BITM Ch4
by soapa“It’s a relief.”
Jin was somewhat surprised that Han Naeyung had been the first to speak. After a brief pause, Jin nodded, glancing down at Nari.
“It’s fortunate he’s sturdy.”
The dog, with his massive head, which was far from conventionally cute, hung it low. Han Naeyung gently shook his head.
“That too, but also because you handled it calmly.”
Even though it seemed like you were quite shaken. Jin muttered the words to himself.
“Most people tend to panic in situations like this.”
Then, Han Naeyung lifted the cowering dog into his arms.
For a man who didn’t seem particularly strong, he supported the dog effortlessly with one arm—a clear indication that he was indeed a seasoned veterinarian. Jin, who had been lounging comfortably on the sofa, also stood up.
Stepping outside, Jin noticed that Lee Seolhwa had already left for the day. The hospital’s lights were dim, suggesting that the last client’s visit had been rather late.
Jin walked over to the desk where Han Naeyung stood holding Nari, and handed over his card.
“Please include the amount I wasn’t able to settle earlier.”
Han Naeyung moved his mouse to add the outstanding amount and swiped the card. After signing and glancing at the total, Jin’s expression shifted to mild surprise.
“The bill is lower than I expected.”
The amount Han Naeyung had charged was far less than anticipated. From what Jin had heard, even minor procedures at animal hospitals could easily rack up tens of thousands.
“Well… maybe that’s why we manage to stay afloat.”
His tone suggested an awareness of his own lack of warmth.
Of course, it was Jin who found himself quietly marveling at the steady stream of clients. Jin folded the receipt in half and slipped it into his wallet before roughly ruffling Nari’s head as he rested in Han Naeyung’s arms.
“See you the day after tomorrow. Please take care of him until then.”
“Of course.”
“And have a nice weekend, Doctor.”
After the brief exchange of pleasantries, Jin stepped out of the animal hospital. The wind was sharp, biting rather than merely cold. Jin shoved his hands into his pockets and gradually slowed his pace.
Breathing out a puff of white mist, he turned his head. The sign of the animal hospital was already dark. Hidden among the dazzling neon signs, the unlit hospital blended into the surroundings as if it had deliberately vanished.
Jin replayed Han Naeyung’s words in his mind. Handled it calmly… or rather, coldly. It was true—he hadn’t lost his composure amidst the commotion. He hadn’t believed for a second that a dog’s life could be endangered by something as trivial as chocolate, and even if he had known it was serious, his actions likely wouldn’t have been any different.
In urgent situations, the best course of action was logical judgment followed by cold precision. Jin thought that the doctor might be of the same ilk, someone who could assess and comment on another’s actions because of their shared disposition. A keen-eyed doctor, to say the least.
The House in the Flower Garden lived up to its name, blooming with flowers every spring.
For Jin, it had been home. Yet, he couldn’t bring himself to call it “my home.” Instead of parents, there was a director and a doctor, and instead of siblings, there were friends.
From the outside, the house surrounded by flowers seemed cozy, but inside, it was rotting. As a child, Jin had clung to the hope that the world beyond the flower garden would be far more comfortable. But as he grew older, that hope was replaced by the grim realization that having a roof over his head, however flawed, was better than nothing.
By keeping his head down, he avoided standing out. All he had to do was count down the days until adulthood. In a place filled with so many children, some were inexplicably favored, while others were unfairly ostracized. Jin belonged to the former category. The latter? They were two kids Jin had cared deeply for.
He had only wanted to tell them one thing: the world outside was colder than they imagined. Jin had been confident he could convince them of this—so confident it was almost naive. He realized the depth of his ignorance the day he dropped an unneeded prescription bag, its contents scattering helplessly.
The absence of rationality, the arrogance of overconfidence, the sin of ignorance—it left him with lasting trauma.
* * *
“Man, that punk is seriously impossible.”
Section Chief Seon Wookjae slammed the door to the interrogation room shut. In his hands were two paper cups, untouched by the suspect.
Jin pushed the memory of the prescription bag to the back of his mind. The day had been taxing, starting in the morning, and tensions had only escalated thanks to the parents of the suspect, who had insisted their child was innocent and demanded answers.
“If only I could give him a good smack, I’d die happy.”
Muttering under his breath, Seon Wookjae downed the cocoa in one of the cups.
“Kids these days are all like that,” someone quipped.
“What? No way. Most kids aren’t like him. It’s kids like this that give everyone a bad name.”
“So, Chief, are you saying your daughter Suhee is one of the good ones?”
Lee Inyeong’s expression suggested skepticism, as if wondering what harm a child as young as five could possibly do. Meanwhile, Jin grabbed his files and phone.
As he opened the door to the interrogation room, it was no surprise to find the suspect’s demeanor utterly appalling. The young man had his feet propped up on the table, chewing gum, his face buried in the hood of an expensive padded jacket, and his attention glued to his phone. Jin pulled out the chair opposite the suspect and sat down.
Flipping through the file and confirming the name, Jin smiled politely.
“Can I call you Wootae?”
The suspect, still rolling the gum on his tongue, gave a lazy nod.
After a brief glance at Jin, Wootae lowered his legs, placing them on the floor. His incessant typing ceased as he placed the phone on the table.
“When’s this going to end? I’ve got school.”
“I’ll make it quick and send you back soon. So, Jihyung is your classmate, right?”
In a softer tone, Jin’s question prompted a long sigh from Wootae.
“You’re a prosecutor, right?”
“That’s right. I’m in charge of your case. I’m counting on you.”
Jin extended a hand for a handshake. Wootae stared at it, then snorted.
“I don’t make it a habit to shake hands with people trying to screw me over.”
“Why do you think that?”
“Come on, quit playing dumb. Everyone knows you’re just here to put me in juvie.”
“That’s strange. I haven’t even filed any charges yet.”
The suspect’s curling lips trembled with tension.
“If you hadn’t committed a crime, I wouldn’t have any reason to mess with you, don’t you think?”
“So annoying.” The muttered words were laced with deliberate mockery, meant for Jin to hear. Jin didn’t withdraw his outstretched hand but instead picked up a pen.
“Evidence is piling up showing that Jihyung was bullied, and there’s quite a bit pointing to you, Wootae, being at the center of it.”
“Why are you blaming us for that loser killing himself? It’s so irritating.”
“Us?”
Jin spun his pen once and raised a brow.
“I’m asking you, Wootae, not anyone else.”
Jin erased the faint smile lingering on his lips as he turned his phone’s screen toward the suspect. “Take a look at this first,” he said, starting a video. Voices from the recording burst out of the speaker, filled with vulgar taunts.
“Yo, look at this bastard. He’s scared out of his mind. Hey, you little shit, are you scared? Look at the camera, Jihyung, you damn loser.”
“Isn’t this too much? What if he actually dies like this?”
“His family’s dirt poor anyway. Who knows? They might even be glad to cash in on his death.”
In the video, the victim’s face was smeared with blood, his nose pouring crimson while he lay unconscious. Someone grabbed his hair and yanked his head back and forth like a rag doll.
Jin frowned as he watched, even though he had seen the clip dozens of times before. Each viewing left a bitter taste in his mouth. The five-minute footage showed a relentless stream of beatings and insults. It hadn’t been recorded to expose the violence—it was meant as a trophy of the bullies’ actions, something to brag about.
Throughout the video, the suspect avoided eye contact, looking anywhere else but at the screen.
“Where do you think this came from?” Jin asked.
“How should I know? The kids must’ve passed it around. One of them, probably.”
Only the backs of the perpetrators were visible in the video; their voices were the only identifiers.
“So you admit you were there?”
“…”
The suspect’s gaze dropped as he seemed to ponder his next move. No doubt he was running through all possible scenarios in his head.
“But do you have any proof I hit Jihyung? The backs are all you see in that video. And that’s not even me—it’s someone else.”
His tone hinted that he was waiting for Jin to ask, Then who was it? But Jin stayed silent, so Wootae continued.
“And that video? It was just one day. The kid was getting cocky, so we taught him a lesson. I didn’t touch him after that.”
“And before that?”
“I told you, it was just that one day! God, what terrible luck.”
Jin knew it was a lie. For a year, the victim, Yu Jihyung, had been subjected to relentless bullying. There were witnesses and evidence aplenty to back that up. Jin glanced at the recording camera behind him and rose from his seat.
“That’ll do. You can go now.”
“Huh?”
Jin picked up the suspect’s phone from the desk and handed it back to him.
“You said you had to get to school, right?”
“So, I’m not being charged or anything, right?”
The suspect, seated, gazed up at Jin in disbelief. Jin only gestured toward the door with his chin. Wootae hesitated, scrutinizing Jin’s expression, which remained calm and even faintly amused.
“Tch, what a waste of time. That loser’s making trouble even in death.”
Muttering under his breath, Wootae finally followed Jin to the door.
“Oh, by the way.”
Just as Wootae was about to leave, Jin spoke up, as if he’d just remembered something.
“Did I ever say I wouldn’t press charges?”
The suspect froze, his face contorting. “What are you talking about?” he stammered, grabbing Jin’s arm in panic. Jin glanced at the hand clutching his sleeve, then firmly removed it.
“Our department only handles serious crimes. Why do you think someone like me is dealing with juvenile cases? Do you think it’s because we have too much free time? Or because serious crimes are rare?”
Wootae’s eyes darted nervously, unable to grasp Jin’s intent. Jin played the video again, focusing on a close-up of the victim, whose face was drenched in blood.
“Look closely. See the fluid dripping from Jihyung’s nose and ears? That’s not just blood. That’s cerebrospinal fluid.”
“So what? What does that even mean?”
“It means what you did qualifies as a violent felony.”
The suspect blinked, still failing to comprehend the gravity of Jin’s words. Jin didn’t wait for a reply.
“Chief, could you escort this student out?”
“What, like he’s some elementary school kid?”
The suspect, frozen in place, still hadn’t moved. He seemed utterly oblivious to the seriousness of his situation. Seon Wookjae grumbled, “Look at this guy,” and gave the suspect a shove.
“Fine, fine, I’ll go by myself!” the boy snapped, his voice suddenly full of bravado. He stomped out of the prosecutor’s office but turned back at the door, emboldened.
“Hey, Prosecutor. You do know I’m a minor, right?”
Seon Wookjae gave Jin a look that screamed, This kid is hopeless.
“Even if you charge me, I’ll have the advantage, you know?”
Jin smiled faintly. “Don’t you think we know the law better than you?”
Seon Wookjae chimed in with a smirk, “Arrogant little punk. Instead of reflecting on what you’ve done, you’re just digging your grave deeper.”
The suspect, babbling with his shallow knowledge, was sharply countered by Lee Inyeong. Sensing that things were about to escalate, Jin stepped in between them.
“Good work today. We’ll meet again soon.”
“Damn, yeah, sure. Ugh, hearing ‘let’s meet again’ from a Prosecutor is so annoying.”
It’s said that a scared animal growls more. But even comparing this to an animal felt unfair. Even the retriever he saw the other day didn’t bully smaller animals like that.
As the suspect continued, spitting out curses and slamming the door behind him, Jin remained silent, lost in thought. Lee Inyeong’s eyes burned with irritation as she watched.
“Wow, it’s been a while since I’ve seen someone so rude even after committing a crime. Jin, this one’s something else.”
“Why, Inyeong? You said the kids these days are like this, didn’t you?”
“I didn’t know they were this bad. Ugh, so frustrating.”
“Oh, someone’s getting worked up. You’re throwing out some rough language now.”
Seon Wookjae teased lightly, but he quickly caught a sharp look from Lee Inyeong, realizing his mistake. Jin, uninterested in the banter, moved the video to his laptop.
“Hey, Prosecutor.”
Lee Inyeong called out to Jin, who was focused on his laptop. His demeanor was no different from when he first came in, so she hesitated before speaking up.
“Go ahead.”
“Don’t you get upset, Prosecutor?”
She was referring to the suspect’s attitude. Both Lee Inyeong and Seon Wookjae usually didn’t take things personally, but there were days, like today, when emotions ran high. Jin, understanding this, responded nonchalantly.
“Yeah.”
Lee Inyeong was about to say he was too cold, but before she could, Jin calmly affirmed.
“We’ll win, so it’s fine.”
* * *
Having parked in a paid lot, Jin quickly moved toward the animal hospital.
Though he’d said he’d leave quickly, he’d gotten caught up in organizing court schedules, and the operating hours of the animal hospital had long passed.
The sign of the animal hospital was already off. Still, Jin kept walking, because he could faintly see light coming from inside. He approached the door to take a look.
Han Naeyung’s white coat was touching the floor. He was sitting in front of the desk, shaking a ball in his hand. Soon, the ball, about the size of a fist, flew to the sofa. The sound of claws scratching the floor came from Nari, chasing after it.
The dog, wagging its blunt tail, brought the ball back, and Han Naeyung kept throwing it. The dog, panting from playing for a long time, had its tongue hanging out.
Jin paused outside, silently watching for a while. With a neutral face, Han Naeyung gently patted Nari’s head with his bare hand. Perhaps sensing Jin’s gaze, Han Naeyung stood up, and their eyes met. Jin nodded first, and Han Naeyung greeted him with a nod in return.
“I feel like I’ve been nothing but trouble.”
Jin, stepping inside, apologized with a sincere smile.
“No, not at all.”
The dog, still holding the ball, wagged its tail and looked up at Jin. It was still acting cautious, but it seemed livelier than two days ago. When Jin gestured for the dog to come over, Nari carefully approached him, dropping the ball.
Han Naeyung took gloves out of his pocket. Jin lifted Nari into his arms, gently patting the dog’s sturdy backside. The dog froze again as soon as it was in his arms, its eyes rolling around nervously.
“How much is the extra treatment fee?”
Han Naeyung, with gloved hands, handed the ball to Jin.
“You only need to pay for the toy.”
Jin handed over some cash, and Han Naeyung gave him the change. As the ball was shaken, it made a rattling sound, and it seemed like there was paper inside. Nari’s ears perked up at the sound.
As Jin fiddled with the ball, he couldn’t help but remember Han Naeyung playing with the dog. It was an image that seemed to stick in his mind. His neutral expression, but the faint smile near his eyes, was probably what left an impression. It also seemed that the doctor avoided human contact, as evidenced by how quickly he put on gloves after Jin entered. But he didn’t seem to shower the dog with excessive affection either.
Jin quietly watched Han Naeyung take off his coat. Han Naeyung, with the coat draped over his arm, glanced at Jin before shifting his gaze toward the door. It seemed like Jin’s presence was no longer necessary, and the unspoken message was clear: it was time to leave.
As Jin put the change in his pocket, he dropped the ball. Nari, who had been holding it, immediately bolted after it when it rolled on the floor. The ball ended up near Han Naeyung’s feet, and Nari picked it up, waiting for praise.
“Seems like Nari likes you more than me.”
Jin mumbled with feigned annoyance as he approached the dog, thinking, “Well, this is a bit disappointing too.”
In a roundabout way, his actions seemed almost like he was being treated like an outsider. Still, Jin couldn’t help but smile. Whether the doctor treated him like a germ or showed kindness didn’t really matter to him. It wasn’t his concern.
“Well.”
Jin, having picked up the dog, stopped walking again after seeing Han Naeyung’s reflection in the glass window. As soon as he turned away, the doctor behaved like that. Jin turned around and said to Han Naeyung, who was taking off his gloves.
“Have you had dinner?”
Han Naeyung blinked calmly.
“I don’t eat dinner.”
“Is that usual, or just today?”
Jin immediately regretted asking, realizing he had fallen into his old habit of trying to get into details.
“….”
Han Naeyung didn’t respond, his lips still tightly pressed together. Nari, holding the ball, wagged its tail, looking around. Jin muttered to himself, “So, that’s why you’re so thin,” as he set the dog down.
“Sorry, could you watch him for a moment?”
Fearing the cold might seep in, he hurriedly shut the door and strode off purposefully somewhere. Nari, who had placed the ball at his feet, dashed to the glass door. Scratching vigorously with her claws, she almost managed to push it open.
Han Naeyung picked Nari up. The dog nestled into his arms, whining pitifully, like an abandoned lamb. Sitting on the sofa, Han Naeyung gently ran his hand over her short fur. “He’ll be back soon.” He muttered, and Nari looked up at him.
Her gaze seemed to ask, Do you know where my master went? Han Naeyung turned his eyes toward the hospital’s entrance. Jin had already disappeared from sight, leaving no clue about where he went. All Han Naeyung could do was hold the anxious Nari tightly. The warmth of the dog in his arms was high, similar to that of a small child.
It reminded him of his younger sibling, who often ran mild fevers.
Yet, truthfully… he could no longer remember that warmth. While he could vividly recall the dazzling sunlight from this morning, he had forgotten what heat it carried. All that lingered in Han Naeyung’s memory was the chilling wind that once wrapped around his body instead of his sibling’s warmth.
Beyond the window, neon signs flickered in the distance. A subtle dampness welled in his clear eyes. Blinking slowly, as if to brush away the encroaching moisture, Han Naeyung closed his eyes. Nari, resting her paws on his chest, enthusiastically licked his cheek with her warm tongue.
As a newly practicing veterinarian, Han Naeyung’s experience was limited. Yet he believed that no amount of training would ever fully explain the intuitive sense animals had for human emotions.
Taking a deep breath, Han Naeyung opened his eyes. Nari tilted her head at him curiously, her dry, black eyes blinking in mild confusion. Pausing her comforting efforts, the dog turned back to the window.
Left unattended, Nari seemed ready to wait days on end like a stone statue for her master to return. Animals Han Naeyung had cared for often displayed similar loyalty. Even those abandoned due to expensive surgery costs would wait for their owners until their dying moments.
Early in his career, Han Naeyung frequently took in such animals. But as instances of unclaimed pets grew, it became inevitable for him to turn such cases away. He couldn’t wholly blame the owners, knowing the financial burden could be immense. They simply shifted responsibility elsewhere.
“If I leave them at the hospital, surely the vet will save them,” the owners would reason, trusting in the veterinarian’s conscience. The animals left behind would either be adopted through Lee Seolhwa’s efforts or taken in by her directly. When neither option worked, they were sent to shelters.
Thanks to Lee Seolhwa’s diligent management, the clinic’s once-precarious finances were now stable. Without her firm refusals to take in abandoned pets, the clinic might have become a makeshift zoo. Even so, cases involving abused animals were exceptions she could not overlook.
As Han Naeyung scratched Nari’s back with his neatly trimmed nails, a faint sweetness tickled his nose. The mist Lee Seolhwa had sprayed after bathing the dog lingered in her short fur.
“I can’t believe how much grime came out of this little thing,” she had said, treating Nari like laundry. Despite the ordeal, Nari remained calm, enduring her bath without resistance, always attuned to human moods.
Though Han Naeyung didn’t know the suffering Nari had endured at the dogfighting ring, one thing was clear: she must have been deeply scarred. Suddenly, the dog leaped from his arms.
The clinic’s bell rang as Jin entered, holding black plastic bags in both hands. Despite eagerly waiting for him, Nari hesitated to approach, circling around him instead. Jin lightly patted her head before glancing at Han Naeyung.
“Have you been waiting long?”
Han Naeyung shook his head.
“No.”
Jin began unpacking the food he’d brought, placing dishes of sundae, fish cake in disposable bowls, and various fried and stir-fried treats on the table. It all happened while Han Naeyung blankly watched. Jin crumpled the empty bag in his hand before speaking.
“Go ahead, eat.”
Han Naeyung hesitated, his eyes darting over the food. He hadn’t had dinner, but he didn’t see why he should accept a meal from this man.
“It’s fine,” he said.
Jin stopped Nari from sniffing the table.
“It’s not fine for me. You injured your hand, and… frankly, Doctor Han, you’re so thin that I feel like forcing you to eat.”
His tone left little room for argument. Jin handed Han Naeyung a pair of chopsticks, and, despite himself, he took them. Jin smiled, satisfied. Holding Nari’s leash, Jin moved toward the door, leaving Han Naeyung staring alternately at the food and Jin’s back. It was far too much to eat alone.
“Um…”
The moment Han Naeyung spoke softly, Jin turned around, and so did Nari.
Both Jin’s sharp, piercing eyes and Nari’s wagging tail seemed to urge him to speak.
“There’s too much. Let’s… eat together.”
“Gladly,” Jin replied with a broad grin, walking back confidently. Pulling over a chair, he sat across from Han Naeyung. Meanwhile, Han Naeyung fetched some kibble for Nari, setting it in front of her.
Though the table’s setup brought Jin closer, the distance wasn’t uncomfortable. Han Naeyung picked up his chopsticks properly, watching Jin pour fish cake soup into a bowl.
“Oh dear, I only got one salt packet,” Jin remarked, as if it were a grave oversight.
“I don’t need it; you take it,” he offered, but Han Naeyung remained puzzled.
Jin, slightly amused, divided the soup and handed half to him without comment. Taking his bowl, Jin sipped the cooled broth.
“Do you drink?” Jin asked.
“I do,” Han Naeyung replied.
No sooner had the words left his mouth than Jin pulled a bottle of soju from his coat pocket, setting it on the table with a playful smirk.
Han Naeyung felt a bit cornered, as if Jin had anticipated this from the start. So, this is why he’d bought so much food?
Nibbling on plain sundae, Han Naeyung glanced at Nari gobbling her kibble. Watching her voracious appetite, he let out a short laugh.
Han Naeyung was the first to grab the soju bottle. With a snap, the lid twisted off, and Jin turned to look at him, his expression surprised, as if he hadn’t expected this move.
“I often use it as a substitute for dinner,” Han Naeyung explained, pouring the soju into a paper cup until it was half full.
“Soju on an empty stomach… You’re tougher than you look,” Jin remarked.
“When I can’t sleep,” he admitted, but then paused abruptly. Jin wasn’t the type to force a conversation with someone reserved like him, which made him feel like he was talking unnecessarily.
“Being a veterinarian must come with its fair share of emotional struggles,” Jin observed.
“Yes…” Han Naeyung’s answer was barely audible. He avoided speaking too much for one reason: the fear of making a mistake. A slip of the tongue could cut like a blade, and he had learned that lesson painfully. His brother had paid a price for his unchecked words, while Han Naeyung’s own tongue now wielded a blade of caution. Across from him sat a man whose gaze seemed to peel away layers, like he was being scrutinized.
The bittersweet soju clung to his tongue before burning its way down his throat and spreading warmth through his chest. Han Naeyung quickly emptied his cup and refilled it. Jin took the bottle and poured some into his own cup as well.
“They say pouring your own drink is bad luck for the other person, giving them three years of misfortune. Seems like we’ve both doomed each other,” Jin joked.
“…Is that so?” Han Naeyung asked belatedly, his expression betraying unfamiliarity with the superstition. It was the kind of thing anyone who drank frequently might have heard, yet Han Naeyung seemed genuinely unaware.
As he continued to drink alone, his solitary rhythm struck Jin as peculiar. The veterinarian gave the impression of someone thoroughly accustomed to being on his own. Jin chalked it up to his presumed perfectionism or cleanliness, which might naturally drive him to solitude.
By the time the meal had reached its midpoint, the food was only half gone, but the soju was nearly finished—mostly thanks to Jin’s appetite. Their chopsticks accidentally crossed as both reached for the stir-fried glass noodles at the same time. Embarrassed, Jin quickly pulled back his chopsticks and handed over a new set still wrapped in its paper cover.
Han Naeyung merely placed the fresh chopsticks on the table, using the ones that had touched Jin’s. Seeing this, Jin furrowed his brow slightly but didn’t comment. Instead, he finally added some salt to the blood sausage on his plate. He soon noticed Han Naeyung following suit, as if it had only just occurred to him.
“That’s unusual. People with germaphobia typically don’t share meals with others, let alone tolerate mixed utensils,” Jin remarked.
Han Naeyung’s expression briefly tightened, his chest seeming to burn from the soju. “Am I… intriguing to you?” he asked after a moment.
Jin poured the last of the soju into his cup. “I’d say so.”
“Prosecutors aren’t exactly ordinary either,” Han Naeyung retorted, his words sharp yet calm.
The remark hit like a shard of glass embedding itself into Jin’s skin. Though Jin couldn’t pinpoint why it stung, he was acutely aware that Han Naeyung had caught on to his probing nature.
“If I offended you, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be invasive,” Jin said sincerely.
Han Naeyung’s face remained unreadable, as if to say it didn’t matter. A faint, sorrowful whine broke the silence. Both men instinctively looked down. Nari, panting after finishing her kibble, was gazing up at the table with longing eyes.
“What’s wrong? Still hungry?” Jin asked. Nari wagged her tail as if she understood, prompting Jin to toss her a few pieces of blood sausage. She eagerly chomped them down and pressed closer, begging for more.
“Chocolate…” Han Naeyung started to say but stopped himself. Rising from his seat, he moved to grab a can of beef-flavored dog food. His lab coat slipped off the sofa, but he waited until it fully fell before picking it up. His movements were deliberate, almost overly cautious, as though he were trying not to betray any signs of tipsiness.
Opening the can, he emptied its contents into Nari’s bowl. The dog immediately abandoned the blood sausage to devour her new treat. Jin watched Han Naeyung intently and asked, “So, is it only chocolate, or is all human food bad for dogs?”
“You’ve got a lot to learn,” the veterinarian replied, his voice carrying a trace of reprimand that, strangely, Jin found pleasant.
“I won’t make excuses, but where I grew up, leftovers were dog food,” Jin admitted. The way he avoided calling it “home” struck an odd note.
“Feeding dogs properly wasn’t an option when even feeding ourselves was a challenge. Their meals were literally ‘dog porridge.’ I remember one in particular—handsome compared to this one. But around Boknal? He disappeared. The others did too. Turns out they were being eaten during the festival,” Jin finished grimly, his tone revealing the lasting trauma.
“Plenty of people are worse,” Han Naeyung replied softly.
“True. I’ve met all kinds of criminals as a prosecutor, but that man was one of the worst. At least he didn’t meet a good end,” Jin said, a fleeting, vengeful satisfaction flickering in his smile.
Han Naeyung, caught off guard by the raw intensity of Jin’s words, refocused himself. He emptied the lingering drops of soju from his cup and watched as Jin finished his own. Together, they packed up the remaining scraps, disposing of everything with the efficiency of those who lived alone. Jin held Nari’s leash, gently tugging her away from the table where she had been licking an empty bowl.
As Jin prepared to leave, he asked offhandedly, “How much for the dog treats?”