Chapter 36 :

<36>

The hospital with the blue sign reading ‘Sangsan Animal Hospital’ was quite clean and stylish. Perhaps because it was near an apartment complex, quite a few people had come carrying animals in their arms. Especially near the entrance, in the show window facing the street, cute puppies and cats caught the eyes of passersby. Wanting to create a Christmas atmosphere here as well, they had dressed the animals in Santa outfits, and the animals in their dainty little clothes truly looked like dolls.

Screeeech!

In front of the animal hospital stood an Accent sedan that had stopped rather aggressively. The man who stepped out of the Accent was a shabby middle-aged man who hadn’t even shaved his beard. Holding a pigeon that was bleeding and dead, he pushed through the people and went inside. When the bell hanging on the door jingled, everyone inside turned their gaze toward the entrance.

“Excuse me, official business!”

Detective Sim Gu-jin strode into the animal hospital, ignoring the people waiting for treatment, and opened the door to the examination room with the completely dead pigeon in hand. Inside, a veterinarian was shaving a poodle’s fur in preparation for surgery.

“What… is this about?”

The veterinarian asked back, slightly flustered. In response, Detective Sim pulled out his police ID as one often does in movies and showed it.

“I’m police, here on official duty. Could you cut this pigeon open for me?”

“…..”

The veterinarian looked quite displeased at Detective Sim, who was speaking informally despite meeting him for the first time, but there was little he could do upon hearing it was for the Republic of Korea police. The veterinarian was, after all, working to make a living—yet here was someone asking him to cut open a pigeon for free in the name of official duty?

“Did this pigeon commit some kind of crime?”

The veterinarian asked in a tone thick with sarcasm—indeed, he was openly sneering. But Detective Sim paid no attention to such a reaction.

“We’ll know once we cut it open. Luckily, pigeons don’t need warrants, right?”

The veterinarian handed the poodle over to his assistant and picked up a scalpel. The pigeon was dead anyway, so he only needed to slice it open. Since it was his creed to handle unpleasant tasks first, he placed the pigeon on the table and skillfully brought the scalpel down. As he was dealing with a corpse, there was no need to tidy the feathers; he cut straight in, neatly splitting open the pigeon’s abdomen and pulling out the organs.

“So this was lodged inside?”

With tweezers, he pulled out a piece of copper alloy that had torn through the stomach. The heavily deformed copper alloy had pierced the pigeon’s organs, ultimately causing internal bleeding that led to its death.

“Hm. I wondered what crime this bastard committed—turns out it was evidence concealment.”

“Pardon?”

The veterinarian looked at Detective Sim, who was spouting strange nonsense, with deep concern. But instead of answering, Detective Sim simply held out his hand.

“Here.”

The veterinarian handed him a plastic bag. Detective Sim placed the copper metal inside it.

“Ah, thank you very much for cooperating with the investigation. If my house mouse ever gets sick, I’ll be sure to come here!”

“Th-that won’t be necessary…”

“Well then, good business to you!”

With that, Detective Sim opened the animal hospital door and stepped outside. The sky had been gloomy all morning, and now snowflakes were finally beginning to scatter. He paused for a moment and looked around.

“Wow, it’s snowing!”

A student walking by exclaimed, then, noticing the eyes of others on him, forced himself to walk on as if nothing had happened.

“Good grief… it’s already the end of the year. I should think about a present for my daughter.”

Detective Sim was walking toward his car when he suddenly stopped.

Flap-flap-flap!

He heard the sound of wings beating. From the sky, flocks of pigeons and magpies came swarming down in black waves. The birds did not land on the ground; instead, they occupied every power line, every roadside tree, every streetlamp.

At the end of summer and early autumn, Jeju Island sometimes saw swallows migrating south gather in such numbers that they would cover every wire and streetlight. But it was far from ordinary for pigeons and magpies—birds that were not even migratory—to gather like this now. And what was more, weren’t the flocks all staring at Detective Sim?

“Huh… I hope they’re not fans of Director Hitchcock.”

Detective Sim glanced around. People were passing by as if nothing were happening. Few seemed to care about the flocks. Of course, some did stop to look.

But at most, they uttered simple exclamations that even fools could manage, like “What’s that?” or “Wow!” Understanding this supernatural situation—though he did not want to believe it—fell solely upon Detective Sim Gu-jin himself, the one who had, in the end, been ‘convinced’.

It was loneliness, and it was also fear. There was no need to recall Hitchcock’s The Birds; when glossy eyes utterly different from human ones fixate on you, it goes beyond mere courage.

Detective Sim immediately got into the Accent sedan. If he was inside the car, completely cut off from the outside, he could keep himself safe from these birds. Of course, if they rammed the windows with their beaks at full force, the glass might shatter—but fortunately, the birds did not seem to have any intention of attacking. More precisely, he could not yet sense hostility from the one controlling them.

Vroooom!

The Accent sedan shot off like a racing machine, leaving the street behind. The birds merely watched the car; they made no move.

* * *

In a dark room, a bleak interior stacked with large boxes instead of furniture, a young man stood. What he was looking at was a small picture frame placed atop the boxes. In the frame, set in darkness, was a family that looked utterly ordinary—so natural, so worn down by daily life and accustomed to living that they had never once said anything embarrassingly sentimental like in some foreign movie. And so, when looking at the photo, there was nothing to say.

When one tries to remember what is called memory, it feels like diving into a fog-filled river at night with only a pair of goggles—wandering endlessly in blurred images, and even if one happens to retrieve a fragment of memory, why does it feel so meaningless?

The young man laughed and laughed again.

“Well then, shall we go?”

The young man—Se-gun—murmured to himself. Wearing Reactive Gloves (finger-exposed gloves commonly used by SWAT members) and fully equipped with various protective gear, he stepped out through the entrance. The money Song Deok-yeon had added in gratitude for his help in the fight against the Corrupted, along with the money he earned after dealing with the female vampire who had received the blood of True Vampire Phantom—combining those funds, he had bought this semi-basement row house.

Though the sun had not yet set, Se-gun was trapped in darkness. As if shaking off a swamp, he burst out of the house and locked the door. There wasn’t much worth stealing, but if someone entered that room filled with illegal weapons, they would immediately become a criminal.

Darkness was slowly descending upon the alley in front of his house. Beneath a flickering streetlamp stood an XR-250 secured with sturdy iron bars.

“Ah, damn. Look at all this dust.”

Se-gun brushed the pale dust covering the seat and mounted the XR-250. Painted in matte black, the motorcycle blended easily into the night’s darkness. For a normal rider, it would not be a particularly recommended paint job, but for Se-gun it was the best color scheme of all. Darkness was the greatest partner for a hunter who fed on the deaths of vampires.

Se-gun started the engine.

Unless he possessed some supernatural power like Sylvester, able to detect vampires while sitting still, Se-gun had to roam through the darkness to find their presence. But running around the vast world on foot searching for vampires would also be foolish.

“Since it’s the period of illegal weapons crackdowns, should I stir up the Sang-dong faction a bit?”

Twisting the throttle, Se-gun sped out of the alley.

The Sang-dong faction was an organization in collusion with vampire forces. To be precise, they had merely been brokers arranging smuggling and illegal immigration, until they happened to receive ‘grace’ from the vampire forces. In the end, they too were being used by the vampires—but to Se-gun, the Sang-dong faction was first and foremost the enemy who had murdered his family. Even if they had nothing to do with vampires, he could not simply ignore them.

Vroooom!

The cold winter wind clawed past Se-gun. Though he was wrapped in a racer’s suit and such, the fierce wind striking him head-on instantly stole his body heat. His fingers, exposed and wrapped only in thin fabric like gloves, felt as if they had been plunged into a pit of ice.

Se-gun clenched his teeth at the sensation that his knuckles might break off. Yet it was only physical pain; he did not truly feel suffering. Instead, the excitement lodged in one corner of his chest—the premonition of a beast craving blood—filled his brain in place of pain.

“Hahahahahaha!”

Se-gun suddenly burst into loud laughter. The roar of the motorcycle engine and the rushing wind swallowed the sound, and it did not even escape his helmet—but he laughed and laughed again.

The headquarters of the Sang-dong faction, ‘Sang-dong Credit Loans’, was located in a shabby building that looked as though the rent would be cheap, much like most gang offices. After all, most people who borrowed money did so through various advertisements and flyers rather than by walking in off the street after seeing a signboard. And since loan sharking was not even the Sang-dong faction’s primary source of income, they occupied a building that looked as though it had come straight out of a movie.

Vroooom!

At that moment, a motorcycle entered from the mouth of the alley. This street, one block behind the main road bustling with year-end revelry, saw little vehicle traffic. Except for the occasional car blocked while trying to enter a small parking lot or detouring toward another exit. Yet suddenly, a motorcycle had appeared—and not a delivery scooter, but a tall, pitch-black bike.

“Huh?”

Jeong Sang-dong, the boss of the Sang-dong faction, stopped practicing his golf swing inside the office. Motorcycle engines were common enough anywhere, but this one unsettled him for some reason.

“What’s going on at this hour?”

He recalled that the brat who had once picked a fight with the Sang-dong faction rode a motorcycle. There had even been a report that Cheon Yeong-hu had spent a considerable sum hiring biker gangs. Jeong Sang-dong had thought it was a waste of money, but Cheon Yeong-hu had insisted they were lucky it had ended there.

The kid had seized a gun—and he used it. But surely he wouldn’t charge directly into the Sang-dong faction’s base? At that moment, Jeong Sang-dong felt a chill run down his spine. No one had ever truly frightened him before, but that was because he had subordinates.

If someone wielding a Tokarev burst into the office, gang boss or not, one would have to worry about one’s life first.

“Damn it. Unless he’s got rocks for brains…”

But Jeong Sang-dong trailed off and stared at the entrance. This time, the explosive roar of the motorcycle sounded right at the front door.

Though the building housing the Sang-dong faction looked worn on the outside, its interior décor was clean. Loan sharking was, in a way, a service business—so until the moment money was lent, one had to provide a pleasant environment. That was the Sang-dong faction’s management philosophy.

But no matter how much of a lending business it was, it was still a financial institution, and there were such things as business hours. Yet now, a motorcycle had entered the building.

“Hey, what the hell?”

A man smoking near the entrance shouted with a vicious expression. He was large and muscular, with a shaved head and a T-shirt bearing a number on the back like some baseball or soccer player—clearly a member of the Sang-dong faction. Even setting aside his stereotypical thug appearance, if a young man dressed in black and armed with a Japanese sword had stormed into the lobby on a running motorcycle and he still had the nerve to ask, “What the hell?”—he was certainly no ordinary civilian.

“Not very bright.”

Se-gun muttered lowly as he charged forward, lifting the motorcycle’s front wheel. The large man instinctively raised his right arm to block the bike—but since he was no vampire, there came a sickening crack as his arm snapped and flesh tore, blood spilling out.

“Aaaagh!”

He had tried to stop the front wheel with his arm—there was no way he would remain uninjured. Vampires, of course, could block it easily and even lift and throw the motorcycle back—but that was impossible for a human.

“So, just a man.”

Se-gun spoke calmly, even after maiming him. Perhaps accustomed to the sight of blood, he ignored the large man clutching his broken arm in agony and parked the motorcycle to the side.

“What’s going on?”

People were descending the stairs and spotted Se-gun. They too seemed to be members of the Sang-dong faction, but unlike the first brute, they immediately launched into kicks.

“This one’s better.”

Se-gun casually dodged the gangster’s kick and lowered his body. Grabbing the man’s left leg, he dragged him down the stairs. The thug slid across the brass anti-slip plating installed on the steps. Whether his head had scraped or split open, blood poured out freely—but Se-gun, expressionless, raised his combat boot.

Crunch!

“W-what the hell is this bastard?”

“Hey, you son of a—!”

As he moved up to the second floor, gangsters emerged from the corridor. Even in times of economic downturn like these, there were so many members—it made Se-gun shake his head in disbelief. But the narrow corridor of the old building worked against them. Moreover, since it was a period of illegal weapons crackdowns, they had left only items like metal pipes as weapons, leaving them ill-prepared for an assault.

“Seriously. Kid, are you dying to get yourself killed?”

The first thug grabbed a nearby fire extinguisher instead of a weapon and threatened him with a fierce glare. But instead of answering, Se-gun moved his hand behind his back.

Whirl!

He drew out the tonfa strapped to his back. Made entirely of stainless steel, each swing sliced through the air with a chilling sound. From that sound alone, the gangsters instinctively knew that if struck, they would not come away whole.

“Look at this psycho bastard. He came fully prepared, huh?”

Spitting, the thug swung the fire extinguisher widely. But Se-gun skillfully evaded the attack and, exploiting the opening created by the wide swing, lashed his tonfa outward. The thug jerked his head back, barely avoiding the blow—but in that instant, Se-gun’s high kick exploded forward.

Blocking the fire extinguisher with the tonfa while attacking with a high kick was a simple pattern, but in a narrow corridor like this, it was a perfectly precise tactic.