Chapter 69

The next night.

11:27 p.m. Beomjin arrived at Seoul Station, right on time for his meeting with Gu-sim.

By midnight, Seoul Station was quiet, as if it had fallen asleep. The main concourse was still lit, but all human noise had been erased, leaving a pristine silence.

The electronic board didn’t announce any upcoming trains; only the last notice flickered faintly in the empty space above.

Beomjin waited with nothing but a small bag. At exactly 11:30, Gu-sim appeared in the distance.

She walked toward him, her long coat cutting through the cool night air with deliberate elegance. The hem of her coat fluttered in the breeze, and her stride carried a confidence as though the station had been prepared just for her.

A smile spread across her face as she spotted Beomjin.

“You didn’t come empty-handed, right? Because if you did… I’d be really disappointed.”

Beomjin didn’t answer. Instead, he opened his backpack. The Mirror of Clear Reflection, wrapped carefully in cloth, peeked out into the night air.

“…Wow.”

Gu-sim let out a soft exclamation. Her eyebrows trembled slightly, and the corners of her tightly pressed lips curved in satisfaction.

“You actually brought it… I like it. And your dedication to keeping promises? Equally satisfying.”

Gu-sim took the bag and pulled something from within. A mask gleamed silver in her hands.

“You’ll need this to enter the black market. I picked one that suits you.”

Beomjin looked down at it.

A dragon mask.

White face. Red eyes.

In that instant, the Jangsanbeom mask came to mind.

“…Dragon?”

“Why? Don’t like it? I thought it’d suit you.”

Gu-sim let out a small chuckle. Her lips curved upward, but her eyes remained unmoved. They held a quiet amusement, a sense of superiority that looked down on others.

“No, I’ll use it well.”

Beomjin took the mask silently. Its surface felt smooth under his fingertips, but it was rigid and unyielding.

When he put it on, Gu-sim clapped in approval.

“It suits you. Very stylish.”

She donned her own mask, too. Though her bloodline was turtle, she wore a rabbit mask.

“Then, Dragon… let’s board the black market.”

Her coat flared behind her as she led the way to the platform. Beomjin followed quietly. It was time to step into another world.

11:50 p.m.

The last trains had already stopped, yet Gu-sim entered the platform without hesitation. Walking down the stationary escalator, they saw a handful of figures waiting.

Wolves. Cats. Deer. Cranes. Horses. Snakes. Even wild boars.

Each wore an animal mask, keeping their distance, waiting for something.

As if by agreement, none of them gave off any scent, any indication of life. Every identity was meticulously concealed. They neither spoke nor looked at one another.

Only silence and shallow breaths filled the air around this strange gathering.

“How does it feel? As if we’ve stepped into an old fable, right?”

Gu-sim’s voice broke the silence as she glanced back.

Her face beneath the mask remained hidden, but the words carried her signature cynicism.

Beomjin nodded without speaking.

He couldn’t tell where the performance ended and reality began.

One thing was certain: Seoul Station was now governed by rules entirely unlike everyday life.

Then, a sound reached them from afar.

A train was coming.

The train grew closer, revealing itself as no ordinary carriage—it was a special train, thirteen cars long.

No numbers. No logos. No destination indicators.

Its black-coated exterior seemed to swallow light, as though a miniature black hole rode the rails.

Shhhhhh.

The train came to a halt at the platform. From each boarding gate, staff in suits and identical masks emerged. They demanded ID from the passengers wearing animal masks.

Gu-sim held up a ring on her finger, then pointed behind her toward Beomjin.

“He’s with me.”

She turned to Beomjin, gesturing him forward.

“Board. We’re leaving soon.”

Beomjin took a deep breath and stepped forward.

Inside the train, an eerie calm prevailed.

The interior was clean and luxurious, almost casino-like. Soft carpets and silk decorations covered the floors and ceilings, while bright lights erased every shadow.

At midnight, the train departed without a single warning sound.

The air shivered, carrying a faintly acrid tang.

“Five hours ahead. Until we reach Busan, look around and find whatever interests you. There’s plenty here to catch your curiosity.”

With that brief explanation, Gu-sim moved toward the front car.

Only then did Beomjin realize: this train wasn’t heading to the black market. The train itself was the black market—a fully sealed world where no intruder could intervene, no one could escape midway, and the law’s gaze could not reach.

An underground festival beyond the eyes of the world.

Beomjin surveyed the cars carefully. What had seemed like casino booths were actually individual shops.

He would have to gather information on the Jangsanbeom mask here.

As the train sliced southward through the darkness, the interior felt entirely otherworldly.

Deep red velvet curtains lined the aisles, and the ceilings were adorned with golden moldings that added a layer of opulence. Small chandeliers and each cabin’s lamps cast a soft, amber glow, giving the impression of an old European opera house.

Beomjin moved cautiously.

Each shop displayed a distinct theme and specialty.

In one car, ancient texts and relics were traded; in another, weapons and poisons; elsewhere, the bones and innards of various animals were handled with care.

Soft music flowed through the train, and staff in suits quietly served refreshments.

Everything felt quiet, focused, and deliberate—only transactions that pursued their purpose were permitted.

Beomjin naturally made his way toward the tail cars. In the 11th car, something caught his eye.

It was a shop lined with masks.

Masks of wood, paper, metal, horns, and leather hung from walls and display racks, filling the space.

Hahoe masks, bridal masks, goblin forms, deer, cats, crows—masks representing humans, animals, and other beings were displayed like works of art.

“A mask can reveal the wearer’s weaknesses. Welcome, Mr. Dragon.”

The shop attendant, wearing a frog mask, greeted him. Beneath the mask, her voice was astonishingly soft and young—so delicate that, by age of her vocal cords alone, she could have been mistaken for a minor.

The mask was pure white and emotionless. Yet even through its blank expression, an unsettling charm radiated.

“There are some very fine masks here. Take a look around.”

Her words guided Beomjin’s gaze slowly across the displays. Observing his serious expression, the attendant continued:

“Not every mask is harmless. Some eat away at their owner, some deceive them. The truly good masks are the ones that hide the wearer.”

Beomjin’s eyes settled on one mask. Its smooth, ivory-white surface was etched with delicate gold patterns. The eye slits were narrow, the nose sharply arched, and golden lines traced the jaw, faintly shimmering as if alive.

“This is quite exquisite.”

A strange energy flickered across Beomjin’s perception—was it the aura the mask gave off, or the subtle unease in its shape?

“You have a good eye,” the attendant said. “This is a Bolto mask—it changes to the face you imagine. If you keep it for a long time while holding the image of the face in your mind, the mask will remember and transform accordingly.”

Beomjin accepted the mask she handed him. Up close, it gleamed even more delicately. It was light but firm, and tiny, barely visible cracks ran across its surface, like real skin.

“But,” she continued, lightly tracing the mask’s jaw with her fingertip,

“If your thoughts falter, the face may falter too. Think of another face, and the original can become muddled. The more your mind shakes, the less predictable the result.”

Beomjin carefully set the mask down.

“A dangerous item, indeed.”

“Did you think there’d be anything in the black market that wasn’t dangerous?”

The attendant smiled softly.

Beomjin’s eyes wandered to another mask.

Its porcelain-white base was painted with deep red eyebrows and large eyes, and the mouth was unnaturally wide. The eyebrow and eye sockets were scorched as if by fire, and the mouth seemed ready to scream at any moment—a terrifyingly realistic visage.

“This is a shaman’s mask.”

She held it carefully, lightly tracing the mouth with her fingertips.

“This… is rather unsettling, even to look at,” Beomjin murmured, unease creeping over him.

The attendant continued, her voice carrying a strangely intoxicating allure.

“Place the belongings of the deceased in its mouth, wear this mask, and you can see fragments of the dead person’s memories.”

“See their memories?”

“Yes. I haven’t tried it myself, but it is said to be vivid.”

Beomjin frowned as he studied the mask.

“Be warned—you could also lose yourself to the spirit wearing it. Quite a rare and dangerous item.”

“Indeed,” he said, turning away and taking a brief breath.

The train’s rumble shook the floor beneath him, slightly muddling his thoughts.

After glancing at a few other masks, he asked,

“…I’m not looking for creepy ones. I want something rarer.”

The attendant studied him from behind the mask. A beat later, she raised the corners of her lips, intrigued.

“Rarer, you say… For example?”

She held a mask between her fingers and turned it over. Beomjin hesitated a moment before speaking:

“The Jangsanbeom mask.”

The words barely left his mouth before the attendant froze. She carefully set down the mask she had been holding and leaned forward, speaking in a near whisper:

“…You truly want the Jangsanbeom mask?”

Her voice carried shock, fear, and a hint of displeasure.

“Do you know where it can be found?”

Beomjin’s gaze met hers through his dragon mask, firm and unyielding.

“Of all the masks I have… there is nothing as unsettling as that one. Truly.”

She rolled her eyes toward Beomjin’s mask, then continued:

“But… I do know where to find it.”