BITM Ch3

“…Hmm. I have a friend who works at the Animal Protection Association, so I’ve seen them twice. One of them ended up being euthanized, though. Even if they seem gentle in front of people, they can cause problems when they’re with other dogs. But you can’t just keep them locked up at home, right? You have to take them on walks and to the vet. Why, Doctor? Are you worried about Nari?”

“…Somewhat.”

Lee Seolhwa covered her mouth with her hand as if she was surprised.

“Well, it’s true that Nari’s dad doesn’t seem like someone who’s ever raised a dog before, so I guess it’s understandable to worry. And starting with a fighting dog as your first… even we, who are experienced, find them a bit unfamiliar.”

Han Naeyung stood silently, seeming to agree with her statement.

“If you’re that concerned, Doctor…”

He missed the timing to respond with, “It’s not quite like that.” She quickly continued speaking without giving him a chance.

“How about adopting one? One of the dogs I mentioned earlier is still available. He’s tied up at home all the time because of potential issues, and it’s causing him a lot of stress.”

She beamed at Han Naeyung, her eyes sparkling, and asked, “What do you think?” He looked at her, clearly flustered.

“I wanted to take him in myself, but we already have over ten dogs at my house, so it’s difficult. Besides, I’m not sure if he’d get along with so many others.”

Lee Seolhwa furrowed her brows in a pleading expression and looked up at Han Naeyung.

“I’m sorry.”

At his firm refusal, she instead smirked, her lips curling slightly.

“That’s why I like you, Doctor. It’s better than adopting out of misplaced pity, only to abandon them later when it becomes too much to handle. Let’s hope Nari’s father wouldn’t do such a thing.”

Lee Seolhwa interpreted Han Naeyung’s refusal differently, tucking her short hair behind her ear. Han Naeyung discarded the piece of paper with the man’s phone number and headed to the clinic. At some point, he stopped his slow steps and gazed at Lee Seolhwa’s retreating figure.

“I can’t. I can’t take responsibility.”

This was Han Naeyung’s honest thought.

* * *

Humans have an extremely limited capacity in their brains to handle anger. When faced with unmanageable rage, they need an outlet, and that outlet often becomes themselves.

This is the general theory behind self-harm. Actions like scratching one’s forearms with nails or pulling one’s hair also fall within this framework. Jin looked at the witness who had followed these theoretical patterns with pity. The middle-aged man’s nails were blunt, and the back of his hands were covered in wounds.

“Sometimes I want to believe this happened because I’m incompetent, but then there are moments where my blood boils. Prosecutor, I’m sure you wouldn’t understand.”

Jin did not offer comfort to the bloodshot-eyed man. In this situation, what was needed more than consolation was the prosecution of the suspect. For that purpose, Jin had always given his best.

“Prosecutor, there’s no way my child committed suicide. No matter how much he was bullied, my boy would never jump to his death and leave his parents behind.”

“From the CCTV footage, it appears Jihyung was alone on the rooftop.”

Jin broached the topic cautiously.

“Listen to me, Prosecutor. Even if my Jihyung did take his own life, are those who pushed him to that point entirely blameless?”

“…”

“If God exists, this couldn’t have happened. What sin did Jihyung commit to deserve such relentless torment?”

“The postmortem results for Jihyung…”

Jin almost referred to him as the “victim” but corrected himself.

“…show signs of a fracture at the base of the skull. This injury occurred before Jihyung fell.”

The man, who had been digging into the back of his hands, stared intently at Jin. It felt like the Prosecutor’s words were accusing him of not noticing his son’s injuries, causing him to clutch at his chest. Jin pushed a steaming cup of coffee toward the man.

“May I ask if Jihyung ever had a reddish fluid come from his ears or nose?”

The man gripped the coffee cup with trembling hands. His hazy eyes, as if retracing the past, suddenly sparked with recognition.

“That… about two weeks ago, he had a nosebleed that was lighter than blood. But nothing came from his ears…”

“Do you still have the tissue or cloth used at the time?”

It was a slim hope; who keeps blood-stained fabric? Jin wasn’t optimistic.

“There’s no way I’d still have…”

Jin clicked his tongue internally, resigned. But then the man exclaimed as if something had struck him.

“The blanket! Maybe the blanket Jihyung used… or perhaps the pillow. He bled on them a few times, so there might still be traces. But what does this have to do with anything? If you find something, will those people finally be punished?”

A skull base fracture might not always result in serious aftereffects, but if the brain nerves were damaged, the story changes.

There had been a precedent where a victim of assault, having lost impulse control due to brain damage, committed suicide, and the perpetrators were convicted. If the skull base fracture was proven to be a result of school violence, it would meet the necessary conditions.

Jin couldn’t share these details with the witness. The more hope he instilled, the greater the despair if it fell through. Avoiding the man’s desperate gaze, Jin said firmly:

“I’ll see the investigation of Jihyung’s case through to the end. If anything remains, please contact me at the number I provided.”

The man, who hadn’t taken a sip of the coffee, contorted his face. Tears fell, following the grooves of his wrinkled face.

“I trust only you, Prosecutor. You’re the only one who can bring justice to my Jihyung, who died unjustly.”

Jin always felt a deep sense of futility in such moments. For cases of abetting suicide, the punishment was a mere 1 to 10 years of imprisonment. Moreover, since the suspects were minors, the sentencing would be even more lenient. Whether the abetment charge would even stick remained uncertain. It could easily be dismissed as mere school violence. The witness likely knew this, fueling his rage.

Jin handed the man a tissue from the Prosecutor’s office. With so many tears shed during investigations, they sometimes went through an entire box in a day.

Jin, who had just seen off the sobbing man, headed to the smoking area on the left side of the building. It was called a smoking area, but it was really just a corner with a lone trash can placed beside an old gazebo. As he lit a cigarette, Park, a fellow prosecutor from his training days, approached him. Park was already on his third cigarette. When Jin removed the cigarette from his mouth, the smoke dissipated around his lips.

“Prosecutor Jin, are you shooting a photo spread or something?”

“Maybe I should switch careers,” Jin replied, his tone tinged with slight bitterness.

“You just finished taking a statement, huh?”

The reason some prosecutors frequented this secluded spot wasn’t much different from Jin’s.

“Got anything else lined up? If not, how about stepping out for a bit to sip on something? It’s Saturday, after all. Can’t spend the whole day working like a dog.”

Park mimed the motion of downing a shot of soju. Jin, unimpressed, brushed away Park’s hand from his mouth as if telling him to give it up.

“I’m heading straight home.”

The unusual act of personally escorting a witness outside aligned with Jin’s plans to clock out early.

“No way! Don’t tell me the rumors are true—are you actually a single dad? You’ve got a kid, and you’re not even married?”

“Oh yeah, my life revolves around watching my kid show off their cute antics.”

Jin stubbed out his cigarette, leaving behind only the butt, and walked off toward the parking lot, leaving Park puffing smoke behind him. Speaking of which, last night had been something else.

When he returned home at 10 PM after finishing work, Jin wasn’t greeted by his ugly bull terrier but rather by the sight of a house in utter chaos. The trail of destruction started from the bathroom with strewn clumps of tissue, spilled glassware from a toppled cabinet, and even a pot that somehow made its way from the kitchen to the entrance where Jin stood.

If not for the telltale traces of feces and urine scattered everywhere, Jin might have suspected a particularly daring burglar had ransacked his place. But the actual culprit was cowering and trembling in a corner of the sofa.

With an exasperated laugh, Jin ignored the dog and began tidying up the house piece by piece. Once everything was back to its pristine state—just as it had been when he left for work—Nari retreated even further into the corner. If Jin had taken the dog in out of love, he might have embraced and comforted it, but instead, he found the situation awkward and baffling.

Having never raised a pet before, Jin had no clue where to even start. For a moment, he considered handing Nari over to his brother, who lived in a house with a yard, but the thought passed quickly. He had taken responsibility for Nari and resolved to handle things himself.

But why had he done it in the first place? Over the years, Jin had dealt with countless unfair cases that left him fuming until he reached for a drink. He had met students who became heads of their households overnight due to murder cases. Yet his role as a prosecutor ended with taking statements, without letting personal feelings influence his work.

Even in hindsight, it was puzzling that he had adopted the dog, which had been huddled in a cramped cage with wary eyes. Sympathy alone didn’t seem to explain it. Jin had never placed animals above people, and if it had been pure compassion, he’d have directed it toward humans instead.

By taking a shortcut, Jin managed to avoid rush-hour traffic and parked in the basement of his officetel. As he took his hands off the wheel, he checked the time: 3:15 PM. His habit of clocking out on the dot every other day was already stirring complaints from Seon Wookjae and Lee Inyeong. He figured he’d likely have to go into work tomorrow, even though it was Sunday.

Witness interviews were usually handled on weekdays, barring exceptional cases like today. With an impending major investigation approaching, there wasn’t much room to differentiate between weekends and weekdays.

Jin exited the elevator while pulling out his phone. He’d been too busy since morning to take any personal calls and checked his missed calls while punching in his door lock code.

Some calls were from saved contacts, but one early-morning number was unfamiliar. As he entered his apartment, he dialed it back. After a few rings, a pleasant female voice answered.

— Hello, Twin Animal Hospital.

Ah, he had planned to visit them today anyway—for both an external injury and the vet’s assessment.

“I saw a missed call from you this morning and thought I’d return it.”

— Oh… are you by any chance Nari’s guardian?

As Jin removed his shoes, his gaze landed on the mess in his living room. Sure enough, the white figure lying in the center of the chaos was Nari, panting and retching on the floor.

“I’ll call you back later.”

He hastily ended the call, put his shoes back on, and rushed into the living room. Scooping Nari into his arms, he could feel the dog’s heart pounding frantically as if it might stop at any moment.

Jin opened Nari’s mouth to check for obstructions but found nothing. Glancing around, he spotted a torn-up chocolate wrapper. It was from a box of chocolates Lee Inyeong had given him over a year ago for stressful days.

Hoisting the dog over his shoulder, Jin cradled him securely and dashed out of the house. With the elevator delayed, he took the stairs to the parking lot, only to find his car blocked by another vehicle parked askew.

There was no time to call the number posted on the offending car. Hearing Nari’s ragged wheezes, Jin decided to run. The animal hospital was about 1 km away—he could make it.

Jin weaved through the weekend crowd, sprinting toward the hospital. The rapid thumping of Nari’s heartbeat against his shoulder felt even faster than before.

Finally, Jin reached the animal hospital. After a deep breath to steady himself, he pushed through the door. The waiting clients and the staff at the front desk looked up in surprise as Jin entered, still catching his breath. Lee Seolhwa, who had been cheerfully assisting someone, quickly rushed over.

“Nari’s guardian, is everything okay?”

“I need to see the vet immediately,” Jin said, patting Nari’s back to soothe him. The dog’s half-lidded eyes and repeated dry heaves painted a grim picture.

“Oh no, what happened to Nari?”

Lee Seolhwa took Nari from Jin and knocked on the examination room door. Inside, Han Naeyung turned his attention to Nari, who was already lying on the examination table. Seeing the dog’s labored breathing and convulsions, Han’s expression grew serious.

“Did he eat anything besides his usual food?” Han asked, his tone brisk.

Jin, now calmer, responded steadily. “He ate some expired chocolate. That’s likely the cause.”

“Nari’s father, chocolate? The expiration date isn’t the issue here!”

Lee Seolhwa, who had been pacing nervously, raised his voice sharply. Han Naeyung also stood up immediately.

“How long ago did he eat it?”

“I’ve been alone since this morning, so I don’t know when he ate it.”

“Seolhwa, please prepare hydrogen peroxide and saline.”

Before Han Naeyung could finish his sentence, she dashed out and returned quickly, holding an IV set and syringe. While Nari was still retching, Han Naeyung forced the dog’s mouth open and injected hydrogen peroxide from the syringe.

The dog struggled, refusing to swallow, but Han Naeyung persisted, repeating the process. The dog, being a former fighting breed, was much harder to manage compared to a regular medium-sized dog. Jin, who had been watching awkwardly, stepped forward to help, holding the dog firmly and tilting its snout upward to prevent it from spitting out the hydrogen peroxide.

“Does this work?”

Han Naeyung nodded. He injected the rest of the hydrogen peroxide and gently massaged the dog’s abdomen. After repeating this several times, he gestured for Jin to let go. As soon as Jin placed Nari back on the examination table, the dog began vomiting an alarming amount of chocolate.

Thankfully, Lee Seolhwa had covered the table with a plastic sheet beforehand, preventing a mess. Though the exact amount the dog had eaten was unclear, it took a while before Nari finished vomiting and collapsed, exhausted. Watching this, Lee Seolhwa removed the soiled sheet and cleaned the dog’s fur thoroughly. Jin exhaled deeply, his breath catching more than it had when he’d rushed over earlier.

“You should know this by now, Nari’s father—chocolate is toxic to dogs. They can’t metabolize theobromine.”

Lee Seolhwa’s voice, as he crumpled the sheet into a trash bag, was sharp. It wasn’t just in his head. Meanwhile, Han Naeyung attached an IV with saline to Nari’s limp leg, as if the chaotic struggle from earlier had never happened.

Given that some time had likely passed since ingestion, the remaining toxins would need to be flushed out via urination. Jin stroked Nari’s head gently. He never imagined the dog would dig up chocolate buried deep in the pantry, something they barely even remembered owning.

“We’ll need to monitor him for about a day.”

Watching Jin stroke Nari’s head, Han Naeyung remarked. The problem was that the small clinic didn’t have a cage large enough for a dog of Nari’s size. Han Naeyung’s options were to keep the dog nearby or tie him in a corner. Lifting the dog from the examination table, he carried him to a small sofa in the corner.

“Would it be alright if I stayed for a while?”

Jin, standing a few steps behind, asked. Han Naeyung, without looking directly at him, quietly replied, “Sure.” Jin sat on the sofa, resting Nari’s head on his lap. Exhausted from the rapid deterioration in strength, the once-wary Nari closed his eyes, panting lightly.

Returning to his desk, Han Naeyung removed his soiled gloves and tossed them in the trash before putting on a fresh pair. Just as he did, Lee Seolhwa peeked through the door.

“Doctor, should I send in the next patient?”

Han Naeyung nodded and locked eyes with Jin, who had been sitting quietly across the room. Jin’s gaze, while stroking Nari, had been fixed on him for a while. Han Naeyung looked away first, greeting the next visitor—a woman holding a Maltese—with a polite nod.

“Is that dog over there alright?” the woman asked nervously, glancing at the IV.

“Yes, he’s fine now, thanks to the doctor’s efforts,” Jin replied with a sheepish smile, feeling apologetic for having jumped the queue.

“Oh, our doctor is so skilled and kind!”

Despite her compliment, Han Naeyung took the Maltese with a neutral expression. Her worried question—“He’s been coughing a lot and having diarrhea. It’s nothing serious, is it?”—was met with the vet’s calm diagnosis: “It’s a cold.”

When the injection was administered, the tiny dog let out a series of loud squeals. Jin, watching the little Maltese, glanced at Nari. Strangely, the large dog seemed far more pitiful. Finally settling, Nari began snoring softly, perhaps starting to feel better.

As two or three more patients came and went, the clinic grew quieter. Han Naeyung spent his time typing up charts on the computer or reading thick veterinary textbooks, making a concerted effort to avoid looking at Jin. Jin quickly noticed.

It was amusing, like how an innocent civilian might instinctively avoid eye contact with a police officer. Stroking Nari’s head, Jin was the first to break the silence.

“How’s your wrist?”

Han Naeyung, who had been absorbed in a book, finally looked up, though his gaze remained downward. His blinking eyes gradually focused on Jin.

A small, sharp sensation pricked Jin’s fingertips. He recognized the feeling but chose to ignore it. There was no reason to entertain such thoughts about this doctor.

“If your wrist still hurts, I’ll cover all treatment costs.”

“My wrist… is fine.”

Han Naeyung’s tone had returned to its usual slow cadence. It wasn’t that he had spoken faster earlier—he had simply spoken more than usual while treating Nari.

“Are you always this quiet?” Jin’s question wasn’t meant to offend; he was merely curious. For a veterinary clinic, a service-based industry, Han Naeyung’s stiffness seemed counterintuitive—unless clients came just for his face.

Without replying, Han Naeyung lowered his head again, the soft rustle of pages filling the clinic.

Though his eyes scanned various texts, nothing registered. His nerves were on edge, solely because the man before him was a prosecutor.

As he turned the page, the gloves’ lack of friction caused several pages to stick together. After a few failed attempts, he finally managed to flip to the next page when Jin’s voice broke the silence.

“Wouldn’t it be better to remove your gloves while reading?”

“I have a compulsive cleanliness habit.”

“But that’s a paper book.”

Han Naeyung paused. While he could handle things like examining animals or touching doorknobs without gloves, touching paper with bare hands felt different. Slowly, he closed the book and looked at Jin. There was no suspicion in his gaze—just an objective observation.

“You can leave Nari here and go.”

Han Naeyung gestured toward the snoring dog on Jin’s lap. Jin smiled faintly.

“Am I in your way?”

“Yes.”

The curt and clear response made Jin chuckle softly.

“Hm. I see.”

Han Naeyung watched him silently.

“But I’m still worried, so I plan to stay until closing.”

Jin’s brows furrowed slightly, though his lips maintained a faint smile.

* * *

Honestly, Jin could have left Nari in their care and walked out right away. The dog was resting comfortably now, and there wasn’t much to worry about. The veterinarian turned out to be surprisingly reliable.

Staying despite such treatment wasn’t entirely rational—it felt akin to the inexplicable impulse that drove him to rescue the caged Nari in the first place. Perhaps he simply sought respite from work-induced fatigue. The quiet calm of the veterinarian’s office had an oddly soothing quality, despite being a place for animal care.

The warmth of the sleeping dog and the occasional soft scent of an air freshener created a gentle ambiance reminiscent of spring sunlight. Knowing that the bitter cold awaited him outside only made it harder to leave. Gradually, his tension eased, and before long, Jin dozed off in the occasional bustle of the clinic.

When he awoke, Jin slowly opened his eyes, rubbing his stiff neck. Rotating his head side to side to work out the crick, he took in his surroundings once more—the animal hospital.

He must have been more tired than he thought to fall asleep here.

“…right?”

A woman’s voice drew his attention as he blinked his still-blurry vision into focus. A large retriever sat by her side, while a cat perched on her shoulder, moving delicately from one side to the other.

“I’m convinced my Sarang is scared of Himang. Look at them—the big guy can’t even stand up to the little one. Just watch.”

The woman placed the cat in front of the retriever, who flinched and backed away despite its massive size. The cat lightly batted at the retriever’s snout, clearly enjoying the mischief, while the retriever simply looked at its owner with pleading eyes.

Han Naeyung observed the scene quietly before standing. Picking up the cat with practiced ease, the animal stretched out languidly in his arms, every bit the epitome of feline flexibility. When he returned to his seat, the retriever cautiously approached him, its anxious eyes darting between the cat and Han Naeyung. The vet gently patted the retriever between the eyes before speaking.

“There’s no need to worry.”

“How can you say that? You just saw it yourself!”

“It’s not fear; it’s restraint. Your dog understands its strength and knows you value this cat. That’s why it doesn’t retaliate.”

Han Naeyung handed the purring cat back to the woman.

“Do you really think so?”

“Yes.”

“Then my Sarang is amazing. Always so considerate. Thank you, doctor.”

The woman affectionately ruffled the retriever’s thick fur as she led the dog away.

Once the appointment concluded, Jin and Han Naeyung found themselves once again facing each other. Or rather, Han Naeyung’s gaze lingered on Jin’s lap. Jin became acutely aware of the warm weight there and glanced down.

Nari, seemingly awake for some time now, stared up at him from under slightly slitted eyes. Normally, the dog would shiver or freeze at a human’s touch, but it appeared strangely at ease.

“Do animals sense human emotions?” Jin asked as he stroked Nari’s ear.

“…I’m not sure.”

“Just earlier, you said dogs hold back because they know they’re loved.”

Han Naeyung silently closed the book he had been reading.

“Right. I did say that.”

The vet, who had been remarkably conversational with his last client, now seemed uninterested in continuing this particular exchange. Jin’s earlier worries about the clinic’s business due to Han Naeyung’s terse demeanor now felt misplaced.

As Han Naeyung shut down the computer, he walked around the desk and approached Jin. He stopped at a distance where neither could feel the other’s breath or warmth.

“It’s closing time.”

That wasn’t an answer to the question, but Jin didn’t push for one.

“Then is it fine if I take him now?”

After a brief pause, Han Naeyung shook his head.

“As I mentioned earlier, we need to monitor him for at least another day.”

The repetition of the earlier statement carried a subtle undertone of fatigue, as if speaking itself was a chore.

“If I leave him alone here, I might be back tomorrow,” Jin said with a faint smirk.

“…?”

“I’m saying the clinic could look like a crime scene—this guy would be the culprit.”

Nari let out a soft grumble, as if understanding the words. Han Naeyung stepped closer, extending his hand for the leash. His voice, cool and low, seemed to drift above Jin.

“I’m off tomorrow, so come back Monday to pick him up.”

It was an offer to personally care for Nari until then.

“That’s too much to ask,” Jin replied, clearly hesitant.

“I’ll keep an eye on him.”

The line in the sand was unmistakable—Han Naeyung had no interest in further discussion.

Jin twirled the leash around his finger, a wry smile tugging at his lips. Most people, at least the majority, tended to show him favor. Those who didn’t usually fell into the categories of criminals or defendants.

The vet was neither, yet displayed no trace of warmth or hostility.

Was it pride? Curiosity? Or just stubbornness?

Finally, Jin handed over the leash, a quiet laugh escaping him as he realized it was probably all of the above.

As Han Naeyung gently tugged Nari into his arms and removed the IV, his voice echoed faintly over Jin’s head.