The Tip of the Triangle Kimbap
It was the tip of the triangle kimbap.
A piece small enough to fit between thumb and forefinger. Maybe forty or so grains of rice, one bit of seaweed, a smidgen of tuna mayo.
And I'd taken it from a danger-grade anomaly's hand and eaten it.
Park Doyoung chewed the rest of the kimbap while sitting on the bench. In front of the convenience store. Two in the afternoon. The sun was shining nicely. Warm rays settled over his jeans. A peaceful afternoon.
Peaceful. An afternoon where an anomaly had fed him rice balls.
Danger-grade predator-type.
The type that absorbs the life force of approaching creatures. Unregistered in the Management Bureau database. Humanoid. Appears as an elementary school girl. Estimated age unknown.
That individual had asked Park Doyoung to unwrap the triangle kimbap for her, and when he did, she'd torn off the tip and handed it back.
Eat it.
One word. Clear. No emotion attached. Not hostile. Not a command. If he had to classify it, an invitation. An invitation from a danger-grade anomaly.
Park Doyoung had dealt with anomalies for thirteen years. From normal-grade to calamity-grade. Anomalies had bared their teeth at him, spat venom, even tried to rip his arm off.
This was the first one to share kimbap with him.
...Live long enough, and you see everything.
He finally swallowed the bite he'd been chewing for a while. The aftertaste of tuna mayo lingered in his mouth.
Of course, Park Doyoung knew. This triangle kimbap was something Ha Yujin had just bought at the convenience store. The anomaly had taken it from the bag. He'd unwrapped it himself. Not a trace of mana. No poison. Just convenience store kimbap.
And yet.
A predator-type sharing its food.
That one sentence wouldn't leave his mind.
Predator-types eat. They don't share. A being that drains life force from anything that approaches, tearing off a piece of its own meal and giving it to someone else. How do you even process that?
For an analyst, a phenomenon that defies analysis isn't creepy—it's irritating. Like an unsolved math problem, something in his brain kept itching.
Did Ha Yujin put her up to it?
Hypothesis one. Ha Yujin manipulated the danger-grade to approach the surveillance personnel. Purpose: a warning. "I know you're here."
The method—triangle kimbap—was too innocent, but that could be the camouflage. Packaging hostile intent in a friendly form was advanced tactics. Sending a kid with food. He'd seen it in mafia movies plenty of times.
...Though no mafia ever used triangle kimbap.
Or did the thing act on its own?
Hypothesis two. The danger-grade sensed Park Doyoung's mana and made voluntary contact. That was the more dangerous scenario. It meant anomalies could pinpoint and approach specific people.
But the approach method was triangle kimbap.
Too harmless for a threat. Too blatant for recon. And calling it friendly contact when the subject was a danger-grade anomaly? No.
Park Doyoung pushed his sunglasses up.
Then hypothesis three.
She just shared it. Just because.
Like a kid handing a snack to the person next to her. No reason. No calculation. The same way Ha Yujin had petted the black dog on the street and given kimbap to the crying child.
And if hypothesis three was right...
That was the conclusion Park Doyoung hated most. Because it defied analysis.
Then his communicator buzzed.
Encrypted channel. Sender: Crow.
Lee Seojin.
Park Doyoung held it to his ear.
"Hunter Park."
A clear woman's voice. Low, firm, restrained.
"I have confirmation matters. Regarding the contact with the subject and her group around 14:07 today."
Figured. A danger-grade anomaly walking up to the bench and offering kimbap.
"Please share the details of the contact for the report. Mention any changes in situation as well."
Lee Seojin's tone was businesslike. Standard procedure. If an S-rank made unplanned contact with the subject group, it went on record. Formally and practically.
Park Doyoung didn't respond.
"Hunter Park?"
Still no answer.
"Hunter Park, please respond."
Three seconds.
Five seconds.
"Ughhh..."
A groan leaked through the communicator. Low, muffled. Like holding back pain.
Lee Seojin's tone shifted. The formality stripped away in an instant.
"Hunter Park?!"
"My stomach..."
Park Doyoung's voice cut off. A thud. Something hitting the ground.
Lee Seojin's fingers flew over her communicator.
Lee Seojin gripped the rooftop railing. Jump down or take the stairs? Stairs. Civilians would see a jump.
She kept talking into the comm as she descended.
"Hunter Park, are you conscious?"
A groan.
"Describe your symptoms. Where does it hurt?"
Park Doyoung's breathing came through ragged, irregular. The breaths of someone collapsed on the ground.
Lee Seojin's mind raced. Right after contact with a danger-grade. Abdominal pain. Delayed life-force drain from the predator-type? Even an S-rank could suffer organ damage from contact.
"Alpha, prep the anti-major anomaly antidote."
"Alpha, confirmed!"
First floor. Pushed the door. Into the alley.
Ninety meters to the convenience store. She ran.
"Hunter Park, hang in there!"
From the communicator.
"Seojin."
A voice.
Lee Seojin answered while running.
"Yes, speak!"
"..."
"Hunter Park?!"
Park Doyoung said.
"It's so good."
Lee Seojin's feet stopped.
Mid-alley. Right foot hovering in the air. Her coat hem swung forward from momentum, then halted.
"...Pardon?"
"Triangle kimbap."
Park Doyoung's voice returned through the comm. Completely different from the groan. Drawling, languid, sincere.
Lee Seojin's mouth opened. Closed. Opened again. Closed.
Alpha team's voice cut in from the comm.
Lee Seojin closed her eyes. Long.
Then brought her lips to the comm.
"...Rescue team, stand down. Antidote unnecessary. All units return to station."
Three seconds of silence.
"Alpha... confirmed?"
A question mark hung in the air.
"Crow confirmed."
Lee Seojin said curtly.
She straightened her coat hem and turned back the way she'd come. Into the building. Up to the rooftop.
As she climbed the stairs, she muttered very softly.
"...Crazy bastard."
The spinach I'd taken out to season as a side dish looked off.
Bought it fresh from the mart today. I'd picked the good stuff. But the leaf edges were brown. Wilted. Shriveled like the moisture had been sucked out.
The green onions next to it were the same. Black spots mottling the white stalks. They hadn't been like that earlier.
"...What the hell. Defective?"
Maybe because I didn't put them in the fridge right away. But it's not even summer. Spring.
A bit iffy, but I could trim the brown parts and eat the rest. Cut out the black spots on the green onions.
...Wasteful, though. Paid good money for this.
Kong-i sat at the table. Holding one spoon. She'd had two earlier—progress.
"Kong-i, hang on a sec."
Kong-i nodded.
I picked up the spinach. About to toss the rotten bits in the food waste bag.
"Kong-i doesn't know."
Kong-i said. First.
I turned. Kong-i had set down her spoon and was looking at me. Sunglasses slightly lowered, perched on her nose tip.
"Know what?"
"Doesn't know."
...Doesn't know what?
Kong-i didn't answer. Picked up the spoon again. Interest over.
...What was that.
Kong-i sometimes said out-of-context stuff. Probably experimenting with combining words as her vocabulary grows. "Kong-i doesn't know" must be her new sentence. Like when she made "I'm hungry." Just sticking words together.
That's what I'd go with.
Ladled stew into two bowls. Sat at the table. Heukgu buried his face in his kibble dish. Ten-second all-clear, as usual. Kong-i poked at the tofu with her spoon, gave up, grabbed it with her hand and shoved it in her mouth. Accepting the tool's limits. Rational choice.
Ate, did dishes, bathed Kong-i, wiped Heukgu's paws. Spread out the bedding and lay down.
Kong-i grabbed my right arm. Heukgu climbed onto my legs. Routine.
Sleep came quick. Legs tired from walking today.
My eyes opened.
Dawn. Outside still dark. Fumbled for my phone. 4:23 a.m.
Why'd I wake up. Bathroom? Nah.
My right arm felt light.
No Kong-i.
"...?"
Sat up. Heukgu grunted from my legs but didn't open his eyes.
Took a few seconds for my eyes to adjust to the dark.
A shadow by the window.
Kong-i.
Standing. In front of the window. Arms at her sides. Not moving.
Faint dawn light seeped through the curtains. Streetlamp glow. Barely outlined her.
"Kong-i?"
Called her.
No answer.
"Kong-i."
Once more.
Kong-i stared out the window. Couldn't tell what at. Nothing to see in a 4 a.m. alley.
One streetlamp. Empty road. Closed shops.
Whatever lay beyond.
Kong-i's back looked small. The nape of her neck, visible behind the white short-sleeve, so thin. In the dawn light, her silhouette seemed to waver—maybe, or maybe not.
"...Kong-i?"
Third time.
No answer.