The Case of the Missing Baek-gu
Seo-ah confirmed that the family gathering wouldn't wrap up that day and headed back just before quitting time. Since it wasn't exactly a joyous occasion, the relatives only showed their faces briefly, and everyone except Grandpa's kids soon headed home.
"Oh? I thought you weren't coming back today, but you're early."
"Yeah. I went to the family meetup and picked up a client."
"Really? Nice! I was just stressing over what to upload next."
Hyeon-a, who had been getting ready to leave, set her bag down and sidled up close to her.
"Here, the business card."
"Taegong Precision Machinery? It's the president's card."
"I only got the card, no clue what the company does. Just give me a quick rundown on them."
"Got it."
Plenty of companies hung up "precision machinery" signs while doing shady stuff on the side, so you couldn't judge by the facade alone. Last time, she'd gone to what looked like a machine shop, only to find an illegal car mod garage.
"Want me to slide the report under your door, or email it?"
"Email. Paper's a waste."
"Yes, ma'am."
Meeting relatives after so long had left her mentally drained. Her apartment was right above the office, so it was just one flight of stairs—but those steps felt like lead weights.
The moment she opened the door, she shed her clothes into the laundry basket like a snake sloughing its skin. She was about to unhook the heavy bra cradling her substantial breasts when the thought hit: I'm not a guy anymore. Even after over twenty years lugging these things around, it still felt weird. Yanking on someone else's for fun had been a laugh, but wearing them herself? Without exercise, her shoulders were gonna hate her.
She flopped to the floor and slithered snake-like toward the bathroom, her phone dragging behind until its alarm blared.
"Fast worker. Good employee."
Back home, bonds were sealed by contracts; here, by cash. Both had pros and cons, but right now, money made it easy to snag top talent. Soul-binding contracts weren't so forgiving—you couldn't just poach disciples.
She opened the email, skimmed Hyeon-a's report, then hauled herself up and plunged into the tub.
"Subcontractor making semiconductor machines, huh..."
She sank slowly into the hot water, mind drifting to a fight from her younger days—two megacorps battling over rice seed tech advancements.
She'd imagined movie-plot drama: corporate espionage, industrial spies betraying secrets. But cops and lawyers handled that stuff; no way they'd hire a small agency like hers. State-certified outfits dealt with the big leagues. Their case was simpler: "Could you find the dog that was at our factory? My daughter loved him, but he wandered off one day and never came back."
The factory president had nodded to his daughter, who clutched a photo and slid it over. Not exactly a "puppy"—more like a hefty mutt.
"His name's Baek-gu. We registered him as a pet and tagged his collar, but no word yet."
He wondered what had lured the yard-roaming dog outside. Sure, the daughter fretted like family, but the president's mind seemed elsewhere.
Her manager—sharp as ever—took the girl out for snacks, clearing the room.
"Most lost-dog cases? Slim odds, honestly. They dash into traffic or get dumped by owners who can't be bothered."
"I know. You see roadkill now and then, dog traders prowling too."
"Mm. So what then?"
"The collar at least. Must recover it."
"The collar?"
"Yes."
She wanted to dig deeper, but the daughter returned with ice cream, steering talk back to puppy love. They even greenlit filming for a video. In this line of work, clients sometimes got handed random dog bones with a "this is yours"—so documenting the process built trust. He agreed readily.
After he left, the manager scooted close.
"How much for this one? Didn't seem like an ordinary pup."
"Big upfront. Better wrap it quick before they shop elsewhere."
"Tch... Call my brother? He's great with people."
"Nah, just one dog. I'll hit the animal shelter; get prepped."
"Yes, boss!"
Base pay was minimum wage, but they split case fees three ways—ten million won per gig lit a fire under her. Gotta close it before rival agencies sniffed it out; she practically shoved Seo-ah out the door.
"Don't dawdle—grab that pup and hustle! All you've got going for you is those tits!"
Compliment or insult? Seo-ah swatted the sneaky grope away. Touchy-feely from another woman? Gross.
At the shelter, she snagged a freshly dead dog and returned. Hyeon-a, geared up for an overnight, loaded the trunk.
"All set?"
"Yup. Camera, batteries—perfect."
Ex-PD aspirations shining through, save for the post-recording fuss. Near-perfect employee otherwise.
She flashed the president's card at security and entered the factory. Weekend staffing was light, but the massive building hummed with scattered noises.
"Start when no one's looking."
"Got it, boss."
Hyeon-a set the dog corpse at her feet. Seo-ah dipped a brush in red dye—chicken blood mixed with ink—and drew the necromancy sigil. The crimson lines glowed faintly; the dead dog blinked, then sprang up.
"Your spells are wild every time. You should've been a shaman."
"Don't shamans do this? Just reviving a dog for a bit."
"Weird talk again. Shamans raising zombie dogs? Then zombies are real too."
"Aren't they?"
"...Haha."
Polite chuckle at the boss's lame joke. Seo-ah knew better, but real voodoo recreations from Africa? Way more fun. Life needed spice.
Woof!
Necromancy crammed wandering ghosts into corpses, but ghosts were scarce in this magic-less world. Plan B: craft a memory construct from the site's lingering echoes, soul-like. Drawback—no post-death intel, one-use only. Upside: retraced the path before. Fine for solo gigs, not armies.
"Camera rolling?"
"Yup!"
"Follow this pup's memory trail."
Direct drive would've been efficient, but boring footage. For views, they filmed the zombie dog trotting ahead; Seo-ah slipped into the car, started it up. Hazard lights on, tailing slow for "safety." Her face or chest flashing even briefly? Guaranteed 100k views, Hyeon-a insisted. Not her payout anyway.
"Boss, got the intro and buildup. Just need the end."
"Not much footage."
"Editing to ten minutes. Plenty already."
"...This pays?" Tch.
"Flat girls like me? Useless on cam. Need assets like yours. Tsk."
"Scram."
Same sex, but Hyeon-a eyed her chest worse than any guy. Stroking the lifeless pup, smacking her lips—middle-aged dude trapped inside? Seo-ah wondered.
"Beyond tits, how to boost views?"
"Your powers give shaman vibes—dark backdrop for horror mystery."
"...Fine."
Necromancer equaled black magic elsewhere, pitchforks at the ready. Here? Just another moneymaker. Ghost hunters even sought her out.
"Fans would eat this up: weird belly sigil, dead dog revives and leads to its death spot."
Seo-ah skipped their YouTube, but pictured the edit. No way she'd cameo more.
"Sunset then? Not now."
"Yeah. Scout for risks first. Private property's trespassing."
"I'll cut anything sketchy."
Seo-ah eyed the D-cup evangelist skeptically, then focused on driving, letting the pup's "navi-barks" guide. But where the hell had this thing died to lead them this deep?