BITM Ch7

When Han Naeyung and Jin walked together, they maintained just the right amount of distance, resembling two people who hadn’t known each other long and were still awkward around one another. As Jin had said, the street food tent was about a ten-minute walk from the animal clinic.

The owner greeted Jin cheerfully as he pushed aside the thick plastic flap and entered.
“Prosecutor, you’re wearing out the floor of my stall! Has booze been chasing you down these days? And you’ve even brought a friend tonight—what’s the occasion?”

The familiarity in the owner’s tone prompted Naeyung to bow slightly in acknowledgment.

“I’m actually an alcoholic,” Jin quipped, turning toward Naeyung.

“Is that so,” Naeyung replied indifferently, showing little reaction.

It was around 8 p.m., and the tent was relatively quiet. Jin chose a secluded corner and firmly tied Nari’s leash to the base of the stainless-steel table.

Naeyung sat across from him, glancing at the menu Jin had slid in his direction. Behind Jin, the plastic tarp extended outward, blocking their view of the street. Naeyung realized something: Jin’s stubbornness wasn’t as off-putting as he had expected.

Though insistent, Jin always displayed a basic level of consideration. Even earlier, when he’d grabbed Naeyung’s wrist, his first response had been to apologize. That was the kind of person he seemed to be. Not that it explained why Naeyung had decided to come along. It was simply that showing undue resistance to someone in Jin’s position—a prosecutor—felt unnecessary.

“The gizzards here are good too. Shall we order some?” Jin asked.

“…Sure.”

“Two orders of gizzards and two of soondae and stir-fried intestines, please. And a bottle of soju,” Jin called out without raising his hand.

Naeyung silently observed the tent. He could see the cooking station only if he turned his head, where the owner was busy preparing orders. Despite the asphalt floor, the tent blocked out most of the cold air.

Taking off his coat, Naeyung placed it on the chair beside him. He then reached into a plastic bag, pulled out some dog food, and poured it into a dish for Nari. The crunch of kibble filled the space around them as Nari ate eagerly.

Jin opened the soju bottle with a flourish and poured them each a glass. He broke the silence first.

“To be honest, I thought I’d end up here alone. I figured you’d turn me down, even if I insisted. So this feels strange.”

“I didn’t want to eat alone.”

“So the ‘I’m skipping dinner’ line earlier was a lie?”

“I guess I was hungrier than I thought. At least tonight.”

Naeyung downed his drink. His pale face appeared even more translucent under the dim lights, perhaps chilled from the cold wind they had faced earlier. Jin resisted the urge to reach out impulsively by gripping his cigarette pack tightly instead.

“Mind if I step out for a smoke?”

“Go ahead.”

While Jin smoked outside, the food arrived. He smoked several cigarettes, stealing glances at Naeyung through the transparent tarp. Inside, Naeyung drank steadily, glass after glass.

Reentering the tent, Jin matched Naeyung’s pace with his own drinking.

“Do we need alcohol just to get a bit more comfortable?” Jin mused aloud. It felt oddly similar to courting someone over drinks—a dynamic he hadn’t intended. Yet the stiff atmosphere made it feel like he was interrogating a hardened criminal rather than sharing a casual meal.

The thought made him chuckle.

Naeyung glanced up, confused, as he emptied the last of their soju bottle. Jin briefly considered ordering but decided to wait and see what Naeyung would do. Would he call for more?

Then, unexpectedly:

“Another bottle of soju, please,” Naeyung said, his calm voice carrying just enough weight to draw attention.

Jin was momentarily stunned. Until now, he had thought of Naeyung as delicate—like a pristine doll that might crumble under pressure. Yet, in that moment, he saw something steadfast and unyielding in him.

Realizing Jin was staring, Naeyung wiped his lips with a napkin. A fresh bottle of soju clinked onto the table.

“Not very close, are you? Why so quiet?” the owner quipped.

“…”

“…”

Neither of them answered. Naeyung chose to remain silent, as if confirming the statement, while Jin saw no reason to offer a counterpoint.

Undeterred, the owner turned back to Jin.
“Prosecutor Jin, you look like you’re deep in thought. What’s on your mind?”

“Hmm… I used to think I was good at reading people. But suddenly, I’m not so sure anymore.”

The owner tilted his head in confusion before being called away by another customer.

Under the table, Nari had settled down, resting her head on her front paws contentedly.

“Dr. Han, would it be alright if I asked how old you are?” Jin asked.

Naeyung held his glass to his lips without drinking. He set it down before answering.

“Twenty-nine.”

“A grown man, yet here I was about to compare you to something as soft as… tofu.” Jin caught himself before saying something more embarrassing.

“Do I seem fragile to you?” Naeyung’s breath was as faint as his words, but something sharp stirred in Jin at that moment, coursing through his hand and up his arm.

Without thinking, Jin replied, “Well, you’re… quiet, and honestly, kind of pretty.”

He had expected an immediate retort, maybe even an outburst. Instead, Naeyung’s eyes lingered briefly on the cigarette pack Jin had pulled out. Embarrassed, Jin pocketed it again.

“…You smoke a lot,” Naeyung remarked.

Jin paused, caught off guard, before returning the pack to his pocket.

“Bad for dogs, huh? I don’t smoke at home, though.”

Nari perked up at the mention of “dog.”

“It’s bad for humans, too,” Han Naeyung said, taking a drink of soju right after. Jin, foregoing another cigarette, chewed on some sundae and washed it down with soju. They were already halfway through their second bottle.

“You seem to drink often,” Han Naeyung remarked, showing a rare hint of interest. Jin chuckled.

“In my line of work, there’s no shortage of stress. Just today, I felt like my head was about to explode. But work talk is dull. Tell me something about yourself instead.”

“…”

Han Naeyung glanced at the freshly filled soju glass and spoke quietly. “You didn’t buy dog shampoo.”

Jin raised his glass, still smiling. “We’ll get some tomorrow.”

Han Naeyung nodded while eating some well-cooked onions and garlic. Nari, on the floor, suddenly jumped onto his lap, adjusting restlessly to find a comfortable spot on his thigh. With his free hand, Han Naeyung gently supported the dog’s body, looking entirely at ease despite the weight.

“Most veterinarians seem to keep pets,” Jin commented.

“It depends on the person.”

“Right. But you don’t keep any, do you?”

“…”

Han Naeyung met Jin’s gaze, not as if questioning how he knew, but rather why he thought so.

“That one,” Jin said, gesturing to Nari. “She doesn’t bare her teeth at people but gets aggressive with other dogs. I once tried introducing her to another dog to see if she’d make a friend, but…”

He downed a shot of soju.

“She went straight for the other dog’s neck. It was exhausting trying to pull her off. So I guessed. If you had animals at home, you probably wouldn’t have managed her for the past couple of days.”

Now that he thought about it, her dislike of her own kind seemed eerily similar to this particular veterinarian’s disposition.

“At the dogfighting ring… she likely learned that if she didn’t kill, she’d be killed.”

Jin froze mid-pour, startled by how those softly spoken words echoed his own unvoiced thoughts.

The most fundamental instinct of any living creature is survival. Nari’s aggression toward other dogs was proof of that. Jin had always attributed her behavior to her origins in a dogfighting ring, but he had never considered it the way Han Naeyung had just framed it.

“After that incident, I scolded her pretty harshly, but… from her perspective, it was self-defense, wasn’t it?”

Han Naeyung gently stroked Nari’s back. “Discipline is necessary… to a degree.”

Lifting his gaze, he met Jin’s eyes. Their gazes locked, and Jin found himself wondering again: why did this man dislike physical contact so much? He hadn’t been confined to a dogfighting ring like Nari, nor had he been forced to kill his own kind for survival. Yet, Jin’s curiosity was piqued by what he didn’t know about Han Naeyung.

“By the way, about that germophobia…” Jin gestured toward the gloves. He stopped short of asking if it wasn’t serious enough to overcome. Memories of the doctor’s trembling hands under his touch held him back. It might not just be a quirk but something akin to PTSD. Best not to trivialize it.

“Dr. Han, don’t you ever want to feel human warmth—like the warmth of a partner?”

Though the question bordered on rude, Jin crossed the line. His curiosity outweighed his restraint. Or perhaps it was more than curiosity—a desire to understand this man.

“It’s not that I haven’t tried,” Han Naeyung admitted.

Jin was visibly surprised. “At least it seems you don’t hate people.”

“No, I don’t hate people. It’s just…”

Han Naeyung trailed off, his words dissolving into another swig of soju.

“Just what?”

Without answering, Han Naeyung emptied his glass. The more he withheld, the more Jin’s intrigue grew. The mystery gnawed at him. He suddenly recalled the tale of the Tiao Yu Fish, captivated by Xi Shi’s beauty to the point of forgetting how to swim and sinking to the riverbed.

Jin compared his thoughts to that of seductresses like Judith, Salome, or Carmen, all of whom led men to their doom. The common thread among them? They entranced their prey, even as the men knew they were heading toward ruin. Perhaps Jin’s impulsive change of plans that night wasn’t so different.

Jin didn’t limit his romantic interests by gender. But in the conservative world of his profession, these feelings might well become a liability. Yet emotions rarely followed logic.

“If you don’t hate people, I guess I’m not too bad either?” Jin teased lightly.

“…No, you’re not.”

Jin gulped down his soju, reaching for the bottle just as Han Naeyung did. His hand covered the doctor’s gloved one, accidentally overlapping in an awkward grasp.

Han Naeyung flinched slightly. Just a reflexive reaction. There was no trembling this time.

Contrary to his chilly demeanor, there was a distinct warmth beneath the gloves. Though cooler than usual, it felt strikingly intense—like being burned. When Jin moved to pull away, their hands tangled momentarily, almost as if Han Naeyung were holding him back.

“In that case,” Jin ventured, gripping the retreating hand this time, “does that mean a relationship might be possible?”

Han Naeyung stared back, stunned, his pupils shrinking slightly in surprise. For once, he had no immediate reply.

* * *

There was no denying it: relying on alcohol to pass the night made the following day infinitely harder.

Han Naeyung wiped his eyes and swallowed a sip of water. He had performed two neutering surgeries in the morning and barely managed to fill his stomach with some vegetables and pancakes his mother had brought for lunch. The worry that the food might spoil proved unnecessary as Lee Seolhwa devoured the leftovers.

Thinking back, that man had quite the appetite too. He had polished off a stir-fried dish of sundae that was enough for more than two people, all on his own. After splitting three bottles of soju, Jin had been the one to suggest they call it a night.

Even though Jin had called himself an alcoholic, he had added that they couldn’t afford to let it interfere with work. Once Han Naeyung got home, he finished off another half-bottle of soju and took a sleeping aid before finally drifting to sleep.

“Doctor, Sangsil is here,” called Lee Seolhwa from outside the exam room.

Han Naeyung washed his hands with sanitizer and greeted the incoming client. Sangsil, a cat on a leash, was a Norwegian Forest breed.

True to its long-haired nature, the cat’s tail was luxuriously fluffy. Its curious eyes sparkled as they darted around the room, with no trace of fear. The owner, bypassing a pet carrier, simply carried Sangsil into the clinic.

“Long time no see! I’m here for Sangsil’s vaccination today,” the owner said.

Norwegian Forest cats born naturally instead of through breeding were generally robust. Nevertheless, vaccinations against respiratory infections and panleukopenia were essential.

Han Naeyung examined the cat from its eyes to the inside of its ears. After feeling its cool, damp nose, he pressed gently between its eyes.

“I noticed her nose was a bit dry while she was sleeping. Is that normal?”

“It’s perfectly natural. She’s healthy,” Han Naeyung reassured the owner.

Sangsil had been his very first patient when he opened the clinic, a female cat brought in for her first checkup. He still remembered the owner explaining the name: “Sangsil” was taken from Norwegian Wood (Sangsil-ui Shidae in Korean).

It didn’t matter that no cats appeared in the novel. What mattered was Sangsil’s unique love for walks, often spotted out and about on a leash.

“Meow,” Sangsil purred, rubbing her face against Han Naeyung’s hand. Her demeanor changed quickly as soon as the syringe appeared; her fur bristled, but she endured the injection bravely.

After massaging the injection site, Han Naeyung returned Sangsil to her owner.

“We’ll come back for the next vaccination,” the owner said as Sangsil mewed pitifully in complaint. Han Naeyung walked them to the door and bade them farewell. Once they were gone, he gathered a few vaccines to restock.

“Oh? Did Nari’s dad come by yesterday?” Lee Seolhwa exclaimed, scanning through the previous day’s accounts. She must have spotted the entry Han Naeyung had recorded late.

“A bit late, yes,” he replied.

“Is Nari doing well? Did you give him a bath?”

“He’s doing well… and yes, I bathed him.”

“Wow, good job handling that!”

Usually, dealing with clients was Seolhwa’s responsibility.

“So, no clinic fees? Just a bath, huh?”

“Yes.”

“Wait, don’t tell me the last time he was bathed was when I did it! That water was so filthy; I can’t believe it!”

Han Naeyung also recalled the unpleasant stench. Ideally, indoor dogs should be bathed weekly. While routines varied by breed, nearly a month without a bath was excessive, even for a short-haired dog.

Seolhwa was aghast at his lack of denial. “And Nari’s dad didn’t mind the smell? How did he put up with that?”

“…He seems like an easygoing person.”

“That’s surprising, coming from you!”

“…”

“Seriously, Doctor, what’s gotten into you? I swear you’re unflappable, like someone who wouldn’t blink if I did cartwheels in here. And now this?”

“…I think I’d be… surprised.”

“Huh?”

“If you did cartwheels, I’d be pretty shocked.”

She burst into laughter, her voice echoing loudly. Leaving her to laugh to her heart’s content, Han Naeyung returned to the exam room. He lined up the vaccines he had retrieved before finally sitting down. The worn-out chair creaked under him.

“Could you even date?”

Jin’s voice from the previous night surfaced suddenly in his mind. His answer had come only after a long pause: Yes.

But Jin’s question hadn’t been about dating him specifically. It was more about whether someone with germophobia could handle the intimacy of a relationship.

“Does that mean you’ve dated someone before?”

“Are you interrogating me now?”

“Just confess, then.”

Han Naeyung turned his gaze away from Jin’s amused expression.

“I haven’t dated anyone.”

“What’s your type? Long hair? Short hair?”

“I haven’t thought about it much…”

For a fleeting moment, someone crossed his mind.

“Short hair… Buzzed short, even.”

He murmured absentmindedly, the image of a particular person surfacing unbidden, amplified by the warmth of alcohol.

“A woman with a buzz cut? That’s a unique preference.”

“…Not a woman.”

“A man, then?”

Han Naeyung nodded.

“Dr. Han, are your romantic interests exclusively in men?” Jin asked.

“I don’t know. I’ve never met anyone to begin with…”

“Dr. Han, you’re such a softie, aren’t you?”

Was that meant to say he was pure? Han Naeyung let out a self-deprecating chuckle.

“Still, I do have some experience.”

At that moment, Jin’s expression… wasn’t just surprised but seemed almost shaken. Whatever answer Jin had anticipated, it apparently wasn’t this. Of course, his startled reaction only lasted a moment. Resting his chin in his hand, Jin stared directly at him and asked again.

“With a woman? Or a man?”

Han Naeyung smiled faintly to himself at the question. Jin’s expression was far too serious for such a query. But even so, Naeyung didn’t feel the need to respond, intoxicated as he was.

“What does that have to do with you?”

The response was sharp, almost icy. Jin, as usual, didn’t seem to care. Instead, he muttered one word, “Possibilities,” and took another sip of soju. After that, he stood up and said it was time to go.

Han Naeyung had replayed his answer in his head countless times today. He hadn’t intentionally dredged it up from memory; it just kept surfacing on its own. It wasn’t as though no one had ever approached him before. Nor was it that he hadn’t made any effort, contrary to what he’d told Jin.

But every time, the shadow of past memories clung to him, impossible to shake off.

* * *

“When? Where? And with whom?”

Jin pulled a cigarette from his pocket as he moved beyond the police line, leaning against an old, crumbling wall. A well-used ketchup can nearby was being repurposed as an ashtray, filled to the brim with cigarette butts.

The area, commonly called “Five Points,” was a rundown cluster of ramshackle buildings. Rent was cheap, so it was a haven for migrant workers. Despite being the site of previous stabbings, today’s case was unusually “tidy.”

The deceased, Song Iljae, was found neatly laid out on a blanket by a neighbor. What might have been dismissed as a natural death took a turn when it was discovered that Song’s tongue had been cut out.

A junior officer from the central police station had initially suspected a methamphetamine-induced seizure, given the bruising on the victim’s wrists. However, the autopsy revealed a different story.

The victim’s blood contained sodium pentobarbital, commonly used for animal euthanasia. Moreover, the tongue had been cleanly excised with a scalpel-like instrument.

This was a murder case with a body but no clear suspects. The precision of the intravenous injection suggested the perpetrator wasn’t an amateur. Lacking functional CCTV in the area, the investigation was expected to be challenging.

“Damn, it’s cold.”

Seon Wookjae, clad in a thick padded jacket, stood shivering, hands buried in his pockets. He lit a cigarette beside Jin, who was chain-smoking. The wind kept extinguishing his lighter until Jin shielded it with his hands.

“At the next reassignment, wouldn’t you prefer to move to trial work? You’d have fewer field cases like this.”

“It doesn’t matter to me,” Jin replied indifferently.

Truly, it didn’t matter. His thoughts were consumed by “When? Where? And with whom?”

“What do you think, Prosecutor? Based on the victim’s acquaintances and connections, this could likely be a domestic crime, don’t you think?”

“The coroner mentioned the vein was located in one try. That’s not something an amateur does. Given the negative drug test, I doubt this is cartel-related either.”

“Exactly. And obtaining sodium pentobarbital…”

Seon Wookjae’s cold-numbed tongue stumbled over the words as he exhaled cigarette smoke.

“Let’s prioritize local hospitals and begin our investigation there. Check if anyone in the hospital community had a grudge against the victim. I’ll leave that in your hands.”

“Understood.”

“Will you be heading back to the prosecutor’s office?”