Chapter 25
Chapter 25
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Translator: uly
Chapter: 25
Chapter Title: Cats Distinguish Between Kindness and Grudges (1)
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Na-rae was heading home late at night after finishing up her article.
Today, after getting severely scolded by Cho-seon, she had agonized over whether to stay on the religion and science team.
But she hated the idea of her hard-earned scoop getting buried.
That's why she stayed late into the night by herself, organizing the article just as Cho-seon had demanded.
"For the time being, it'll be last bus home like today. Ugh, so annoying!"
On the way from the bus stop to her house, apartment complexes lined both sides of the road.
Walking about ten minutes along this path led to a typical row house.
That was where Na-rae and her family lived.
Having used this road for over ten years, she felt no fear even late at night.
Ever since returning from the mountain lodge, she kept seeing illusions and hadn't been able to rest properly.
"Tomorrow's Saturday, so I can finally sleep in."
Her mood lightened a little.
The May night air was cool, and the deepening darkness was quiet.
The roadside apartment complexes felt like empty walls with no one living there, their lights out.
On this deserted road, only the orange glow of streetlights lit her way forward.
On nights like this, no one around was far more comforting than someone following behind.
Meow.
As she entered the row house grounds, a cat's cry rang out.
It had to be a stray.
Na-rae ignored it and headed for Building Gah.
Then, from behind her, the cat's cry sounded again.
It was a small, soft meow, not sharp at all.
Like the cry of a newborn kitten.
Na-rae stopped and pricked up her ears.
Hearing nothing more, she started walking again—only for the cry to come once more.
Meow.
As if beckoning her not to move.
Na-rae turned around.
But there was no sign of a cat anywhere nearby.
As she tried to walk on, the cry sounded again.
Meow.
Na-rae decided to track down the source.
Turning back, she headed toward where the sound came from.
The cat's meow came from the pile of recycling trash.
She looked around, but no cat in sight.
As Na-rae turned to go, the meow sounded again.
Meow.
Still that small, frail cry.
To hear better, she crouched low and listened intently.
The sound was coming from the stack of cardboard boxes.
She crawled forward carefully on hands and knees.
From the box pile, two tiny glowing lights appeared.
'It's here. Looks like a baby kitten—but why's it calling me?'
Na-rae crawled toward the two small lights—then let out a short scream and fell flat on her butt.
"Mommy!"
A cat's head sat atop the pile of boxes.
Its two small eyes were glowing.
Her legs went limp; she couldn't stand.
Terrified, Na-rae kept her butt glued to the ground, eyes locked on the cat head as she scooted backward.
The cat head stayed motionless on the box.
Its small, round eyes simply stared at her.
'What is that? Why isn't the head moving? Ah! If it's just a severed head with no body, of course it can't move. But can a head meow? The eyes are blinking too?'
Meow.
Sure enough, the cleanly severed cat head meowed and blinked, just like she'd thought.
The cry held no threat at all—just small, frail, and heartbreakingly pitiful.
Its head smaller than Na-rae's fist, with round eyes that were cute and endearing.
No spiritual energy could be felt.
With her fear somewhat eased, Na-rae crawled back on all fours, inching cautiously toward the box pile.
She confirmed the cat head rested on a thin, small red box.
A box she knew well.
A black, round chocolate bread box.
The cat head lay atop the box marked with a bold '正'.
Half fear, half curiosity.
Na-rae felt an odd conviction that this tiny cat head meant her no harm.
Meow.
As she drew a little closer to the box, it meowed again.
"You—how can you meow with no body?"
She asked, approaching with care.
Meow.
The little head parted its adorable mouth as if saying something.
Of course, she couldn't understand.
Still, utterly non-threatening.
Na-rae leaned in for a closer look.
As she got near, the cat blinked its cute eyes up at her.
The box beneath the head was a bit unusual.
Looking more closely, it seemed someone had punched a hole in the box and pulled just the cat's head through.
The box even trembled faintly now and then.
Probably some neighborhood brats had caught the kitten, stuffed it in the box, and pulled a cruel prank.
Na-rae wanted to believe that.
"Your body's definitely in this box, right? I'll let you out—but only if you've got a body! If I free you and it's just a flying head with no body, that's no good. Got it?"
Meow.
As if it understood, the baby cat head blinked and meowed.
Carefully, oh so carefully, Na-rae tore open the cardboard box.
She was terrified of what might leap out.
She also worried about hurting the kitten in the process.
Tear... tear... and out came a plump little body.
Someone had abandoned a kitten barely weaned.
Meow.
The cat's cry showed no fear of humans.
No resentment or wariness in it at all.
"Phew, thank goodness there's a body. I was scared stiff thinking it was just a severed neck... Hey! You're really lucky your head and body are still attached."
Meow.
Na-rae agonized over what to do with the kitten.
Take it home? Mom would hate it.
Leave it outside? Those brats worried her.
Could it survive alone on the streets? That concerned her too.
Oblivious to her fretting, the kitten shuddered once.
Then it leaped lightly from the box to the flower bed below.
"You—leaving already? Can you make it on your own? I'll find you a home. Don't go far! Got it?"
Meow.
The kitten turned back for a brief farewell meow, then vanished into the flowers.
* * *
The next morning, Na-rae remembered the kitten while running a grocery errand for her mom.
Meow.
A small head poked out from the flowers in the bed, calling to her.
Na-rae squatted down in front of the flower bed.
"You calling me? Where'd you sleep last night? I'll definitely find someone to take you in."
A candidate popped into Na-rae's mind for who could take the kitten.
Dong-jin—irritating guy, but good-hearted. He'd look after it.
Meow.
The kitten meowed once shortly, then withdrew its head into the flowers and was gone.
"It's gone."
As Na-rae stood up, the kitten called again.
Meow.
"Calling me again? Oh! What's this?"
The kitten came trotting up with a shrimp cracker in its mouth, dropped it at her feet, and meowed briefly.
Meow.
"This for me? Aw! Thank you so much."
The kitten's gesture was so sweet that Na-rae's mouth twitched.
It was a struggle not to burst out laughing.
She couldn't bring herself to eat the cat-bitten cracker, so she broke off a piece and set it before the kitten.
Meow.
As if reading her mind, the kitten lapped it up.
It must have been starving.
Na-rae fed it the whole cracker, then stood and said to the kitten,
"I'm heading to the mart—don't go far. I'll buy you a tuna can. You have to wait. Got it?"
By the time she returned from the mart, the kitten was gone.
She searched the flowers, but the tiny body was nowhere.
That night, heavy rain poured down on Seoul.
Na-rae peered out the window, worrying if the kitten had found shelter from the downpour.
'Tomorrow, I'll tell Park sunbae about the kitten. He'll take it and care for it properly. Just make it through tonight! Stay out of the rain.'
On Sunday morning, heading out for mass at church, Na-rae stopped short before the flower bed.
There lay the kitten, sprawled out.
Its tiny body was soaked and limp, head pressed to the dirt.
Na-rae approached and touched it gingerly.
It was ice-cold.
Dead for a few hours, at least.
The inflexible little thing hadn't escaped the night's rain and had taken every drop right there in the bed.
It had probably crawled out that morning to beg for Na-rae's help—only to succumb to hypothermia.
Na-rae went home and returned with a towel and a trowel.
She wrapped the small body in the towel, then dug into the flower bed soil.
The rain-soaked earth gave way easily.
Soon, the kitten was buried in the bed. Na-rae prayed briefly.
'Please... don't be reborn as a cat next time......'
Sunday morning mass had been over for ages.
* * *
Sunday afternoons always felt empty for Dong-jin, living alone.
He glanced at the clock: just past five.
Dinner soon—but too lazy to cook, he decided to grab some soju and call it a meal.
He bought two bottles of soju and a can of tuna from the convenience store.
As he trudged back, someone called out.
"Hey! Kim (manager), hold up a second."
The man had round eyes and was tall—head and shoulders above Dong-jin—an elderly fellow.
"Me? I'm Park, sir."
The old man calling him Kim (manager) reminded him of the dokkaebi who'd handed over Samsan.
"Ah, force of habit. I'm hungry—spot me 30,000 won? I'll pay you back tomorrow."
The stranger boldly asked to borrow 30,000 won right off the bat.
Dong-jin was floored.
'When did we ever meet that you'd ask me for money?'
The old man didn't look like a beggar.
His demanding posture wasn't pleading either.
An old-fashioned suit and worn shoes, but neat and dignified—an air of refined old gentleman.
"30,000 won? What for?"
"Craving pork belly and soju. Smells delicious from that diner up ahead."
'What? Borrowing someone else's money for pork belly and booze? This guy's sane-looking... crazy old man? Guess not a dokkaebi.'
He thought of his grandfather, who'd tormented the family with dementia before passing, and couldn't bring himself to refuse.
His wallet held 45,000 won.
He pulled out 40,000—enough for food and bus fare—and offered it politely with both hands.
"Sir, no need to repay. Drink in moderation, use the rest for fare."
"Much obliged. I'll pay you back tomorrow for sure. Had to rush up to Seoul and forgot my wallet—promise I'll settle up."
The hulking old man spoke as he took the money.
Dong-jin had no intention of collecting anyway, and didn't buy the story.
'Classic line. Throw in some honey for sale and it'd be perfect.'
Not that curious, but for the sake of reply, he asked,
"What brought you up to Seoul in such a hurry?"
"Came from the village to catch a rascal who stirred up trouble and fled. Went around acting like the owner in a village full of longtime residents—gotta drag it back and teach it some manners, eh? I'm the market officer, so first things first: gotta fill the belly. I'll put this money to good use, Kim (manager)."
The old man spouted nonsense and called him Kim (manager) again.
Dong-jin felt irked but figured the man wasn't all there, so he said nothing.
* * *
Dong-jin's studio was on the first floor of a five-story building, with its window facing the road.
Back in his room, his eyes fell on the small knife sitting on his desk.
The knife he'd picked up from the mountain lodge's closet.
He'd planned to show it to Byung-su and Baekho, then return it to the lodge—but one thing after another had come up, leaving no chance.
Unwittingly, he'd slipped it into his back pants pocket and brought it all the way to Seoul.
"Ah, gotta show it to Team Leader when he comes by later. Shouldn't bring stuff like this home—maybe head back down this weekend and return it?"
He hadn't paid it much mind till now, but it was a black sheath with a white handle—perfect size for one hand.
The sheath bore a white talisman engraving, just like the ones at the lodge.
He slid the blade out gently.
It came free smoothly.
Fluorescent light glinted off it, the blade shining blue.
No rust at all, despite sitting in the closet.
A chill seeped from the blue edge.
Dong-jin felt it pierce even to his chest and slid the blade back into its sheath.
This was no ordinary knife.