59 — Chapter 59

The Flute of Ten Thousand Waves had been transferred to the Special Beast Investigation Unit’s secure vault — locked behind layers of surveillance and protection.

Risa’s surgery ended successfully, and she was finally resting. Seoyul stayed close to Jinyoung, beginning proper training to control her newfound power.

Meanwhile, Beomjin — granted a rare bit of leave — was finally able to breathe.

After a long, lazy afternoon nap, he dragged himself upright. Hoodie, slippers… nothing more. He headed toward the convenience store like a man devoted to his only calling: snacks.

Sometimes, moments like this made him feel as if everything had rolled back to the time before chaos. It never lasted — and no one knew that better than him.

Still, the summer sun felt gentle on his skin. Nearing season’s end, the air carried a drowsy warmth. Tree shadows wavered sluggishly across the baked asphalt.

Beomjin turned the corner toward the store — that’s when he heard it.

“Thief! You damned thief!”

“I told you, I’m not! How many times do I have to say it?!”

Yelling echoed from the villa entrance beyond the alley. He glanced over: a white-haired old man and a young biker were pointing fingers at each other.

“…Another neighborhood brawl?”

He snorted and looked away. This was nothing new. Neighbors argued — the sun rose again. What he needed right now was iced coffee and snacks, not drama.

He went into the convenience store.

Cold ice cup → fill with coffee → grab a sandwich → two bags of chips. Perfect.

Then out he came again—

“My package! It got stolen this morning! Today!”

“And I said it wasn’t me! Why would I even touch your stuff?!”

Still the same shouting. He paused, frowned, then actually looked at them.

The skinny old man looked like skin stretched over bone. The delivery worker was round like a giant plush toy with a helmet.

What a racket.

Beomjin sighed heavily — the kind that said ‘I can’t believe I’m doing this’ — and walked toward them.

He didn’t just want peace and quiet. Both were Beast-Blooded. Leaving those two to escalate wasn’t smart.

He pulled the straw from his lips and asked casually:

“What’s going on? Why so loud?”

Both froze like they’d seen a tiger — which, well… fair enough. The old man recovered first.

“This punk stole my package!”

“I didn’t! I just delivered food!”

And just like that, Beomjin’s peaceful afternoon began to unravel.

---

The repetitive shouting grated on him enough that he finally cut in.

“Okay, stop. Both of you, calm down.”

Silence.

Four eyes locked on him.

“How can I calm down with this thief right here?!”

The old man — monkey-blooded, easily in his eighties — Kim Young-chun — snarled.

“I said I’m not a thief! Where’s the proof?! Huh?! Show me proof!”

The pudgy dog-blooded delivery guy, Lee Kang-ju, snapped right back.

“Enough! Calm down!”

His voice came out louder than he meant — a low, guttural rumble that shut both their mouths at once.

He winced and dipped his head.

“…Sorry. I’m with the Special Beast Investigation Unit. Just explain slowly what’s going on.”

The shouting had drawn a small crowd of onlookers.

Young-chun was first to speak, still steamed.

“I’ve lived on the 2nd floor here for thirteen years. Never lost a package before. Then today — gone! I step out to look, and bam — stolen! And coincidentally! This biker kid shows up delivering food to my neighbor!”

“And that means I stole it?! Seriously?!”

The accusations continued to fling back and forth —

And Beomjin suddenly realized:

So much for vacation.

“Evidence? Do you know how many cop dramas I’ve watched? Of course he stole it and hid it somewhere!”

Their shouting flared up again.

Beomjin downed the rest of his coffee in one long pull.

He almost thought about walking away and letting them sort it out themselves.

Then Kang-ju snapped, unable to hold back.

“Then call the police. They can check the CCTV!”

“Yeah, call them! Who’s gonna be scared if you call the cops?!”

At the word “police,” the gathered neighbors began to murmur.

Someone called 112 and, a short while later, a squad car rolled into the alley.

Two officers stepped out among the crowd; one young constable shrugged and asked, “Who made the report?”

“I did!” Young-chun shot his hand up and stepped forward, eyes sharp like a general about to give orders.

“There’s a thief here! A guy who nicks packages!”

The officers decided to check the villa’s external CCTV first, just as Young-chun suggested. They headed to the management office and played the footage.

On the early-morning tape, a delivery driver carrying a package was caught walking up the building. Shortly after, Kang-ju entered the building delivering food, then came back down within minutes with only his phone in hand.

That was all the footage showed.

When the officers explained this back to Young-chun and Kang-ju, the young constable said,

“Sir, I think you’re mistaken. No one took a package out on camera. Maybe you left it somewhere and forgot?”

“Me? Forget? I left it by the door and it vanished.”

Young-chun insisted, but his claim wasn’t accepted.

“In any case, no one was recorded taking a package out. You understand?”

As the officers tried to wrap things up, Young-chun suddenly lunged and grabbed one of their arms.

“Wait—are you just going to leave it like this?”

One officer turned with an annoyed look—clear impatience on his face.

“You don’t have anything else to add, sir? We don’t even know who the thief is, and the stolen amount is small…”

“If packages are disappearing, we should catch the thief! Isn’t that what the police are for?”

Young-chun’s voice echoed through the alley. The neighbors began to stir.

“My neighbor said his package went missing too.”

“Then who took it, seriously?”

Voices rose, but the officers just shrugged.

“If you want an investigation, file an official report and the precinct will handle it.”

“Not now?”

Young-chun’s eyes narrowed.

“You’re telling me this is all the police will do while thieves are roaming around? You’re just leaving?”

The officers gave awkward laughs and slipped away.

Seeing that, Young-chun’s fists clenched as if he’d reached the end of his patience.

“Bah, can’t trust the police these days. I’ll just catch the thief myself!”

He spotted Beomjin standing nearby.

“Oh, perfect. You said you’re with the Special Beast Investigation Unit, right? Help me catch this thief!”

“…Huh?”

Beomjin stepped back, surprised.

“Maybe you should just file the report?” he offered.

“No. I won’t trust slow-as-molasses cops—I’ll catch him myself. I bet these delivery kids are the ones stealing packages.”

Young-chun meant it. His gaze burned with a fierceness that matched Kang-ju’s. Kang-ju cut in, turning to Beomjin.

“I didn’t steal anything! Hey, you’re Special Beast Investigation Unit, right? Help me investigate. I’ll prove I didn’t do it by catching the real thief.”

Caught between two furious people, Beomjin felt boxed in.

Neither Young-chun nor Kang-ju would back down; they stared like sworn enemies.

“Fine. Come along then. Let’s see who’s right!”

Young-chun gestured, and Kang-ju hustled off with a proud swagger.

Both men shouted at the same time at the dazed Beomjin:

“What are you doing?! We have to catch the thief! Come on!”

Beomjin sighed quietly.

So much for peace. Trouble always found him from the strangest places.

---

Young-chun dragged Beomjin and Kang-ju to his front door — Unit 402.

“Here. I got a delivery notification this morning, went outside just a while ago… and poof! Gone!”

He stood stiffly, pointing to his entryway. A narrow hallway stretched in both directions, lined with apartment doors. A dim fluorescent light flickered above them.

Beomjin scanned the corridor. Ordinary villa. Small, dusty ventilation windows. The kind of place where sound echoes too easily and privacy is a myth.

“What size and weight was the package?”

“The size? Not that big. I ordered sliced red ginseng.”

“So… not heavy either.”

Young-chun nodded vigorously, eyes sparking again.

“Exactly! Something small and light — perfect for thieves to stuff in their pocket! Like these delivery brats!”

“Aish, this old man is really…”

Kang-ju muttered, biting back anger.

“If that’s the logic, anyone in the building could’ve taken it,” Beomjin pointed out.

Kang-ju immediately clapped. “Right?! That’s what I’ve been saying! Why am I the one being blamed?!”

“You motorcycle kids are always roaring around, do you know how loud it gets?!”

“And that makes me a thief?!”

“Okay, okay — calm down.”

Beomjin checked the corridor again.

“No CCTV in the hall… This won’t be easy.”

“If we had that, I wouldn’t be losing sleep like this,” Young-chun grumbled, sniffling like an old machine creaking apart.

Beomjin crouched by the entrance.

No sunlight reached here — shadows layered thick across the floor.

An empty shoe rack sat against the wall, collecting dust.

If the box disappeared here… there had to be a trace somewhere.

A pile of flattened cardboard waited for recycling near the stairs. In front of 401, a dusty tricycle. By 404, a Styrofoam cooler — beads of condensation still clinging to the surface.

“That one didn’t get taken,” he noted.

“…Probably cheap,” Young-chun huffed.

Ignoring him, Beomjin checked the door and the intercom.

He remembered cases where thieves left marks to indicate vulnerable homes.

Unlikely for a simple package theft… but checking wouldn’t hurt.

Then his eyes stopped.

Under the grimy intercom button — on the dull metal plate — someone had carved a small mark.

A circle. Inside it — a heart shape.

Simple. Almost childish.

Beomjin squinted, staring hard.

“…No way.”

A sharp throb pulsed through his mind — something familiar, something important.

Something dangerous.