TFN C37

Chapter 37

 

He bent his knees, carefully lifting with his palms the tiny chick that could fit twice over into one hand. Safely cupped, he sealed it into the cube.

Once the outside elements were cut off and the temperature raised, the huddled body unfurled, rounding softly like sticky rice cake. Watching Wonhyo let out a breath of relief, Cheongmun gathered the discarded clothes into his inventory before leaving the alley.

After exiting the camera’s range, he dismissed the summoned guardians. Even if some tracker followed his movements, it would be instantly obvious that Wonhyo was gone, but since no one could monitor him to begin with, it didn’t matter.

Before entering the scope of the next CCTV, Cheongmun leapt into the air. Narrow alleys, low buildings flew past, and in an instant he landed in the underground parking lot of Cheonggye Arcade.

Just as before, he placed the cube carrying Wonhyo on the passenger’s seat, circled the car, then slid behind the wheel. He took out a cookie—the kind that enabled communication.

Recognizing the item, Wonhyo flapped his wings furiously from within and chirped.

“Chirp!”

Confirming he was far smaller than when he had been a tiger, Cheongmun snapped off a fragment no larger than a crumb and offered it on his fingertip.

“Chirp?”

Wonhyo tilted his tiny head, puzzled why only such a small piece was given.

“This too is medicinal. The dose depends on weight. Your body and mass are quite different now, aren’t they?”

“Chirp.”

As if understanding, Wonhyo pecked his finger gently, swallowing the crumb.

“Ah—ah.”

The effect was sufficient—his voice rang clear once more.

Wonhyo steadied his mind. Coming to his senses, he realized that already changed into a chick and chilled by the sudden cold, his reason had shut down and hidden beneath clothing—leaving only survival instinct.

Once encased in Cheongmun’s cube, warmth returned. But the rapid movement left his head spinning, dizzying him as though riding a whirlwind.

Still, he was now safe, able to speak again—that was relief enough.

Checking his voice once more, he turned toward where Cheongmun sat. From his diminished perspective, the man loomed like a giant.

The relative difference made Wonhyo tremble. One careless swing of an arm might break his fragile twiggy legs or half-formed wings.

“Still cold, are you?”

“Yes? …No.”

Though he denied it, Cheongmun raised the cube’s temperature slightly.

Unable to admit that his trembling came not from cold but from pressure, Wonhyo tucked himself deeper into the warmth. Chicks died both from excess heat and from cold. If breathing ever became difficult, he would simply tell him to lower the temperature again.

For now, it was perfect.

“…I want to go home.”

He knew Cheongmun was busy. There were clues to analyze from today, the child victim to identify, a cult-stained talisman to track. His team would share the work, still it was much.

“Could you call me a driverless taxi and…”

“I’m afraid not.”

Cheongmun cut in, though without any tone of regret.

Wonhyo stopped mid-chirp, tilted his beak upward. Cheongmun looked down on him.

“Poultry infused with mana are, under current regulations, to be culled immediately unless administered prescribed prophylactics against dungeon-born avian viral strains.”

“…What?”

The words landed on Wonhyo’s ears like foreign speech—he understood but didn’t, his beak opening and closing silently.

Cheongmun tilted his head with a faint smile.

“You must have heard—the news about the dungeon-spawned avian influenza.”

…Had he? Wonhyo only ever paid attention to chicken price news.

He swallowed despair and listened.

“As you’ve taken no vaccine, you lack immunity. Whether you catch the flu or not, it’s equally dangerous. Strains mutate, and once it infects humans… lethal without recourse. That is why culling is enforced.”

Wonhyo shoved his beak under his wing in horror. Until now he thought becoming a chicken meant safety—yet even breathing posed danger.

“Then what do I do? I… I need medicine?”

Cheongmun tapped the steering wheel lightly.

“Better than that—you’ll come with me to the Special Bureau. Sooner.”

“The Special Bureau?”

“Yes. With me, your penalty time won’t increase. And I remembered an item—one capable of lifting debuffs higher than that cookie earlier.”

“…Like the cookie?”

“Of a superior grade. Secure in Bureau storage.”

“…Ugh.”

Wonhyo groaned in indecision. Communication with items, the halting of ghost-qi accumulation when Cheongmun touched him—all true. It was obvious being with him would help.

If the item failed, then he could at least stay safely with him until this form shed.

But dungeon-born avian flu terrified him. He couldn’t risk his mother or sister near. Rare though the chance was, if it spread from him, it would be ruin. Between them and Cheongmun, the only choice was Cheongmun.

And he was high-ranked enough—not likely to die from a flu.

Still, Wonhyo swore to himself he would repay a staggering debt in talismans.

“Team Lead, you’re ba—eh?”

Officer Choi, halfway through a greeting, faltered. The deputy glanced up as well.

Had the Bureau Chief arrived? Why so startled? Even mid-busy hands arranging reports, the deputy squinted.

It was indeed the Team Lead, back from brief leave—reservation logs showed he’d used a test dungeon near Cheonggyecheon today. But perched on his shoulder… a bright yellow chick.

“…What?”

Cheongmun raised a light brow.

“Something the matter?”

“Ah, haha—nothing. Always work. Always busyness. Just, uh… what wondrous bio-item have you picked up?”

He flicked his eyes at the fuzzy thing on his shoulder.

“A normal chick.”

“Chirp.”

Yes—plainly a bird.

Team members stifled screams or crooned admiration.

“You’re raising it?”

“Is it hen or rooster? I trained as a chick-sexing examiner in case I quit here. Want me to check?”

From his cubicle, Officer Lee—who had been sunbathing next to the window while analyzing ghost psychology—spoke.

Startled, the chick burst fluttering within the cube.

“Chirp! Chirp! Chirp! Chirp!!”

The air rattled with noise until Cheongmun lifted a hand to still them, a faint smile on his lips.

“A rooster. No need to check. And more to the point, I’ve brought back several clues—”

“Clues?”

The deputy blinked wide, suddenly fully awake. He remembered faintly: something about receiving evidence from the shaman. He had been too buried to recall.

“…New evidence?”

“Less new, more previously unseen. But significant.”

Their eyes fixed on the items emerging from his inventory.

“Really?”

Hidden as he was in chick-form, Wonhyo peered up at the evidence he himself had gathered. Listening to Cheongmun recount the dungeon rites, the phantom boy, the talisman card—all, the team examined the school trousers with grim expressions.

“To accept it as evidence, we’ll need confirmation it belonged to the summoned child. Cross-check first. I’ll handle verification.”

“We should hand the trousers to Microtrace Team, then?”

“And the torn card fragment to Item Analysis?”

“…Correct.”

Immediately resolved, the team gathered evidence and swept away.

Without quibbles, without questioning where obtained or if reliable—only “We’ll confirm; we’ll analyze; we’ll see.”

Impressive.

Though Wonhyo had handed it over, it pleased him to see belief building. Once, when first helping police, even after success he was met with suspicion. First they said—coincidence, luck. No one believed.

Now, trust seemed possible.

Maybe whenever I enter new joint investigations, I should just start by showing a ghost. After all, seeing once was worth a hundred words.

“You should drink some water.”

At Cheongmun’s offer, he pecked at a leaf and sipped from an open bottle. His hunger eased, his belly filled. A team member spread thick tissues beneath him like a cushion.

At home he would have perched in a careful cage prepared in a corner—safer for hamsters or chicks than the open.

He drooped his head, recalling that space.

But the strokes across his head and back—light, careful fingers—left him strangely at peace.

So he closed his eyes, safe in the gentle motion.