Tiger (7)
Sticky breath clung to my throat. My breathing was ragged, labored.
Sweat crawled across my skin. My muscles felt like they were melting, flowing away.
Rawr—!
But I couldn't stop. The beast was still behind me.
Its shadow loomed, its white fur whipping in the wind.
I tumbled onto the wide plateau at the summit. Clutching my throbbing ankle, I pushed forward—and there it was: the shrine.
A sacred Dangsan tree stretched its long, gaunt branches behind it. The surroundings were already stained red.
The moon bled crimson. Old prayer flags in the five directions dangled from every twisted limb, fluttering endlessly in the sobbing wind.
And—just as an actor needs a stage, lines, the fabrication of that tale and emotion, so too is direction required.
All of this was staged.
I pressed my back against the rough bark of the Dangsan tree. Panting, I glared across the path at the glowing eyes of the beast.
"Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha."
It laughed. Cackled. Ranted. Sounds buzzed in my ears like flies.
It's a tiger—! My poor soul's on that tongue now. Aaaah! Save me! I don't want to die yet! Mother... Mountain Spirit! Please save this humble one! I have an ailing mother to care for...! Hyangran? Where's Hyangran? I can't see... Kill it! Stab it! No!
Every word weighed heavy, terrifying. Each whisper sticky, gooseflesh-inducing.
I closed my eyes. A drop of sweat seeped under my lids.
This was the failure point. No matter the loop, "I" always reached here. And right here, we lost the team.
All dead. Section Chief Jo, Manager Ham, Assistant Song, Assistant Ko.
Even Choi Soo-jung.
I couldn't even imagine it. She'd carved a scar too deep in my heart to erase.
The beast mocked me by revealing it indirectly—through the heads of our two rookies under team protection, Kim Mun-ho and Joo Han-ul.
It still didn't sit right. I had to change it.
The key is the story. And stories need context.
Context with context.
Logic with logic.
Flow with flow.
Story with story.
Let's continue the tale of the sage who created Dangsan Dowon.
The sage climbed the mountain and reached the sacred tree, weeping endlessly in prayer. Heaven was moved.
Thus, the secret to sealing hell descended with moonlight onto his crown. The sage opened his eyes wide, called his two disciples,
"I will enter the tree's hollow. You two, seal it shut."
Now, end it.
I opened my eyes.
The tiger's maw filled my vision.
Save me. I don't want to die yet. What is that? Weird. So weird! Run! It's eating us! Aaaaaah! It's watching. Something in the trees... Ugh, urk? Shoot it. Shoot the damn thing! You're already dead.
Become one.
Shoot.
Shoot.
Shoot—!
Bang—!
The bullet left the barrel, piercing the tiger's maw.
That was the signal. Hidden teammates burst out, drawing its gaze.
"Over here—!"
Section Chief Jo's fist slammed into the tiger's crown. Thud—! It face-planted, thrashing.
But not for long.
"Ngh—!"
The tiger clawed. Snapped its jaws. Bit. Section Chief Jo flew through the air.
Man cannot beat tiger.
"Section Chief!"
Manager Ham blocked its path. Beside him, Kyung-min with drawn sword, Deputy Choi fists clenched. Assistant Song's eyes flashed, and the tiger charged again.
"Hold it! Don't let it reach the tree!"
The fight was hopeless. Unwinnable. I'd woven all events into this story, believing man always loses to tiger.
That's why.
We win.
"Mr. Kim Mun-ho, Mr. Joo Han-ul! Over here!"
They came to me. Terrified, but obedient to orders.
How much effort for this? Ridiculous, in hindsight.
"Follow me. Hurry!"
They trailed without question.
The sacred tree's hollow loomed.
Behind, a brawl unfit for "combat"—fists vs. claws, blades vs. fangs in packed jaws. Every second counted. My job: squeeze into the hole.
"Listen up, both of you."
Block it. Seal it tight! No one gets in!
"Once I'm inside, block it so no one enters."
Confusion crossed their faces. No time to explain.
"Better yet, seal it completely. You two sitting in front fits perfectly. Got it? No one gets in."
They hesitated. Frustrating, even now. But fine.
"Got it? Answer!"
"Y-yes, sir!"
"O-okay..."
They were supporting roles. In the Dangsan Dowon legend, disciples appear in one line: seal the hole, done.
I'm the lead. I stole the story. The sage's story.
"Good. I trust you two."
Murmuring that, I dove into the hollow. They blocked it with their backs.
Darkness swallowed me.
Light vanished.
Absolute black.
In it, I was a frightened lamb.
A child huddled in a quiet home corner, clutching his head, trembling.
Sobs rose. Limbs shook.
Cold sweat.
But.
But not yet.
I couldn't break yet.
I never did.
If I can, I do.
If not, I don't.
If I must, I do.
And.
Oh Sung-jin, who did what he could, skipped what he couldn't, and did what he must...
Always wins.
Haha. Hahaha...
...Absurd.
Hahahaha... hahahahaha...
...Ridiculous.
...
In this crisis, blade to my throat, came liberation greater than ever in life.
After years of being dead inside, I finally breathed again!
I slipped a hand into my suit pocket. Pulled out my phone, turned on the light. Even its cold white glow soothed me.
The Dangsan Dowon tale ends abruptly: the sage asks disciples to seal him in the tree.
Suddenly.
Too suddenly.
Like an unfinished story.
Think back. Where did I learn the Dangsan Dowon legend?
Company? No. Anomalies have rules, inside them.
The root is the daytime shaman hut, the sage's abode.
Next?
Nighttime shaman hut, again the sage's.
Inference?
Dangsan Dowon's story lies in the sage's acts.
Conclusion?
Here, the sage's final tale remains.
Dangsan Dowon's ending.
But why didn't I find it before? In the 'three-views-kill' video loop.
Directive.
The word was overwritten. With magic ink from loop 3's me.
It was instructions. Even discovering the legend's end was by design.
Phone light pushed back the dark. Wall text emerged.
At hell's end, the sage saw the Star King's plot and wept bitterly.
That pleased the Star King.
Offended, the sage declared Dangsan sealed.
Without breaking the sealed hole, he neither ate, drank, nor slept.
When his soul scattered like distant light, beneath the Star King's left eye.
The sage breathed his last, and Dangsan closed at last.
What I need...
A quick death.
I knew loop 3's failure.
Timeout. Didn't die at the right moment.
Team died drawing eyes, rookies died opening hole, picture tore—before story's end.
So... the drug.
From shady pharma: quick, painless death guaranteed.
One worry left: how the team takes my death?
Soon, pointless.
Thanks to Section Chief Jo and Deputy Choi.
They'd know I'm not dead. Him via my trait info, her via obsession.
Now, just finish.
I pulled the pill packet from my inner pocket. Knew the method.
1. Place pill in mouth.
2. Hold breath, close eyes.
3. Stab side with sharp object (blade best, but any pointy thing OK!).
4. Drift into sweet sleep.
I lay down.
Tree roots dug into my back, aching fiercely. Popped pill in mouth. Saliva melted it—bitter as hell.
Drew fountain pen. Closed eyes, held breath.
Chewed, swallowed past throat.
In lid-made dark, raised pen-arm high...
Stab—! Tip pierced my side.
Rawr—! Beast's roar, heavy paws. Scratching tree, whispers.
Already faint.
Too faint to hear.
Like dream echoes.
Consciousness faded.
Like dying embers at dawn, slowly, slowly...
With ecstatic death, the dream collapsed.
"Deputy Choi, you okay?"
Manager Ham asked Deputy Choi. She blankly shook her head.
"...I don't know what to say. You lost someone precious. Take leave? Company sucks elsewhere, but handles this right."
"No. I'm fine."
"...No clue how to comfort you. Words won't reach anyway."
Choi Soo-jung lifted her head slightly.
"Can I talk? About Sung-jin."
Her voice tentative. Choi Soo-jung couldn't grasp it.
"Do you think he's dead?"
"Uh, yeah?"
"Do you think he's dead?"
Ham’s face hardened. Then sorrow, pity, finally sympathy.
"Deputy Choi, I won't say forget. But carrying too much pain's no good. Vets have been through it. Push too hard, you break—body or mind."
Choi Soo-jung still didn't get it.
Acting like Oh Sung-jin was really dead?
"So, uh, seems you've accepted it some. Quitting solo runs into Follow-up Special Duty 1."
"..."
Choi Soo-jung stared at Manager Ham. He met her eyes briefly, then sighed.
"Need more time to grieve, right? Take leave. Come on, I'll help."
"...No. It's fine. Still work left."
"...Okay. If you say so. Don't overdo it."
Manager Ham left her desk. Still worried to the end.
But Deputy Choi still didn't understand him.
Simple reason.
She'd already checked. Concluded.
Oh Sung-jin wasn't dead yet.
So he'd return.
Like always, back in their rival days.