BITM Ch2

As soon as the test results came out, Lee Seolhwa had also been surprised. The fact that steroids had been detected in the animal essentially implied they had been used for unfavorable purposes. Given that she had heard from Han Naeyung that the dog was a former fighting dog, she too couldn’t help but view the man with suspicion.

“Surely, he’s not planning to abandon Nari here, is he?”

Han Naeyung pointed at the note in her hand.

“There’s this.”

“Ah, then I suppose not.”

Lee Seolhwa checked the note.

The phone number differed from the one initially recorded in the chart. Even if the man hadn’t left a separate contact, it didn’t seem likely that her fears would come to fruition. There wasn’t anything unpleasant about the man. In fact, his presence exuded an entirely different aura from others…

“Nari’s dad has the surname Jin, it seems. Or maybe his name is Jin? If it’s his surname… are you Jin Nari, by any chance?”

Han Naeyung paused his thoughts at her voice. Despite her gentle tone, the dog remained tense.

“You’re going to look after Nari, right, doctor?”

Given that she already handled various tasks from accounting to errands, taking care of the dog would be too much for her. Han Naeyung didn’t intend to burden her either, especially since he was the one who had accepted the leash.

When he nodded, she placed the note on the examination table. As she mentioned, the note only had “Jin” written on it. The handwriting was as messy as before.

After stepping out to finish opening preparations, Lee Seolhwa left Han Naeyung alone with the dog. Lifting the dog up, Han Naeyung placed the unusually large bull terrier—likely due to steroid use—on his lap. The old chair creaked under the combined weight.

He gently stroked the dog’s ears, which twitched nervously, unsure of where the sound was coming from. By tapping its hips and loosening its muscles, he felt the tension in the dog’s body gradually dissipate.

“It’s always… the humans who are the problem,” Han Naeyung muttered while patting the dog.

* * *

“Waste of manpower, waste of time. This is all thanks to that incompetent prosecutor.”

“Chief, mind your words.”

At the words of Senior Investigator Sun Wookjae, Investigation Clerk Lee Inyeong lowered her voice cautiously.

“Am I wrong? What’s with a trial prosecutor who doesn’t even understand the case? What’s the point of us burning the midnight oil for an investigation? It’ll all go to waste with that fool.”

“Who burns the midnight oil these days?”

“Inyeong, I’m not in the mood for jokes.”

“And I don’t have the energy to get worked up.”

Losing the verbal tussle, Sun Wookjae shifted his ire to someone else—the man seated against the blinds. The light filtering through highlighted the silhouette of a man in a sleek black suit, casting shifting shadows across his shoulders.

From his smooth forehead to the gracefully descending line of his nose, his features were strikingly sharp. It was no wonder defendants or witnesses occasionally found themselves entranced. Even Sun Wookjae, who saw him daily, wasn’t immune to his looks; first-time acquaintances must find him even more disarming.

“Prosecutor Jin.”

Sun Wookjae called out to the man.

“What are you thinking so deeply about?”

“There’s still time before the trial. Let’s observe a bit longer,” replied Prosecutor Jin.

Hearing the response, Sun Wookjae raised his eyebrows. He thought Jin hadn’t been listening to their heated conversation, but apparently, he had.

Four months earlier, Senior Investigator Sun Wookjae had been assigned a suspected murder case involving a missing person.

The police had identified the victim’s lover as the prime suspect. The two, both married to other people, had met through an online hobby community and maintained their relationship for about a year.

When the woman’s husband discovered the affair, she tried to end things with the lover. Days later, she disappeared. The last person to contact her was the lover, who had sent her threatening messages refusing to accept the breakup.

The messages included threats to harm her family if she didn’t meet him. Left with no choice, she went to see him but never returned. Despite this, the suspect denied all charges, claiming he had not met her. The police couldn’t find any evidence to contradict his claims.

Prosecutor Jin could sympathize with Sun Wookjae’s frustration. Investigators had discovered a large amount of blood in the back seat of the suspect’s car. However, the blood had been heavily cleaned with bleach, making it difficult to find intact DNA.

Eventually, forensic teams managed to uncover traces of DNA that matched the victim. Though the body hadn’t been found, the amount of blood lost suggested fatal injuries. Everyone assumed this would seal the case, but the suspect refused to confess.

The defense argued that the blood in the car was from animals the suspect hunted in legally sanctioned areas. Furthermore, they claimed the victim’s blood found in the car was due to consensual, albeit rough, activity.

“While the defense lawyer spewed nonsense, our prosecutor stayed mute,” Sun Wookjae grumbled.

“This time, we’ll be there at the trial too. Let’s keep it together,” Jin said, attempting to calm the situation.

In criminal cases, the process was straightforward: the police investigated and referred the case to the prosecutor’s office if a crime was established. There, the investigation and trial phases were handled separately by investigators and trial prosecutors.

However, it was rare for both investigative and trial prosecutors to appear in court, as was happening now. Given the workload, with stacks of ongoing investigations on his desk, Jin wasn’t surprised at the tension in the air.

But to Jin, it was a relief that he’d be participating in the trial. While he didn’t show it, he wasn’t confident in the trial prosecutor’s competence.

“Prosecutor,” Sun Wookjae called out to Jin with a weary expression.

“Yes?”

“Go ahead.”

“Have you ever considered becoming a righteous murderer?”

“Righteousness is enough; does it have to include murder too?”

Prosecutor Jin tapped the papers he was flipping through with a gesture that could be interpreted as playful.

“Well, there are murderers who only target other murderers. It’s a pretty famous TV show. Haven’t you seen it?”

“Hmm, that’s a bit extreme.”

“Oh, did I go too far? Haha.” Seon Wookjae scratched his cheek awkwardly.

“It’s betrayal to have the time to watch dramas,” Prosecutor Jin said, gesturing toward the towering stack of documents with his eyes.

“By the way, what were you talking about this morning? Did you happen to bring something back from somewhere?” Seon Wookjae quickly changed the topic.

“It’s as much work as taking care of an infant,” Prosecutor Jin replied.

At his words, both Seon Wookjae and Lee Inyeong looked at him in shock.

“Did you… adopt someone?” Lee Inyeong gripped the mouse in her hand tightly.

“Well, something like that.” Prosecutor Jin separated the sorted files from the pending ones and stood up. Seeing the two of them still blinking in surprise, he checked the time.

It was already 7 p.m. If the vet tied Nari to a lamppost outside the clinic, that would be a problem—though he trusted they wouldn’t do something like that.

“I’ll be leaving work early today.”

“Wow, that’s unfair!” Complaints burst out simultaneously. Lee Inyeong scurried after Prosecutor Jin as he put on his coat and stepped outside. Curious about the sudden urgency, Seon Wookjae’s eyes sparkled, but the office door closed before he could say anything. Only then did Lee Inyeong speak up.

“Remember that request you made a while ago?”

“How did it go?” Prosecutor Jin asked without hesitation.

“No matter how much I try to track it down, it’s just too broad. There are so many people with the same name—it feels nearly impossible to find,” she said hesitantly.

Listening calmly, Prosecutor Jin glanced at his watch. “I understand.”

Lee Inyeong blinked. Despite the difficulty, he had never shown disappointment in her progress. Nor had he given up. To her, the search felt as futile as looking for a lost item inside the house while knowing it was left outside. It was a waste of time and effort.

But Prosecutor Jin simply smiled at her puzzled expression. He was grateful that she continued to help despite her busy workload.

“I should go before it gets too late.”

“Go where?”

“To pick up a child.”

Lee Inyeong stared at the smiling Prosecutor Jin, stunned. Unlike her previous superiors, he wasn’t authoritarian, but it was hard to discern where his sincerity ended and his jokes began. He was an enigma. That was how she generally saw him.

* * *

With the cold growing harsher, the animal clinic was busier than usual. The sounds of animals—dogs and cats alike—sniffling and whining filled the day.

The bull terrier, gradually recovering in the small treatment room, sat quietly at Han Naeyung’s feet. It was hard to tell whether it was comforted by her calm demeanor or the confined space.

When she finally looked up, she realized that closing time had long passed. As Han Naeyung stood, the dog, who had been dozing off, also got up. However, instead of following her outside, it simply watched her with its eyes.

Lee Seolhwa, now dressed in casual clothes, was preparing to leave. Han Naeyung addressed her.

“Come in 30 minutes later tomorrow.”

It was already 30 minutes past the official closing time.

“I’ll just come at the usual time. Besides, you often let me leave early anyway,” Lee Seolhwa replied, adding lightly, “No need to be so particular about these things.”

“Doctor, you must be tired from talking more than usual today, right?”

Han Naeyung shook her head.

“I wonder when Nari’s owner will come. I wanted to see him, but it seems I’ll have to leave first.” Zipping her padded jacket up to her chin, she powered down the computer. Slinging her crossbody bag over her shoulder, she turned to leave.

“Be safe on your way home,” Han Naeyung said.

“What’s this? You’re being so talkative today! Haha, I guess being busy isn’t all bad. See you tomorrow,” she replied with a wave.

Han Naeyung raised a hand briefly in response before letting it drop with a small sigh. Then he headed toward the treatment room, where the dog stood lingering near the door.

“Come here,” he beckoned gently.

The dog hesitated, as if something was holding it back. It extended a paw toward the threshold but quickly pulled it back. Seeing this, Han Naeyung removed his gloves, crouched down, and patiently waited.

“Humans… are scary, huh?” he murmured softly.

The dog, which had shown no interest in the other animals throughout the day, slowly inched closer. Morning precautions had required a short leash, but by the afternoon, it was calm enough to roam freely in the treatment room.

Watching his bare hand, the dog finally approached him tentatively. Han Naeyung didn’t rush, waiting until it came fully to him. Just as it was about to settle into his arms, the door opened, letting in the cold air and the sound of the bell ringing.

“Ugh!”

Startled by the sudden noise, the dog bit down hard on Han Naeyung’s arm. A visitor, alarmed by the sight, hurried over to separate the dog from Han Naeyung.

“Stay still.”

Han Naeyung turned his back, hugging the dog tightly. Realizing too late that it had bitten someone, the dog quickly released its grip. Red blood began to seep into the white sleeve. The visitor, who turned out to be the dog’s owner, picked up the dog awkwardly, clicking his tongue in dismay.

“Sorry about this. It’s my fault for leaving it here.”

Han Naeyung removed his coat to examine the wound. The bite wasn’t deep enough to require stitches. He wiped away the blood dripping down his hand with the coat. Seeing him scrub the scattered bloodstains on the floor, the man reached out.

“Let’s get that treated properly.”

Caught off guard, Han Naeyung yanked his wrist away with unexpected force. The abruptness of the reaction startled the man, leaving him wondering if his touch was somehow offensive.

The man put the dog down and secured it to a chair with its leash. Meanwhile, Han Naeyung searched for hydrogen peroxide among the medical supplies and began disinfecting his wrist. He meticulously cleaned not just the wound but his entire hand, which made it clear the disinfection wasn’t solely about the injury.

The man silently watched until Han Naeyung finished. He noticed the excessive use of disinfectant and the way Han Naeyung avoided further medical attention, instead opting to wrap his wound in a simple bandage before putting his gloves back on.

“Are you okay?”

“This is nothing serious,” Han Naeyung replied indifferently.

“They told me to euthanize it.”

The man, seated with the dog, muttered as he stared at the animal.

“They said dogs raised for fighting should be put down. I ran off with it instead. If I get caught, there’ll be a report to file. But, well, I guess it could be worse.”

He tapped the dog’s head gently, as if scolding it for biting someone. Despite the stern tone, his choice of words gave off a strange sense of warmth.

“Do you think it should be euthanized?”

The man’s gaze shifted to Han Naeyung, waiting for his response.

“I can refer you to a hospital…”

“What do you think, doctor?”

After a long pause, Han Naeyung glanced at the bandage on his wrist and finally spoke.

“I don’t agree.”

The man stood, his voice laced with quiet amusement. “That’s a relief. If even the vet suggested it, I wouldn’t know what to do.”

He approached Han Naeyung, who instinctively held his breath at the subtle scent of cologne. The proximity was tolerable so long as they didn’t touch, but Han Naeyung was already on edge after an exhausting day.

Noticing the paleness of Han Naeyung’s face, the man stepped back, seeming to understand the situation. He surmised that the doctor might have an obsessive aversion to touch, judging from his earlier reaction and the persistent use of gloves.

The man retrieved a business card from his wallet and extended it toward Han Naeyung.

“Here’s who I am.”

XX District Prosecutor’s Office – Prosecutor Jin

The card was sparse, listing only his office, contact information, and his surname, likely simplified to avoid misuse. The phone number matched the one he had provided earlier that morning.

“You can call me ‘Jin’ or just ‘Nari’s Dad.’”

When Jin revealed his title, most people reacted with surprise or unease. Han Naeyung’s lack of reaction was unremarkable, yet Jin found himself observing the doctor closely.

“I need to close up,” Han Naeyung said curtly, breaking the silence as he stared at the business card. He remained expressionless, never reaching for the card.

Taking the hint, Jin grabbed the dog’s leash. The dog, however, stayed rooted, its gaze fixed on Han Naeyung.

Jin, accustomed to the animal’s reluctance, scooped it up effortlessly. He left the clinic with a polite “Thank you for your time.” Outside, as he patted the dejected dog, Jin suddenly remembered something.

He hadn’t paid the bill.

Leaving a debt unsettled went against his nature.

“I’ll be back soon. Behave yourself.”

After placing the dog in the backseat of his car, Jin strode back to the clinic. It was dimly lit but still open. As he approached, he paused to glance at the sign.

Twin Animal Hospital.

“The name’s kind of unique…” he murmured, just as he caught sight of something inside.

Han Naeyung was seated in the waiting room, sipping water and swallowing a couple of pills. Oblivious to the presence outside, he sat slumped, head bowed. Jin hesitated before deciding not to disturb him. While unpaid bills were bothersome, interrupting someone who seemed so drained felt worse. He turned on his heel and left without another word.

Inside, Han Naeyung tilted his head slightly, watching Jin’s retreating figure. He had sensed his presence but chose to ignore it, unwilling to engage. He clenched his bandaged hand, fresh blood seeping through.

Han Naeyung’s daily life remained monotonous.

At least, on the surface.

* * *

“Human mouths, you see, are like wings. Think of them as flight feathers on a bird. Pet birds often have their flight feathers clipped to keep them from escaping. Without them, they can’t fly, just flutter pathetically on the ground. Is that analogy too complicated for you? Anyway, to keep things confined, you’ve got to clip those wings. Especially that wagging tongue of yours.”

“……Hyung!”

The younger sibling’s final cry was cut short as blood spurted from his mouth like a fountain. His severed tongue fell forward with a sickening thud.

“In that sense, Hyung, you’re so wise to keep your own wings hidden. Take good care of your little brother from now on.”

A sharp pinch twisted his cheek. The fragile bird with clipped wings flailed helplessly at his feet. Overwhelmed with pain, the younger brother’s body convulsed, too large and too heavy to fully embrace.

“God… God, please.”

He caressed his sibling’s blood-speckled face, pleading with the heavens. At that moment, the man knelt in front of the younger brother, crossing himself as though basking in divine light. He tilted his head back toward the ceiling.

“Lord, forgive my sins.”

As the man completed his prayer and rose to his feet, he looked down at them, despair evident in their gaze. The man gestured toward the moldy ceiling and let out a bitter laugh.

“God isn’t just your god, you know. He’s fair to everyone, even to me. Look at me—don’t I seem just fine?”

Will you really forgive this man’s sins? Are you truly a fair and just god? Then who will save us? If you refuse to punish him, may I… may I take justice into my own hands?

He lowered his eyes, tears clouded with fury, fear, and hatred swirling within. His gaze finally rested on the convulsing body of his younger sibling. The man, ensuring the boy was still alive, flipped him over to force out more blood. He threw the small, limp body over his shoulder, opened the iron door, and laughed shrilly.

“Honestly, don’t you feel relieved?”

Their eyes met—his gleaming and piercing, unwavering in their cruelty.

“That it wasn’t you.”

Flash!

Han Naeyung’s eyes shot open, pupils darting frantically. The intermittent glow of his phone on the bedside table illuminated the room in brief flashes. His body felt bound, unable to move an inch. The cold dampness of his pillow and sheets sent a shiver through his entire frame.

He tried to clench his fist but could only grind his teeth in frustration. Summoning every ounce of strength, he lifted his limp arm. As his vision cleared, the shape of his hand came into view.

It was large. No longer the small hand he once had.

Han Naeyung forced his trembling hand into a fist and sat up. Sweat dripped from his forehead, one drop after another. His whole body trembled as he wrapped his arms around his shoulders.

It’s fine.

Just one more step.

His hunched form and lowered eyes harbored nothing but lingering rage and hatred. Fear had long since vanished. When he closed his sweat-soaked eyes and opened them again, all emotion had drained from his face, leaving behind a gaze as cold and sharp as glass.

Beep, beep, beep.

The alarm rang just as Han Naeyung got up, carrying the damp blanket with him. He stripped the bedsheets and wiped his pale face with one hand. His parched tongue moved uncomfortably in his mouth as he drank some water.

His wrist felt constricted, so he removed the bandage he’d been wearing. The bite mark left by the bull terrier was scabbing over, except for two sharp puncture wounds where its fangs had sunk in. It looked like he’d been bitten by a vampire.

Though he wasn’t bothered by being bitten himself, he regretted not saying something to the man earlier. If the dog’s background as a fighting dog was to remain hidden, proper training would be essential. No matter how gentle the dog seemed now, its fighting instincts could resurface at any time.

After throwing the sheets and blanket into the washing machine, Han Naeyung had an early breakfast—a rare occurrence prompted by his nagging guilt as a veterinarian. He decided to hang the laundry out to dry after lunch and headed downstairs.

The morning air was warmer than last week, though the long winter was still ahead.

Unusually, the animal clinic was already brightly lit this early in the morning. As Han Naeyung entered, Lee Seolhwa at the front desk greeted him with a cheerful smile.

“Doctor, you’re in early today.”

It seemed she had also arrived earlier than usual, judging by how warm the interior felt.

“Yes. And so are you, Ms. Seolhwa.”

She giggled. “I woke up earlier than usual. But what brings you out so early? Something specific to take care of?”

As Han Naeyung approached the desk, she tilted her head curiously.

“…A call.”

He cleared his throat, voice low as if trying to shake off its heaviness.

“A call?”

“Nari’s owner.”

“I’ll look it up for you,” she said.

After a few keystrokes, she found Jin’s contact information—it hadn’t been long since his last visit.

“Here you go.”

Han Naeyung nodded in gratitude before picking up the clinic’s phone and calmly dialing the number. Lee Seolhwa, watching with interest, seemed intrigued that the typically reserved doctor was personally calling a client.

As the phone rang endlessly, it eventually redirected to voicemail. He hung up quietly.

“Did they not answer? Come to think of it, the number I wrote down before was different from this one.”

She rummaged around, searching for the previous note.

“It’s fine,” Han Naeyung said, stopping her.

He reasoned that the man likely knew how to train the dog properly. While he hadn’t scolded the dog harshly for biting him, he didn’t seem like the type to neglect discipline. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have taken the risk of rescuing the dog from the fighting ring in the first place.

Having resolved his thoughts, Han Naeyung considered the matter closed.

“What were you going to tell him over the phone?”

Seolhwa’s question prompted him to glance down at his wrist. The bandage was hidden beneath his long sleeve.

“Fighting dogs. Have you dealt with them before?”