Where Is This? Who Am I?
"I told you to get the hell out of here!"
A menacing whoosh cut through the air as a black baton stopped right in front of Dohwan's nose. In the chaotic aftermath of the traffic accident, he had opened his eyes in a stranger's body. When a Black security guard who easily cleared 190 centimeters thrust the baton at him, Dohwan instinctively flinched and quickly raised both hands, stepping back.
"I-I'm sorry! I'll leave right away!"
Dohwan scrambled out of the alley. The moment he rounded the building corner and completely escaped the guard's line of sight, he finally let his rigid shoulders drop and released the breath he had been holding.
"Haa..."
White breath scattered in the air. As he fully emerged from the alley, a blade-like wind whipping between the buildings lashed his cheeks mercilessly.
Where the hell am I?
Towering skyscrapers that seemed to pierce the sky came into view—on a completely different scale from the narrow alleys of Itaewon. Sirens that tore at the eardrums and massive English signs hanging in dizzying array filled the street. Most decisively, the distinctive yellow taxis speeding down the road and the police cars brushing past them, with the letters clearly stamped on their sides, caught Dohwan's eye.
NYPD
NYPD... New York Police?
New York, the heart of America he had seen countless times through the media. The alien landscapes he had half-doubted until just moments ago became a bone-deep reality the instant he saw those four letters.
Dohwan stood tall under the streetlight and looked down at his two hands. They were not the hands of Kang Dohwan, which he had managed cleanly while handling money in his own way. The age was at most early twenties, but the bones were unnaturally gaunt, and black grime was packed under the nails that were hideously calloused. These were the rough hands unique to someone who had thoroughly scraped the bottom.
He slowly turned his head to look at the clean shop window by the roadside. The silhouette of a strange man was reflected on the transparent glass—greasy black hair, sunken cheeks, an Asian homeless man wearing a worn, smelly field jacket.
The moment just before the traffic accident flashed back, when he had pushed aside the seven-year-old kid with a thick Death Shadow on his forehead. The horrific pain as the massive truck's bumper smashed into his body and crushed his bones. Kang Dohwan's life should have ended right there.
But when I opened my eyes, I was a homeless man in a New York back alley.
Then there was only one conclusion to draw. Possession. It sounded crazy, but there was no other way to explain this reality.
"Ha. Seriously."
It was so absurd that a hollow laugh escaped on its own. But such thoughts could not last long.
Grrrroooowl—!
Before he could think any further, a roar erupted from Dohwan's stomach.
"Ugh..."
Dohwan let out a beast-like groan and sank to the spot. Extreme pain as if his stomach had shriveled up and stuck to his spine—it was the terrible hunger he had only experienced long ago as a child, huddled in a corner of Angel's Haven.
First, let's eat and then think.
Figuring out the identity of the possessed body or whatever—what mattered right now was filling this damn hunger.
That was when it happened. Carried on New York's biting cold wind, a fiercely stimulating smell of oil brushed Dohwan's nose. Grilled sausage. Salty bacon. And the sweet smell of sautéed onions. Dohwan's head turned instinctively.
His gaze landed on a silver food truck belching white steam from the corner across the street—a typical New York hot dog stand.
Gulp.
Even swallowing the saliva pooling in his mouth felt wasteful. There was not a single one-cent coin in his pockets, but Dohwan dragged his heavy legs toward the stand.
I know how to read faces... so if I read something for him in exchange for one of those, it should be fine.
In front of the griddle, a fat white vendor was dozing off with a tired face. Dohwan tapped the counter to wake the sleeping owner. Then, with his characteristic easygoing smile, he tossed out a line.
"Hey, boss. Give me one hot dog, and I'll tell you something amazing."
The owner's brow twisted fiercely as he woke from his drowsiness. His gaze swept over Dohwan's filthy field jacket and greasy hair.
"What the hell is this beggar? Get lost before I call the cops!"
The owner raised his fist and shouted, his face twisted with irritation. But Dohwan saw something else.
...Huh?
In the old Itaewon days, he needed to dissect the features and apply formulas. But now it was different. He did not even need to examine the shapes. On the owner's face, wherever ominous fate had struck, the colors of the energy rose clearly as if painted with a blood-red highlighter. The highest realm of physiognomy, known as Color Reading, was visible right before Dohwan's eyes.
The tip of the nose, the Jundu that represents wealth, is pitch-black and dead. And that black energy is slimily connected all the way to the Nobokgung on the lower face, the Servant Palace that represents subordinates?
It meant a hole had opened in the money box, and the leaking money was flowing straight into the pocket of the guy working under him. That perfect causal relationship drew itself naturally in his mind.
...Crazy. You can see this much with physiognomy?
Dohwan's heart pounded. The divine realm that was hard to reach even after dedicating a lifetime had suddenly blossomed out of nowhere. It was bound to be bewildering, but the experience Dohwan had gained from handling tens of thousands of people on the Itaewon streets shone right at this moment. Even though his heart was about to burst from shock inside, he instead stopped walking and stepped right up to the griddle. His eyes were no longer those of a hazy homeless man, but had transformed into the eyes of a physiognomist who completely saw through the other person.
"Come to think of it, one hot dog might not be enough. You should throw in a cola and another sausage too."
"What? This crazy bastard has really lost it!"
The owner's face turned tomato-red. He looked ready to smash Dohwan's head with his fist any second. But Dohwan continued shamelessly without the slightest intimidation.
"Just listen first. If it doesn't seem right, I'll leave without a word."
A rough, hoarse metallic voice. But the strange certainty and charisma in it made the owner's thrashing movements pause. Dohwan grinned and flicked his finger toward the owner's face.
"You. You've got one part-timer, right?"
"......!"
The owner's bulging eyes grew as big as ping-pong balls. The fierce momentum that had seemed ready to punch him just moments ago stopped dead in midair. In its place, deep wariness settled on his face.
"Y-you, how do you know that? Have you been stalking our truck?!"
"Stalking? No way. It's written all over your face in big letters."
Dohwan snickered and pointed to his own nose tip and chin.
"The tip of the nose is your safe. But there's a hole in the bottom of that safe, and black dirty water is leaking toward the jaw that represents subordinates. And it's slimy and meticulous at that."
"What bullshit! Mike's a friend of my nephew! He's a hardworking kid!"
"Oh, his name's Mike? So what if he's your nephew's friend. That bastard is sucking the marrow out of your spine."
Dohwan gulped once. His stomach was going crazy from the smell of the sausages browning nicely on the griddle, but on the outside he maintained the most leisurely expression in the world.
The method is obvious.
Dohwan had been through all sorts of hardships reading the faces of countless self-employed people on the Itaewon streets.
"In a busy business like a food truck, if a part-timer is skimming, the method is obvious. Cards leave electronic records, so he can't touch those. And if he openly sticks his hand in the tip jar, he'll get caught right away. There's only one thing left."
"...W-what is it."
As the owner swallowed dryly, Dohwan drove the point home.
"Cash tricks. That guy Mike, whenever it gets to the busy lunch rush when customers pile in, he'll hit cancel on the POS machine."
"Huh?!"
"He hands the customer the hot dog, takes the cash, and marks it as an order error or cancel on the machine. Then he stuffs that money in his own pocket. Just 10 or 15 dollars a day, little by little."
"......!"
"You've been feeling something off lately too, right? The ingredients are clearly all used up, but when you settle the accounts, the sales feel strangely short. Am I wrong?"
At those words, the color drained completely from the owner's face. Bullseye. For the past month, he had been racking his brains because the cash sales did not match the food costs in a weird way.
"Th-that's a lie. You could just be guessing!"
"If you really can't believe it, open the POS app on your smartphone right now and pull up the last month's 'cash payment cancel' records. If I'm talking nonsense, I'll quietly get in a police car and leave."
The owner's fat hands trembled as they went to his apron pocket. It took less than a minute for him to frantically pull out his smartphone and check the app. The owner's lips quivered as he stared hard at the screen.
"This son of a bitch..."
On the screen, just as Dohwan had said, the 'cash payment cancel' graph was clearly spiked only during the times Mike worked. Adding up a month's worth, it was easily hundreds of dollars. The owner's hand holding the smartphone dropped limply. He stared at the Asian homeless man in front of him with eyes full of shock, as if he had seen a ghost.
A beggar in a smelly field jacket with greasy hair. But that man's eyes alone were sharper and more chilling than any slick Wall Street scammers.
"You... what the hell are you really? A fortune-teller? Or a wizard?"
The anger had completely washed away from the owner's voice. Only pure awe toward an unknown being remained. Instead of answering, Dohwan jerked his chin toward the massive sausage spewing juices on the griddle.
"I said earlier. One hot dog with an extra sausage. And a cold can of cola."
"Ah..."
"Hurry up. I'm about to go crazy right now."
The owner, as if entranced, split the bun and stuffed the two largest, thickest sausages inside. A heavy hot dog liberally topped with mustard and ketchup, and a cola can with frost forming on it, landed in Dohwan's two hands.
"Thanks."
Without looking back, Dohwan took a big bite of the hot dog. The crispy toasted bread and the salty, hot juices that burst and filled his mouth. When the surprisingly salty sausage met the sweet-and-sour sauce, it created an incredible synergy.
"Haaa..."
It was insane. In Kang Dohwan's thirty years of life—no, throughout the memories of this strange body—he had never tasted anything so perfect and ecstatic.
I'm alive. I'm really alive.
Dohwan chewed and swallowed the hot dog like a madman. Watching him, the owner carefully asked.
"Um... is there anything else you see on my face?"
The owner asked desperately, as if he had nothing to lose. Dohwan roughly wiped the ketchup from the corner of his mouth and lightly scanned the owner's features.
"There's a faint red energy swirling under your left eye. In physiognomy, that spot is for looking at children's fortune. When it shines red like that, it means welcome news from a child will come within a few days. Do you have a daughter? Is she pregnant?"
"Oh my God! How did you know my daughter is preparing for pregnancy?! Good heavens, not only catching that bastard Mike, but news of a grandchild too!"
The owner cheered vigorously and reached for the tongs on the griddle again.
"Good Lord, aren't you really an angel sent by God? Eat one more of these right now! I'll pile on the cheese and bacon too!"
A massive hot dog dripping with juices waved in front of Dohwan's eyes again. His stomach churned with a conditioned reflex for a moment, but Dohwan calmly shook his head.
I've put out the urgent fire, so better to get information instead.
Eating one more hot dog right now would not guarantee long-term survival. Even with the eyes of a god, this body was a New York bottom-rung poor person who could freeze to death or get stabbed tonight without it being strange. What Dohwan needed now was not food, but information to survive in this unfamiliar jungle.
"Forget the hot dog. I need some information instead."
"Information? As long as it's not the cops, ask me anything!"
"Is there a shelter or support center for homeless people around here? I need to warm up this frozen body first."
At Dohwan's question, the owner frowned and clicked his tongue.
"Center? Looks like you haven't been rolling around the New York streets for long. Free shelters in winter have been full for months already. Plus, those places are a bit dangerous."
Dohwan's eyes narrowed. A perfect blind spot with no protection from police or administrative power at all.
"Then how do the street homeless survive in this dangerous city?"
"How else—you gotta stick together to live. Even New York back alleys have clear territories and ranks. A few 'crews' led by big guys split up the areas to live. If you don't belong to one, you never know when you'll get cleaned out in your sleep without a mouse or bird knowing."
Crews and the bosses leading those groups. The moment he heard the owner's answer, a gleam appeared in Dohwan's eyes.
"Crews, huh... Can you tell me more about that?"