Tiger (4)
“Um... sir? Could I ask one more question, by any chance?”
As soon as we entered the shaman's house, sure enough, Kim Mun-ho approached me.
Of course, I didn't answer.
That said, I didn't bother opening my mouth to scold him either—partly because the time wasn't right yet...
And partly because I had some thinking to do.
From now on, I planned to mull over the nature of contamination.
What exactly was contamination?
Kimchi jjigae splattered on a white dress shirt, iced Americano spilled on a favorite coat, instant ramen dumped on a soft white-furred rug?
Yeah, those are pretty horrific too.
In the front world, you could call that contamination.
But in the back world?
Far worse.
Contamination in the back world was similar on the surface but fundamentally different.
The contamination commonly understood in the back world went like this.
1. Fatal mental or physical damage inflicted by an anomalous phenomenon or equivalent supernatural event.
2. The alteration of characteristics in one anomalous phenomenon due to another anomalous phenomenon or equivalent supernatural event. Or such an occurrence.
3. Rarely, a new characteristic manifested by an anomalous phenomenon—or equivalent supernatural event—that has suffered damage equivalent to destruction, as part of self-repair. Or such an occurrence.
Brutal.
Terrifying. Eerie.
Even just the dictionary definition made me want nothing to do with it.
However...
My train of thought cut off right then.
Someone had placed a hand on my shoulder.
“Um...”
It was Kim Mun-ho.
This guy had more guts than I thought. Maybe this was the kind of talent the company was after.
The bold type—reckless at first glance—who'd cheerfully charge into anomalous phenomena like it was a suicide mission.
Of course, Kim Mun-ho didn't fit that bill. Look at his face: pale, gripped by fear. He was just scared. And hoping someone would ease that fear.
And I was playing the role of a key company figure.
The only one here who could soothe his anxiety was me—and I'd orchestrated it so he'd think that way.
I'd induced the behavior.
Me, no less.
His hand on my shoulder stemmed from that premise.
And in this situation, it was the wrong call.
Sorry about this, Mun-ho. Things are about to get a bit rude.
That was when Kim Mun-ho forced a smile.
“Alright, will you tell me now? What's really going on here?”
The time had come.
“It's routine. You'll have to get used to it if you want to join Mirae.”
I channeled Choi Soo-jung's negative traits. I'd spent enough time with her to nail it.
“Even right this moment.”
Easy. Wearing someone else's mask.
“But didn't I tell you? Noise is dangerous.”
This level of acting? I could do it in my sleep.
“So shut your damn mouth.”
The air froze.
Yeah. I could pull it off.
“Or at least keep it down before I hit mute. Got it?”
I drew my pistol and aimed. Kim Mun-ho's face hardened. Ju Han-ul hunched her shoulders and started sobbing.
The situation plunged into uncontrollable chaos. And that was control in the absolute sense.
Now, time to mix in a dash of Team Leader Jo.
“...What I'm saying is, that kind of behavior could seriously jeopardize your life. Nod if you understand.”
My performance landed too well—over the top, even.
Hearing my own voice so clearly was rare, almost alien.
Oh Sung-jin MK.2: Tough Guy Edition. Nailed it?
My hands trembled from the tension.
And then.
Finally, Kim Mun-ho nodded.
...Whew.
I slowly lowered the barrel.
I'd done it.
“...What now? Are we just going to die like this?”
Ju Han-ul asked, right on cue. Like a scripted line.
“I don't want to die like this. It's weird and scary. Dying here with no one knowing...”
“It's fine. For now, at least. The company deployed personnel to rescue you, and our team—including me—are experts in this.”
A blatant lie. I was a rookie, and the company hadn't sent us for rescue.
But acting was lying by nature.
No guilt here.
“You're valuable company assets. And we run this business with more entrepreneurial spirit than any other firm.”
“Really...?”
Ju Han-ul looked up.
Next line. Add a bit of Manager Ham this time.
“Yes. Trust me. If you can't trust me, trust the company.”
I pulled out my employee ID. Time to turn doubt into certainty.
From here on, I was the company.
“You're passers of our public recruitment exam. Mirae never wastes talent. Simply put, we don't take losses. Proof? I'm here.”
Hope bloomed.
“Let's get through this together.”
And inspiration struck.
Now they were perfectly under my thumb. They'd jump into fire if I said so.
“...That aside, let's rest. Rest is crucial. You're worn out mentally and physically. I'll investigate the interior meanwhile. For your sake.”
They agreed, anxious but compliant.
Alright. My alone time.
Back to contamination.
This situation matches definition 2 from the back world's dictionary on contamination.
2. The alteration of characteristics in one anomalous phenomenon due to another anomalous phenomenon or equivalent supernatural event. Or such an occurrence.
What did that really mean?
Two anomalies fusing into one.
That led me to one question.
Of the two fused anomalies, which one holds dominance?
Dangsan Dowon?
The Dream Tiger?
Ambiguous. Hard to discern. Practically impossible.
Fusion takes an average of one to two days.
Compare that to the one to two months it takes to survey a new anomaly and draft a manual. Laughably short.
And yet.
I can do it.
Only me.
Only my trait.
Moonlight bathed the altar. The mirror and the inscription before it gleamed sharply in the cool lunar glow.
I reached for the document.
The instant my fingertips touched the paper's rough surface, my trait whispered.
We were still in Dangsan Dowon.
Not the manual-less new discovery—whose powers we hadn't even fully grasped—codenamed Dream Tiger.
No: the fully manualed anomaly the company had thoroughly analyzed, mastered—owned, even.
The difference between them was night and day.
All the pieces had fallen into place.
One task remained.
How to destroy Dangsan Dowon.
The answer lay in the documents, of course.
I picked up the inscription detailing Dangsan Dowon's origins—the one touching my fingertips.
Crimson-black characters like dried blood. Decrepit paper, frayed to the point of ruin.
I unfolded the document. Checked the contents.
...They had changed.
If my theory holds...
This was the backstory's backstory.
Night had fallen, Dangsan Dowon's anomalous traits had shifted—so the legend tied to it changing wasn't strange.
Nor was it becoming a tragedy.
What good was saying it? This was a ghost story. And ghost stories end in tragedy.
The sage who forged the underworld with file stakes earned the Star King's wrath.
Obviously. The underworld's material was the Star King's eye—the sun.
Anyone would hold a grudge if their eye got smashed to make something.
No matter how noble the intent.
So the Star King hatched a plot.
In the Dangsan Dowon legend, the underworld was paradise, an ideal realm.
But Dangsan Dowon was far from paradise.
Thanks to the Star King's scheme.
The shaman ravens and jangseung trees weren't loosed by the sage. It was the Star King.
And the sage just watched?
Yes.
Because the sage had made a promise to the Star King.
Thus, against the sage's will, Dangsan Dowon became a hell for punishing sinners.
The lost souls and ghosts in torment approached the sage and said:
"This is all your fault, your fault."
The sage wept bitterly, tearing at his chest.
"It is my fault, my fault."
In self-reproach, the sage embarked on ascetic trials to cleanse his sin. None other than...
Toward Dangsan's peak, the sacred tree.
And there, he sealed the hell that Dangsan Dowon had become.
That far into my thoughts, I grabbed the radio and keyed the channel.
“...This is Oh Sung-jin. This is Oh Sung-jin.”
No response. Fine. They'd be listening. I had to believe that.
“Broadcasting to all Follow-up Special Duty Division 1 personnel.”
I slipped in info the tiger couldn't possibly know.
No chance they wouldn't get it. I trusted my team's competence.
“Lure operation terminated as of now. Repeat: lure operation terminated as of now.”
To the silent radio, I whispered:
“Everyone, go silent and stand by.”
Tiger.
So it would chase only me.