Chapter 43

The rain, which had started to ease, suddenly grew heavier again. Each drop struck his skin like a tiny, hard ball.

Through the downpour, Jungpyo lunged. He aimed straight for Beomjin’s face, swinging the brick with all his strength.

But Beomjin wasn’t someone who would just take a hit. He turned lightly, dodging the strike, and brought his umbrella down across Jungpyo’s hand.

“Ah!”

The brick slipped from his grasp, shattering against the pavement.

“Stop it. I’m not your enemy.”

Beomjin’s voice was steady but laced with unease. Jungpyo spun toward him, shouting through the rain.

“Why aren’t you hitting me back? Go on—hit me harder!”

He snatched up a fragment of the broken brick and hurled it.

“Don’t look at me like that!”

Beomjin deflected it with his umbrella and stepped forward, trying to reach the boy. But Jungpyo moved faster than he expected. His reflexes, his instinct—they were far beyond what a newly awakened Beast-Blooded should’ve possessed.

The more pity Beomjin felt for him, the more careful he moved—and the wilder Jungpyo became.

When Jungpyo charged again, Beomjin caught his wrist and twisted gently to disarm him. But instead of yielding, the boy bared his teeth and bit down on Beomjin’s hand.

Beomjin had no choice but to let go. Jungpyo sprang back, putting distance between them, his chest heaving.

“This isn’t the way to fix anything. Let’s talk. You can change if you just—”

The more Beomjin tried to reason with him, the angrier Jungpyo grew.

“Talk? You mean lecture! You’ll just say I’m not good enough, that something’s wrong with me—none of you care what I actually feel!”

Jungpyo’s voice cracked, almost breaking into a sob. He lunged again, fist slicing through the rain.

Beomjin shoved him back with a palm to the chest, then caught his arm and tried to restrain him.

For a moment, their eyes met—then Jungpyo’s expression changed.

Like a beast.

He lunged again, sinking his teeth into Beomjin’s forearm.

“Damn it—”

The pain wasn’t deep, but the look in his eyes cut far worse. Through the pressure of his bite, Beomjin could feel it—the grief, the rage, the despair coiled inside the boy.

He pushed Jungpyo’s head away, sending him tumbling into the mud.

“Enough!”

“Don’t order me around!”

Beomjin pinned him down, pressing a hand to his shoulder and neck to hold him still. This time, Beomjin’s weight won out.

“Kh…!”

Jungpyo strained against him, but couldn’t break free. His breath came in ragged bursts, his limbs thrashing helplessly in the wet dirt.

Through the strands of rain-soaked hair, his eyes glared up—void of fear, void of anger. Just empty defiance.

“Let me go!”

Beomjin stayed silent, unsure what words could reach him. How could he break through that wall of confusion and fury?

“If you’re gonna stop me, then kill me. Or are you just gonna let me go again so you can ‘save me’ later? Maybe next time, I’ll be the one killing you.”

The words were venomous—but beneath them lay exhaustion.

“I just want to help you. You can’t fix anything by—”

“Oh, there it is again! ‘I just want to help.’ ‘Let’s talk it out.’ And it always ends the same—‘you’re just stressed,’ ‘try to understand others.’”

Jungpyo laughed—a broken, hollow sound that barely resembled laughter at all. His face twisted through self-loathing, resignation, and rage all at once, a snarl glinting beneath the rain.

Suddenly, he writhed violently, biting down hard on Beomjin’s hand near his face.

Beomjin flinched, grip loosening just long enough for Jungpyo to shove him off. He rolled sideways and scrambled to his feet.

“You’ll regret letting me go today.”

He snatched up his bag and ran into the storm.

The rain fell harder still. Beomjin stood in the downpour, letting the water wash the bite marks on his hand. He stared after the direction Jungpyo had gone until the boy vanished completely.

When Beomjin finally returned home, he looked like a man who’d wandered through a storm with no destination.

The water from the shower traced down his shoulders and over the bruises scattered across his body.

The bite mark on his hand was still visible—shallow, but vivid. He could still feel the pressure of it.

That look in Jungpyo’s eyes beneath him—

It was the same look he had seen before. The look of the serial killer he’d faced before his return.

“No… not yet.”

Beomjin repeated the words under his breath, pressing a towel over the bite wound.

Thud, thud, thud.

Someone knocked—low and deliberate. They didn’t announce themselves, but he already knew who it was. Outside the door stood Sanmu, his beanie pulled low as always. His face was expressionless, but tonight he carried a heaviness that pressed against the air around him.

Beomjin, still half-damp from the shower, stepped aside to let him in.

“This isn’t good,” Sanmu said without preamble.

“Come in.”

The living room was silent. Beomjin poured tea and waited.

“I knew it wouldn’t be easy,” Sanmu began, glancing at Beomjin’s face. “But judging from your expression, it went worse than expected.”

“It wasn’t as simple as I thought.”

“The situation has changed.”

That single sentence tightened something deep inside Beomjin’s chest.

“What happened?”

“The Vermilion Bird. He’s taken an interest in the boy.”

Sanmu exhaled long and heavy, the sound almost like smoke escaping his lungs.

Beomjin froze.

“What do you mean, the Vermilion Bird?”

He remembered the man he’d met days ago—the one who had left him a warning before vanishing. Could it be the same?

“The Vermilion Bird is watching that kid,” Sanmu said quietly. “He could make contact any time.”

“But you said nothing about this yesterday.”

“I wasn’t sure then. I hoped it was coincidence. But now I’m certain. Maybe your little encounter pushed him to make a move.”

Beomjin’s stomach twisted at the thought that the Vermilion Bird had been observing them—watching everything that happened in the rain.

“Why? Why would the Vermilion Bird be interested in Jungpyo?”

“He must’ve decided the boy was useful. Cheongryong’s plan is still in motion.”

The name made Beomjin’s pulse pound.

The Blue Dragon—Jin Geonmyeong, the Dragon—believed Beast-Blooded should rule over humans. His right hand, the Vermilion Bird, sought out those who could be shaped into weapons: the unstable, the enraged, the ones drowning in confusion. To someone like Jungpyo—young, lost, and trembling on the edge between man and beast—the Vermilion Bird’s offer would be irresistible.

“That kid doesn’t have much time left,” Sanmu said. “You’ve noticed it too—his instincts are already beyond normal Beast-Blooded levels. If the Vermilion Bird gets to him first, trains him in that state… a lot of people will die.”

Beomjin lowered his gaze, jaw tightening.

“He still has humanity in him,” he said quietly.

Sanmu sighed, rubbing his temple.

“I want to believe you. But I’ve seen this before. Too many of them lose themselves to instinct in the end.”

“If the Vermilion Bird moves, neither you nor I can stop him.”

“I’ll try to reach Jungpyo first,” Beomjin said. “Before it’s too late.”

Sanmu nodded and rose to his feet.

“I don’t know if that choice will spare you pain or give you more of it,” he murmured. “But I hope it ends well.”

When he left, Beomjin turned toward the window. The rain had stopped, but the sky remained heavy. It still looked far too dark for dawn.

The next evening, darkness settled over the city once more. The rain had ended, but the air was still wet, thick with moisture.

Beomjin stood near the rear gate of the apartment complex where Jungpyo lived. It was almost time for the boy to return from his cram school.

Moments later, footsteps echoed down the narrow path. Jungpyo appeared—shoulders slumped, eyes empty as always.

Beomjin felt a faint spark of relief—until he saw what the boy was holding.

In his hands was a pigeon, still alive. Its wings fluttered weakly, its chest rising and falling in quick, terrified motions.

Jungpyo stepped under the shadow of a wall, sat down, and leaned back against the damp concrete. He laid the bird on his knees and exhaled slowly. His fingertips brushed over the feathers with eerie gentleness, his expression distant.

“Why are you here again?” he asked.

Beomjin stepped out from the dark, voice calm but edged with worry.

“What are you planning to do with that pigeon?”

Jungpyo didn’t answer. He just stared down at the trembling bird. Then his hands tightened around its wings. The pigeon flailed, flapping helplessly.

“Doesn’t it sound like it’s begging for its life?” he said, almost playfully—but his eyes were cold.

Gradually, his grip grew stronger. The bird thrashed harder, feathers scattering through the humid air.

“Stop it,” Beomjin said firmly.

At Beomjin’s words, Jungpyo loosened his grip.

“You were waiting for me to start again, weren’t you? I told my mom I stopped…”

He plucked a feather from the pigeon’s wing, his gaze unfocused as he murmured to himself.

“Yesterday, I got scolded for failing a quiz at the cram school. Got hit there, got hit again at home. And then you hit me too, didn’t you?”

Beomjin hesitated… was that really a ‘hit’? …but he didn’t deny it.

The more Jungpyo talked, the more feathers fell and scattered at his feet.

When he finally looked up, Beomjin noticed a thin scratch running across the boy’s cheek—one that hadn’t been there yesterday when he fled into the rain.

“Are you disappointed I brought a pigeon?”

“…No. I’m not.”

The answer came easily, but it wasn’t honest.

“But if I don’t do things like this,” Jungpyo muttered, “how am I supposed to let out the anger? I can’t kill the bullies that torment me every day. If I break their arms or legs, I’ll just get expelled again. Mom will cry. Dad will hit me. What else can I do?”

He tore out another handful of feathers. The pigeon squawked weakly, struggling against his hands. When Beomjin stepped closer, Jungpyo stood abruptly, hiding the bird behind his back.

“Tell me, Mister—what am I supposed to do? I don’t have to hold back anymore. I could rip those rats and dogs in my class to pieces if I wanted to…”

Tears rolled down his cheeks. His shoulders sagged, trembling.

“You don’t have to solve things with violence,” Beomjin said gently.

“That’s what everyone says! Then why is it only me who’s not allowed to fight back? The teachers hit! My dad hits! Those bastards hit! So why can’t I?!”

He stomped hard, hurling the pigeon into the darkness. It struck the ground with a wet thud and vanished into the shadows.

Beomjin let out a slow, restrained breath. Maybe he really had to give up on the boy.

Jungpyo brushed the feathers from his palms.

“This is who I am. So stop bothering me.”

He turned and walked toward the apartment complex.

“Wait!”

Beomjin started after him, but Jungpyo didn’t turn around. He just kept walking—until Beomjin suddenly stopped.

Something new brushed his senses. Not the scent of a leopard… but something older. Sharper.

“Jungpyo, you’re late. I was waiting for you.”

The voice came from a boy in a school uniform, slipping an arm around Jungpyo’s shoulders in easy familiarity.

But that wasn’t a student.

It was someone Beomjin had seen before—someone who had worn a tracksuit the last time they met. The hair, the build, the faint smile—it was the same, but younger.

“What? You said you were going to catch a pigeon.”

“Ah, got bored. Pigeons aren’t fun anymore.”

“Then let’s find something else to play with.”

“Yeah, good idea!”

Jungpyo laughed—an unguarded, genuine laugh that lit up his face for the first time.

Then the other boy looked toward Beomjin. His mouth curved upward.

“And who’s that over there?” he asked.

Beomjin realized it too late.

That wasn’t some ordinary man.

It was the Vermilion Bird.