Chapter 66

“Jangsanbeom?”

Beomjin’s brow furrowed, and Yewon’s expression darkened.

“It’s just as it sounds—the mask is made from the flayed face of a Jangsanbeom. The description’s written here.”

The red eyes are the heart of its curse. Those who hear its voice can no longer tell dream from reality, and those who face the mask forget even who they are.

“What… does that even mean? Wait, did you say the Jangsanbeom’s face skin?”

Beomjin’s gaze fixed sharply on the page.

“I know it sounds unbelievable,” Yewon said quietly, “but if that mask really is connected to the case, you have to be careful.”

Her tone grew serious as she continued in a calm, steady voice.

“The Jangsanbeom was a being that longed to become human—but was forever denied. So it cursed those who did become human, the Beast-Blooded, with endless jealousy and hatred. That curse seeped into the mask.”

The mask’s painted eyes seemed to glare back at them from the page. Yewon went on.

“It says here that to those who couldn’t become human, it brings curses. To those who did—it whispers madness.”

“Whispers of madness?”

Beomjin remembered the man’s murmured words. The more Yewon explained, the more certain he became—the man and the Jangsanbeom mask were connected.

“They say once you put on the Jangsanbeom Mask, even an ordinary human can see beings like us. But they also become consumed with hatred—hearing a voice at their ear, whispering over and over to kill. That’s why handling the Jangsanbeom Mask is one of the greatest taboos.”

Beomjin glanced between the mask in the book and the sketch he’d drawn earlier.

Those fierce, chilling eyes—what had once seemed like nothing but a doodle now felt disturbingly real.

Now, everything made sense.

The man had been overtaken by the Jangsanbeom’s curse. Unable to bear its madness, he’d killed three people.

Then that meant only one thing. He had to find the mask before there was another victim.

“Can we find out where the mask is now?”

Yewon silently shook her head.

“I don’t know. It’s not something people can just… get their hands on easily.”

She hesitated, then spoke carefully.

“But if you really want to find it, try the black market. Things like this—cursed, forbidden artifacts—they’re traded in the shadows. You might be able to get information there.”

“The black market…?”

Beomjin had heard of it before. Humans never gave up their fascination with taboos.

“But to get into the black market, you need someone to vouch for you.”

The shadier the business, the more closed its doors. The black market was no exception.

Yewon hesitated, eyes drifting to the window before she finally nodded, as if making a decision.

“I know someone. They don’t care where it comes from—if it’s rare or valuable, they’ll find it, even in the black market. They might be able to help.”

It was an opportunity Beomjin couldn’t afford to miss.

“Then please, I’d really like to meet them.”

Yewon stood up from her seat.

“Wait here. I’ll call them.”

She stepped through the small door at the back of the shop. Beomjin could hear a short phone conversation from beyond.

He waited, eyes wandering over the display cases—old weapons, strange carvings, faded paintings, all quietly enduring the weight of time between light and shadow.

After a moment, Yewon returned.

“I’ve set up a meeting. Tomorrow afternoon—they said that works. I’ll send you the address.”

Beomjin bowed slightly.

“Thank you, Yewon. You’ve been a huge help.”

Yewon gave a cautious smile.

“This… might be more dangerous than you think. Please be careful, Beomjin.”

“I will. Thanks for the warning.”

He left the shop.

Outside, the late sunlight draped over his shoulders. For a brief moment, he thought he saw something—a black shadow moving just beyond the city’s cold breath.

The next afternoon.

A back alley in Dongdaemun, beneath a bright sign that read Claw Machine World, glowing even stronger than the neon around it.

Beomjin arrived a little earlier than the appointed time.

People milled around the claw machines, their chatter blending into the hum of the city. But there was something off—a faint, unfamiliar presence brushing against his senses.

And then, parting through the crowd, appeared a woman in her mid-fifties.

A Beast-Blooded of the turtle lineage.

Wide-legged pants paired with a striking red jacket.

Her hair was tightly braided, pinned up with a single elegant jade hairpin. She looked like an elder from the Joseon era who had somehow adapted to modern fashion.

Her gaze swept the room — not with familiarity, but with a kind of weary boredom. Then her eyes stopped on one particular machine.

Behind the glass sat a plush turtle doll with a round, clumsy face. It looked poorly positioned, the kind you could probably win with just a few thousand won.

“Cute little thing.”

Her voice was low and resonant. Slinging an expensive handbag over her arm, she stood before the claw machine and fed in a 1,000-won bill. The claw descended… then brushed the air and returned empty.

Second attempt. This time, the claw managed to twist the doll—only to drop it. A faint crease appeared between her brows.

Third 1,000 won. The claw looked like it had caught something, but failed again. And at that moment, she slipped off her heels and slammed them into the machine.

Crash!

The glass shattered into glittering shards. Without hesitation, she reached through the hole and pulled out the turtle doll she’d been eyeing.

Every head in the arcade turned. Even passersby on the street stopped to stare.

She sat down on a nearby chair and inspected the doll with satisfaction like a hunter admiring her freshly caught prey.

Then she pulled out a small notebook from her handbag, scribbled her phone number, and held the paper up toward the CCTV camera so the number could be clearly seen.

“I’ll pay for it later! Call me!”

She shouted like someone giving an order, not an apology.

There wasn’t a trace of courtesy or remorse in her tone; pure arrogance, as if she were born above everyone else.

With the turtle doll in hand, she walked toward Beomjin. Her large eyes swept him up and down.

“You’re the one I was supposed to meet, right? I’m Jung Gu-sim. Nice to meet you. Let’s go. There’s a café nearby I go to often.”

“Yes, let’s.”

Gu-sim turned and strode out of the arcade. She walked with poise, utterly unfazed by the murmurs trailing behind her.

Beomjin followed at a careful distance, doing his best not to look like they were together.

At the back of a high-ceilinged café, in a secluded VIP seat, Gu-sim looked him over once again.

“Our boss, Han Yewon, said you’re reliable. That’s the only reason I agreed to meet you.”

Her tone made it sound like he should be grateful.

“Still, a tiger, huh? Guess I can trust you with this job.”

“A job? What job?”

Beomjin’s eyes widened. Normally he didn’t react easily, but Gu-sim had a way of derailing common sense.

“I want the Mirror of Clear Reflection.”

He stared blankly at her. His face didn’t move, but his eyes flickered.

“…The Mirror of Clear Reflection?”

“Yes. Beautiful name, isn’t it? I’ve always wanted it, and now I’ve got the chance.”

He had no idea what she was talking about.

“…What I meant to say is, the black market—”

“I know. That’s why I’m saying this. Bring me the Mirror of Clear Reflection, and I’ll take you to the black market.”

Now it made sense.

“Understood. But… what exactly is the Mirror of Clear Reflection?”

“Oh my, you don’t even know that? Can I really trust you?”

Without waiting for an answer, she continued.

“The Mirror of Clear Reflection is a special mirror. Bring it to me, and I’ll help you however you want. Got it?”

Her explanation was vague, but she seemed done talking. She pulled out her phone.

“Um…”

Beomjin hesitated.

“Where is that mirror right now?”

“Good grief. Do I have to tell you everything? Do you always work this way?”

Still holding her phone, she said,

“It’s with Myungshim Sect. You’ve heard of them, right? That new cult that’s been growing lately.”

Myungshim Sect—the cult notorious online for abductions, assaults, and extortion under the guise of “evangelism.”

“If you understand, then go. Oh, and the next black market opens in three days—11:30 p.m., Seoul Station. Be there with the Mirror of Clear Reflection. You only get one chance.”

With that, Gu-sim waved him off dismissively.

Beomjin left the café and shook his head, the situation growing more tangled by the minute. He’d come hoping to get rid of one problem, only to end up with another stuck to his back. Still, he couldn’t turn it down. The priority right now was finding the Jangsanbeom Mask; the Mirror of Clear Reflection was just a passing obstacle.

The idea of stealing it left an unpleasant taste, but he pushed that thought aside. Now wasn’t the time to hesitate.

He needed to move.

Stealing.

Fortunately—or unfortunately—there was someone who could help.

Someone Beomjin himself had once thrown in prison, before his regression.

8 p.m., in a quiet back alley of Mapo.

A faint orange glow spilled from an old signboard.

It read Chewy Chicken, a small, unassuming neighborhood joint. To most, it was just another fried chicken place—but among certain circles, its reputation meant something else entirely.

Beomjin pushed open the door like a regular. A small bell jingled above him, and a man poked his head out from the kitchen.

“Oh? A customer?”

Nam Du-seo.

A mole Beast-Blooded, with a round face lined by deep wrinkles. Though only in his early forties, his tired features made him look well past fifty.

Du-seo’s dull, yellowish eyes landed on Beomjin—and then brightened in surprise.

“Well, I’ll be damned. A tiger? What’s a tiger doing in my place?”

He hastily untied his apron and walked over. Beomjin, knowing his tastes all too well, spoke first.

“I’m here for a special order.”

Du-seo hesitated, then relaxed his expression.

“Special order? Hah. I don’t take boring jobs these days. Been living more for my hobbies than business, you know.”

Despite his words, a glimmer of curiosity sparked in his eyes. Du-seo wasn’t driven by greed, but by the thrill of the steal itself.

Beomjin slowly glanced around the shop before lowering his voice.

“It’ll be exciting enough. But the job needs to be perfect.”

“My jobs are always perfect… Fine, let’s hear it first.”

A mix of intrigue, caution, and something long-dormant—anticipation—flickered in Du-seo’s eyes.

“I need the Mirror of Clear Reflection.”

“…The Mirror of Clear Reflection? Don’t tell me you’re planning to mess with the Myungshim Sect?”

His brows furrowed sharply.

“That’s right. I need that Mirror of Clear Reflection.”

Du-seo’s expression changed instantly.

“Are you insane? You even know what kind of place the Myungshim Sect is?”

“That’s exactly why I came to you, Hyung. Don’t you want to take on the challenge?”

Beomjin’s voice was calm, but every word carried familiar weight.

Du-seo didn’t recognize the man in front of him—but Beomjin knew him better than anyone.

“I know the kind of person you are. The kind who gets that rush when your hands grasp something no one else could reach. That moment of thrill—of victory.”

He took a slow breath.

“This time, it’ll be even greater than that.”

Beomjin’s gaze was steady, not unfamiliar—filled with the confidence of someone who had seen this exact choice before.

Du-seo’s eyes wavered. His fists clenched and released, as if weighing invisible scales.

The man before him looked both strange and oddly familiar.

“You…”

The words hung unfinished in the air.

…And then, Du-seo quietly stood.

It was impossible to tell whether it was a decision or an escape.