He’s a Fox Ch 43

Chapter 43

“When Yuri grows up to here, the Boss said he’d give her a present, remember?”

“Sa-jahni?” (Boss?)

“He means Hyung-nim,” the alligator explained gently, clarifying the unfamiliar title for the cub. Thanks to him, Hohyun could skip the lecture on employer–employee relations and continue.

“Remember the book Let’s Brush Our Teeth? The little ‘snackers’ that came out in it?”

“Mm.”

Hearing the title, Yuri’s eyes lit up as she nodded, recalling. Hohyun glanced around, then motioned her close, whispering with exaggerated secrecy. Her small shoulders stiffened with intrigue, and she pressed close to his side.

Once he had her attention squarely on him, Hohyun cupped his hands like a trumpet and brought them to her ear. He whispered softly, “Say… when that time comes, can I give you a present too?”

“…Yay!”

Of course no child would refuse a gift, but phrasing it as if he were asking for permission made it feel like their little shared “secret.” And children loved secrets. Sure enough, Yuri brightened, her face glowing. When she hooked her pinky around his to seal the promise, all earlier gloom had vanished. The beaming tiger cub made both fox and alligator smile warmly.

From that day onward, measuring her height became part of Yuri’s daily routine. The only problem? She demanded it morning, noon, and night. Three times a day.

As silly as it seemed—she wasn’t a bean sprout!—somehow, every four hours did show a fraction’s change. About a millimeter or two per day. Barely perceptible to the eye, but measurable. Which left Yuri thoroughly satisfied, and Hohyun obliged—each time fetching his ruler and leading her to the improvised growth chart.

The initial plan, however, quickly fell apart. Originally all marks were etched by the alligator’s thick claws, but space ran out fast. Dozens of gouges were becoming unsightly, and no decent wall could withstand endless deep scoring.

The solution revealed itself in unused sticker sheets—ones that had been bundled with her picture books. Yuri had been uninterested; they’d sat untouched. But they became perfect markers now. Small, cute, colorful stickers, easily placed and removed. Even if measured five, ten times in a day, no problem.

One by one, colorful dots speckled the once-plain wall. Guests began noticing too. Lined stickers reaching upward. When explained that it was a record of the young lady’s growth, all nodded in admiration: at Yuri’s cuteness, at the fox’s thoughtful idea. Among beasts who had grown only wild, not one had thought of preserving such gentle records.

Even Kangwoon took interest. Watching Hohyun beam proudly after searching online for average big-species toddler heights, the tiger’s lips twitched faintly upward.

In truth, Kangwoon’s targets were higher—he had more precise literature, not broad general species averages but tiger cub charts. But well, no need now to correct. They’d set the goal already. Better to let Yuri climb toward it—proud.

Leaping into his arms and announcing, “Yuri got taller!” —her joy radiated, filling the whole den with laughter.

And so about six weeks passed. Seasons shifted firmly into winter. During that time, Yuri grew steadily, and Hohyun grew steadier still—now even able to control his shifting at will.

But the plunge of temperature left effects. The air grew dry, crisp. That morning, Hohyun startled awake beneath its bite. He remembered yesterday’s weather reports pushed on every article: nationwide snowfall warning.

He rubbed down wild bed-head with his palm and skipped gladly down the hall. He wanted to see snow—had it truly come?

The lounge was dim, morning sun hidden behind snowclouds. Condensation fogged the glass balcony doors, concealing the yard in hazy blur. With a breath, he decided: best to open directly.

Shhrrk. He yanked the glass wide. White showers greeted him. A single drift flurried onto his nose. Eyes snapping shut reflexively, he laughed, opening again to watch.

Last year’s winter had been mild, not a single snow here. Even towns northward got only dustings. He had been left with only rain. And now—his garden lay whitening. Whether because it was picturesque, or simply newness long-missed, joy warmed him.

Both hands scooped the sill-powder, patting it into a ball. Though shallow yet, much would come later—he could sense it. His plan for snow-play would succeed.

Even in a flimsy shirt, cold nibbling him, he loathed to leave. His breath hung cloud white before him, mesmerizing. Then—thp. Heavy warmth wrapped his shoulders. He jumped.

Kangwoon stood behind, meeting his eyes.

As always, the great beast had made no sound. His sudden apparitions chilled the heart. Last week, such surprise would have blown fox ears and tail right out. Now, Hohyun’s body remained calm.

The tiger betrayed no hint of noticing. He merely blinked slow and deep, then answered the fox’s nervous greeting.

“D-did you sleep well?”

“…Yes. And you?”

The tiger’s voice was fuzzy, softer; clearly still half-sunk in drowsiness. He rubbed behind his neck absently, gaze drifting outward. White plains shimmered in his irises, reflecting bright.

To Hohyun, it glittered like galaxies caught inside. The fox stared, oddly dazed, noticing the lashes white-lined as snow crystals gathered, unmoving.

Words fled. Awkwardness pressed his chest. His employer, whom he met daily, suddenly felt… distant. He stepped back, boots crunching.

The sound drew those golden eyes. Kangwoon simply reached out—fingers brushing his hair.

“Hold still. Snow.”

“…Oh.”

Faint fingertips lightly scraped ice from black locks—gentlest of touches. Hohyun stood stiff as plank, eyes darting, but the tiger whispered reassurance: nothing else. When at last flakes were brushed and tumbled down, Kangwoon receded again.

Distance restored, only then did Hohyun manage words. “…Would it be alright, if Yuri and I go outside later?”

Her outings usually depended on her own wish, though guardians sometimes forbade when weather deemed unsafe. The snow wasn’t heavy yet, but best to request permission.

At once, Kangwoon checked the hygrometer hung beneath the clock. Colder today, drier. He tapped it with frown.

“Go out? What if you both catch cold?”

“If we dress warm, it’ll be fine.”

He looked up, eyes pleading. The first snowfall—he couldn’t deny her it. Kangwoon’s gaze lingered long. Then, after thought, he grunted assent.

Two hours later—the sky turned. From gentle flakes to thick storming clouds. Snow poured fierce, endless. Curtains blotted vision. Hohyun scowled up, nerves spiking.

What now?