Purple Twilight
Jinma Agni stood on the riverbank, taking the cold river wind full in the face as he watched the dusk. Massing black clouds rolling in from the west had drained the twilight of its color, turning it a dark, bruised violet.
“Vampire eyes aren’t worth a damn.”
He slipped on a pair of sunglasses. Smog or storm clouds—fine—but a purple twilight? Yet through that unnatural violet, a grotesque black silhouette cut across the sky. From a distance it might have passed for a bat, except no bat that thrived only in pristine wilderness would still be alive in Seoul.
“Tetra Anax?”
Agni chewed on his dark-red lower lip. That bat was a vampire’s eye—not a thrall under mental domination, but almost certainly a fragment of a body reshaped into living surveillance. Mutation and transformation of that sort ran in the blood of Juk-yo’s lineage; every so often a vampire-eater who had drunk of that blood acquired the same knack.
Inheriting an ability by drinking blood was rare enough. Inheriting it without ever tasting the blood was impossible. Which meant the executives of Tetra Anax had, by some means, gotten their hands on Juk-yo blood.
“No doubt about it.”
Agni pulled a cigarette from his coat. The spring evening was unseasonably cold, yet he wore nothing but an aloha shirt, as if he had just stepped out of some northern country. A man with the coffee-brown skin of South Asia, facing a late cold snap in a single Hawaiian shirt and a cigarette between his lips—anyone watching would have found the sight remarkable.
Fssst!
He set the cigarette to his mouth and touched a fingertip to the end; flame blossomed. He drew a deep lungful and exhaled pure white smoke through his nose. The wind was so fierce the smoke flattened sideways and shredded away at once. Agni held the cigarette toward the gale like a sacred torch and clicked his tongue.
He had slipped into Korea illegally, secured weapons and ammunition—yet the whereabouts of Jinma Jeong-ya remained utterly unknown. She might have been a woman newly made into a vampire, but a Jinma was still a Jinma. Her caution, the way she smothered every trace of her presence, left a lone vampire who had come without Tetra Anax’s help with no way to find her.
“Well, the conditions are equal for everyone, right?”
He put the cigarette back between his lips. The sun had fully set; it was time to move. He adjusted his sunglasses, pulled on a helmet, and swung a leg over an electric scooter. A powerfully built Southeast Asian man in sunglasses, helmet, aloha shirt, and shorts perched on a tiny electric scooter looked almost comical. Agni, however, paid no attention to anyone’s stares.
Still, no one would ever concede that the Jinma who had ridden into Korea in open style on a Sonic Cruiser and the one who had stowed away on a freighter were operating under “equal conditions.”
A jet-black limousine nearly the length of a minibus drew up in front of a hanok. The traditional house bore a sign reading Gyeongwol; it was one of those exclusive high-class restaurants that kept the outer form of a hanok while stationing a doorman who looked as if he had stepped out of a luxury hotel.
“That’ll do. I’ve still got hands and feet—I’ll handle it myself.”
The man who stepped out wore a black suit, his hair slicked back with enough oil to shine—the classic image of a gang boss. The rest of the entourage had already spilled from the car and lined up like troops on parade. Throw flower petals or confetti and the scene would have looked exactly like a wedding send-off, except every face was too vicious for the comparison.
The hanok possessed a garden that reeked of Japanese stylization. An artificial pond and waterwheel glowed under greenish mercury lamps. The place was often used as a film set; it looked so period-authentic one half expected to find oneself back in the colonial era. Of course, true fidelity would have required removing the mercury lights first.
“Welcome. A meal has been prepared in the private room.”
The restaurant’s manager, a woman in her late thirties, came forward with perfect deference. Dressed in a modernized hanbok, she carried the refined poise expected of someone who ran an establishment of this size. Instead of contemporary cosmetics she wore camellia oil in her hair and a trace of musk—precisely the classical taste preferred by the clientele.
“Everyone here?”
He shrugged out of his suit jacket, handed it to her, and slid open the door. Those already seated rose in startled haste. Every one of them was large, and every one of them wore the same black suit, as if they had ordered matching uniforms.
“Ah, sit. More important—is everything ready?”
Zein took the seat of honor and waved the others down. One of them produced a file and offered it with both hands. A bodyguard accepted it first, opened the envelope, and checked the contents.
“We’ve gathered materials on the woman named Lee Jeong-ah, but she’s currently missing. Seems no one can find her.”
“Then we move to the second plan. Kato—you said your son is the famous Kato Haruhiko, correct?”
Zein poured his own drink and drained the glass in one go, as if he had just crossed a desert. The man called Kato bowed deeply from his seat.
“Yes.”
Kato Haruhiko was the rising star of mixed martial arts, already shooting multiple commercials. A rare handsome fighter who had switched from karate to Muay Thai before entering the cage, he was also genuinely skilled; among Japanese fighters his record was the best.
“Bring your son to Korea and have him announce to the networks that he’s looking for this woman. I’ll arrange the producers and the rest.”
“Th-then…?”
“Get him on air. A sports star who fell for a Korean woman’s kindness wants to find her now that he’s made it big. He appeals on a variety show. Not bad, is it?”
“Ahhh!”
The room finally understood and broke into admiring murmurs. Kato Haruhiko was famous enough in Japan and already had a Korean fan base. Who would find it strange if he came looking for a kind Korean woman he could not forget? They would eat it up. Newspapers and broadcasts would talk about it every day; if Lee Jeong-ah turned out to be photogenic, talent agencies would swarm offering debut contracts.
“All right—everyone drink.”
Zein raised his glass again. No other vampire, he was certain, had devised a better method. Only those who already stood high enough to use humans as convenient tools could float a scheme like this.
“But what will the others do?”
He thought of Phantom as the liquor burned down his throat.
Until now Chang-hyun had never felt the need for a dining table. Cooking was a nuisance; he lived on instant food and ramen, and only when even that became too expensive did he boil rice in a pot. Without so much as an electric rice cooker, he cooked in a pot, wrapped the leftovers, and stored them in the fridge—standard bachelor living. Why would he need a table? Spread newspaper in front of the refrigerator and eat on the floor.
Today, however, was different.
“Well? How is it?”
The woman who had introduced herself as Lee Jeong-ah had taken the few ingredients left in his fridge and produced a pot of doenjang stew. Chang-hyun himself could manage a decent stew after years of living alone, yet food made by a woman always tasted special.
“Ah. It’s good.”
“Heh. I was worried I’d forgotten how, but it turned out okay.”
She smiled radiantly, delighted that her long-neglected cooking had succeeded.
“Um. Can I ask something?”
“Yes?”
“Why are you wandering around alone? Isn’t there anyone you can call?”
“…….”
Chang-hyun knew perfectly well how tempting the present situation was, yet he still wanted the proper solution. Every time he asked, however, she simply turned her face away.
“I’m sorry. But… I can’t talk about that. Amnesia……”
“Huh?”
“Sorry. That was a joke.”
“No—”
He almost said he had never met anyone worse at joking. But he was a man who understood manners. If he hadn’t possessed any, spending the night alone with a woman would not have ended with nothing happening.
Am I an idiot?
Chang-hyun watched Jeong-ah smile and kept his spoon moving. Still, a situation this unreal… maybe it was a hidden-camera show. The second he tried anything, the crew would burst in, clap, and laugh, “Well done, sir!”
His imagination was drifting further into strangeness when the grandfather clock upstairs struck the hour and dragged him back.
“But… I have to go to school. What are you going to do?”
“Ah, well… I’ll put on clothes and—”
“……They’re not even dry.”
He stopped her. Then he startled himself. What was the alternative—keep her locked inside the apartment? And tonight… again?
“Um. No, I’m not forcing anything, it’s just… how do I put this… what I mean is, a woman walking around alone is dangerous!”
And a woman living in a bachelor’s room isn’t? Chang-hyun had no idea what he was saying.
“And it’s cold, and… it looks like rain again today, so just… stay here. If you have somewhere to go later, go then.”
“N-no, I can’t. If I do something like that…!”
Jeong-ah shook her head desperately. The vague phrase “something like that” hit Chang-hyun’s conscience like a hammer. What kind of man forces himself on a woman who refuses? How was he any different from the human garbage who dragged runaway girls home and abused them?
“Ah. Th-then I’ll leave the key. If you go out, just put it under the flowerpot.”
He handed her the key. The thought that she might clean out the place crossed his mind, yet somehow she did not feel like the ordinary sort. Mysterious, almost. Her uncanny beauty and aura made it more plausible that he had been bewitched by a ghost or a fox than that she was simply a runaway girl.
“Ah… are you sure?”
“It’s fine. Being late is the bigger problem right now. My grades are hanging by a thread… Ah, I’m rambling. I’m off!”
Chang-hyun entrusted his house key to a complete stranger and bolted out the door.
Segeon parked his bike in front of the house belonging to the unlicensed doctor who called herself Sonya.
“Ah, damn. Hurts like hell.”
He pressed the area around his molar and shook his head. The wisdom tooth had rotted; pus had probably formed in the gum. The pain was enough to make him pass out. Ordinary painkillers did nothing. Using Psychedelic Moon for a toothache, though—that was absurd.
If she finds out I came for something outside her specialty, she’ll be pissed.
Remembering the woman’s temper, he approached the entrance. She never exploded outright; she simply turned ice-cold and clinical. A quiet anger was somehow more unnerving than a loud one. Segeon stepped carefully into the vestibule.
“And who the hell are you?”
Two men in black suits blocked his path.
“Huh? Why?”
Segeon looked past them without a flicker of fear. A bald man with the unmistakable face of trouble was pounding on Sonya’s door.
“Maya, you bitch! Open this damn door! Huh!”
“…….”
So the woman who called herself Sonya was really named Maya? Watching their behavior, Segeon made up his mind. He grabbed the necktie of the black-suited man in front of him.
“What? What the—!”
Dragged forward by pressure far beyond expectation, the man suddenly felt a vicious pain in his gut and crumpled. Segeon’s knee had driven straight into his groin.
“What the fuck is this guy?!”
The second man swung a wild punch. Segeon ducked under it. Big looping punches look scary but rarely land if you keep your guard up. Segeon closed the distance, hammered the body with short punches, and finished with an elbow to the jaw.
“Guh!”
Both men went down in seconds. The bald man who had been raising hell at the door spun around in shock. The man behind him decided the charade was over and drew a sashimi knife from his coat.
“You little shit. Looking to die? Who the hell are you?”
“At least not some punk throwing his weight around in front of someone else’s house.”
Segeon shrugged and drew a thick black military combat knife. The man in the suit hesitated. That was a Marine Corps fighting knife—heavy iron that traded speed for pure power. No one carried one casually unless they knew how to use it.
“Hey. Do we really need knives this early? Ease off, yeah? Police station’s three minutes from here.”
Having already wrecked two men, Segeon began persuading with a greasy smile. The other side had no real desire to start a knife fight over something this pointless. But his employer was glaring daggers from behind him; he had no choice.
“What are you waiting for?! Fillet that bastard!”
“Christ. That bald bastard.”
Segeon spun the knife once in his grip and threw it. The man with the sashimi knife flinched and made a half-hearted attempt to block, but he was never going to catch a flying blade—and it wasn’t aimed at him anyway.
“Aagh!”
The heavy combat knife buried itself in the right shoulder of the bald man who had been shouting moments earlier. Segeon hadn’t even thrown it with full force, yet the weight of the blade had punched straight through the shoulder bone.
“Aaaagh!”
“Quit the drama.”
Segeon clenched his aching molar and raised his left arm. The man with the sashimi knife, seeing his boss hit, scrambled backward.
“Might want to get him to a hospital.”
Segeon’s smirking warning was enough. The man hauled the bald one up and fled. The two Segeon had already dropped staggered after them, looking thoroughly pathetic.