Chapter 25

Beomjin didn’t even bother dodging. He took the punch full-on with his neck like a log, then sent it straight back.

One hit. That was all it took to flatten the square-jawed thug who looked like he could pack a punch. His body crumpled like soggy sponge.

Thud!!

Another lunged at him before he could even twist his waist, but Beomjin drove him down just as easily. A rat stumbled backward, stepping on spilled dishes and slipping hard. The rest of the men, who had been hesitating, exchanged a look—and bolted.

“You’re not going to take a swing?”

Left alone, Jeom-baek smashed a soju bottle.

“You crazy bastard!! Don’t come any closer!”

He jabbed the jagged glass forward, trying to ward him off, but Beomjin had him pinned in seconds. Jeom-baek screamed as his arms twisted.

“Aaagh! Touch me and you’re dead too!”

“I haven’t even hit you yet, and you’re already scared?”

Dropped onto a chair, Jeom-baek looked deflated, all bluster gone. Beomjin pulled up another chair and sat across from him. He didn’t show it, but his pulse was tense.

The past was shifting. This little scuffle hadn’t happened before. Part of him prayed it wouldn’t spiral out of control. Another part… couldn’t help but want to see where it led.

“Now you can talk about what you left out earlier, right?”

“Hyung-nim, I swear I’m innocent. I’ve got nothing to do with that Snake. All I did was introduce him to someone useful. That’s it! And that’s not even a crime! I haven’t done anything wrong!”

Meek now, Jeom-baek whined like a scolded pup.

“What’s the Snake’s name? Describe him.”

The question cut sharp. In Beomjin’s mind, only one person echoed—Gureong, the Boa.

“I don’t know his name. He came late at night when I was closing. Hoodie pulled up, mask on—never saw his face. I can’t remember at all!”

“You screwing with me?”

Crash!

Beomjin kicked a chair across the room. Jeom-baek shrieked.

“It’s true! I swear! All I know is he’s called Gureong! That’s it!”

He pleaded like his life depended on it.

“Who’d you introduce him to?”

“P-Park Chang-su! A guy who used to break into empty houses. He was desperate for work, so I connected them. That’s all I know, I swear! Ask him yourself!”

“Park Chang-su? You’re sure?”

Jinyoung pressed, and Jeom-baek nodded frantically.

Bang!!

Beomjin slammed a hand down on the table beside him. The sturdy wood shattered into pieces, splinters flying.

“Park Chang-su? You mean twenty-one, rat Beast-Blooded, small build, always wearing a cap over his short hair?”

Beomjin’s face twisted in shock.

“I don’t know his age, but yeah. Rat Beast-Blooded, wears a cap often—that’s right.”

“You know him?” Jinyoung asked.

He didn’t answer, but the grief etched into his expression said everything.

“You’re not lying to us, are you?”

“It’s the truth! Noona, you trust me, don’t you? I’ve never lied to you!”

Even under her mild prodding, Jeom-baek cowered.

“Let’s go. We got what we came for.”

Rising calmly, Beomjin looked as though the chaos moments earlier had never happened.

“You’re not going to ask where to find this Chang-su?”

“No need. I know who he is. I know where he lives.”

He slid behind the wheel himself. Not a word left his mouth as he drove. The car pushed out of Seoul.

The silence grew heavy until Jinyoung cracked the window. Only then did the air lighten a fraction. Staring outside, she asked quietly:

“Park Chang-su… you know him?”

Beomjin hesitated. Then, clipped and low:

“…I know him. Personally. He doesn’t know me, though.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I don’t even know myself what this situation is.”

He clicked his tongue. The sun was already sinking. The silence returned.

That night, rain was pouring.

On his way home from work, Beomjin had stopped at an unmanned convenience store, picking out a drink. Then he felt it—someone else’s presence.

The door opened. A figure slipped in, cap pulled low. Small frame—looked like a student. In one quick motion, he snatched up a cup ramen and bolted into the rain.

“Hey!”

Beomjin sighed, then ran out after him, no umbrella.

The boy in the cap tried to flee but slipped in the wet street and fell.

“Hyung, I’m not a bad person. I was just so hungry…”

Park Chang-su’s voice broke as he spoke, still tinged with youth. Sweat or tears streaked his cheek, lips dry and cracked. He sat in the corner of a narrow alley, panting. A bandage peeked out from under his rolled-up pant leg, wrapped tight around his ankle.

Beomjin approached slowly. There was plenty of time to run, but Chang-su didn’t. He stayed.

“I know. I can tell you’re not a bad person.”

Beomjin picked up the ramen from the ground. The cup was dented and dirt-stained.

“Are you… a cop?”

“Something like that.”

Beomjin helped Chang-su to his feet and handed him the cup ramen.

“You still have to pay for it. Come with me.”

“Hey, you okay?”

Jinyoung’s voice snapped him back.

“Huh?”

“What are you doing? They’re honking behind us.”

The light was green. Beomjin quickly pressed the accelerator.

“You dozed off?”

“No. Just… remembered something.”

“Even if you’re in a bad mood, stay sharp.”

“Yeah. You’re right. Gotta keep it together. …We’re here. Just ahead.”

“This is it?”

Jinyoung got out and looked up at the building before them. [Hanseong Dormitory]. An old sign hung crooked on a narrow, lonely building. A cluster of tangled wires draped from the pole beside it, like a spiderweb.

“Yeah. This is where Chang-su stays.”

His young face flashed in Beomjin’s mind. That bright smile, all for a single cup of hot ramen. Where had it gone wrong? He wanted to see him, to talk with him.

Inside, the building was more survival than home. Narrow hallway, damp floors, windows patched with tape where the screens had torn. The silence was suffocating, broken only by the occasional cough.

Room 205.

Standing at the door, Beomjin lowered his head. Beside the knob, a strip of blue tape clumsily stuck on made his eyes sting.

Before the regression, this was where Chang-su had lived. Beomjin had urged him to move somewhere better, but Chang-su always refused. Orphaned, scraping by alone, he had tried to change after meeting Beomjin. He got a part-time job, thought about the future. Even once declared he’d join the Special Beast Investigation Unit someday.

Knock, knock, knock.

No answer, no movement.

“Doesn’t seem like he’s inside.”

Jinyoung tilted her head. Just then, a door creaked open nearby.

“What’s going on?”

A middle-aged man in a saggy tracksuit stuck his head out, giving them both a once-over.

“We came to see the student who lives here.”

“That kid hasn’t been back in a few days. Sometimes works at the convenience store down the street. Always had a smoke out front before heading in.”

“Thank you.”

Beomjin gave a polite nod and turned away.

The convenience store sat at the corner of a busy intersection. A plump middle-aged woman manned the counter. When asked about Chang-su, her face soured immediately.

“Park Chang-su? Ugh, don’t even mention him. Late every day, always saying he’s sick, never shows up for shifts. You wouldn’t believe how much trouble he’s caused the other workers. Look at me—covering for him right now, and my knees aren’t even good.”

Her grumbling had no end.

“Even today he said he’d show up, but nothing. No contact either. Kids these days, honestly. If you find him, tell him not to bother coming back.”

Beomjin apologized on his behalf and stepped outside.

“Think he ran away? Or maybe he’s plotting something.”

“Could be… but I smell blood.”

He turned back toward the store. The scent wasn’t far. Soon Jinyoung picked up on it too.

“You’re right. That’s definitely blood.”

A wave of dread rushed over them. Moving in sync, they slipped around the corner.

Behind the store was another entrance leading down. The stairs to the basement were blocked by an icebox, piles of cardboard, and junk.

“I’ll go first.”

He shoved the clutter aside and went down. Opposite a shuttered karaoke room, a dented bathroom door came into view. Beomjin rushed down and yanked it open—then let his hand fall.

“…Chang-su.”

Jinyoung, right behind him, clapped a hand over her mouth.

Chang-su was slumped against the wall, lifeless. Blood speckled his pale face, his right eye staring upward, unclosed.

“This is…”

“They silenced him.”

Beomjin gently shut the eye. Gritting his teeth, he examined the body. Red marks marred his wrists, the left bent outward at a wrong angle. His thumb and forefinger, twisted unnaturally, seemed as if they had been clutching something.

“He was holding something.”

“Not big, right?”

“Paper? Or a small item? The imprint’s clear on his fingers.”

Beomjin carefully searched his pockets. In the back pocket of his pants, he found a folded scrap of paper. The moment he unfolded it, he knew. A fragment torn from the Manual of Music Theory. Barely larger than his palm, with three blurred Chinese characters written across it. Not difficult ones.

The first, Beomjin read. The second, Jinyoung.

“Ten Thousand Waves.”

“What does Ten Thousand Waves mean?”

Beomjin shook his head. The meaning mattered, but so did the question of why Chang-su had it.

“If we go back to Duru Art, maybe we’ll know what it points to.”

“I’ll report to HQ.”

Beomjin lowered the boy’s stiff hand. Fury boiled in his chest, but he forced it down and turned away.

The sun was setting. Lanterns lit the gate of Duru Art.

Inside, Yewon sat alone, soft music drifting as she read with round glasses perched on her nose. She lit up when she saw them.

“Welcome. Oh my, you’re back so soon.”

She stepped from behind the counter, eyes shining.

“Did you find the book?”

“Not yet. But we did bring part of it.”

Beomjin handed her the torn page.

“A clue the thief deliberately left behind.”

“…This…”

Her lips pressed tight as she read the characters. She bit down, eyes shifting, and Beomjin caught it.

“Care to explain what you’re hiding?”

Caught.

Yewon slipped off her glasses and sighed lightly.

“Please believe me—I wasn’t hiding this with bad intentions.”

She held her silence, as though waiting for their promise. None came.

“We’ll decide after we hear it.”

Beomjin’s tone was firm. Yewon exhaled slowly, then spoke.

“It’s true the Manual of Music Theory is a book of scores. But in truth, it was written for a single instrument. That instrument is…”

“The Flute of Ten Thousand Waves.”

Arms crossed, Beomjin voiced the answer he had already suspected. Jinyoung’s eyes widened, but Yewon’s reaction was far stronger.

“…You knew?”

“I wanted confirmation. It’s more than a legend, isn’t it? That flute wasn’t just a myth.”

“If it were, I wouldn’t have begged you to find the manual.”

Yewon swallowed, steadied her breath, and opened her eyes with resolve.

“The Flute of Ten Thousand Waves isn’t just a flute. It’s a weapon powerful enough to destroy the world.”