He’s a Fox Ch 103

Chapter 103

Even after squeezing his eyes shut and opening them again, it was hard to believe what he was seeing; the figure outside the window did not vanish. He always wore suits as black as his fur, but today he had on a polo shirt—still, it was unmistakably the bear Hohyun knew.

If it had been anyone else, Hohyun wouldn’t have been so sure. In human form, maybe; but in full beast form, where species traits were maximized, it was hard to tell unless one was also Canidae. Still, he’d seen some individuals so often he could distinguish them—most notably the alligator and the black bear.

Back when he played “puppy,” the black bear would come at all hours to knead and squish him. The bear hadn’t known he was beastfolk, true—but all that close‑range familiarity meant he could never mistake Hankyung‑u now.

It was too identical for a mere look‑alike, and yet it seemed impossible it would be Hankyung‑u himself. Given how poor the relations were between Kangwoon and his sister, this place was essentially enemy territory. Wasn’t the whole point of bringing Hohyun here to wring something from Kangwoon by force? His thoughts tangled fast.

Just then, the latch clattered at the door. Meal time. Drunk on the satisfaction of “I did it,” he’d lost track of time. If he was careless, he’d be caught. Two days of work, moments from being wasted. He turned hurriedly to slip back out—so hurriedly he didn’t notice the bear outside staring right at him.

He dashed into the room and shut the wardrobe. On his way to the bed he scanned for fallen debris—luckily, aside from a bit of dust, the floor was clean. He dove beneath the sheets just as the door banged open. He exhaled, burying his face in the bedding.

He held his thudding heart and waited; the presence faded. The soft close of the door let him finally deflate with a long breath.

Normally he would have rushed to eat, then waited for the dishes to be retrieved. But now that he’d confirmed the space behind the wardrobe, there was no need. Even with his task done, he couldn’t celebrate. Better to be physically busy—thinking too much made his head spin. The little fox worried over everything as time sped past. He didn’t sleep a wink.

When morning came, his face looked hollow from the lost sleep, but he reached a conclusion: the bear he saw last night was not his bear. Nobody says there can’t be two identical faces in the world. He didn’t even need to look far—the Beom siblings themselves were strikingly similar aside from eye color.

So, the bear outside the window had to be one of those rare cases. Or more precisely—he would choose to think so. Whether it was truly the same apex predator he knew, or just a look‑alike. Either way, the priority now was escape.

Having chosen a kind of willed denial, he went straight to the window. Watching the newborn light, he thought hard—but no plan felt right.

When would he ever have practiced something like this… Back when he’d been caught by traffickers, the chance had come so suddenly there’d been no “plan,” only run. And there the biggest threats had been a little wildcat or a large dog. Here, the den brimmed with predators from tigers down to leopards—comparing difficulties felt insulting.

Any plan that even a layman could tell was foolish, he discarded immediately. And even the ones that looked convincing from the outside filled him with dread. After long sighs and longer deliberation, he chose one route. Surely it wouldn’t mean death. Thinking of the faces he’d met, he didn’t like his odds of getting “caught”—but he comforted himself: if they wanted something from him, he’d be safe enough.

By the time he finished, the sun was sinking. Before the attempt, he decided to remove the thing around his neck. Moving as a fox would be best for stealth, given the small volume—but who knew what tools he might need? If the moment came, he’d want to be able to transform instantly.

Fortunately, the tiger had generously buckled the collar loose. Sitting on the bed, he lifted his left forepaw and wedged it between fur and collar. He pulled; the pressure bit at his nape, then throbbed. He yanked until it hurt, then stretched his head back and wriggled free. After a few perilous tugs of will‑it‑come‑off or not, the restraint fell away.

With the collar off, next was… He shoved the collar and a pillow under the sheets. Since the fox would soon be vacating the bed, the lump would stand in for him.

They never entered outside of meal times, and even if they did, they never looked closely. Odds were good no one would notice he’d gone—but every minute counted. He patted the duvet into a curled‑fox shape, then headed for the wardrobe.

When he opened it, a dusting of sawdust greeted him. He had tossed larger chips through the hole, but the fine powder from clawing had nowhere to go. To hide the pile of dust and the gaping hole, he’d have to shut the door.

He gripped the door with his forepaws. Childhood hide‑and‑seek had trained him to close wardrobe doors from the inside. A deft push; a soft tap; the light dimmed. With concealment complete, he padded to the window.

He worked the latch with his teeth, drew a quiet breath, and checked outside. One or two figures loitered, but with their backs turned his way it seemed all right. He eased the window open as silently as possible.

Peeking down, he realized it was higher than he’d thought. A dizzy lurch—but there was no other option than to jump. If he could turn and lower his hindlegs first with his forepaws on the sill it would be less scary—but he couldn’t afford to show his back.

He braced, squeezed his eyes shut, and leapt. The float of the fall raised a shiver along his spine. With a soft crackle, he landed safely in a bush.

The sound seemed loud; his heart raced—but it was only nerves. No one looked his way. He exhaled, stepped carefully.

As dusk swallowed the grounds, he felt grateful for the first time in his life to be a black fox. If he’d worn the vivid orange of his mother or youngest brother, he’d have been caught already. He tucked his white‑tipped tail between his legs and kept his gaze low; a glint in his eyes reflecting light would give him away.

He barely breathed, scanning as he moved—when, not far off, someone approached. Heavy footfalls. The fox darted into the nearest brush. Winter had stripped the leaves to thorns and twigs, but it hid him well enough. Curled tight among the spiky branches, he waited as two large shadows came into view.

Without a word exchanged, the hulks strode briskly—until one of them stopped dead. The one ahead, startled by the sudden halt, raised his voice in confusion.