Chapter 48 :

<48>

“Yeah. I suppose we should at least take what’s being handed out and then get some sleep.”

After saying that, they hid their soju. If it was a Christian-affiliated group, they would always nag once or twice if they saw a homeless person drinking. Even so, these kinds of people were genuinely something to be grateful for.

So that day as well, the people accepted the warm tea and bread without any suspicion. It was a little strange that all the ones handing it out were men, but given how dangerous the world had become, it wasn’t surprising that women wouldn’t wander around places like this at night. And since they were in no position to complain while receiving charity, no one thought it odd.

‘Still, something feels off.’

Mr. Gu hid the bread and tasted the tea. He understood they had mixed in sugar to make it easier for the homeless to drink, but there was a faint medicinal smell. Come to think of it, there were frequent reports overseas about homeless people being drugged and kidnapped so their organs—kidneys and such—could be harvested and sold…

‘To do that to this many homeless people, they’d need an entire wing of a general hospital.’

With that thought, Mr. Gu took a sip of the tea. Maybe because he had already been drinking soju, the dizziness spread through his body quickly… He felt something was wrong. But by the time he was certain it was drugged, it was already too late.

‘Does it matter whether I freeze to death or die with my organs ripped out?’

Half in resignation—unlike his usual self—Mr. Gu collapsed. Not just him, but many of the homeless fell where they stood, unable to rise again. As the drug began to take effect, one of the men who had just been posing as part of a charity organization looked around with contempt in his eyes.

The sight of the homeless lying there made it hard to tell whether they were people or livestock. Of course, expecting elegance from people who had been drugged into sleep would be absurd—but to a supremacist, it was a scene so repulsive it was almost unbearable.

“Damn. There are a lot of these human pieces of trash.”

“Shut up. If you’ve got time to complain, start moving them.”

As they spoke, they began lifting the bodies. Though they had been drugged, metabolism differs from person to person, and occasionally someone wakes earlier than expected.

“So we’re taking all of them?”

“Are you crazy? If a bunch of homeless people disappear all at once, this isn’t The Pied Piper of Hamelin.”

“And they’re not cute little kids either.”

“They’re more like sewer rats.”

They snickered as they spoke. No matter how poorly they thought of them, the homeless were still human beings. The sheer arrogance in their lines made that clear enough.

“Anyway, let’s just load up about ten.”

“We used drugs and we’re only taking ten? What a waste.”

“There’s no room in the car.”

“Then we’ll make two trips.”

At that, the thugs looked at one another and nodded at the one who suggested two trips.

“The drug should last long enough anyway.”

And so they “collected” people. It was treatment that suggested they didn’t even see the homeless there as human beings, let alone care about human rights.

By the next day, when Mr. Gu regained consciousness, half of the homeless who had gathered at S Station were already gone.

* * *

Se-gun seriously considered whether he should start investigating the homeless disappearances. No matter what, he was currently marked by vampires. If he moved carelessly, even if he had ten necks, they wouldn’t be enough to spare.

But showing up at Arjuna every single day would be like crawling under Sylvester’s shield. That wasn’t something an independent vampire hunter should do.

“Pride won’t put food on the table… Still, maybe I’ll look into it.”

Muttering to himself, Se-gun mounted his beloved XR-250. He decided to first check parks and stations where homeless people gathered.

* * *

Mr. Gu finished off the remaining soju and let out heavy sighs like a lovesick man. He was certain those bastards had done something the night before, but he had no way of knowing what. Kidnapping that many people—were they going to harvest their kidneys? Or force them onto some deep-sea shrimp boat? Either way, it couldn’t be anything good.

“Good grief. Is this how the Jews felt being dragged into gas chambers?”

He muttered that and lowered his head. Just then, he noticed a young man parking a motorcycle in front of the station. Judging by the bike, it looked foreign-made, and the young man had a boyish face with hair dyed green. But that alone wasn’t enough to draw attention.

“Hm.”

He began glancing around, clearly looking for homeless people. Mr. Gu could tell instinctively.

‘Is he connected to what happened yesterday?’

That thought crossed his mind, but judging by the way the young man acted, maybe not. He seemed hesitant about whether to speak up. From his attitude, it looked like this was his first time doing something like this. After all, approaching a complete stranger to ask if they knew anything required more than ordinary nerve. He wasn’t a police officer or a reporter.

“Hm. Come to think of it, I’m hungry.”

Muttering that, Mr. Gu shuffled toward the young man. The young man looked at him as if saved.

“Excuse me, may I ask you something?”

“Ah, sure. Anything. But young man—before that, I’m a bit hungry, you see. What do you think about the ancestral virtue of mutual aid?”

“Ah, of course.”

The young man, Han Se-gun, was quick on the uptake. He immediately took out some money, went into a convenience store, and returned with a boxed meal and a can of coffee, laying them out in front of Mr. Gu.

“Do you need anything else?”

“No, that’s fine. So what do you want to ask about? The surge in international oil prices? American hegemony? The influx of Chinese immigrants into Korea? Ask anything.”

“……”

Se-gun’s face stiffened for a moment. Perhaps he felt ashamed that his own knowledge and common sense were inferior even to that of a homeless man.

“I’m joking, joking. I just threw out whatever came to mind. Don’t worry about it.”

Mr. Gu split the salted pollock roe in half with his chopsticks as he spoke. The young man finally let out a sigh of relief and began.

“It’s just that… recently, has anyone gone missing?”

“Ah, that? Come to think of it, yesterday…”

As Mr. Gu began, he glanced around. Se-gun listened closely.

“I’ll tell you after I finish eating.”

Privately amused, Mr. Gu busied his chopsticks again. But once he finished his meal, he began speaking seriously. He described how some men had come that night, how they handed out tea and bread, and how the moment he tried the tea he felt dizzy and collapsed into sleep.

“I’m telling you, it’s true. I think they’re organ traffickers. I’m sure of it.”

“Th-that…”

Se-gun looked troubled, clearly unsettled by the possibility. If they were organ traffickers, then they weren’t vampires—meaning investigating them would yield nothing for him.

“Thank you for telling me. Do you know where they went?”

“I don’t. I fell asleep right after. Ah, there’s a convenience store in front of the station, you know? Why not ask the clerk there? It’s not the late-night shift right now, but there’s a clerk who works specifically the late-night hours. Make sure you ask.”

“I will. Thank you.”

With that, Se-gun stood up.

After visiting other stations and investigating more homeless communities, Se-gun returned to the station at night. Just as Mr. Gu had suggested, he intended to ask the late-night convenience store clerk what had happened the previous night. But even though he carefully timed his visit, the clerk said he didn’t remember anything in particular.

Not everyone in the world meticulously observes their surroundings and constructs timelines of events like Se-gun did, so it couldn’t be helped. But when the trail suddenly went cold, he felt deflated.

“I see. Understood.”

Se-gun had no choice but to nod and leave. It was frustrating that the trail had gone cold here, but if the enemy were vampires, they would have found a way to deal with something as trivial as a convenience store clerk’s memory. If they were just ordinary organ traffickers, they wouldn’t have been able to do that. So then—were the enemies vampires after all?

“Honestly. This is like searching for a needle in a barn. What a headache. Should I just wait for heaven and earth to grant me some destined encounter?”

Muttering to himself, Se-gun walked back toward his motorcycle. But then he saw several figures in front of it, busily trying to cut through the chain with bolt cutters. His bike was a foreign model recognizable at a glance, so thieves occasionally targeted it like this. Of course, because of that, the chain Se-gun used to secure it was two inches thick per link—far too heavy for any ordinary cutter to handle.

“Hmm…”

Se-gun paused to observe them. High schoolers? There were four of them, and though they looked about that age, their posture suggested they were used to this kind of work. Se-gun himself had once stolen someone else’s Ninja out of necessity, but as someone who loved bikes, he could not forgive thieves. To him, a bike thief was no different from a scumbag who sneaks into a blind man’s house to steal his guide dog.

“Hey, you asshole, what the fuck are you staring at?!”

The lookout finally noticed Se-gun and shouted. The moment he finished speaking, the four of them, not knowing their place, surrounded Se-gun and tried to intimidate him. The nerve of thieves shouting so loudly—talk about the pot calling the kettle black. Dumbfounded, Se-gun covered his face with one hand and muttered,

“That’s mine, you know.”

“Oh yeah? I was planning to make it mine starting today. So what?”

These punks always took threatening stances that exposed all their vital points while puffing themselves up. Maybe it was a habit from only dealing with polite people who never struck first. But to someone who lived by the creed of kill before being killed, it was like they were laying out a feast and lying down on the table asking to be devoured.

Thud!

Before the words even settled, Se-gun’s kick smashed into the side of the guy’s knee. With a sickening crack, the joint popped out of place and he collapsed on the spot.

“You bastards are corpse numbers one, two, three, and four.”

Muttering that, Se-gun drove his knee into the face of the one now lowered to the perfect height. Breaking his leg hadn’t been enough—he crushed his face too. Se-gun had been thinking lately that he lacked sparring, so this was a good chance to train.

“You son of a bitch!”

“Is this guy crazy?!”

The punks were so shocked they could only surround him without acting. Se-gun took advantage of the hesitation and drove his knee into the unconscious one’s face once more. Even if these guys were beaten half to death and sent to the hospital, there was no chance of reform. Once healed, they’d just come back out to loaf around and scheme about exploiting others again.

“You guys move that slow and you think you can steal a bike?”

When Se-gun taunted them, one of them reached into his jacket to pull out a knife. But Se-gun stepped in like lightning, threw four rapid left and right punches, and then smashed his knee into the guy’s face. The one who had tried to draw the knife went flying, his face instantly a bloody mess.

“Hup. It’s a little early for you to fall.”

Se-gun grabbed the arm of the one who was collapsing and hurled him with a reverse joint throw—Roe. With a crunch, the elbow joint snapped out of place. The one who had been unconscious jolted awake and screamed miserably.

“Argh!”

“Ghk!”

Another one attacked from behind, but Se-gun feinted a low spinning kick and instead whipped his heel into the guy’s knee before finishing with a backspin blow to the face. He was wearing reactive gloves; perhaps the hit landed badly, because the guy’s face was instantly covered in blood. In a boxing match, it would have been an immediate doctor’s stoppage. But there’s no doctor’s stoppage in a street fight.

“...Stop! Stop! I can’t see! Stop!”

By the time the thug surrendered, Se-gun had already hammered his abdomen and solar plexus about four times. To still be able to speak after taking body blows like that—Se-gun was deeply impressed by the man’s mental fortitude. Talking after a body shot meant squeezing out the last scraps of breath in agony.

“Ah, hmm. I suppose I’ll forgive you at this point. I’m off.”

Se-gun said that and mounted his motorcycle, then calmly rode away from the station. From behind, he could hear the injured survivors cursing.

“You fucking bastard!”

“Son of a bitch! Are you even human?!”

Screech!

Se-gun suddenly squeezed the brake. Instantly, the curses stopped.

“…I feel a little bad. They’ve got a cute side, don’t they?”

Muttering that, Se-gun twisted the throttle again.

Vroooom!

In the distance, the motorcycle sped along. Standing atop a streetlamp and watching it, Gyeong frowned.

“So that’s the famed hunter. Let’s see what he’s really got.”

Muttering, he snapped his fingers. Beneath the streetlamp, across the road, a thin sheet stretched out. From above it looked like a blanket, but from the side it appeared as nothing more than a razor-thin line. The translucent, thin sheet was positioned precisely at neck height.

“Tch.”

Gyeong was one of the children of True Vampire Jeok-yo. Compared to most vampires, he was young and aggressive, but he had enjoyed Jeok-yo’s deep trust. However, after Jeok-yo’s death, he had been reduced to little more than a stray dog at a funeral house, pushed around by various tasks.

Vampires, when exposed to sunlight, continuously weaken and eventually burn to death, so they must have a shelter where they can sleep during the day. And to maintain such shelters, money is essential. The reason vampires run massive corporations is precisely because they require that much money.

And Gyeong needed money as well. Like a young vampire, he enjoyed fighting. But he had no desire to run errands and clean up after other vampires.

“Damn it. This is really trash. Leaves a bad taste in my mouth.”