The Phantom Thief Tung-i (1)
After the Nero Gang's raid.
Ssal-i and I headed to Big Rock every single day for a week.
But.
'Let's wait quietly. Il-nam-i promised to let us know the moment the strays show up.'
We hadn't found a single trace of the Nero Gang.
"Director, is something wrong?"
"Pardon?"
Lost in those thoughts, I heard Reina whispering in my ear. She'd come along for the shoot.
"You look gloomier than usual today. The client's almost here... If you're not feeling well, we could tell the staff now and—"
"I'm fine. Just a bit tired."
"The show's nothing without you now. You know this is the only regular gig I have, right?"
She looked up at me with those big, Puss in Boots-like eyes, and I couldn't help but chuckle.
"And yet you're telling me to rest?"
"Of course! You have to be in top shape if we're gonna keep this going like a pension plan!"
"You're so blunt, it's disarming."
"Hehe, that's my charm."
When I first met Reina at the studio, I'd pegged her as a shy idol. But the more I saw, the more her bold, straightforward side shone through.
"Anyway, you know the Animal Kingdom forums are flooded with people saying they're only watching for you? Ratings skyrocketed after you joined."
"Should I ask for a raise, then?"
"Whoa, Director, you're such an adult. Pulling the pay negotiation card right here... "
Reina stuck out her tongue in mock awe and gave me a sneaky thumbs-up.
I waved it off and said,
"Kidding. We're already getting tons of promo value. Hey, isn't that the client coming up the stairs?"
"Yep. That big grin when she sees you... Good luck with the shoot today, Director. Ratings, fighting!"
Today's client was a woman in her forties living in a rooftop room.
She'd texted ahead that the walk might make her a tad late, so I was waiting on the rooftop bench near her place.
"Oh my gosh~ Hello, Director! Huge fan! I've watched every episode you've been on!"
"Nice to meet you. Baek Min-hyeok here. Must've been tough carrying him all the way up."
"Ugh, don't remind me. Cheap rent, but no elevator, hehe. The crew must've had it worse lugging all that gear."
The client approached with a sulky-faced Welsh Corgi in her arms, her voice all syrupy sweet.
The crew just nodded instead of answering, so she set the Corgi down and kept going.
"When I first brought home my Bosal, I thought he was a small breed, y'know? Lease is up next year, so we've gotta hold out till then, but man, this guy's no lightweight, ho ho. Must be 'cause I feed him so well?"
Welsh Corgis look small with those stubby legs, but that's a bold-faced lie. They grow to 25-30 cm tall, weigh around 13 kg on average—hefty medium dogs. A well-fed chunk like Bosal could hit 18 kg easy.
Dragging an 18 kg dumbbell up and down the stairs daily for walks? Yeah, it'd be a lie to say it wasn't exhausting.
"He does look pretty stocky for a Welsh Corgi. Anyway, mind telling us about the issue?"
A few weeks back, they'd shown me the pre-recorded VCR. But not anymore.
At some point, the Animal Kingdom community started buzzing that my reactions to clients were too robotic from start to finish. So now, I'm banned from seeing the VCRs beforehand.
We hear the story straight from the client on shoot day.
'What even is so fascinating about my surprised faces?'
I get it—it's a show filming quirky animal behaviors, and sure, the vet's reactions matter or whatever. If the viewers want it, who am I to argue?
"Bosal's an unusual name. You go to temple? Or is there another story?"
"Oh ho ho! Temple? Not at all. When I first got him, he was so gentle, loved people, didn't bark much—so I named him Bosal. Nothing else fit such a saintly pup."
'...Gentle, huh.'
Bosal, stubby legs churning, rolling across the rooftop concrete. The client's ears must be deaf to his wails.
—Destroy the Earth! Smash it! Kyaargh!
Even a kid seeing a dog for the first time would clock Bosal as a rage-filled tyrant from that frantic rooftop rampage.
'Even hedgehogs think their babies are cute, but... that one...'
Harsh truth, but it had to be said.
Even without me, once this aired, it'd be titled something like "Please Tame Our Thanos!"
"Hmm. Welsh Corgis are confident and energetic by nature, but from what I see... Bosal seems pretty angry."
"Oh my?! You're amazing! Pros like you spot it right away!"
No. Anyone could see he's brimming with fury.
Amazing? If you say so.
"Bosal never used to get mad at all."
That's what they all say, ma'am.
"If we're talking gentle, he's got Jindo dogs beat. See that? That's why it's empty."
She pointed to what folks call the "national moving box"—a yellow-and-green plastic crate with metal rings on both ends.
"What was in the box?"
"Ugh, packed full. Bosal's toys."
"Both boxes?"
"Yup. Just a month ago, they were stuffed with his favorite plushies and toys. The crazy part? They started vanishing like clothes in a drizzle. Look—totally empty now."
She tsked in disbelief mid-sentence, and Reina's bunny eyes popped wide as she chimed in.
"No way! One box is huge already—two full ones? That's gotta be 50-60 toys at least!"
"Pfft, 50-60? Easy 100."
Unlike me, Reina sees the VCRs ahead and acts like it's all new. Pros, man.
"That's bizarre. So someone—or something—is stealing Bosal's toys bit by bit, and you don't know who?"
"No clue. You saw coming up—iron gate right before the stairs. No humans getting through. And who'd steal a slobber-covered toy? Thought maybe crows?"
"Crows? Any traces?"
"Y'know, news says crows snatch wallets, phones, even kimbap—anything shiny. They slip in quiet, no traces. Who else?"
Back in 1994.
Magpies—traditional good omens—got labeled pests.
Crows, with similar tastes and habitats, boomed in cities as a result.
"Hmm. Haven't seen crows around, but maybe Bosal hid them some—"
—What the hell, dude? I'm dying here from being robbed, and you're spouting bullshit!
"—where else. Let's check the camera footage our team set up."
Viewers probably think Animal Kingdom jumps on tips instantly.
Reality: Junior writers sift dozens of daily submissions, do prelim checks. Sub-writers make VCRs, decide on full shoots after round two.
These rooftop cams? Pandora's boxes, capturing the past week's drama.
"Oof, heart pounding. If it's a burglar, I'd freak. Better if Bosal just stashed 'em."
—Argh! Why won't you listen! It wasn't me! I said nooo!
As the client patted Bosal's plump butt—still rolling and howling—the crew brought the cams.
"Vet, footage ready. Play it?"
"Please."
In the tense quiet, broken only by Bosal's growls, the video rolled. Culprit appeared quick.
"Oh my gosh!"
"Whoa. That's the thief?"
Footage played backward from a week ago. First night: a head peeked over the wall.
'...A cat? The thief's a cat?'
Gray fur, black stripes—a scrawny kitten.
Small and skinny, but it sauntered like it owned the place, straight to the crates.
"Look! Heads right for the toys and grabs one! That's our thief!"
—See, Mom! I told you! I'm the victim here! Victim! Waah! Blow up the planet! Hate cats!
We watched the rest.
The phantom cat struck every day, never missing once. Soon as client and Bosal went inside, it'd slink in, snag a toy.
"Cute, but... why's a kitten stealing plushies? Every day?"
"That's..."
I had no answer for Reina.
Toy-hoarding cats? Unheard of.
"No idea. Doesn't eat 'em, just pointless grabs... Rare case."
If there was audio, maybe. But the cat thief came and went silent as wind from next door, toy in mouth.
"We found Bosal's toy thief, but... now what? Can't call cops on a cat."
"Next door first. Came from their roof—start the trail there."
—Find it! Catch the toy thief quick!
"Hehe. I'll tuck Bosal inside."
Client shoved the still-growling Bosal indoors. We headed downstairs, next building over.
Knock knock.
"Anyone home?"
A middle-aged man creaked open the iron door, peering out.
"Who're you?"
"Hi. We're from Animal Kingdom."
"Oh, Animal Kingdom? Hey! The TV vet—Baek-sam! What's up around here?"
"Seen a cat like this nearby?"
"Huh? That's Tung-i."
The net around the phantom cat tightened at last.