being a calf.

In speed, in size, in appearance—this side looked more advantageous.

Mistaking a tiger for a cat was hard, but with enough spin, maybe it could be done.

He tried to meow—nyan—but only a throaty growl scraped out of his throat.

He had already chosen a direction to bolt, and now that he knew what he’d become, he decided to look for a window to escape.

Holding his breath, he checked the outside presence.

Huh? No human scent?

That man had been right on his heels—did he just give up and go back?

He didn’t know at what point his body had crumpled, so he couldn’t tell if the man had witnessed this state.

Still, if he’d seen it, he’d surely have pressed down the pile of clothes; yet he sensed nothing nearby at all.

Guess he didn’t see.

Good. Dash out and hide. Then, after holding out for a bit, call his sister when it’s truly safe.

Need to grab the phone.

“Grrr.”

Startled at the sound he himself made, he hunched, then pricked his ears again.

Thankfully, it was quiet.

The excessive quiet was a bit unnerving, but his head was too full of the need to run to spare attention elsewhere.

He decided to poke his head out beyond the clothes and check with his eyes first.

If no one was there, grab the phone; if someone was, run.

The rustle of the winter coat’s fabric grated on his nerves, but there was nothing he could do now.

Come to think of it, there was only one winter coat—he needed to grab the clothes too. What if someone thought it was trash and tossed it?

With a jumble of thoughts, he raised his head.

“…Kyarrr?”

This side was clear; that side—!!

At the dried gaze staring straight at him, Wonhyo jolted like a snapped twig.

“Kyargh!”

Without realizing how rough his voice was, he moved his four legs first.

When life is threatened, flight belongs to instinct; his feet moved swiftly without conscious thought.

He fled—and something slammed down, blocking his path.