Chapter 47

Beomjin couldn’t believe his eyes.

It was him. The him from before the regression—the one standing at the edge of that final, blood-soaked battle.

The scars on his face and neck. The split mark beneath his right eye—it must’ve been only a few months before he faced Jin Geonmyeong.

His breath grew heavy for a moment.

What stood before him now was the version of himself who had come closest to his ideal—strong, proud, unbroken. He might have failed in the end, but two years ago, Beomjin had been at the peak of his confidence and skill.

“Fighting a mute puppet isn’t fun, is it? Get up. Put everything you’ve got on the line and come at me. Let’s see which of us deserves to stand.”

The Beomjin from two years ago was already fired up.

That line—those words—were the very reason he’d fallen in love with boxing. And why he’d joined the Special Beast Investigation Unit, where stronger opponents waited.

Facing his pure, straightforward self now, he couldn’t even look him in the eye.

That man was his past and his future—something he needed to forget, yet remember.

“How long are you gonna stand there like that?”

The past him walked forward leisurely, each step carrying rhythm and ease. The current Beomjin instinctively took a step back.

This was nothing like facing the shadow.

The past Beomjin walked straight toward him, no feints, no hesitation, taking a clean fighting stance. Just by raising his fists, he seemed immense.

Wham!

The punch slammed into Beomjin’s face. His right cheekbone burned as if electricity had shot through it. The past him stayed poised; the present him threw a counter just to keep from falling.

Thud. Whip. Crack!!

It was as if they’d practiced together—the older version’s movements were fluid, precise. Another hit landed—harder this time. Beomjin’s already injured knee gave out, nearly dropping him.

But he gritted his teeth and bounced back, launching a counter. His punch grazed the past version’s cheek with barely any force. The other didn’t even flinch—just stared down at him.

“So this is the me of now?”

The past him swept his leg.

“Guh!”

Beomjin crashed down hard. The other moved with the grace of a tiger—precise, elegant, lethal.

“You can barely stand on your own.”

The past him mocked, smirking like he’d found a toy to break.

Beomjin caught his breath. He needed a way through.

Same body. Same reflexes. Same instincts.

The training routines, attack patterns, even the bad habits—everything he used to have.

He threw a left jab as bait. As predicted, the past Beomjin twisted his body to counter.

Exactly as expected.

Beomjin stepped in half a beat faster and drove his fist into his opponent’s stomach. The impact met a solid wall of muscle, but it landed—he could feel it.

“Now that’s better.”

The past him spoke for the first time with something close to approval. Then he turned slightly, widening the distance.

“Finally using your head. Not bad.”

He smiled.

“But it’s still not enough.”

In a blink, he vanished from sight. Beomjin instinctively turned left, raising his guard. But what came wasn’t a punch—it was a knee. And it struck his right cheekbone.

Crack!

His jaw snapped to the side. White blankness flooded his vision. His shoulder and chin throbbed with electric pain. He could hear his own heartbeat pounding.

“You’ll never surpass me. Why not give up here?”

A kick followed the whisper. The voice of his past self. Beomjin nearly fell to his knees.

“You’re so weak, you can’t protect anyone.”

Barely staying upright, he clung to the thought of faces he’d wanted to forget.

Jungpyo’s fingertips slipping away from his grasp.

Uwan’s back disappearing, unmoving, beyond reach.

Things he couldn’t stop. Things he tried to change—but couldn’t.

Something inside his chest cracked. And at that moment, Beomjin’s eyes flared like a tiger’s—burning gold.

It wasn’t mere determination. It was the fire born only from regret— The will to rise again, no matter how many times he fell.

Kneeling, he steadied his breath. Only then did he realize—

His wounds were healing. The torn cheek, the gashes on his arm—mending as if time were flowing backward.

Even the ache in his knee was fading. His breath burned hot. His muscles tightened. Veins swelled with power. Each inhale and exhale made the underground tremble.

“…What is this?”

He looked down at his hands.

It wasn’t just recovery.

Something new was awakening.

“What’s this now?”

The past Beomjin raised an eyebrow, a flicker of doubt crossing his gaze.

“This—” Beomjin’s voice was low, steady.

“—is how someone who protects fights.”

The noise of the world faded away. Only his heartbeat remained.

Thump.

Thump.

Thump.

The rhythm of rage, of power—the pulse before rampage. A frenzy no one could ever control. But now, it was crystal clear—like something he could finally hold in his hands.

Beomjin’s feet exploded off the ground. His whole body snapped forward like a released spring, vision splitting white with the force.

The past Beomjin reflexively raised his arms to block—but too late. Beomjin’s fist had already slammed into his gut.

“Guh…!”

The past self doubled over, gasping for breath. Seeing that image filled Beomjin with a strange, thrilling satisfaction.

He didn’t stop. He poured every ounce of rising heat into his strikes—knees flying, elbows crashing, fists hammering like they’d crush bone.

“What… is this…?”

How to defeat myself.

The past Beomjin lifted his head. In his eyes wasn’t anger or shock—only something close to awe.

“To come this far…”

He staggered back, but Beomjin pressed forward relentlessly. In that battered face he saw flashes of Vthe ermilion Bird, of Geonmyeong—and the more he saw, the more power surged through him.

Golden light burned in his eyes as his past self’s head twisted cleanly aside. The Beomjin from before the regression fell.

Beomjin wiped the blood from his mouth and stood.

“If you can beat me… I’ll acknowledge you.”

The present Beomjin’s tone was calm.

“I don’t need acknowledgment from the past. You’ll do just fine as the foundation I step on.”

Veins tensed along his hands as tiger claws burst from his fingertips—gleaming like polished metal even in the consuming dark.

He crouched low, half-beast, half-human—like the No-Form he’d used earlier, like the shadow he’d crushed moments ago. His gaze locked on the other’s throat.

There was no fear now. No hesitation.

The past Beomjin raised his guard too. His throat bobbed as he swallowed.

One step.

Two.

Beomjin lunged forward, the ground cracking beneath him.

Black drops scattered like petals.

The underground chamber shook, and from the darkness, light bloomed.

Standing firm on the ground, Beomjin hurled his opponent aside. The severed head rolled across the floor, tracing a red line as it went.

It was over.

All the frustration, all the regret that had built up until now—washed clean.

Even if this wasn’t the true end of the trial, he had no more reason to stay here.

Beomjin turned slowly. It was time to leave the past behind and face forward again.

“Please—help me!”

The voice tore through his ears—desperate, distorted, yet painfully familiar.

Beomjin’s shoulders twitched. Somewhere, right now, someone was in real danger.

Another battlefield, huh.

He looked up.

Beyond the space where the shadows had vanished, the exit to reality quietly opened.

Warm air greeted him as he pushed open Seongwondang’s door. Sunlight spilled over the faces of Sun-woong and Sun-ae, seated at the small table.

“You’re back, you’re back! Oh, just look at you.”

Wrapping him in a thick blanket, Sun-ae gently brushed his back.

“Here, sit down. We’ve been waiting. Drink this—it’ll loosen you right up. Go on, have some.”

Relief washed through him as he sank into the chair, looking like a man fresh from a long bath. Sun-ae pressed a mug into his hands before heading to the back of the shop.

Watching him quietly, Sun-woong finally spoke.

“Not easy, was it?”

“Yeah. Not something I’d ever want to do again.”

Beomjin took a sip of the brownish tea. It was bitter, like arrowroot, but left a soft sweetness—like moonlight spreading through his mouth.

“You’ve been given a great gift. Don’t forget how you feel right now.”

“Oh, stop lecturing him already,” Sun-ae scolded, bringing out a plate of steaming corn.
She offered one to Beomjin, her expression full of pity as she looked at the scratches on his face.

“This handsome face—what happened to you? Where’s that medicine?”

“What medicine? Look—he’s already healing.”

Sun-woong’s remark made Sun-ae pause, squinting at Beomjin.

“Huh? Really? My eyes must be going bad; I can’t tell.”

“You’re hopeless. I can smell it from here—fox scent.”

At that, Beomjin froze even before Sun-ae did.

His grip on the corn tightened, and his eyes widened.

“…How do you know that?”

Beomjin’s question made Sun-woong grin smugly.

“How could I not? I’ve been doing this work for decades. You’re practically radiating fox energy.”

“…Really?”

Beomjin lifted his arm and sniffed lightly, but sensed nothing different. Sun-ae chuckled at the sight.

“This old man might look wrinkled and worn out now, but he’s someone who’s been inside that pagoda too.”

“Wow… really?” Beomjin blurted out, and Sun-woong’s ears reddened even as he sat stiffly.

“Eh, what’s the point of digging up old stories?”

He grabbed another corn cob and chomped down loudly. Beomjin followed suit, letting the tension in his body unwind.

As they chatted, Sun-ae suddenly turned to Sun-woong.

“Hey, remember that soy crab restaurant’s son? He still hasn’t come home, you know.”

“Yeah, that boy. Always hung out with rough types, saying he was training all the time. I just hope he hasn’t gotten himself into trouble.”

“Rough? What rough? He’s a good kid—helps around the house, not like most kids these days. Don’t be so harsh on him.”

At her sigh, Beomjin quietly joined in.

“Did something happen?”

“Nothing too big. The son of a family we know has been giving his parents a hard time.”

“If there’s any way I can help…”

“Oh, no need! You just got back; don’t push yourself.”

Sun-ae waved him off, but Sun-woong paused mid-bite and gave Beomjin a long, serious look. His chewing stopped. His tone shifted.

“But you know…”

He spoke slowly.

“It’s been over a week since anyone’s heard from that crab place’s boy.”

Sun-ae nodded gravely.

“Not a word for days. His phone’s off too. Nothing. I’m going crazy from worry.”

“If there’s a chance he’s missing, maybe you should report it to the police?” Beomjin suggested.

“Already tried,” Sun-ae said, frowning deeply. “They said it might just be a runaway and didn’t even file the report.”

“Then… why don’t I try looking for him?”

“What? No, no—you don’t have to!”

Sun-woong waved his hand, but Sun-ae caught his wrist.

“Oh, if you’d really do that, I’d be so grateful. We’d all feel better—and so would the family. That crab restaurant’s boy — he’s as big as an ox, so you’ll spot him right away.“

“Then I’ll go take a look.”

“Are you sure you’re not overdoing it?”

Beomjin shook his head.

“It’s nothing difficult. If I can help, I want to. Could you tell me where their shop is?”

Delighted, Sun-ae scribbled the address on a slip of paper and handed it to him. Beomjin folded it neatly and slipped it into his pocket.

If there are things worth protecting, I won’t lose them again.

Not this time.

The next morning, Beomjin set out for the soy crab restaurant just as promised. It was about five minutes from Seongwondang—a modest yet tidy place, carrying the unmistakable air of a long-loved local eatery.

The sweet scent of soy sauce reached him from ten meters away, making his stomach stir.

Though the lights inside were off, the door stood open. When he entered, an elderly woman sat trimming bean sprouts at a small table. Her eyes were swollen, her face pale. She didn’t even look up when she spoke.

“We’re not open yet.”

“Good morning. I’m Baek Beomjin from the Special Beast Investigation Unit. I came after hearing about your son from Seongwondang.”

At the mention of the Unit, her face softened, hope flickering faintly.

“Oh… are you here to find my son?”

“Yes, I heard he hasn’t returned home for a week.”

“Yes, yes. Please, sit down.”

She hurried to pull out a chair for him.

“Have you been able to contact him at all?”

“His phone’s been off. Since lunch four days ago.”

Her voice rasped low, breaking at the edges.

“I’ve called his friends, his seniors, everyone from the gym… but no one knows anything. Not a word, not a sign.”

Her head dropped, tears falling soundlessly onto the table.

Beomjin calmly wrote down the details.

Her son’s name was Gwak Jeong-woo. Twenty-five years old. Majored in judo. Recently returned to university after a break. Just as Sun-ae said, he was massive—190 centimeters, ninety-eight kilos. Like his father, he was an Ox Beast-Blooded.

“So your son practiced martial arts?”

“Yes. His seniors, friends, juniors—they all trained together. He spent every day between the gym and the dojo.”

“Do you know which dojo?”

The woman fumbled through her wallet and handed him a business card.

[Cheongryong Judo Hall]

Beomjin had never heard the name before—yet his heart thudded, once, hard.

Why… does this name feel familiar?

There was no memory of it—and yet, for some reason, Jin Geonmyeong’s shadow crossed his mind.