Chapter 53

The bell rang, signaling the end of the first round.

“All fighters, return to your corners!”

At the referee’s call, Beomjin turned sharply and walked back to his corner. His breathing was steady. No visible damage. The feeling of his fists colliding with Ki-seon still lingered, vivid in his knuckles.

“Water.”

He rinsed his mouth with the bottle handed to him by a staff member, scanning the crowd before glancing toward the opposite corner—where Hwang Ki-seon sat, his back turned.

Ki-seon’s shoulders heaved as he gasped for air. Even as his second fanned him with a towel, his eyes kept darting toward Beomjin—waiting for something.

Then it happened.

The second, pretending to wipe sweat, slipped something into his hand. It was brief, but Beomjin saw it—a small, flat syringe. Without hesitation, Ki-seon jammed it into his forearm, pulled it out, and quickly wrapped it in the towel before passing it back.

What the hell did he just inject?

The moment the syringe left his arm, Ki-seon’s muscles twitched violently. His skin flushed red, veins bulging like cords. The frantic rhythm of his breathing changed—faster, sharper, feral.

“Haa… haa…”

His eyes grew bloodshot. His chest rose and fell like a piston.

Watching it unfold, Beomjin remembered the boar Beast-Blooded—the mad one he’d fought before. The same frenzy, the same vacant, animalistic aura. What radiated from Ki-seon now was eerily similar.

From the center of the ring, a ring girl stepped out in silver heels, holding up a black sign with ROUND 2 written in bold white letters. Her tight costume shimmered under the crimson lights as she circled the ring.

The audience stirred again, their excitement building to a fever pitch.

Beomjin rose from his seat.

The bell rang to mark the start of round two.

“Fight!”

At the referee’s shout, Ki-seon charged forward like a sprinter off the block. His entire body was a blur of motion—an explosive rush unlike the first round.

Boom!

Their shoulders collided with a dull crack.

Veins bulged across Ki-seon’s forehead, his eyes burning crimson.

“UAAAAAAAH!!”

With a beastlike scream, he shoved Beomjin back and unleashed a barrage of punches.

The air itself seemed to tear.

Thwack!

A punch grazed Beomjin’s shoulder, forcing him to stagger. The crowd went wild.

Beomjin stepped back, widening the gap—but Ki-seon’s assault poured down like a flood bursting through a dam.

They clashed at close range. Beomjin slammed his forearm into Ki-seon’s face, but the sensation was wrong—his muscles felt like stone, the impact barely registered. He wasn’t feeling pain anymore.

This… wasn’t normal. Continuing like this would only waste time and stamina.

Ki-seon’s eyes had flipped completely. That eerie, bluish gleam—his breathing rough, erratic. He no longer moved like a man, but a beast.

“GRAAAAAH!”

Ki-seon lunged again, wild and roaring. Beomjin twisted aside, caught his waist, and in one swift motion—lifted him clean off the mat.

Then he drove him straight down.

Boom!

The ring shook as Ki-seon hit the canvas headfirst. He thrashed wildly, arms and legs flailing without control.

Beomjin ducked past the storm of punches and slipped his arm around the back of Ki-seon’s neck.

“Hhk—!”

He hooked his legs over Ki-seon’s hips, locked his right arm deep around his throat. Elbow and shoulder tightened—his chokehold sealed perfectly.

“Ghh—uuh!”

Ki-seon’s body convulsed. He pounded the mat, legs kicking, but his movements were already growing frantic and uncoordinated.

“Struggle all you want—it’s over.”

Beomjin tightened his entire body—legs clamped, shoulder pressing, arms constricting like steel cables.

A rasping metallic sound came from Ki-seon’s throat. His chest heaved slower, slower… until the tension left his limbs. His fists dropped open. His legs went limp.

Just as he slipped into unconsciousness, the referee rushed in, crossing his arms to signal the end.

Ki-seon’s arm fell, lifeless, to the mat.

The referee pulled Beomjin off. Beomjin rose slowly, panting. At his feet lay the fallen hyena—silent, unable to roar.

“KO! It’s a KO! Against all odds, Hwang Ki-seon is down! The rookie fighter, Park Beom-su, has defeated the Hyena!”

The announcer’s voice boomed across the arena. The crowd erupted—cheers, stomps, howls that filled the Forest of Beasts. Beomjin lifted a hand to acknowledge them, but his mind was elsewhere.

He couldn’t shake the image of that syringe piercing Ki-seon’s arm.

After leaving the ring, Beomjin headed straight for Ki-seon’s waiting room. He knocked once, then stepped inside.

“……”

Amid the bustle of busy staff, Hwang Ki-seon lay slumped on a sofa, gasping for air.

His breathing was ragged, uneven. Sweat-soaked hair clung to his forehead. One arm hung limp, swollen and red. His half-open eyes fluttered weakly.

Beomjin approached quietly and examined the arm. The skin was inflamed, discolored—and at the center of it, a clear puncture mark.

When Ki-seon noticed Beomjin, he tried to sit up—but collapsed again, gasping even harder.

“What… are you doing here…”

As Beomjin grabbed his arm to inspect the injection mark, Ki-seon twisted in pain.

“What was that shot you took?”

“Ah—! Let go!”

Ki-seon writhed, his body trembling. The surrounding staff froze, panicked and unsure of what to do.

“Tell me. What did you inject yourself with?”

“…Why the hell do you care?!”

Before Beomjin could press further, a sharp crackle burst from a staff member’s radio.

“All personnel to the east staircase! Repeat, all personnel, move to the east monitoring room!”

The staff barely had time to react before they bolted out of the waiting room. Then came the sound—distant, guttural.

“Graaaah!”

It wasn’t a human voice. It was too raw, too feral.

“…What was that?” Ki-seon whispered, fear trembling in his throat. The cocky fighter from before was gone, replaced by a terrified man.

Thump. Thump.

Heavy impacts reverberated down the hallway. Then—screams. Sharp, desperate, echoing in terror.

The scent hit next.

Blood.

Fresh, metallic, heavy.

Beomjin’s instincts roared awake, dragging him toward the door.

Boom! Crash!

The moment he threw open the door, the far wall of the hallway collapsed. A shockwave followed—dust, debris, fragments of steel flying. A twisted iron cage came hurtling through the air, smashing down over several fleeing staff.

And through the wreckage, something emerged.

A man in a torn navy tracksuit, his muscular frame drenched in blood and sweat. Bruised face, tangled hair, broken cuffs hanging from his wrists and ankles, clanking like chains.

Even in that horrific state, Beomjin recognized him instantly.

“…Gwak Jeong-woo?”

The face from the photograph his mother had shown him—it was the same.

Some of the staff who had arrived after the radio call were crushed under rubble at Jeong-woo’s feet; the rest fled in a panic.

The boar Beast-Blooded, the syringe reaction from Ki-seon, the overheard talk about “berserk mode”… Piece by piece, the puzzle locked into place.

Gone was the mind of a man—what looked back now were the eyes of a rampaging beast. Blue light flickered from within them, wild and feral, as Jeong-woo turned his gaze toward Beomjin.

Feeling that gaze, Beomjin rolled his aching shoulders, loosening his stance.

Thud. Thud.

Like a charging bull, Jeong-woo rushed forward—faster, heavier, far more merciless than Ki-seon or the boar man had ever been.

Thud! Crash!

A vending machine between them flew aside and toppled over. Cans rolled and burst underfoot, some launching like shrapnel across the corridor.

Huff… huff…

Beomjin exhaled, steady and low.

Not fear.

Something deeper.

The instinct drowned in blood that day Uwan died—the primal surge he could never recall.
But this time, it was different.

Since the moment he’d stood beneath the Tower, risking everything for his own path—

This was the first time he faced a true beast again.

And now he understood.

It wasn’t just chaos or destruction. It was part of him. Something he could command.

Jeong-woo came barreling in, close enough to feel his breath, but Beomjin didn’t flinch.

His shoulders rolled back. Muscles rippled under his skin. A thunderous energy—beastlike—coursed through his body like lightning. Veins swelled, his fingertips sharpened, senses expanded.

Beomjin opened his eyes—and reached forward.

Boom!

The two collided. Their forearms met, power crackling through the air.

And from Beomjin’s hand, sharp claws burst forth.

Jeong-woo struggled, twisting to push Beomjin away—but Beomjin didn’t budge an inch. Instead, he slipped to the side, caught Jeong-woo’s arm, and swept under him in one fluid motion.

The world spun. Jeong-woo’s body lifted clean off the floor before crashing down back-first.

Crack!

Tiles shattered beneath the impact. Jeong-woo groaned, writhing, but he couldn’t rise again. Only faint whimpers escaped his lips.

Then, voices. Footsteps filled the corridor—Sang-hak and several others rushing in.

“What the hell happened here?!”

They froze at the sight of Jeong-woo sprawled on the ground. The hallway was wrecked—walls cracked open, tiles split, vending machines overturned, drinks spilled like blood across the floor. Staff lay scattered in various states of shock.

Sang-hak’s face twisted in disbelief. “What… what is this?!”

He barked at his men for answers, but no one dared to speak. There were no answers.

Beomjin covered his face with a hand. The heat beneath his skin told him—the Pill of a Hundred Faces was wearing off. The illusion was fading. His prominent cheekbones softened back, his jaw slimmed, sweat trickling cold down his spine.

When he turned, Sang-hak’s eyes went wide. His lips trembled.

“Y-you’re… Beomjin? What are you doing here?”

Sang-hak’s voice shook like glass.

Beomjin took a slow step forward, his voice steady and cold.

“Special Beast Investigation Unit Agent Yoon Sang-hak. You’re under arrest—for abduction, unlawful confinement, and the use of illegal substances.”

“What?! What are you talking about!”

Sang-hak’s tone snapped upward, defensive, indignant—but Beomjin’s eyes held no mercy.

Claws glinting faintly, he seized Sang-hak’s tie and slammed him to the ground.

“Ghhhk!”

Sang-hak gasped, clutching his chest as Beomjin pinned him down, twisting his arm behind his back.

“I didn’t do anything! Let go!”

“You injected them—Jeong-woo, the boar Beast-Blooded from the warehouse. You used the drug on both of them.”

Beomjin’s voice was low but unyielding.

“How far were you planning to go?”

Sang-hak stammered, his face paling.

“They were… unstable! That’s all! I-I just accelerated their potential!”

“Potential?” Beomjin’s grip tightened, his voice cutting through the air.

“You call losing their reason, turning into monsters, attacking everything they see—potential?”

Sang-hak’s collar pulled tight around his throat.

“Kh—!”

His face flushed red, veins bulging as he beat weakly against Beomjin’s arm.

“P-please… let me… breathe…”

Beomjin glanced at Jeong-woo. The man lay on the floor, blankly staring at the ceiling, coughing weakly through the blood in his throat.

Sang-hak’s eyes began to roll upward.

“Sa—”

Beomjin released him. Sang-hak collapsed, wheezing like a dying animal.

“You’ll pay for what you’ve done,” Beomjin said, voice cold as steel.

When he rose, staff members hurried to block his path to Jeong-woo.

“Move.”

“We can’t,” one said, trembling. “That man… he’s our asset. A failed one, sure—but still valuable.”

“Asset?”

Beomjin let out a soft, humorless laugh—and took a step forward. His voice dropped to a growl.

“That’s not a word you use for people.”

He grabbed Sang-hak again, lifting him effortlessly before hurling him across the room.

Crash!

Sang-hak’s body slammed into the wall, shattering it. Sparks flickered from broken lights, dust cascading down like ash.

Beomjin turned back toward Jeong-woo. No one dared stand in his way now.

“It’s okay. It’s over.”

Jeong-woo’s eyes fluttered open faintly at the sound of his voice. He couldn’t speak—only gave a weak, rasping breath and surrendered himself to Beomjin’s hold.

And so Beomjin walked out of the Forest of Beasts.

Only silence followed in his footsteps.

Yet deep inside, a weight refused to lift.

Would Sang-hak really have done all this just for money?

The question lingered—heavy, unresolved.