The Relic Appraisal Windfall – 5
Cats live a long time. Fifteen years, sometimes twenty.
And yet that man looked barely in his early thirties. There was no way he'd been raising dozens of cats since his teens.
Pedigree breeds, Korean shorthairs — why on earth were there so many young cats with him?
No. 1, go talk to the cat spirits and find out how they died.
The more I watched, the more it seemed this man was a psycho who *enjoyed* killing cats.
Still, why would someone like that even show up at an event like this?
I had narrowed my eyes and was studying him carefully when a middle-aged woman approached, looked at the man's cat, and greeted him like an old acquaintance.
"I think I've seen this one on Neotube before. Dungi — does that ring a bell?"
"This is Dungi."
"Oh my! *This* is Dungi? His tail looked a slightly different color, so I wasn't quite sure."
A flicker of panic flashed across the man's face.
"Dungi's tail looked different to you? I think it was just the lighting — we have orange lights at home."
"I see. Would it be all right if I took a photo with Dungi?"
"Of course. Dungi, sit."
At the man's command, Dungi sat down obediently and struck a pose for the camera.
"Wahaha! It really is Dungi. He can sit, stay, do 'bang,' even do a loaf!"
"Dungi — bang!"
When the man mimed firing a gun, Dungi performed a full Hollywood action flop and collapsed in a heap.
"Aww, he's adorable! How can he be this smart?"
"Haha! Our Dungi is a genius cat, you see."
"It's really him?"
"Mind if I take pictures too?"
People crowded around Dungi, phones raised, snapping photos.
One of the dead cats was watching the whole scene blankly — and then copied, pose for pose, exactly what Dungi was doing.
Good God. Those are trained movements.
It seemed pretty clear now: the man had trained these cats to the point of driving them into death, all for money and fame.
"I would like to extend my sincere gratitude to everyone joining us here today."
Governor Na Jeong-hwan took the stage and began his speech, part welcome address, part opening remarks.
In the meantime, No. 1 had completed his mission and returned, slipping back into the possessed body and rising to his feet.
I picked the vessel up and asked, "What did the cats say? Did he abuse them to death?"
"Yeah. That bastard starved them, stabbed them, beat them, all while drilling them on 'sit,' 'stay,' ringing a bell like that. Then he ground up their corpses and flushed them down the toilet—"
No. 1 kept spilling out everything he'd heard from the cat spirits, one horror after another.
He's not a person. He's a monster.
By then, Governor Na had finished his opening remarks.
"Thank you once again for coming all the way out to Pyeongcheong County, and I sincerely hope you take home some wonderful memories today."
Pah-pah-pah-pak!
A fanfare announced the opening of the Pet Festival, and confetti filled the air.
Out in the garden, the dog-accompanied participant program got underway, while indoors where I was, things began as well — portrait sessions with your cat, caricature drawing, making ceramic coasters stamped with your cat's paw print.
A whole variety of programs kicked off.
"Bori, let's go draw a picture. It's not scary at all."
"Miyaaaaaooow!"
The cats, frightened by the unfamiliar environment, refused to come out of their cages. But the active, sociable ones trotted out on chest harnesses, joined every program with their owners, and made happy little memories together.
"Anyone who wants to join the cat tunnel game, please come this way!"
The tunnel game awarded a prize to the fastest cat to reach the finish line. It was the only competitive cat event on the schedule — the highlight of the day.
"We'll be participating. Dungi, over here."
The psycho led Dungi off toward the tunnel game area.
No. 1, you play too. And you win.
That psycho was convinced Dungi would take first place. If some other cat beat him instead, he'd explode — and then try to take his rage out on Dungi.
My plan was to wait for that exact moment, capture evidence of the abuse, and call the police. Once that came to light, the abuse of all the other cats would come out with it.
There was just one problem: No. 1 had absolutely zero competitive drive.
A normal cat might care, but a body possessed by an evil spirit? A tunnel race?
He thought it was beneath him.
"What's in it for me if I win?" No. 1 asked, licking the back of my hand with his red tongue.
"First prize is a cat tower worth five hundred thousand won, plus canned salmon, capelin, dried pollock, and Churu treats. And I'll throw in a special bonus — I'll grill you some meat."
"Hanwoo beef. Not pork belly."
"Deal."
I carried No. 1 over to the start of the tunnel course. The other owners were setting their cats down at the tunnel entrances as well.
Not a single one of them moved.
"Hohoho. Gamja! Come on, shake off the sleep and move already!"
"He's been zooming around all day, but here he won't budge an inch."
"Aigoo, he's gone and become one with the floor."
In the end, the owners resorted to feather wands with bells, and Churu treats, to draw the cats' attention.
"All right, we'll count down from three and begin! The first cat to reach the goal line wins the race!"
"Dungi, fighting!"
"Dungi's going to take first, right? It's okay if I film this, yes?"
"Of course, go right ahead."
So sure was the psycho that Dungi would win that he beamed brightly and flashed a V sign with his fingers.
"Three! Two! One — go!"
The emcee waved the flag, and the psycho shouted at Dungi.
"Run, Dungi!"
Dungi shot into the tunnel like an arrow, sprinting for the finish line.
No. 1, meanwhile, was completely mesmerized by the feathers dangling off the fishing rods everyone was waving.
"No. 1!"
"Miya? Miyaooow!"
Only then did No. 1 bolt into a different tunnel.
The tunnels weren't straight — they wound around in curves, branching off into several paths along the way. Through the ventilation windows you could see one lost cat going in circles around the same spot.
No. 1, turn right! No — no, what are you doing going straight there?
"I don't know!"
No. 1 just charged straight ahead. Then, spotting a tangle of string blocking the tunnel, he froze short, flustered.
"I think the tunnel's blocked up ahead."
"It's not blocked. It's a trick. Just jump over it!"
Spurred on by my cheering, No. 1 started running again. In the tunnel right beside his, Dungi was racing along.
For a moment it looked like the two cats would hit the finish line at the exact same time — and then, wouldn't you know it, only one cat popped out of the tunnel.
No. 1. Alone.
The tunnel Dungi had chosen curled back around on itself near the finish line — a maze that forced him to run the same stretch a second time.
"Congratulations! Number 1, the cat of PR Ambassador Kim Yunho, takes the championship!"
The emcee led the applause in my direction. I raised one hand and waved — and stole a glance at the psycho.
His face is completely contorted.
The man was glaring holes into Dungi, still wandering lost inside the tunnel, jaw clenched so hard I could practically hear his molars crack.
"Congratulations! How on earth is your cat so clever?"
"And speaking of which, the name 'Number 1' couldn't be more fitting, could it? Did you predict he'd be a first-place cat from the start?"
The cat owners flocked around me, green with envy, begging to know the secret of how I'd gotten No. 1 to stay so lively even in an unfamiliar space.
"I tell him, 'No. 1, you are a tiger.' Always."
"What a load of—!"
No. 1 panted hard and shot me a sidelong glare.
"And I treat him with love. I love you, No. 1."
Just as I leaned in to kiss No. 1 on the cheek, he flinched back in sheer horror, hackles rising. The cat owners burst out laughing, declaring they knew *exactly* how that felt.
Before I knew it, a warm, cheerful exchange had formed all around us.
"None of you are Pyeongchang residents, I take it?"
"No, we came down from Seoul."
"I'm from Gangneung."
"Does No. 1 have his own channel? I don't think I've seen him on Neotube."
"You should open a Neotube channel for No. 1! I heard Dungi TV pulls in tens of millions of won a month."
The cat owners brought up Dungi, sneaking glances at the psycho as they spoke.
"Still, Dungi seems a bit off today, doesn't he?"
"Are you sure that's the real Dungi? His tail looked a little different to me."
Whether he overheard the doubts about his identity or not, the man shoved Dungi back into his cage and walked toward the event entrance.
"Ah — then I'll be taking my leave. Excuse me."
With No. 1 in my arms, I hurried after the psycho.
No. 1, whatever happens, do not lose that psycho. He might do something terrible to Dungi.
"Relax."
No. 1 slipped smoothly out of the possessed body, turned into black smoke, and poured himself into Dungi's body.
He seemed to be putting Dungi to sleep so he could take control of him.
Now that's what I call thinking.
I tucked the empty vessel into its cage and trailed after the psycho.
"Excuse me — Mr. Yunho! Just a moment!"
The moment I headed for the exit without a word of explanation, the filming director, who had been briefly distracted, came scrambling after me.
"Where are you going? The event's not over — are you heading home?"
"No. We're going to catch a cat abuser right now. So you had better not lose sight of us — film every second of it."
"Stupid cat! This is what happens when you don't get beaten enough."
Bae Jeong-gi grabbed the cage holding Mungi — born of the same litter as Dungi — and shook it violently.
Do you have any idea how much I suffered to build Dungi TV?
He'd originally tried to make money with a yellow dog channel about adopting and raising shelter dogs.
But dog content was so saturated with competition that his subscriber count barely crept up. He'd even scripted scenes where he deliberately injured a dog, abandoned it on the street, and "happened" to stumble upon it. He'd faked rescuing a dog moments before it froze to death in midwinter. He'd brought home puppies whose eyes weren't even open yet and bottle-fed them on camera.
But every stunt only flickered for a moment. The moment viewers saw the dog was doing fine, they stopped watching.
So he'd landed on the concept of raising a genius cat.
Cats are hard to train, so I figured anything they did would look remarkable.
He adopted cats for free through an online cat café and began "educating" them through a series of experiments.
Starving them, depriving them of sleep, beating them, locking them up—
And that's how I produced a genius cat like Dungi.
Dungi absorbed everything he was taught, and subscribers cheered at every adorable new trick.
Sit, stand up, shake, jump, "bang!" — those were child's play. Dungi could walk a tightrope, put a hat on and toss it off. He could ring a bell to express approval, turn a doorknob to open the door, even turn the tap on and off.
When he started filming content of cooking and eating together with Dungi, the ad deals rolled in and viewer donations piled up. Since he'd announced he'd give every last won of donations to abandoned-cat shelters, even the paid Super Chats came flooding in.
And then Dungi had suddenly collapsed, foaming at the mouth, and died on the spot.
Stress, apparently? What a joke.
He'd hidden Dungi's death from his subscribers and started training the rest of the litter instead. Mungi showed the most exceptional talent of them all — and he looked similar enough to Dungi that the ruse might just work.
"You can't even get out of one lousy tunnel? You worthless piece of garbage!"
Since Mungi clearly couldn't replace Dungi, it seemed better to cut his losses fast. Someone had already spotted at a glance that his tail was the wrong shape.
Better to just announce Dungi died and switch to a different cat.
I can do it! All I had to do was create another genius cat, just like Dungi.
Reaching his car, Bae Jeong-gi checked that no one was around and pulled Mungi out of the cage.
"What, you lying down again? Must be nice, having such a charmed life!"
Hoisting Mungi up by the scruff of his neck, he shook him roughly.
"This is why you get beaten, you know — because you're this stupid. You're useless now anyway, so I might as well just kill you. You're not worth the feed money."
He tossed Mungi onto the passenger seat and raised his fist to bring it crashing down —
"No, you're the one who's about to wet himself. Let's see how you like a taste."
Mungi flicked out his red tongue and spoke in a human voice.
"GYAAAAH!"
Bae Jeong-gi shrieked and pressed his back hard against the window, stammering.
"You — you can talk?"
"You wanted a genius cat, didn't you?"
Mungi split his mouth open wide and began peeling off his skin.
"Then open your eyes nice and wide and watch closely. I'm about to show you something very entertaining."
"AAAAAAAAH!"