He’s a Fox Ch 97

Chapter 97

Staring up at bare gray concrete—unfinished, unpainted—made his head swim. Waking in an unfamiliar place again; the déjà vu was nauseating. Only a few months ago he’d been through almost this exact thing, and the thought alone made Hohyun groan inwardly.

No matter how unlucky a person might be, getting kidnapped twice was beyond the pale. What most people never endure even once in a lifetime had now happened to him twice, and not even half a year apart. Small wonder he found himself taking stock of his life.

What was the term… ring composition? Of course, his life wasn’t a crafted “work,” so applying a literary device about mirroring beginnings and endings was technically wrong—but when reality started to feel rougher than fiction, a little misuse seemed forgivable.

Worse, this time was nastier. Back then, he’d at least had ninety centimeters of cage to move in. Now he couldn’t move at all. Forepaws and hind legs bound together, muzzle tied tight—he twisted experimentally and found not an inch of slack.

Whatever they’d used to bind him wasn’t rope. Each attempt to shift sent something biting into his skin. On the ice-cold floor, sprawled any which way, he sighed and sighed—until footsteps sounded.

Thunk, thock. The dull tread snapped his ears upright toward the source. The growing volume said someone was approaching, and fast. He went limp and shut his eyes. He didn’t know who they were or why they’d grabbed him; better to feign unconsciousness and listen.

Years of being “put to bed early” under watchful eyes had made him an unwilling expert at playing possum. He’d never done it in full beast form, but the principle held. Breathing slow and even, he heard the door crash open, multiple sets of feet clattering in. Judging by the messy cadence, more than one. They spilled in, grumbling to each other.

“I’m telling you—this was the best option.”

“Best option, my ass. You snatched him loud enough for the evening news—and you call that ‘best’? And is that even the right target?”

“…What’s that supposed to mean?”

“The client said ‘fox.’ Does that look like a fox to you?”

What the hell is that supposed to mean?

The words startled him so badly he forgot to keep up his coma act. Yes, he was dark‑furred and a little larger than average, but he was unequivocally a fox. The only one who’d denied it had been a three‑year‑old who only recognized “doggy.” Hearing it from someone who knew beastfolk at all was a first.

By any reasonable standard his species was obvious. The speaker snorted anyway. The other voice sounded just as incredulous.

“What are you talking about? If that’s not a fox, what is it?”

“Don’t you know? It’s a maned wolf.”

“…A wolf?”

If not for the muzzle, he would have echoed that right along with them. A wolf? The overlap between a pack‑hunting apex carnivore and Hohyun was triangular ears and four legs—full stop. Same family or not, worlds apart. How could anyone confuse the two? But the man proclaiming “maned wolf” sounded supremely sure.

“Not a normal wolf. My kid wants to be a zookeeper. He sleeps clutching that animal encyclopedia. And the maned wolf in there? Looks exactly like this.”

“…”

So confidently asserted, it almost made the fox himself waver. What did a maned wolf actually look like, again? The question seemed to occur to them too; he heard fingers tapping a screen. Searching, no doubt.

A beat later, the searcher’s voice came back doubtful.

“Okay, I mean… similar, sure…”

“Similar nothing—it’s a dead ringer. I’m telling you, we grabbed the wrong one.”

“That doesn’t make sense. Chang‑beom swore he even spoofed a call as family.”

“You mean, what, ‘ace’? ‘Ais’?”

“AI.”

“Right, right. He bragged about using the latest stuff. He handled the call himself and sent a stand‑in to pick up, maybe?”

At that, the fox’s ears tried to twitch. He stilled them by force. So that was it. He’d set out to meet his brother; he’d heard the throat still raspy from a cold. AI voice, not illness. First mistaken for a scammer—now a victim.

The door opened again.

This time the sound was soft, almost not there, unlike the earlier clatter. Someone brightened to see the newcomer.

“Hey, perfect timing. This guy’s been riding me, saying we bagged the wrong one. You think that’s not a fox?”

“Hmm? Let me see.”

Light steps approached and halted right next to him. The stare prickled his back; he kept his eyes shut. A soft snort of laughter.

“Come on, what fox is this. The fur’s all black.”

“…There aren’t black foxes?”

“Silver foxes are dark, but the tips of the fur are gray. This one is black to the root. And the build—too rounded for a fox.”

A big hand mussed the fur at his belly. Black to the skin. The man hummed. The “maned wolf” voice swelled, triumphant.

“See? Told you. Maybe try doing your homework first next time.”

“How was I supposed to know? In human shape he matched the photo.”

“Must be family then. And that client—what a weirdo. Who hires people to grab a fox, of all things?”

“Maybe he’s being scammed. I mean… a fox.”

If he hadn’t been tied, he’d have leapt. He’d been conned plenty, sure—but he’d never conned anyone. The slander stung—and it told him something else: Easterners. In the East, foxes gathered every prejudice in the book.

At that, his tail twitched. Maybe they saw the little tremor; the last one in pointed straight at him.

“If you really want to know, ask him. Looks to me like he’s awake.”

“What?”

He went slack as fast as he could—but too late. A hand clamped his scruff and hauled him up. For the first time, he saw their faces.

“Nnk—!”

“Bingo. Huh. You—are you really a wolf?”

“Grr—r…”

He tried to answer, but the muzzle made speech impossible. His whine earned a sigh and a scalp scratch.

“…I can’t understand a word.”

“Well, we’re not Canidae. Naturally. Want me to fetch someone who can?”

“Forget it. Not worth it. The client’ll be here soon enough. He can say yes or no.”

“And if it’s no… ugh. I’m out. Saw way too many shoulder‑meat boys hanging around this gig again.”

Apparently convinced he wasn’t a fox, they lost interest in taxonomy and started worrying about other things—like the client and why he wanted a black‑furred fox. While they speculated, they dropped him. Carelessly. A bound leg nearly folded underneath, and someone yelped in alarm.