Chapter 17

Choi Yook took a drag of his cigarette. “I just told them to do whatever, as long as it was fucking huge. I said it should be something that would give a proper father a stroke if he saw it, and the guy stayed up all night with bloodshot eyes tattooing it on.”

It was impossible to tell what was fully depicted on a back born of an all-nighter. Still, the head visible beside his neck was definitely a snake. It wasn’t a dragon or a tiger, so it hardly looked divine. Even so, curiosity got the better of Mu-yeong.

“With such a massive snake on your back, could it be that—”

“…” Choi Yook offered no response.

Mu-yeong tilted his head. “Does it feel like you have eyes in the back of your head or something?”

In Mu-yeong’s experience, people with sharp senses had a higher chance of detecting him. People like special forces, SWAT teams, or gangsters. But even they merely sensed a presence; they could never meet Mu-yeong’s eyes.

Which meant this likely fell into the realm of a sixth sense. Since Choi Sijin couldn’t see him, it wasn’t some genetic quirk of the Choi family, but something developed only in Choi Yook. The tattoo covering his entire back was one of his defining features, so Mu-yeong had asked wondering if it held the secret.

Choi Yook’s reply was chilling.

“Why? If you think that’s it, should I have one carved into Seo Mu-yeong-ssi’s back too?” Choi Yook asked with a sinister smirk.

“No, thank you.” Mu-yeong declined instantly.

Mu-yeong answered in a flash. Perhaps Choi Yook was merely a bloodhound wasting a talent better suited for airport quarantine. His five senses were simply so overdeveloped they mimicked a sixth sense. Thinking of any other possibility only gave him a headache.

Mu-yeong decided to focus only on the injury in front of him. Touching someone’s bare skin felt strange after so many years. Squeezing ointment onto his index finger, he held his breath as he brought his hand toward the man’s back.

His limp finger grazed the wound delicately. Through the thin, translucent barrier, faint warmth seeped through. As his finger slid along the spine, the snake’s coiled body seemed to writhe.

A warm serpent felt so bizarre. Mu-yeong was captivated by the snake, forgetting to pull his hand away. When he suddenly looked up, Choi Yook was watching him intently. A strange wave of bewilderment washed over him.

Choi Yook eyed him piercingly. “It looks like you do want one after all.”

“Not a chance.” Mu-yeong pulled his hands back.

Hastily drawing away, Mu-yeong scrambled to his feet. Only then did the chirping of birds reach his ears. The thin membrane enveloping the courtyard seemed to shatter in an instant.

It felt like waking from a dream, yet Choi Yook’s gaze remained fixed on him. With his frantic heartbeat refusing to calm down, Mu-yeong barely parted his lips.

Mu-yeong broke the silence. “Shall we wrap things up for today? It must be uncomfortable for you to walk around like this, Section Chief. Besides, we need to track down Yoon Hee-sook-ssi first anyway.”

The cigarette between Choi Yook’s fingers twitched.

“Your tongue wags whenever your mind wanders, but for an excuse, you’re not wrong,” Choi Yook murmured.

“…” Mu-yeong stayed silent.

Choi Yook smirked faintly. “Pretending to care about me isn’t bad. Keep at it.” He stubbed out the burning cigarette against a dandelion blooming beside him. As he stood, the flower and the cigarette butt were crushed together into an unrecognizable mess under the heel of his shoe.

The two walked back across the old building. Not a single person approached while Mu-yeong secured the padlock once more. He brushed the rust from his palms as Choi Yook turned to face him.

“Stay here,” Choi Yook ordered. “I’ll leave my business card with the librarian who took over the post. They might be stingy about handing out contact info, but she can at least tell us what kind of person Yoon Hee-sook was.”

Mu-yeong nodded, gesturing toward the notebook in Choi Yook’s hand. “That makes sense. You can leave that with me before you go.” The man cut him down without hesitation.

Choi Yook sneered coldly. “I don’t trust Seo Mu-yeong-ssi enough to hand this over whole.”

Having hoped that Hyung’s name might be inside, disappointment weighed heavily on him. Watching Choi Yook’s receding back, Mu-yeong pulled a cream pastry from his backpack. Grabbing a bite whenever time permitted was a habit he had picked up after starting this line of work.

Biting into the pastry, Mu-yeong unlocked his phone and opened the checklist in his memo app. Some items on the long list were already checked off, while others still remained empty boxes. For instance, there was an entry like this.

○ Location: Metropolitan area, a place where someone could drop dead without anyone noticing

Swallowing the rest of the pastry, Mu-yeong smiled as he marked a check in the empty box. Then, he jotted down a brief note beside it.

● Location: Seoul Metropolitan Area, a place where someone could drop dead and nobody would notice (Note: Until August; check library operating hours!! — Closed Mondays)

Having resolved one item on his list, a quiet sense of satisfaction settled in his chest. As he slipped his phone back into his pocket, an oriental grasshopper leaped up right beside his shoe. Though everything else in this place had crumbled or been swept away, the insects in the thicket seemed to be thriving just as they always had.

Crouching down, Seo Mu-yeong deftly pinched the grasshopper between his fingers. As he stroked its horn-like antennae, a surprisingly soft, delicate texture brushed his fingertips.

They said an insect’s antennae detected not only scent and touch, but vibrations and heat as well. Did Choi Yook possess some kind of invisible antennae of his own? If such things truly grew on the man, he could simply snip them off.

Mu-yeong gazed quietly at the small, light-green grasshopper. Sensing danger, it kicked its long hind legs in rhythmic, frantic bursts, thrashing like a mortar pestle pounding grain.

As he set it back down into the brush, he sensed a presence a short distance away. Mu-yeong lifted his head to find Choi Yook standing a few meters off, watching him intently. The faint crease knitting the man’s brow suggested mild displeasure, leaving Mu-yeong wondering why he didn’t just beat him to a pulp on the spot.

Leaping knee-high, the grasshopper bounded away, springing off blades of grass. It was a motion that ought to have drawn the eye, yet Mu-yeong remained completely still. Perhaps due to the rustling breeze and birdsong, the heavy gaze locking onto his didn’t feel oppressive; instead, an odd sense of peace washed over him. It felt almost like slipping back into childhood.

Then again, had he encountered a man like that in his youth, he would have grabbed his hyung’s hand and fled for his life. Mu-yeong pressed his hands to his knees and slowly pushed himself up. Choi Yook relaxed the tension between his brows, his expression settling into an unreadable mask.

“If your head doesn’t work, your feet had better be fast.” Choi Yook’s tone was entirely deadpan.

Mu-yeong broke into a brisk jog toward him. Kicking off the uneven ground with sudden vigor sent a sharp twinge through his surprised ankle. Choi Yook turned on his heel and started walking.

Choi Yook broke the silence. “By the way, Seo Mu-yeong-ssi.”

“Yes?” Mu-yeong blinked, falling into step beside him.

“You need a contingency besides Yoon Hee-sook,” the man pointed out. “What do you plan to do if that lead hits a dead end?”

“Ah, I’ve already taken that into consideration, actually.” Mu-yeong gave a small nod.

Mu-yeong looked up at Choi Yook with an amicable, compliant look.

“Even if the dead shaman had no family, she must have had acquaintances in her trade,” Mu-yeong reasoned. “Regular clients, or perhaps fellow shamans. I intend to search in that direction,” he added, gauging the man’s response.

“Fellow shamans…”

Choi Yook repeated the words in a subdued murmur, his dark eyes lowering to pin Mu-yeong with an unblinking stare.

“Do you happen to know any shamans, Seo Mu-yeong-ssi?” he inquired.

It was impossible to discern the true motive behind the question. Choosing to take it at face value for now, Mu-yeong assumed a rueful expression.

“Yes,” Mu-yeong admitted with a nod. “There was one down in Busan who hired us, suspecting her husband was cheating. She claimed she saw it in a dream, and it turned out she was right on the mark.”

“Then why not have that shaman read your fortune?” Choi Yook proposed dryly, his voice flat and devoid of the slightest jest. “Tell her to divine where the child is. You ought to try every means at your disposal, Seo Mu-yeong-ssi. Or would you rather I introduce you to a truly renowned shaman? Word has it she never fails to foretell a thing—from the moment wealth rolls in to the exact day you meet your end.”

The suggestion sounded plausible enough on the surface, but Mu-yeong shook his head.

“Only if I exhaust every possible avenue and still come up empty,” Mu-yeong replied.

“Unexpected,” Choi Yook remarked, casting a sidelong glance. “I assumed you put blind faith in anything divine, considering how intently you scrutinized my tattoos to see what was carved there.”

Mu-yeong wondered if his status had just been upgraded from a mere stalker to a cult-obsessed stalker. He chose to brush past the remark.

“It’s not as though higher powers grant prayers just because you pray with all your heart,” Mu-yeong murmured.

It was an unguarded piece of truth, slipping past his lips after years of finding nowhere else to confide it. Before long, the parking lot where they had left the vehicle came into view. Extending his arm to click the remote unlock, Mu-yeong looked back over his shoulder at Choi Yook.

“Besides, Section Chief,” Mu-yeong ventured, turning back with a slight smile, “isn’t it true that you couldn’t get an answer from that shaman either?”

If the man had, Mu-yeong would have been dragged into the Choi household long ago. He threw out the question in a lighthearted tone, but Choi Yook merely bored into him with an unblinking gaze. It was a scrutiny so intense it felt as though every bone in Mu-yeong’s body were being crushed in a vice.

The man was undeniably probing him—scavenging for some vital clue hidden in their banter or etched into Mu-yeong’s present expression. What that clue was, Mu-yeong had no idea. What mattered was the undeniable reality that Choi Yook was capable of perceiving and studying him.

Mu-yeong was as good as ensnared in Choi Yook’s crushing coils. Like a predator closing in to throttle its prey, Choi Yook took a deliberate step forward.

Choi Yook’s baritone dropped lower. “I can’t tell whether you revere the gods with naive devotion, or if you’ve abandoned all faith entirely, Seo Mu-yeong-ssi.” He closed the gap between them with slow, predatory strides.

“What on earth did you beg and plead for so desperately?” he pressed.

He hadn’t anticipated such a question. Stepping back in retreat, Mu-yeong found his back pressed against the driver’s side window. It was the glass that had once been smashed to pieces and neatly replaced—flawlessly restored, without a soul being the wiser.

If he were to vanish from this world, his disappearance would leave just as little a trace. Mu-yeong offered a bashful smile.

Mu-yeong offered a shy confession. “For Sijin to fall in love with me.”

“…” Choi Yook’s face hardened into silence.

“When that prayer went unanswered,” Mu-yeong hurried on, “I prayed to one more deity, but…”