Chapter 22

Jinyoung returned from the reservoir. Only ten minutes had passed since she had dropped off Gyeonseok and Horyeon somewhere safe and turned back, yet the place had turned into a wasteland. The cars that had been parked in order were all destroyed, crushed, torn apart.

None of the fallen Beast-Blooded were left unscathed. It was harder to find someone still breathing than dead.

Beomjin lay slumped against a broken tree trunk. His face and neck were torn, but he was alive.

“Hey! Baek Beomjin!!”

She slapped his cheek and shook his shoulders until he stirred awake.

“Where’s Uwan?! What the hell happened here?”

Groaning, Beomjin jerked his head up.

Dragging his creaking body, he searched for Uwan. He was twenty meters away, lying among other corpses. Jinyoung collapsed before his cold, rigid body.

“No… no way…”

Her trembling hands quivered as she whispered.

Beomjin stood before her like a man drained of his soul. The sight of Uwan lying so still tore loose fragments of memory he had blacked out.

He staggered, choking on breath. His chest burned hot, unbearable. His whole body itched as power surged through him, ready to burst. In that haze, he saw only Mugwon, the Bear. He remembered ripping at him with hands covered in black-and-white fur.

He checked his hands. They were the same hands he used every day.

But they were smeared in blood. Just like Mugwon’s had been.

“Uwan…”

Jinyoung’s sobs filled the air as she clutched Uwan’s hand.

When Beomjin had come back in time, he believed everything would change. But never like this. This was too cruel.

Near Uwan lay Mugwon’s shredded tracksuit and severed fingers, but it was nowhere near enough to balance the loss.

Uwan’s funeral was quiet.

His wife faced reality with calm acceptance. Their five children stayed close, guarding the wake together.

“My husband spoke about you often.”

Her gentle voice made Beomjin bow his head. All he could do was repeat apologies for failing to protect Uwan.

He sat alone in a corner. Jinyoung busied herself with helping, Suchan greeted mourners, and agents of the Special Beast Investigation Unit came and went.

There was no peace in his heart. He had heard countless reassurances not to blame himself, but the guilt didn’t lighten.

“If you sit around looking so gloomy, no one will want to come near you.”

Hojun, sharp in a neat suit, sat down across from him.

“You came, Professor.”

“Thank you for finding Horyeon. You worked hard.”

Beomjin realized he hadn’t even called him after it all happened.

“I didn’t expect things to turn out this way either. You don’t need to shoulder all the blame.”

Beomjin kept his head lowered.

“I know you must resent me. For dragging you into this…”

Hojun exhaled like smoke, a weary sigh. He set down soju glasses for both of them, filled them, and drank. Beomjin followed.

“It’s not your fault, Professor. I just wasn’t enough.”

He clenched his fists. He could still feel the sensation of tearing Mugwon’s fingers free. Hojun poured again.

“I heard something about that situation—the Bear.”

Hojun glanced at him carefully. Beomjin could guess where this was headed. He had wanted to ask someone, too. He had never seen anything like it. No—maybe Dragon had been the same. But that was only a guess.

“He changed. Became half-beast.”

“Running on all fours, barking?”

“Not like that. More like… half human, half beast.”

Hojun twitched his brow and downed another shot.

“That must’ve been grotesque. And you saw it clearly yourself?”

“Yes. Those claws nearly ripped me apart.”

But Beomjin didn’t mention that he had changed the same way.

“Do you know why it happened?”

Hope rose inside him. Hojun, deep in thought, finally spoke.

“I’ve never seen it directly. I’ve only heard ridiculous rumors. Things like ‘incomplete evolution,’ or ‘tainted with monster’s blood.’ If it’s real, I’d love to research it. But I’ve never had the chance.”

The gleam in Hojun’s eyes was sharp, unsettling. Beomjin dared not confess further—he felt like he’d end up dissected on the spot.

“Ah, there you are, Uncle. Hello, Tiger-boy.”

“Hello.”

Risa the fox and I-rang the wolf came over to greet him. The dark circles under their eyes were heavier than before, and they both sighed the moment they sat down.

“God, what the hell is going on? You were there, right? Whose bastard work was it?”

Risa’s nails, sharpened like blades, dug into the table as her voice rose with venom.

“Why are you asking? What are you planning to do this time? Don’t go looking for trouble.”

“Why? How can you just sit there? We should hunt him down and just—”

She twisted her hands together as if choking someone, her slim wrists trembling with fury.

The rising voices drew the attention of others nearby.

“Enough. That’s plenty.”

I-rang tried to calm her, but she wasn’t easily subdued.

“That old Bear bastard hurt Senior, killed foxes like us too. And you’re just sitting here?”

She glared at Beomjin, spitting her anger.

“What, the Tiger can’t even beat a Bear?”

“Hey, hey, that’s out of line.”

Hojun clapped a hand over Risa’s mouth.

Beomjin didn’t reply. In truth, silence felt easier than hiding the truth.

“What the hell’s wrong with you? Don’t embarrass yourself in a place like this.”

Jinyoung, hearing the commotion, rushed in to scold Risa.

“Are you drunk? Look at your face, it’s bright red. That’s it, you’re done.”

She dragged the fuming Risa out of the hall. Compared to her usual sharpness, her tone toward Beomjin had softened. Uwan’s death seemed to have shifted something in her heart.

Only three men were left at the table. Silence lingered until, unexpectedly, I-rang spoke.

“Is it true? What you were saying earlier?”

Beomjin and Hojun looked at him.

“That monster. I heard it.”

Of course. Wolves had sharp ears, sharper than most predators.

“You’ve met one before?”

Beomjin asked.

“I’ve only heard about it.”

“From who?”

Hojun leaned in, curious.

“From Seongwondang.”

“Hah, that old man. He would say something like that.”

Yes, Sun-woong rambling over makgeolli (Korean rice wine) wasn’t hard to picture. Whether truth or exaggeration, it was worth listening to. For Beomjin, monsters weren’t just rumors.

As Hojun and I-rang exchanged a few words, Beomjin noticed Jinyoung beckoning from the hall. ‘Come out,’ she mouthed. He excused himself and followed. In the corridor stood Gyeonseok and Horyeon, masked and capped.

“Hello.”

It was the first time Horyeon had spoken to him directly. Alive, she seemed calmer than Beomjin had imagined—tense, watchful, clearly uneasy, but still steady.

The real problem was Gyeonseok, bristling as if he’d draw blood at the slightest threat.

“Here to pay respects?”

Beomjin gestured toward the hall, but neither moved. Horyeon glanced at Gyeonseok for approval, but he refused flatly.

“I wanted to thank you. For saving me. It took a lot of pleading to even come this far. But it’s the least I can do.”

“I understand. Are you alright now?”

“Yes. I’m fine. I feel sorry. Especially for… what happened to him. Because of me.”

“Thank you for saying that. Uwan would’ve thought the same.”

Beomjin’s gentle answer loosened her expression a little.

“If you’re done, let’s go.”

Gyeonseok cut her off sharply, eyes never leaving the incoming mourners.

“One more thing.”

She slipped from his grip, curling in on herself. Each shaky breath made Beomjin’s chest ache too.

“…And the bead. When I’ve healed, when I’m ready, I’ll come see you.”

The words hit him by surprise. She bowed, then hurried down the corridor. She stopped before Uwan’s portrait, bowed again in thanks, and let Gyeonseok lead her out.

Beomjin stood frozen in place for a long time.

Even after the funeral, life didn’t return to normal. Smiles were forced, laughter light. Every thought of Uwan drained him. Rest did little; the fatigue clung on.

One early morning, Beomjin headed to Seongwondang. If it wasn’t open, he planned to walk until it was. Sitting idle only sank his mood further.

He wandered the familiar alleys until he arrived. The doors were locked. No opening hours were posted. He knocked, but no one answered. It didn’t matter. He let the cold morning air fill his lungs and walked.

Flowers bloomed between paving stones. Faded signs whispered of their brighter past. As he strolled, a familiar scent brushed him.

Sweet and sharp, warm and lingering—like plum blossoms. It softened his shoulders without him realizing, a scent that wrapped around him like a memory.

Han Yewon. She owned the antique shop Duru Art. In her early thirties, she was an expert in art and antiques, materials and craft, able to discern fakes with a keen eye. Tall, graceful, with the elegance of a model, she drew admiration wherever she went.

She was near. Beomjin followed her scent until he saw her. In a bright dress with a takeaway coffee, she was as striking as an iris flower in bloom.

Yewon spotted him and froze. She didn’t scream, but her trembling hand pressed against her chest.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you…”

Beomjin offered an awkward smile.

“No, it’s fine. I’ve just never seen a Tiger before. I overreacted. I should apologize.”

The tension eased as they exchanged apologies.

“Well then.”

With a polite nod, she walked on, likely toward Duru Art. Even the thought of the shop filled Beomjin with warmth. He remembered its scent, the sweetness of the honey tea he’d drunk there.

“Hey! Isn’t that the White Tiger?”

A heavy hand clapped his shoulder. A gravelly voice shook him back.

“Oh, hello.”

Cha Sun-woong and Wang Sun-ae, burdened with shopping bags, greeted him cheerfully.

“What are you doing out here so early? Had breakfast?”

“I was just heading to see you two. Here, let me take those.”

Beomjin grabbed the bags and led the way back to Seongwondang.