Snake Venom Ch 85

Chapter 85

10.

The first time Cheon Wooshin ever saw Lee Yeonwoo was through a video file of Utopia Sodom circulating through the intelligence network.

The footage, degraded by endless extraction and copying, was worse than old CCTV, yet Yeonwoo’s features cut through the blur with striking clarity. His venom-bright eyes glinted like those of a wild animal caught in a night-vision trap, and his movements were quick, desperate, feral. In the final seconds—less than a minute long—Yeonwoo was dragged helplessly by a half-human twice his size.

To anyone else, that last frame would have screamed despair. But Wooshin thought differently. Ordinarily, he would have sent it straight to Joo Doyoung after a single viewing—yet he played it again, twice, thrice. Especially those last few seconds.

He saw Yeonwoo clutch the attacker’s arm with both fists and dig his heels into the ground—a will bent on resistance. He merely looked like he was being hauled away. In truth, he was biding time, looking for the precise moment where counterattack would land. What looked fragile had been filled to the brim with a brutal will to survive.

“Gather every shred of intel on Utopia Sodom—don’t bother filtering for authenticity.”

That was how he met him—and Yeonwoo was as useful as expected. What he hadn’t expected: Yeonwoo’s loyalty, initiative, and persistence exceeded all forecasts. Where that nature came from occasionally piqued Wooshin’s curiosity, but he hadn’t intended to keep Yeonwoo long enough for it to matter.

And for the first few weeks, Wooshin believed he was keeping his boundaries perfectly.

A dog should remain a dog, used for the role assigned. Even if Yeonwoo exerted undue influence on him and his team, that was acceptable only within the scope of the Venom investigation. Yeonwoo had a home to return to and a clear desire of his own. Wooshin respected those choices to the extent he needed him. That, he believed, was the price of using someone.

He gave just enough affection that he could cut the leash at any moment. When Yeonwoo excelled, he praised him without hesitation; when potential needed room, he stepped back and waited. It was no different from how he cultivated the rest of his team—recognize strength, cultivate it, ignite morale at the right moment. He went no further. The loyalty and devotion—that was Yeonwoo’s job.

“I just felt I needed to be by your side.”

Yet Yeonwoo read an emotion Wooshin hadn’t even recognized in himself—instinctively responding before that feeling even surfaced in Wooshin’s awareness. His naive earnestness pierced him before he could brace.

Then Yeonwoo dared to care for a bat-hybrid he had known for a single night. During planning, he drifted off, hesitated, grew dispirited—infuriatingly distracting Wooshin. A flaw he would have brushed aside in any other subordinate clung to him, tugging at his stride.

Why couldn’t he at least hide it? Or deny it, if discovered? But Yeonwoo was not the type to mask his heart.

“In another time and place, we might’ve been good friends.”

His tentative confession scraped Wooshin’s nerves raw.

Ah, but Yeonwoo explained himself further—said his stubborn kindness could not be beaten out of him, not even by President Park’s fists; that he never did anything halfway; that his warmth toward Wooshin, the team, and Seolkyung sprang from the same nature. And under those earnest eyes, Wooshin could only laugh.

“For you, it took three seconds.”

That single line hurled a stone into Wooshin’s stagnant lake.

This… damn mutt.

For the first time in years, the unruly temperament he’d disciplined into silence clawed at its restraints.

What did it matter whether it was one night or three seconds? Seeing himself placed on the same scale as some bat creature made anger curl sharp inside him. Being shaken by those wide eyes and foolish sincerity—laughable. Offensive.

Resistance—toward a dog on a leash. Wooshin stared at the ceiling, struck by absurdity and a punch-like shock. Something stirred in his chest—dark, unpleasant, unfamiliar. A filthy color of emotion. Close to disgust. But when he realized it was the same rootless, unnamed feeling sprouting inside him…

He wanted to leave the room immediately.

“I’m going to sleep.”

Another second and he might talk nonsense—or do something. As chaotic impulses ricocheted, Wooshin realized it was time for his suppressant.

Yes. It was because of the side effects.

He rose—yet Yeonwoo, reckless fool, reached out and grabbed him. He should have ignored it—but his body didn’t obey. Instead, he turned, stepped close, and tilted Yeonwoo’s chin up.

…

…

Yeonwoo’s face, frozen in shock, strained to look calm. They were close enough that if Wooshin tugged his collar, their breaths would meet. The faint tremble in Yeonwoo’s exhale pricked his senses. That odd, ugly discomfort surged.

It wasn’t Yeonwoo overreacting—Wooshin’s senses had become hypersensitive to him. And then—he smelled it. A once-foreign scent, now sharp on his senses. Faint yet insistent, the fresh green scent of young leaves pulsed beneath Yeonwoo’s ear.

His fangs itched. A craving he knew could only be the side effect flickered along his jaw.

“When’s your next heat?”

The question was impulsive—even he didn’t know why it spilled out. Yeonwoo blinked, startled but trying to answer dutifully. His fluttering lashes sparked a thought Wooshin refused to examine.

And then, the day of the mission came.

“Yes, I pity them.”

Yeonwoo showed a trait that could be weakness—yet did not hide it.

“Whatever you do, I’ll follow.”

He offered an answer Wooshin hadn’t known he craved.

“Shall I bark?”

He even bared his belly, offering loyalty without shame.

Perhaps it began then—when a new venom seeped into Wooshin. Silent, slow, insidious.

As refined and cunning as Wooshin himself, it invaded his nerves and veins without pain or sign. How could he have noticed? His emotions already churned like poison, wild and heavy.

“Team Leader… thank you. You’re really amazing. Whenever you do things like this…”

And the moment Yeonwoo shone with pure, childlike admiration—

Something inside Wooshin snapped. Head, heart—maybe everywhere blood and nerves reached.

Lee Yeonwoo, age twenty-three. Mosaic dog-type hybrid from the mud pit called Utopia Sodom. Loyal, pitiful mutt—and mine.

Words once just data fractured inside him and spread like ink in water. Yeonwoo blended with venom, flooding him dark and deep. It took mere minutes for that color to turn opaque, swallowing light whole.

His vision blurred, then cleared—and the flame coiled inside him could not be stopped.

His body burned. The desire to devour what sat beside him—his property—rose hot enough to scorch thought.

At the entrance, Yeonwoo glanced back.

No amount of complaining about his lack of learning would change it—he had clung to hope until moments ago. Wooshin had been so rational, so perfect—surely, if he stalled long enough, the real Wooshin would return. That pitiful hope.

There is no rabbit foolish enough to walk into a tiger’s den of its own accord. Yet here he was. Was this truly the only way?

A man who wavers after speaking with one mouth is pathetic. Don’t overthink it. If you can’t avoid it, enjoy it.

“……”

His attempts to steel himself veered into dangerous territory. Had anxiety scrambled his brain after so long? Enjoy this? He might die.

“What are you doing.”

Wooshin’s low voice pressed against his back. His clothing brushed Yeonwoo’s—he had stepped close. The realization set Yeonwoo’s nerves ablaze.

“Open it.”