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As the sun began to sink, Beomjin and Jinyoung arrived at a detached house in Hannam-dong, Seoul. The streetlights hadn’t come on yet, leaving the road dimly shadowed.
“Here?”
Jinyoung glanced at Beomjin as she stepped out of the car. The address matched exactly what they’d gotten from the Special Beast Investigation Unit HQ.
The house sat deep within an upscale alley lined with tall walls and private-plate cars. Behind a sleek iron gate stood an elegant mansion. Both stopped at the entrance.
“Yeah. This is it.”
“Wow, Senior Yoon Sang-hak’s loaded, huh?”
She wasn’t exaggerating. The place looked straight out of a drama—grand and quietly intimidating, with marble walls that reflected the last light of day. The hedges were trimmed to perfection, and a luxury SUV gleamed in the driveway.
“No way we could afford this on our salaries,” Beomjin muttered, curling one corner of his mouth.
“Obviously. Guess that explains why he was so obsessed with money.”
Leaving Jinyoung gawking, Beomjin pressed the doorbell beside the gate. Once. Twice.
No response. No movement from inside. The doorbell camera above the lock blinked red—recording, but lifeless.
“So he really isn’t home, huh? Guess that ‘vacation’ wasn’t a lie.”
Jinyoung leaned to peek through the wall-side window. Curtains drawn tight. No light, no sound.
“Doesn’t look like anyone’s here.”
Even the faint traces of scent near the gate had faded. Beomjin stepped back and scanned the mansion beyond the fence.
“Let’s try calling out once more.”
Jinyoung raised her voice toward the gate.
“Agent Yoon Sang-hak! Are you home? We’re from the Special Beast Investigation Unit!”
Her voice echoed across the silent walls, rippling through the still air. But no answer came.
“…Guess not.”
She sighed, shaking her head. Beomjin nodded, accepting it easily.
“Then we’ll have to look elsewhere.”
“Got any bright ideas?”
She looked lost. Beomjin didn’t answer right away. Once back in the car, he mentally sorted out his priorities.
Sang-hak could wait. What mattered now was the missing people—and one person suddenly came to mind.
“Let’s grab some jjajangmyeon.”
“What? Jjajang—oh.”
Jinyoung smirked, realizing what he meant. The car headed straight for Cheongnyangni.
Behind the quiet mansion walls of Hannam-dong, something—or someone—seemed to be silently watching them.
At the far end of Cheongnyangni Market, an old sign read [Black Dragon Pavilion]. When they opened the door, the air hit them—thick with oil and spices.
The place buzzed with noise despite being nearly empty. Two delivery riders in helmets waited up front while Jeom-baek and a middle-aged woman, probably an employee, rushed to pack orders.
“Welcome! Sit anywhere!”
Jeom-baek didn’t even glance their way as he shouted.
Beomjin and Jinyoung chuckled, taking a seat at a spotless round table. The laminated menu on the wall looked neater than before.
“Huh? Did this place get new management?”
“Don’t think so.”
Beomjin tilted his chin toward the sweaty man shouting across the counter. Definitely the same foul-mouthed Jeom-baek.
“Egh—holy crap! Ho—Ho—Tiger!”
The woman turned toward them and nearly dropped her tray.
“What? Mom, what’s wrong?!”
Jeom-baek finally noticed them, lips twitching into an awkward grin.
“Oh, come on. They’re not customers?”
“You know them?”
“Sort of.”
He snatched the menu from his mother’s hands.
“I’ll handle this, Mom. Go rest in the back.”
Once she was gone, his face cooled into his usual deadpan.
“Seriously, hyung, noona—you could’ve at least texted before dropping in.”
He swaggered over and propped the menu on their table.
“Food or gossip?”
“Both.”
Beomjin picked up the menu, scanned it briefly, then passed it to Jinyoung.
“I’ll take jjajang.”
“Same.”
She handed the menu back.
“Two jjajang!”
Jeom-baek yelled toward the kitchen, then spun a chair backward and sat.
“Just saying, I’ve been cleaning up my act lately, so don’t expect much help from me.”
“You? Focusing on actual business for once?”
Jinyoung teased, and Jeom-baek—surprisingly—nodded without protest.
“It’s different when you’re running a place with others, you know? Things just sort of… happen that way. Anyway, what brings you two here?”
Jeom-baek’s tone was noticeably calmer than before.
“There are missing people.”
He blinked. “Pfft. You know how many people go missing every day?”
Beomjin didn’t smile. “Male college students. Mid-twenties. Three of them. All athletes, all built like pros.”
Jeom-baek rested his chin on his hand, quietly listening.
“Three guys in their twenties? What would anyone even do with them?”
“That’s what I’m asking. You always hear the underground gossip before anyone else.”
“Not anymore, I’m clean now. Wait—hold on.”
The waitress placed their jjajangmyeon on the table, but Jeom-baek didn’t move. His eyes narrowed in thought.
“You said athletes, right?”
“All three were from the same judo dojo.”
“…Then, hyung, noona. Ever heard of the Forest of Beasts?”
“Forest of Beasts?”
Jinyoung frowned, hearing the name for the first time. Beomjin, however, had.
Before his regression, some men had approached him—somehow knowing he was a former boxer. They’d offered him “matches” in the Forest of Beasts more than once. Even after he’d beaten one of their brokers half to death, they’d kept trying to recruit him.
“The ‘Forest of Beasts.’ It’s like a mixed martial arts pit where Beast-Blooded fight without rules. Sounds fancy, but really it’s…”
“An underground gambling arena.”
Jinyoung turned to him, surprised. “You knew?”
“I’ve heard of it. Beasts who’ve given up being human fight there. They even advertise it proudly.”
“Exactly. Some join for the money, others because they’re blood-crazy—but that’s not as common as you’d think. Fighters often end up crippled or dead, so they’re always short on competitors.”
“Ah…” Jinyoung nodded, finally connecting the dots.
“So there are people kidnapping Beast-Blooded athletes to fill the ranks.”
“Yeah. Used to get calls from brokers asking if I knew anyone to recommend. Wait a sec.”
Jeom-baek jumped up and disappeared into the back room. Moments later, he came rushing back, breathless.
“Here—found it. A business card one of those brokers left behind.”
He handed it to Beomjin, who stared down—and couldn’t help but laugh, incredulous.
“What’s funny?” Jinyoung asked.
Beomjin placed the card flat on the table. Printed on it, in neat letters, was Yoon Sang-hak’s name and number.
He checked it several times, thinking he’d misread. But no—it was Sang-hak’s number.
Even Jeom-baek, thrown off by their reaction, asked carefully,
“You two know this guy?”
“…A bit.”
Beomjin’s voice turned low. Memories from before the regression stirred.
Back then, Sang-hak had leaked internal raid intel to a gang distributing aegidol.1 He’d never shown guilt or shame—only arrogance.
But to think he might now be tied to kidnappings.
“Can you reach him?”
At Jinyoung’s signal, Jeom-baek dialed the number on the card. It rang, but no one picked up.
“No answer.”
He shrugged—then froze as his own phone began to ring.
On the screen: Yoon Sang-hak.
All three exchanged a glance. Jeom-baek swallowed, pressed the speaker button.
“Hello?”
“You just called me, didn’t you? Who’s this?”
Sang-hak’s tone was calm and cold, background utterly silent.
“Ah, yeah… calling from an old business card. Wanted to ask if you’re still recruiting fighters.”
“…Who is this?”
“We met a few times back near Hwaseong. You might not remember me, but I’ve found a promising one this time.”
Jinyoung subtly gestured at Beomjin, mouthing, Go with it.
“Fighters, huh? I’m in a meeting right now. What kind of specs are we talking about?”
Beomjin’s lips curled. The bait was taken.
“Boxing experience. And he’s a Tiger. Strong one, too.”
He let that last word land with weight.
“…A Tiger?”
A pause. Tense, heavy.
Jinyoung raised a cautious thumbs-up toward Jeom-baek, eyes flicking between them. Had the bait worked? The silence dragged like a held breath.
“How old?”
“Twenty-eight, maybe twenty-nine. Pro boxing background. Plus, the face sells—good for business, right?”
Jinyoung let out a dry laugh at Jeom-baek’s improvised sales pitch.
“I’d like to check things in person. Would tomorrow work for you?”
“Anywhere’s fine. What time suits you?”
“Tomorrow. Two p.m. Seoul Forest parking lot in Seongsu-dong. Bring him alone.”
“Understood. I’ll see you then.”
Click.
The line went dead. Beomjin immediately stood up.
“Good work. Seoul Forest, huh.”
“Things are going smoother than expected.”
“Save that line for after tomorrow’s meeting.”
Jinyoung stared at him, suspicion written all over her face.
“You know you can’t just show up like this, right?”
“Obviously, I’ll prepare.”
She shook her head.
“No, I mean disguise yourself. If Senior Sang-hak sees you, he’ll recognize you instantly.”
“Disguise?”
Both men frowned in unison.
“What, were you just planning to walk in like that?”
Jinyoung smiled sweetly, rubbing her empty stomach.
“Anyway, where’s our jjajangmyeon? Did the noodles get lost on the way?”
The next afternoon.
Seoul Forest parking lot, Seongsu-dong.
The sunlight was gentle, the air calm and bright enough to lull anyone to sleep. But inside Beomjin’s chest, tension had hardened like steel.
He, Jinyoung, and Jeom-baek were parked near the entrance, keeping watch.
“You ready?”
“Yeah.”
Beomjin opened a small pill case. Inside were smooth, white tablets.
The Pill of a Hundred Faces.
It only worked on Beast-Blooded.
It triggered genetic reactions that reshaped bone structure and rewove the skin itself.
“The army’s Beast-Blooded intelligence unit used it for assassinations and infiltration ops. Classified stuff.”
“I thought it was discontinued?”
Beomjin frowned.
“It was. Side effects are nasty. You’ll be fine, but no one would expect us to use something like this.”
“Heard it hurts like hell.”
“…Never tried it myself. But rumor says it feels like your face is being ripped off.”
Jinyoung shuddered at the thought.
“…If we don’t want to blow our cover, there’s no choice.”
He popped a pill into his mouth and bit down.
A pungent scent of mugwort shot up his nose. A cold tingle spread across his tongue—then came the heat, and pain.
“Ugh—!”
He clenched his jaw to stop himself from gagging. His skin writhed beneath the surface.
The bones around his cheeks shifted as if pressed from within, blood vessels twisting around his eyes. His sclera reddened, then turned amber-brown. His jaw thickened, lips paled.
“…Whoa.”
Jeom-baek couldn’t stop himself from gasping.
Beomjin clutched his chin, groaning, before finally slumping forward. His breath came heavy and ragged, then steadied. Slowly, he lifted his head.
“Haa… it’s done, right?”
Jinyoung and Jeom-baek both froze.
He was unrecognizable.
“Seriously—total transformation. Even your own family wouldn’t know you.”
“I thought your face was melting for a second. Yeah, never doing that again.”
He brushed his cheek, confirming it was intact.
“The effect lasts six hours. After that, your face’ll slowly revert, so don’t linger.”
“Won’t take that long. I’ll be in and out.”
Checking the time, Beomjin gave Jeom-baek a nod and stepped out of the car.
He pulled his cap low.
Each step toward the parking lot entrance felt lighter.
He was on a mission—but part of him felt something else.
That same pulse from years ago, when he’d first walked into the gym to become a boxer.
His body—and his spirit—were slipping back into fighter mode.
ED/N: The psychoactive herb ↩️
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