TFN C76

Chapter 76

Stretching his stiff shoulders, Wonhyo stopped by the restroom, bought some snacks and water, and returned to the car—only to see his mother already seated, holding her ritual fan.

His sister, standing nearby, pressed a finger to her lips, signaling him to stay quiet. He stepped back at once, scanning the surroundings for anyone approaching.

It couldn’t be helped if ordinary people came near, but distraction could mean missing a crucial vision or mishearing a divine message—and in their line of work, that was dangerous.

His mother sat motionless, eyes closed, gently waving her fan. After a long stillness, her lashes lifted.

“Before we leave,” she said softly, “I should call Wonsin.”

“Uncle?” his sister asked, tilting her head. “Something wrong?”

Wonhyo looked worried. “Is it bad news?”

His mother shook her head slowly, her expression calm.

“Not bad—just… uncertain. But I have a feeling this one concerns us.” She clicked her tongue sharply, cutting herself off, and began rummaging through her bag for her phone.

It seemed that someone—perhaps one of the generals she served—was blocking her from saying more.

Even when one glimpsed a fragment of the future, it couldn’t always be spoken aloud. The more people who knew, the greater the distortion that followed.

Usually, that meant she had to speak in circles—wrapping prophecy in vague, harmless words—or avoid saying anything at all.

After several rings, her younger brother picked up.

—“Ah, just a second, noona. Let me step out.”

There was noise in the background—voices trying to stop him—and then it faded.

“Busy?” she asked.

—“Five minutes? No, maybe three. What’s up?”

Her eyes flickered shut for a moment before she spoke.

“Did you take on a case involving someone possessed by an animal spirit?”

—“What?”

His uncle’s voice shot up.

—“Where did you hear that?”

“I picked up a job down in Jindo. Heard about two similar cases—one near Dongdaemun, and one through some acquaintances.”

—“Ah, hell… That complicates things. Actually, not complicates—more like confirms it. I was planning to go take a look myself.”

He hadn’t been called to help; he was planning to visit personally. That was rarely a good sign.

Wonhyo’s eyes narrowed.

From experience, he knew what that meant. There were incidents that ended after one visit—and those that didn’t. This one was clearly the latter.

“I’ll send Wonhyo,” his mother said firmly, cutting in.

His sister let out a small gasp. “Oh my.” She clapped a hand over her mouth, surprised at her own reaction.

Wonhyo, for his part, simply blinked.

—“Wonhyo? Is he even up to walking around? Last time we spoke, you said he wasn’t well.”

“It’s his heart that’s bruised, not his limbs. He’s fine. And he’s been lying in bed so long, he might grow mold if he doesn’t get some air.”

I wasn’t in bed that long, Wonhyo thought, lips twitching with protest—but his sister nodded solemnly beside him, agreeing, and he didn’t dare argue.

—“Alright then. I’ll fill him in.”

“I’ll tell him to call you,” his mother replied.

—“Thanks, noona. Be safe, okay? I’ve got a meeting starting now—call you later.”

When the call ended, she exhaled quietly.

Wonhyo frowned. “You really want me to go?”

Her gaze softened but stayed steady.

“That’s what the general said would be fastest.”

Fastest. That word again.

He remembered one of those so-called generals—the same one who’d shoved him into an S-rank dungeon last time—jabbing him in the ribs, laughing like it was for his own good.

Was this really fine? What did “fastest” even mean?

He had questions—but in the end, he nodded. “Alright. I’ll go when we reach Seoul. Maybe not today—day after tomorrow, most likely. That okay?”

He checked his calendar. March 11th—Day of the Rabbit. Not bad. The 13th was a Snake day—chilly still, but no omen of harm.

“Go on the 13th,” his sister advised, eyes lifting to the sky. “The Snake is better.”

Their mother agreed. “Yes, that would be best.”

With the date set and the duty accepted, Wonhyo texted his uncle.

The message wasn’t read right away—probably because of the meeting—but that didn’t matter.

As he slipped the phone back into his pocket, he paused. There was one more person he needed to contact.

[I’m heading back to Seoul.]

The message was read within seconds.

[-Travel safely.]

A short reply, nothing more.

He assumed it was because of work—morning hours were always busy. Usually, when there was time, Cheongmun would call instead of texting.

Wonhyo pictured him, already at his desk, coffee in hand, probably double-shot espresso as always.

He typed a quick “Work hard today” and climbed into the car.

“Something good happen?” his sister asked as she started the engine.

“Huh?” He blinked.

His mother and sister both turned to look at him, smiling faintly.

“You had storm clouds written all over your face earlier, and now you look like spring sunshine,” his sister teased.

“Do I?” He rubbed his cheeks in confusion.

“Your aura’s cleared too,” his mother observed. “You look lighter.”

“I didn’t really… do anything,” he muttered, coughing mid-sentence.

All he’d done was exchange a brief, businesslike message with Cheongmun. Nothing more.

If anything, it had been a report, not a friendly chat.

“Oh? There it goes dark again,” his sister joked.

Wonhyo checked his reflection in the rearview mirror, but couldn’t tell any difference. Maybe because it was just a report.

He chuckled awkwardly and leaned back in his seat, fastening his belt.

His sister seemed satisfied and focused on the road.

Once they merged onto the highway, there wasn’t much left to worry about.

When he glanced at his phone again, his message still hadn’t been read.

He told himself it didn’t matter.

At first, he hadn’t understood why he had to share his movements, but after a while, it had become habit—and maybe that’s why the silence stung a little.

He reminded himself: this was reporting, not personal.

A leftover side effect from that cursed “penalty.”

After all, the whole thing had started when Cheongmun found him—half-conscious and turned into a chinchilla.

“You never know when you might be in danger. Please report your location or travel plans whenever you leave the house.”

Within Seoul, it made sense. But if he suddenly turned into, say, a koi fish on a highway somewhere—what then?

He’d argued once that on “dragon days,” he wouldn’t step foot outside. But Cheongmun had pointed out that even chicks, snakes, or rabbits—small creatures—could get attacked by stray cats.

So now, he wore a simple bracelet—a small charm attached to it—his one guaranteed safeguard.

He tapped the pendant lightly and closed his eyes.

It wasn’t worth sulking over. He’d see that face again soon enough—awake or asleep.

Really.

“Hey! Long time no see.”

“Oh, good to see you!”

Greetings echoed through the spacious hall.

“How’s your guild doing these days?”

“Same as ever. Barely enough jobs to scrape by. We don’t go much south of Gyeonggi anymore.”

“Really? I heard some good new dungeons opened near Sangju and Gunwi.”

“Not our style. Doesn’t fit our raid comp.”

“Oh, right—I must’ve remembered wrong.”

Information flowed freely among the gathered hunters: dungeon strategies, new openings, regional anomalies.

The Dungeon Research Forum, held in a grand hotel ballroom in Yongsan, was a hub for guilds, researchers, and field agents alike—people who knew that in their world, knowledge equaled survival.

Cheongmun swept his gaze across the crowd before heading toward a reserved room where Special Administration officers had gathered.

A few attendees noticed him and started to approach—but stopped when another man reached him first.

“Hey there, sweetheart.”

A tall man with near-blond hair and pale eyes waved with a smirk—the unmistakable air of someone powerful.

“Been a while,” Cheongmun said flatly, bowing his head just enough for courtesy.

The man’s expression twisted. “Ugh, formal speech makes me sick.”

“I feel the same,” Cheongmun replied coolly.

The man snorted a laugh and stepped closer. “Then for both our sakes, let’s quit our jobs and go freelance, hmm?”

“Guildmaster Yu Rim of Haetae Guild,” Cheongmun said, his tone cuttingly polite.

“Yes, and you—Team Leader Lee Cheongmun, Special Judicial Affairs Division, Special Administration Bureau.”

“Enough nonsense. Move aside.”

“Aww.”

The childish whine from a man well over thirty made Cheongmun’s eyes chill like winter glass. He raised a gloved hand and lightly pushed the other man away before continuing toward the inner room.

Yu Rim followed immediately, sticking to his side like a shadow.

“Is that really how you treat an old colleague?”

“I wouldn’t call a three-month internship a ‘colleague,’” Cheongmun said without looking back.

Yu Rim pouted. “Once a Haetae, always a Haetae! Anyway, I heard the Special Bureau’s giving a presentation in today’s closed session. True?”

“It is,” Cheongmun said.

“Related to the S-rank ghost-type dungeon? The one that called me in last time?”

Cheongmun inclined his head slightly. Yu Rim, a rare S-rank wielder of holy attribute skills, would understand exactly what that meant.

Hunters nearby pricked up their ears at the overheard exchange—but neither man paid them any mind.