Chapter 17

Gorilla?

Beomjin immediately understood. Had there ever been a Beast-Blooded whose bloodline and appearance matched so perfectly? With long, thick arms swinging as he approached, the man looked like a crossbreed between human and gorilla.

Up close, he was even bigger than expected. His body bore the muscle of someone who had trained before, with calluses on his fingers and countless small scars along his calves.

No wonder he acted so full of himself. If an ordinary person ran into him on the street, they’d probably cross to the other side.

The man stood tall before Beomjin, showing not the slightest hint of fear.

“I’m Gwak Guho, the boss of this welfare center! And you’re some government mutt bold enough to strut in here?”

His booming voice was proud, but his awkward tone and exaggerated gestures—craving recognition—just looked foolish.

“I’m looking for someone. If I can confirm they’re not here, I’ll leave quietly. Please cooperate.”

Beomjin made his request as politely as he could. But with arms folded like locked steel, Guho refused instantly.

“There are two things I hate most. One, arrogant punks. Two, government dogs. You look like both.”

What was that supposed to mean?

Beomjin laughed. He wanted to deal with someone reasonable, but the mob cheering behind Guho didn’t look any better. They howled and roared like beasts, egging him on.

Beomjin ignored them. The fox wasn’t among that noisy crowd—but her scent lingered near the building. Horyeon might still be inside, or she might have left. Too many possibilities. He had to think simply: the only way to know was to go in himself.

“I smell a fox inside. Let me check her face and I’ll go.”

“We don’t talk to government mutts. Get lost!”

Guho shoved Beomjin’s shoulder roughly. But instead of staggering, Beomjin stood firm, only dust scattering from the impact. Guho masked his surprise quickly and grabbed Beomjin by the collar. With a grunt, he hoisted up his eighty-one-kilogram frame.

“You’d better scram before you get a bone broken.”

Eyes blazing, Guho hurled him away. Beomjin spun once in the air and landed lightly, almost gracefully, like a butterfly. The sight stunned the crowd into silence.

Beomjin tilted his head, eyes on the tattoo covering Guho’s arm. Amid the jumbled designs was a clear image of a human forearm, muscles bulging, locked in an arm-wrestling grip.

“Looks like you’re into arm-wrestling.”

Guho smirked, checking his tattoo and puffing up with pride.

“Scared, kid? Don’t worry—it’ll be over in one second.”

Ha. Amusing.

Without hesitation, Beomjin walked past him and sat at a bench behind the mob. The Beast-Blooded scattered back, leaving a space open. Planting his elbow on the table, Beomjin grinned at Guho.

“If you’re that confident, let’s settle it simply. If I lose, I’ll leave.”

“Hah! You serious? An arm-wrestle with me? Hey, did you all hear that?”

Steam burst from Guho’s nose as the crowd jeered at Beomjin and hyped up their boss. Guho, never one to back down from a provocation, raised his arms like a pro-wrestler entering the ring.

“You’re dead.”

He slammed his arm onto the table. Beomjin clasped it. His own arm was trained and lean, but Guho’s was swollen, massive, like it belonged to another species. Guho shook Beomjin’s hand like a reed in the wind, grinning with bared teeth.

“If by some miracle you win, I’ll let you do what you want. But don’t cry when your arm snaps. Today, I’m putting down a tiger cub.”

He thrust his other hand skyward, and the crowd screeched like a troop of monkeys.

The bulldog-faced man acted as referee. Meeting Guho’s eyes, he gave the timing. With a sharp gesture, he shouted, and Guho roared as he pushed with all his strength.

Everyone’s eyes locked on the match. Even breaths held in suspense. Then Beomjin flexed, adding strength.

With a crackling shout, Guho’s arm was slammed down. He tumbled off the bench, rolling on the ground and clawing splinters out of his hand.

“I win. Since we agreed, I’ll go inside now, right?”

Beomjin’s tone was kind, almost teasing.

Tears pricked at Guho’s eyes as he clenched his teeth, swatting Beomjin’s hand away. He kicked the ground, snorting hard.

“No! That doesn’t count—you cheated—”

Beomjin strode forward, seizing him by the hair. Lightning-fast, too quick to resist, he forced Guho to look up at him, spine bent.

“Know when to quit. I’ve humored you enough. Learn when to yield.”

Beomjin’s change of demeanor left Guho and the others frozen, swallowing hard.

No more words were needed.

“Fine, fine! I’ll keep my word! Just let go!”

Guho shook his head frantically in surrender. At his capitulation, the mob deflated like a defeated army, silent and obedient.

Beomjin followed Guho’s lead into the welfare center.

Inside was unexpectedly quiet—not with the hush of a library, but the hollow air of a ruin stripped of hope. Mold blotched the walls, speaking to years of neglect.

After only a few steps, Guho stopped and asked,

“You said you were looking for a fox?”

“That’s right. A woman in her early twenties. She’s here, isn’t she?”

“Ha.”

Guho snorted and walked on.

“Government mutts are all the same. Someone goes missing, and they come to us. Like we’re the kidnappers. Meanwhile, the ones with no place to go and nothing to eat—they never care about them.”

His glare carried blame squarely at Beomjin.

Beomjin had heard before that welfare for Beast-Blooded shelters was scarce, but he hadn’t expected this much hostility.

“…That’s why there are so few nationwide. Too many with foul tempers, and it’s not easy to cram different bloodlines together every day. If you were one of us, would you want to live choking on everyone else’s scent?”

Uwan had once mentioned shelters in passing, but only lightly—never with this kind of depth.

Instead of useless chatter, he could’ve at least warned him they hated government workers this much.

They passed a few makeshift rooms with flimsy walls. Old men sleeping on dirty blankets, kids scribbling on the walls, others watching videos on phones. Even here, they adapted and survived.

“You may not know who exactly you’re looking for, but the fox is here.”

It was a small room lined with six cots, three on each side. Only two were neatly made. The rest were messy—blankets tangled, magazines stacked, socks and shirts tossed around.

On the innermost bed, a short-haired woman lay with her back turned. As soon as Beomjin stepped inside, she sat up.

“…Who are you, a tiger?”

Her chic, sharp face twisted in suspicion as she glared at him.

“What? Who are you? Someone, come here!”

Curling in defensively, she shouted, and Guho rushed in from outside.

“What’s wrong? Did this government mutt hit you?”

“No, but who is this guy?”

Guho turned to Beomjin.

“She’s not the one you’re after, is she?”

He was right. She was a fox, but not Horyeon. Her name was Ji-yu, twenty-five, two years older than Horyeon.

“I’m Baek Beomjin from the Special Beast Investigation Unit. I’m looking for a particular fox.”

Even with his calm introduction, Ji-yu stayed tense, bristling like a hedgehog.

“So what? You here to drag me off instead?”

Drag her off? Why would she think that? Beomjin frowned—then noticed the small plastic container on the floor by her bed. About the size of a phone. His nose twitched.

Her dilated pupils, pale hands and feet, the bitter smell like burned mugwort—put together, the answer was obvious.

“You’ve been using aegidol, haven’t you?”

“Damn it…” Guho smacked his forehead and clicked his tongue.

[Aegidol] was slang among Beast-Blooded. Formally called aegibawi-suk or budeok-suk, it was a plant known as dew grass. Dried and chewed, it dulled the senses and clouded the mind—a dangerous herb.

Its use wasn’t illegal by human law, since it only affected Beast-Blooded. For most it was weak, but for certain bloodlines it hit dangerously hard. That was why it was taboo among their kind.

As Beomjin stepped closer, Ji-yu scrambled for the container. But there was nowhere to hide, nowhere to run.

He snatched it easily. Inside, just as he expected, was a stash of dried aegidol. When he glanced at Guho, the man only gave a sheepish grin and looked away.

So that’s why they’d fought so hard to keep him out. There was no way they didn’t know about someone using aegidol under the same roof. He should’ve reported it straight to the Unit—but finding Horyeon came first.

“She’s not the fox I’m after.”

Still, another fox’s scent lingered in the room. Faint, like it had been more than half a day since she’d left, but definitely there.

“But there was another fox here.”

Ji-yu’s breath caught at his words. Beomjin didn’t miss the subtle flinch. Watching her eyes, he walked slowly past the beds. Her gaze clung to him, uneasy, forced.

When he stopped at the opposite cot, her pupils trembled violently.

“She was here.”

Like the others, the bed was messy with scattered belongings. But one thing was missing: no shoes, no phone.

“Where’s the owner of this bed? A fox’s scent is still here.”

Ji-yu shook her head quickly.

“I don’t know.”

He couldn’t prove it was Horyeon’s spot yet. He needed evidence. Knowing he shouldn’t, Beomjin pulled the bag from the bed and began to search.

“Hey! What do you think you’re doing?!”

Ji-yu lunged and clung to his arm, but it only made things worse. He brushed her off and dug through the crumpled clothes.

A wallet surfaced, its luxury logo bold and unmistakable.

“…Ah.”

Ji-yu’s strangled cry broke the air as he opened it.

“Found it.”

Inside was Horyeon’s ID card. The photo showed her younger, in a school uniform—her face still girlish, but instantly familiar. Relief welled up, mixed with the weight of certainty.

Ji-yu staggered back, gasping, as the air around Beomjin chilled.

Lifting his eyes, Beomjin asked coldly,

“Where’s the owner of this wallet right now?”