BITM Ch1

The children gathered around the blooming muscari flowers, sitting in a huddle.

The muscari, with its long flower stalks, seemed like it would make a tinkling sound if you tapped it. The deep lavender-colored flower stalks swayed with the breeze, releasing a musky scent.

Jaemin and Umin sniffed the air. Then Jaemin rested his chin on his hand.

“Hyung, why do flowers have a fragrance?”

Gyo Jin, who had been standing next to the children, crouched down and looked at their two little heads with affection. “Hurry and tell him,” Jaemin urged Umin. Umin, who had been fiddling with his fingers, spoke in a voice as soft as cotton candy.

“Because flowers breathe, too.”

“Flowers breathe!?”

Jaemin was so surprised that he sat down abruptly. His mouth hung open.

“I learned that everything alive in the world breathes. You shouldn’t step on it or kill it. It stops breathing.”

Umin nodded, then looked up at Gyo Jin.

Instead of answering, Gyo Jin scratched his cheek awkwardly. Jaemin, shaking off the dirt from his bottom, ran toward the opposite flower patch. Umin, watching him, extended his hand to Gyo Jin. It was a gesture that seemed to ask for help, which made Gyo Jin smile. It made him happy to see Umin, who had been shy, now fully opening up.

It was just when Gyo Jin was about to take his hand and call his name that Gyo Jin’s hand twitched.

* * *

“Doctor, our Ggakkung will be fine, right?”

The woman, who favored faux fur coats, looked at the tiny long-haired Chihuahua with teary eyes. The sapphire ring squeezing her chubby fingers matched the gem on the Chihuahua’s leash, making them seem like a set. The man, referred to as “doctor,” gently lifted the Chihuahua. His pale fingers tangled with the black fur of the Chihuahua, highlighting his pallor.

“Our Ggakkung will really be okay, right?”

The woman expressed her unease again to the silent doctor.

“It’s just a cold,” he said.

His voice was low, as if it had been locked up for a while. The doctor inserted a needle into the trembling Chihuahua, whose sniffles were accompanied by a pitiful whine.

“If he just takes his medicine properly, he’ll be fine, right? I’ll monitor him for a few days, and if it gets worse, I’ll come back.”

The woman’s expression brightened compared to before as she spoke the words the doctor should have said. When the doctor placed the Chihuahua back on the treatment table, the woman quickly snatched up the little dog. The doctor’s hand retreated even faster.

“You must have been so scared, Ggakkung. The doctor gave you a shot, so you’ll get all better now.”

The woman, undeterred by the dog’s runny nose, showered the Chihuahua’s nose with kisses. She then expressed her gratitude to the doctor, who responded with a polite nod.

After the woman left, the doctor pushed back a worn-out wheeled chair. He retrieved white cotton gloves from a drawer and carefully slipped them onto his hands before standing.

The doctor’s pale skin seemed as though it might blend into the white coat that reached his knees. Whether it was due to his neatly placed black hair or his flawless white skin, the color of his lips stood out starkly. Fastening the wrist buttons of his gloves, he opened the door to the treatment room.

“Mix this with honey and feed it to him. Avoid bathing Ggakkung for a while. If there’s improvement, you don’t need to come back. But if his condition remains the same as today, visit us again in two days.”

Lee Seolhwa, the sole veterinary assistant at the animal hospital, prepared the medicine and handed over Ggakkung’s medical card. The Chihuahua, nestled in the folds of the woman’s purple fur coat, was so tiny that it was hard to spot unless one actively searched for him.

“Oh my, doctor. Did you come to see us off with Ggakkung?”

The woman, who was packing the items Lee Seolhwa had handed her, asked with a hint of surprise. The doctor hesitated for a moment before shaking his head.

“Oh, our doctor is so shy. But he cares so much for Ggakkung!”

Lee Seolhwa laughed brightly, raising her voice. She often found herself sweating nervously because of the doctor’s blunt and straightforward demeanor.

The woman, aware that the doctor was not particularly affable, still felt reassured entrusting her pet to him because he didn’t display any mercenary attitude. She had encountered many animal hospitals that recommended excessive treatments just for profit, so she trusted the honest doctor. His appearance didn’t hurt, either.

“I really wish you did grooming services here, too. It’s so hard to find a place I can trust with Ggakkung.”

“There’s no space for grooming here. It’s too cramped. Even our application for a shelter for abandoned dogs was rejected because of the size.”

“Oh my, were you trying to do something so good?”

“The doctor applied to rehome abandoned pets because he felt sorry for them, but we were turned down because the place was too small. It’s truly unfortunate.”

As Lee Seolhwa and the woman chatted, the doctor glanced at the clock on the wall near the entrance. The small hand pointed to 11.

Sparse neon signs flickered in the darkness outside. As he looked at the clock again, the click-clack of high heels echoed. The doctor moved aside, giving way.

“Doctor, I’ll be off now,” the woman said, exchanging a second farewell glance with the doctor before opening the door. The bell that rang as the door opened fell silent when it closed.

Lee Seolhwa, following the doctor’s gaze to the clock, spoke as if she’d just remembered something.

“Oh, I forgot to change the battery.”

Dragging over a one-person step stool, she removed her shoes. As she prepared to climb up, the doctor gestured for her to stop.

“I’ll do it.”

She smiled faintly at the sight of his white gloves and handed him the replacement battery. The doctor climbed up and took down the clock, blowing off the thin layer of dust. As she handed him the battery and observed him adjusting the time, Lee Seolhwa said,

“It’s 6:55 now, so just set it to 7.”

As the doctor adjusted the clock’s hands, the sound of keyboard typing filled the room.

“By the way, there was a reservation earlier. Should I cancel it? I told them we’d be closing soon, but they said they’d come right over.”

“It’s fine.”

The doctor hung the now-ticking clock back in its original place. As he moved the chair back, she addressed him again.

“And I’ve placed the order for the medications you listed on the chart. By the way, I heard that Wanggwang from Wookyung’s family was euthanized the other day. They said they had no choice because he was suffering so much.”

Lee Seolhwa’s eyes turned red in an instant. Wanggwang was an elderly dog who had been a frequent visitor to the clinic. At over 15 years old, treating him had been no easy task. For three months, they had managed to keep him alive through medication. When the owner, unable to bear the sight of the dog’s suffering, requested euthanasia, the doctor had referred them to another clinic.

She had seen many animals struggling to even breathe pass away through euthanasia. Yet, not once had it been performed at this hospital.

When an owner was resolute about euthanasia, like in Wanggwang’s case, the doctor would simply connect them to another hospital. After all, who could feel at ease ending a life? But there were times when it was an unavoidable duty for a veterinarian. The doctor, however, had always avoided it. Why, though?

As the thought puzzled her, she tilted her head in curiosity.

“Doctor, by the way… pentobarbital—”

“Woof! Bark! Ruff!”

The loud barking that started outside the glass door made both the doctor and Lee Seolhwa turn their heads.

A man tugging tightly on a leash was engaged in a struggle with a bull terrier, who braced its front legs stiffly, resisting being dragged. The bull terrier dug its claws into the ground as if to root itself in place, prompting the man to click his tongue. Then, with a surprising burst of strength, he hoisted the unusually large bull terrier, even for a medium-sized dog, into his arms.

The man, now carrying the dog under one arm, walked briskly inside. His shoulders and hair were damp from the drizzle that had started at sunset.

The dog, whose slitted eyes darted anxiously, froze the moment the man lifted it. The doctor and Lee Seolhwa silently observed the man, who furrowed his brows slightly and spoke.

“Hello. I’m the one who made a reservation earlier.”

“Oh, you’re the one who wanted a full checkup for your pet?” Lee Seolhwa exclaimed, clapping her hands as she glanced at the monitor.

“Yes.”

“Could you start by filling this out?”

Standing at the desk, she handed over a pen and a registration card bearing the clinic’s name. The man set the dog down and took the pen with the hand not holding the leash. After a brief pause, he spun the pen once in his hand and asked,

“Do I have to write the dog’s name as well?”

“Pardon? The dog…?”

Her gaze shifted to the bull terrier’s owner, puzzled by his casual use of the word. Referring to one’s pet as just “the dog” struck her as oddly detached.

“Hmm, it doesn’t have a name.”

The man muttered this as he looked down at the cowering dog.

Clad in a black suit and tie, he appeared to ponder briefly before putting pen to paper. Despite the suit, his robust physique was evident. The doctor, having glanced at the man, quickly lost interest and walked toward the door.

Flipping the “Closed” sign forward, he indicated that the bull terrier would be the final patient for the day.

The doctor entered the consultation room, waiting for the man to bring the dog. It took longer than expected, likely due to the paperwork, but eventually, the door opened. The doctor gave the man a polite nod, which was returned in kind.

“I’ll leave it in your hands.”

His voice was as bold as his appearance. The man once again hoisted the dog, which was reluctant to enter, and set it down on the treatment table with a thud. The dog’s short tail drooped, and its body language was one of extreme unease.

The bull terrier, trembling more pitifully than the Chihuahua from earlier, even urinated a little on the table. Removing his gloves, the doctor began examining the dog. There was clearly something more to the creature’s terror than simple timidity.

A knock at the door interrupted them, followed by Lee Seolhwa entering.

“Doctor, it seems there’s an issue with the system; the records aren’t saving properly. It’s been acting up a lot lately.”

Carrying a handwritten chart as a backup, she briefly glanced at the doctor’s ungloved hands and decided to place the chart in front of him instead of handing it over directly.

“Just call if you need me.”

She smiled warmly before leaving the room. The man, who had been standing the entire time, plopped down into the chair in front of the treatment table. He brushed the moisture off his shoulders.

“Please check if there’s anything wrong with this one.”

The man’s calm gaze observed the doctor, who focused solely on the dog.

The man had expected a veterinarian to be someone affable, perhaps like a kind neighborhood uncle. But this doctor, with his striking presence, looked like someone who could easily grace the pages of a magazine.

The jet-black hair, as if dyed, and the pale skin that seemed like it would be sullied at the slightest touch, paired with lips that stood out in a strikingly vivid red…

In a word, he did not look like an ordinary person.

The firmly closed lips exuded an air so cold it felt like frost might escape when they parted. There was an unusual chill about him. The man’s gaze, which had been surveying the veterinarian, halted at his chest.

Director: Han Naeyung.

Although it was a small clinic, the title of “Director” seemed far too mature for someone who appeared so young.

Han Naeyung.

The man silently repeated the name to himself before abruptly cutting off his thoughts. He let out a faint smirk, aware that his habit of scrutinizing everything was a professional affliction.

One peculiar thing was that most people would feel uncomfortable under such intense observation, but the director didn’t even glance his way.

Was he used to being stared at, or was he simply ignoring him? The man pulled out his vibrating phone from his pocket and asked,

“Is this going to take long?”

Han Naeyung, who had been firmly gripping the muscular front leg of the dog, lifted his head toward the man.

“There’s something I didn’t mention. That dog has a history of being a fighting dog.”

The man belatedly shared this crucial piece of information. Finally, Han Naeyung opened the mouth that had remained shut until now.

“Go to another clinic.”

As expected, Han Naeyung’s voice carried a sharp chill. Perhaps it was the faint trace of hostility in his gaze that made it feel even colder. Just as he moved to put the dog down, the man spoke again.

“It’s not currently a fighting dog. From today, I’m the one taking care of it.”

Despite this, Han Naeyung set the tense dog back down, put on his gloves, and took hold of the leash. The man didn’t look at the hand reaching toward him but instead observed Han Naeyung.

Was this his way of saying that unless he could prove the dog wasn’t a fighting dog, he wouldn’t help? The man didn’t particularly mind going to another clinic, but wasting time pointlessly wasn’t an option. His phone, which was ringing incessantly, attested to that urgency.

“It barely survived. Can’t you take a look at it?”

After a moment’s hesitation, Han Naeyung let go of the leash. Setting the dog back on the examination table, he drew blood without further delay. The man had expected to need a more compelling excuse.

Han Naeyung seemed surprisingly compliant, the man thought.

“The test results will be out the day after tomorrow.”

“So, you’re saying there’s nothing visibly wrong?”

“It’s in a highly unstable condition. You’ll need to monitor it continuously.”

The man found himself thinking that Han Naeyung’s clinical demeanor seemed more suited to a coroner than a veterinarian. His pale neck was reminiscent of the pallor just before death, making the impression even stronger.

“Very well. I’ll come back the day after tomorrow. I’m counting on you from now on.”

Though the man extended his hand for a handshake, Han Naeyung merely placed the leash on the table. Undeterred by the ignored gesture, the man picked up the leash.

“Let’s go, Nari.”

The dog, which had been trembling uncontrollably, perked up its ears. However, its legs still refused to budge, so the man ended up tucking it under his arm again.

Without sparing a glance at the man leaving the clinic, Han Naeyung focused on the new patient chart.

The man’s handwriting was notably messy.

* * *

Han Naeyung’s daily routine was monotonous.

He rose promptly at 7 a.m., showered, dressed neatly, and ate breakfast alone. Tidiness was second nature to him, and he conducted a thorough cleaning of his space three times a week.

After smoothing out his bed sheets without a single wrinkle, he would head straight to his workplace on the first floor—a routine that defined his life.

If not for the incessant buzzing of his phone, today would have been no different from yesterday. He picked up the phone resting on the dining table. There was no need to check the caller ID; there was only one place that would call.

“…Yes.”

At his languid response, a sigh came from the other end of the line.

“Do I always have to be the one to call first?”

The middle-aged woman’s voice carried a mix of disappointment and concern. Han Naeyung switched his grip on the phone as he pulled on his gloves.

“You’re eating properly, right?”

“Yes. Please make sure you eat well too, Mother.”

“Your father’s worried about you too. Take care of your health and don’t skip meals.”

“Thank you.”

Thank you for raising me. I don’t want to burden you any further.

Han Naeyung swallowed the words in his heart.

“‘Thank you,’ you say. There’s no need for such words between parent and child. But next time, why don’t you call first? I’ll be waiting.”

She hung up before he could respond. Knowing it was a difficult request for him, she had spared him the need to answer.

His gaze drifted to the far corner of the living room, where a door stood firmly shut. It was sealed so tightly that not even air seemed to pass through.

Perhaps it was because he had been unusually absent-minded this morning, but he left home slightly later than usual.

The two-story building nestled between two commercial buildings had been a gift from his parents the year after he passed the veterinary licensing exam.

The second floor was his residence, while the first floor housed his animal clinic. Sandwiched between larger establishments, the building was almost unnoticeable, but its business fared reasonably well thanks to the lack of competing clinics within a 3-kilometer radius.

Descending the stairs, he retrieved a set of keys from his pocket. Despite the cold weather that made his breath visible, the chill of the metal didn’t register through his gloves. Locking the door, he stepped out.

A damp mist, laden with cold moisture, settled on his eyelids. He blinked it away and turned his gaze toward the fog-shrouded building opposite before veering to the right.

A man stood in front of the animal hospital, arms crossed, white breath escaping his lips. A leash was wrapped around his wrist, and following its line downward revealed a still-sullen Bull Terrier. Han Naeyung nodded slightly toward the guest who had arrived earlier than expected.

“The sign says we open at 8:30, but you’re five minutes late,” the man remarked, his tone carrying a tinge of irritation. He seemed pressed for time, glancing at his phone even as he spoke.

“I’ll open it now,” Han Naeyung replied.

Raising the hand holding the key, Han Naeyung stepped up on his toes to unlock the latch at the top of the glass door. He then entered the passcode on the central door lock before pulling the door halfway open.

As the man and his dog entered, Han Naeyung followed, holding the door. Inside, the cold was no different from outside, and faint breath clouds formed in front of the two men. While Han Naeyung adjusted the indoor heater’s temperature, the man headed straight for the examination room.

Though a week had passed since the Bull Terrier’s test results had come out, the man had only now returned. He looked extremely busy. Lee Seolhwa had speculated he might have gone to another hospital, feeling regretful, but Han Naeyung had a different thought—this man might be involved with dogfighting rings. Perhaps he had lied to assess the dog’s condition. After all, traces of steroids had been found in the dog.

“What are the test results?” the man asked bluntly as Han Naeyung entered the room.

Han Naeyung turned on the computer to locate the test report, though he had already reviewed it in detail. “There are no abnormalities in the metrics. However,” he began.

“However?” The man’s eyes seemed to press him to continue.

“Steroids were detected,” Han Naeyung stated, locking eyes with the man.

The man clicked his tongue, seemingly unaware of this. “Probably administered at the fighting ring,” Han Naeyung continued. “Fortunately, no life-threatening side effects are apparent.”

His slow, deliberate tone matched his demeanor. The man found himself once again observing the vivid redness of Han Naeyung’s lips, which seemed almost out of place as the warming temperature began to dissolve his visible breath.

“So, you’re saying no further treatment is necessary?” the man probed.

“That depends on the progress—”

Before Han Naeyung could finish, the door to the examination room burst open. “Whew, it’s freezing. Doctor, I’m here! The fog today is no jok—Oh, I’m sorry,” exclaimed Lee Seolhwa, bundled in a thick padded coat. She widened her eyes at the unexpected presence of a guest.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t realize there was a client,” she said, beginning to close the door quietly. But her eyes grew even wider when she recognized the man. “Oh… Nari’s owner?”

The man chuckled softly at the title. “Well, looks like I’ve suddenly become a single dad to a fur baby,” he joked, patting the head of the nervous dog at his side. A brief silence settled over the room, broken only by the faint buzz of vibrations. Pulling out his phone, the man gestured apologetically before answering the call. Listening for a long moment, he finally spoke, “My dog’s unwell. I’ll be there shortly.”

— Dog?! Sir!

The angry shout from the other end of the line seemed loud enough to pierce the eardrum. Ending the call, the man unexpectedly handed the leash over to Han Naeyung. “I apologize, but I’ll pick him up this evening.”

As he moved to intervene, Lee Seolhwa interjected, “I’m sorry, but we don’t offer pet boarding services.”

The man gave a faintly bitter smile, continuing in a charming tone, “Leaving him home alone makes me uneasy. He seems to need companionship, but perhaps due to his past, he doesn’t get along with other dogs.”

It was a plausible excuse. Despite the cold having eased, the dog was still trembling. Han Naeyung gazed at it expressionlessly before accepting the leash with his gloved hand.

“We close at 7 p.m.,” he stated.

“Surely you wouldn’t leave him tied to a post even if I’m a bit late,” the man quipped. Despite Han Naeyung’s cold demeanor—enough to make one think he might do just that—the man seemed confident that this doctor wasn’t the type.

Without waiting for confirmation, the man quickly scribbled something on a notepad atop the examination table and handed it to Lee Seolhwa. “Call this number if anything comes up. I’ll be back tonight.”

The man left without another word, his footsteps brisk. Holding the note, Lee Seolhwa looked dumbfounded, glancing between the departing man and Han Naeyung seated across from her.

With the owner gone, the dog’s anxiety intensified. It began circling frantically, its leash tangling. Sighing, Lee Seolhwa crouched to meet the dog at eye level, wrapping it tightly in her arms. The dog, calmed by the human touch, stopped its frantic pacing and instead glanced around nervously.

“Doctor, what’s gotten into you?” she asked cautiously. “You don’t usually agree to things like this.”

“…”

It was true—while the clinic occasionally kept animals for a few hours, they had never offered full-day care. Han Naeyung let go of the leash, removing his gloves. Kneeling down, he began gently pressing and massaging the dog’s face and legs. The dog seemed to relax slightly under his touch.

“Is it because Nari used to be a fighting dog?” she asked softly.