Why Was I Born?
Why was I even born?
It was a difficult question for a five-year-old girl to carry. Or maybe, in a way, it was far too easy a question to ask.
"What? You're hungry? What am I supposed to do about it? Feed yourself, then!"
"This is all your fault! You're the reason my life turned out like this!"
The girl was forced to hear words like these at every turn. She was hungry. She hadn't eaten a thing in days. She clutched her growling stomach, but her mother didn't so much as blink.
"Smile! Wipe that rotten look off your face⋯⋯!"
The girl's mother liked dressing her daughter up in pretty clothes. On days when she dolled the child up, she would pull out her smartphone and snap photo after photo.
Click! Click! Click!
Within the make-believe world of social media, a world that existed nowhere in reality, the girl's parents were good parents, and her home was a warm and happy one. Comments poured in by the dozens, and each time they did, her mother wore an expression of deep satisfaction.
Because to her, her daughter was nothing more than a tool for drawing people's attention.
"You little brat⋯⋯ is crying your whole job? Get over here."
The girl's father was a stepfather. He hated her too. Whether she starved or not, he played games all day — and honestly, that was the better case. At least when he was busy gaming, he didn't hit her.
The problem was the days he fought with her mother. Those days, without fail, he took his anger out on someone. Not just anyone — on a five-year-old girl.
"A mother and daughter, a matched pair of useless⋯⋯!"
Today, once again, she was beaten for not smiling. She cried from the pain, and was beaten again for crying.
"Don't hit her face! I need to take pictures!"
The girl's mother did not protect her daughter. She simply repeated the same demand over and over: don't touch the face. As a result, Sohee was kicked in the stomach instead of struck in the face, and strangled by the throat.
"⋯⋯."
It was like this yesterday, and today. And probably tomorrow too. The girl's life would not change. The only thing she could do was hold back her tears. If she kept crying, she'd only be beaten harder by her stepfather and her mother. And crying for a hundred days would change nothing — no one in this world would hear her screaming.
Ding-dong!
Just then, the doorbell rang. The stepfather crept warily toward the intercom.
"⋯⋯Who is it?"
"This is the police. We've received a report of child abuse. Could you open the door for a moment, please?"
In that instant, the girl's parents turned to stare at her with terrifying expressions. It was a silent threat: one word out of line, and you're dead.
"Oh, it's nothing, officer. The little one threw a tantrum and we scolded her — looks like someone reported it."
"See for yourself. She's dressed up in pretty clothes and taking photos with us right this minute. Child abuse? Really now."
"⋯⋯."
At those words, the dispatched officers took a slow look around the house. Just as the mother had said, the girl wore pretty clothes, her hair neatly braided. There were no marks of violence on her face, so there was no grounds to investigate. Frankly, it was all a bit of a hassle, too.
"⋯⋯Discipline is important, but please keep things a bit quieter. When a report comes in, we have no choice but to follow up."
"Oh, of course. We'll be more careful from now on."
"I'm so sorry for troubling you when you're busy."
"No trouble at all. Take care."
Just as expected. Nothing would change today, either. No — one thing was about to change. The police had come to the house, so that rage of his would naturally have to go⋯⋯.
"You should've cried a little less, don't you think? Look what you did — the police showed up because of you!"
Unable to hold it in any longer, the stepfather's hand cracked across the girl's cheek. This time, even her mother made no move to stop him. The police visit had been far too annoying for her to bother preserving the girl's face for photos.
CRACK!
A five-year-old's body is smaller and more fragile than anyone imagines. There was no way she could withstand a full-grown man's blow to her cheek. Blood welled from her mouth, her ears rang dully, and her consciousness began to swim.
"I-I'm sorry. I'm sorry⋯⋯ I'm so sorry."
Even so, the girl did not lose consciousness. She endured somehow, hands clasped together, begging and begging again. But—
"Then stop doing things worth apologizing for!"
Her words meant nothing to the stepfather. His hand, already raised high above her head, was proof enough. The second blow was about to fall upon the girl—
Sssssssss⋯⋯
And that was the moment. A shadow of some kind wrapped itself around the stepfather's body. Was she seeing things from all the beatings?
"⋯⋯."
She couldn't tell. But one thing was certain: she had reached her limit. She could not endure a moment longer.
I wish⋯⋯ he would just stop hitting me.
The girl no longer yearned for her parents' love. She had given that up long ago. All she wished for now was to wake up tomorrow without being beaten. To eat something, anything, and fill her empty stomach. Those were the only things she prayed for.
Sincerely. Desperately.
"Mmm⋯⋯."
When the girl came to, her mother and stepfather were nowhere to be seen. In their place stood a stranger, an unknown man, looking down at her.
"⋯⋯."
A stranger had entered the house. And yet the girl did not scream or run. She lacked the strength to, and besides, it hardly made a difference. Whether it was the strange man or her parents, either one was equally dangerous to her.
"You with me?"
the unfamiliar man asked. The girl gave a weak nod.
"What's your name?"
"⋯⋯Sohee. Yoon So-hee."
Yoon So-hee. That was the name of the five-year-old girl.
"Sohee."
The stranger turned the name over thoughtfully.
"That's a pretty name."
The moment the compliment reached her ears, an unstoppable wave of drowsiness crashed over her once more.
"Sleep a little longer. You'll feel better when you wake up."
Somehow, she felt herself slipping into a deep slumber. The kind of deep, sweet, dreamless sleep the five-year-old had never once known in her entire life.
"I went hunting. That's all."
"Yes, well — of course you did."
"It was quality prey."
"From what I hear, it certainly sounds like it."
"I couldn't just leave her there."
"I'm⋯⋯ sure you couldn't have."
That night, Tae-jun carried the deeply sleeping Yoon So-hee and unceremoniously deposited her in front of Lee Seo-hyun, who was leaving work. He could hardly leave her lying abandoned at the scene where her parents had turned to Soul Stones, could he?
"By the way — so, um. What exactly are you planning to do with this child?"
Seo-hyun had been asking that very question for a while now. And every answer that came back was the same: the prey had been too good to pass up.
"Her name is Sohee, she said."
"⋯⋯That's a pretty name."
At the mention that the child bore the same name as the niece who had died fifteen years ago, Seo-hyun studied the sleeping five-year-old's face, carefully, feature by feature. Looking at her like this, she began to understand a little — why her brother-in-law had brought this girl to her, why he had delivered her out of that horrific hell.
"⋯⋯Haah."
A long sigh. A shake of the head. In the end, Seo-hyun muttered, as if admitting defeat.
"Fine. You're telling me to handle it, aren't you?"
She laid Yoon So-hee down across the back seat of the car, making do for the moment.
"Well, regardless — you did well. That stench you told me you can sense? The one from this girl's parents? You said it was worse than anything you've hunted so far. Living under parents like that is⋯⋯ honestly, it's hell."
Tae-jun perceived human malice as a stench. And he said it had been worse than any of the humans he'd hunted until now. As Seo-hyun understood it, that stench measured not just a person's present crimes, but the malice ingrained in who they were. Had he simply left her there, that child would have met a miserable end.
"Then first, the cleanup at the scene—"
"Already done."
"⋯⋯Really?"
Tae-jun gave a slight nod. He had waited for nightfall before slipping out, and the Black Powder had been scattered out the window. He'd also knocked the CCTV cameras offline. That much was enough — nothing would connect the scene to the Shadow for now. If anything, the couple's disappearance itself would only come to light much later.
"Good. And you treated her injuries yourself, right?"
"Treated her the way of Hell."
Tae-jun had fed Sohee a single drop of his own blood. The blood of an Intermediate Demon was a truly extraordinary medicine.
"I don't know what that means, but⋯⋯ understood. I'll take care of everything involving this child from here on."
"I appreciate it."
"First time in fifteen years I've heard you say thank you."
"⋯⋯."
"Your delivery could use work, though."
Smirking, Seo-hyun reached into the bag in the car and pulled out a thick bundle of documents.
"I was planning to give you these tomorrow anyway, but since we've met like this, I might as well hand them over now."
"New prey?"
"Yes. You'll see when you look — this one's a little different."
Different prey. What did she mean?
"Remember what you told me, brother-in-law? That fear works best when it's up close."
"I did."
When a fraudster dies, fraudsters will fear. When a man of power dies, the powerful will fall into dread. That was the essence of fear Tae-jun had spoken of before hunting Kim Young-hwan.
"Those words really lit a spark in me. So I've handpicked this round of prey — carefully, deliberately. A noose to slip, slowly, bit by bit, around those bastards' necks."
The main perpetrators of the incident fifteen years ago. Six little demons. And beyond them, their parents. The ones the Shadow would now judge were all evildoers connected to them — people who had sinned alongside them, or committed crimes much the same. It would begin with the very faintest thread of connection, barely a speck.
"⋯⋯."
There was a certain thrill rising in Seo-hyun's voice. And as she handed over the documents, Tae-jun's eyes narrowed.
"⋯⋯You bastard. Is this the one I think it is?"
"Oh, that's right. Good eye."
The prey that had seized Tae-jun's gaze had looked, in the photograph, like nothing more than an ordinary middle-aged man. If anything, his face carried a rather kindly expression.
"⋯⋯."
And yet — why was it? Tae-jun's eyes flooded with hatred. The reason was simple.
"Yoon Deok-soo. Fifteen years ago, he was Sohee's homeroom teacher. The man who worked hardest of anyone in that school to bury the case — the hero of the cover-up — and rewarded for it, he's now living high on the hog as a principal. As you know, Daeha Middle School, where our Sohee studied, is owned by Daeha Group. Ma Tae-sung's family — that crowd."