He’s a Fox Ch 61

Chapter 61

His emotions swung dozens of times a day. To think that liking someone too much could be painful—this was the first time in Hohyun’s life he experienced such a thing. As he wrestled with his own confusion, a disruption came. Work piled up suddenly, and Kangwoon had no choice but to send Yuri back to the family estate while he handled business.

That left Hohyun, quite unexpectedly, without direction. He wanted to go out but had no one to meet; his few acquaintances were all busy with work, and his family—well, except perhaps one. His youngest older brother, Ihyeon, freelanced; his schedule was a seesaw of feast and famine, sometimes locked into deadlines, sometimes in stretches of idle recovery. Checking the date—thirteenth. Perfect: deadlines should be done, the man likely resting at home.

Thus resolved, the fox decided to visit. Among everyone he knew, Ihyeon was the most decorated in romance; surely he could offer direction amidst these storms of feeling.

On the way, he carried out his habitual stop: the bus stop, scene of his routine encounters with the scruffy white puppy. Only—the puppy wasn’t there. Not today. A sidelong unease crept into him. But what clue could he chase? All he knew was “the white-furred one,” nothing else. He trudged, unsettled, toward home.

The door clicked open—and he froze. It was the same house he’d known all his life, but today, the atmosphere was oppressive.

The reason was clear.

A pair of long legs jutted out from beyond the old three-seat sofa. No face visible, yet on those large feet stretched tight a pair of socks ridiculously cutesy, unmistakably belonging to only one man: his youngest elder brother, Ye Ihyeon. Curled up, crammed into a sofa barely fit for his height, sulking.

The sight—his 7-year-older brother, twice his shoulder-height, collapsed so small—looked bizarre. He drifted closer. No response. Arm draped over eyes, a forearm shielding expression.

Never, not once in his life, had Hohyun seen his brother this way.

Ihyeon’s threshold for sadness and fury had always been unusually high—shrugging off trifles that would drive others into tantrums. Even years back, when he volunteered as mannequin for his stylist girlfriend and emerged scalped like a lawn patchwork of rat-bites, he’d only joked in the mirror: “Funny, huh? Instant garden doll.”

Yet now he lay emanating gloom, oozing malaise into the house.

The fox inspected anxiously: breaths visible, chest rising—still alive, albeit. But should he leave him thus? Or risk drawing wrath? He wavered—until a door cracked. Quietly, three little heads peeked out.

The twins flapped hands urgently: Come!

Sneaking near, he mouthed queries. They answered in silent lips, practiced from countless shared mischief.

What’s up with Third Uncle?

He got dumped.

The words hit like thunder. His eyes bulged, 1.5 times their usual width. He whirled back for confirmation.

Dumped? Him?

His brother—Ihyeon—seven years his senior, fox with flaming red fur and jewel-green eyes. Eternally beaming, lakeside charisma ridging every angle. The “scarlet fox” who melted prejudices simply by speaking. Even diehards who insisted “foxes are sly” fell to concessions like “though foxes are sly, you’re… different.”

A genius in human relations, a ship sailing forever downwind. Romances flawless, successive. Even after breakups, he often remained friends, invited out again. Dumped? That one?

Unimaginable.

But so it was. The twins’ tails bristled rigid with stress. They, sensitive to the environment, had grown unnerved by this new gloom. Pointing with fierce eyes: You’re the adult. Do something.

It was unfair; yet he, too, couldn’t endure to leave him sunk. Change of scenery could help, he thought. But could they move such a mountain?

Just then—Bang. Heavy door. Eyes still locked to sofa, but the siblings knew that sound: their older sister, returning from work.

Ye Suhyeon stripped shoes without expression. The twins rushed desperately calling for reinforcement. She lifted eyes to survey—her littlest brother back home, and another sprawled like corpse. All too clear. She clicked tongue.

Dumping her bag, she emerged in casual wear. Approaching, she issued order in her flat tone:

“You. Change clothes.”

“…You mean me too?”

“Yes, you too. What, leave him like that?” She jerked chin toward desolate Ihyeon.

From closet she snapped out a hoodie, flung it onto her brother’s chest. Tower frame cloaked, she declared coldly:

“Stop wallowing. Dress. I’ll buy drinks.”

“…I’m not going. You two go.”

“You think you have a choice?” she shot back.

No mercy. No patience. He groaned; she countered with glare. Finally, sighing, he sluggishly pulled it on, flopped hood over his head. Stooping, slack, as if he might collapse anytime.

The fox hurried, snagged his brother’s limp arm, pacing after sister. To the children, she gave terse decree:

“Might come home late. If parents return, tell them. Eat dinner yourselves.”

“Okay! Is Uncle sleeping here tonight?”

“…Depends.”

Outside, the fallen man kept dragging feet. Suhyeon snapped: You take left arm, I take right. Now the pair frog-marched him like a criminal. Passersby stared. Humiliation burned—yet efficiency worked.

Destination: a galbi (grilled rib) restaurant. Decided solely by Suhyeon; the fox was too out-of-touch, Ihyeon too catatonic.

Stepping inside, the caramel-salt smell of seared meat wafted. Ihyeon muttered under breath:

“Galbi… suits this mood?”

“What, you’d prefer steak?” his sister retorted. Silence fell.

Quiet hour found them corner booth. Ihyeon shoved inward to the furthest seat; Suhyeon stalked to the drink fridge. Not menu, not water—armfuls of liquor returned with her.

The fox gaped. “…Sis.”

“What.”

“Is something… wrong with you?”

“No? Nothing.” She tilted head blankly.

From her face, it was clear: This one will leave walking only flat on the ground. Crawling back otherwise.

Quietly, the fox aligned spoons and chopsticks.

Across the table, as Ihyeon sniffled sullenly, Suhyeon finally tossed barb:

“So. What happened this time?”