Chapter 56: Sweet and Something with Teeth.
The evening air smelled faintly of rain as Ji-eun and Junhyeok stepped out of the train station together.
She held her umbrella above both their heads, but Junhyeok immediately adjusted it so it covered her slightly more.
Junhyeok: "You should walk in the middle. Less wind."
Ji-eun blinked. "But you'll get wet."
Junhyeok shrugged. "I'll survive."
He always said things like that-casual, blunt, simple. And yet somehow they wrapped around her heartbeat like threads.
They walked a few steps in silence before Ji-eun suddenly stopped.
Junhyeok stopped immediately too, like a soldier expecting an ambush.
Ji-eun rummaged through her bag. "Here," she said, holding out three snack packs-one almond chocolate, one honey bread, and a strawberry drink.
Junhyeok stared. "...Why?"
Ji-eun puffed her cheeks. "Because you covered me with the umbrella and scolded me for 'malfunctioning' today!"
"That wasn't an act of heroism."
"Well, it felt like one!"
Junhyeok sighed. "I don't need payment."
"It's not payment!" she insisted.
Junhyeok: "What is it then?"
Ji-eun hesitated, then muttered, "...thanks."
Junhyeok's eyes softened-just slightly, just briefly, but enough for her stomach to flip.
But then he pushed the snacks back toward her.
Junhyeok: "Keep them."
Ji-eun frowned.
"Take. The snacks."
He shook his head.
"No."
She shoved them at him.
"Yes."
He shoved them back.
"No."
She took one decisive step forward and forced them into his hand, pressing his fingers around the packages.
Ji-eun: "TAKE."
Junhyeok's grip instinctively closed, as if she'd triggered some reflex he didn't know he had.
A beat.
A breath.
Rain pattered softly on the umbrella.
Junhyeok looked at the snacks in his hands, then at her-her cheeks flushed, hair sticking slightly against the wind, eyes bright with stubbornness.
Something in him exhaled before he did.
Junhyeok: "...Stop treating me kindly."
Ji-eun froze. "What?"
His voice dropped, quiet, almost swallowed by rain.
Junhyeok: "It makes my job harder."
Ji-eun: "W-why would it make it harder...?"
Junhyeok looked away.
Junhyeok: "Because I'm supposed to watch over you. Not-"
He stopped himself.
Ji-eun stepped closer, umbrella tilting with her.
Ji-eun: "...Not what?"
Junhyeok's jaw clenched. His eyes flicked to hers-brief, sharp, revealing too much for half a second.
Junhyeok: "...Never mind."
Ji-eun's heart exploded again.
She forced herself to breathe normally, even though her entire soul was screaming.
She looked down, smiling just slightly. "...Then I'll keep giving you snacks."
Junhyeok looked genuinely distressed. "Please don't."
"I will."
"Ji-eun-"
"It's too late."
Junhyeok groaned softly, the closest he ever came to flustered.
Ji-eun walked ahead, swinging her umbrella, unable to hide her grin.
Junhyeok followed half a step behind her-like a quiet shadow who didn't yet realize the leaf had already fallen.
Beside them, the TV in the convenience store flickered between commercials before settling on a breaking news report.
[Breaking News]
East District Incident — Officials Investigating Unusual Animal Attack
.
.
.
.
The anchorwoman's voice was steady, but her eyes told a different story-tight, alert, unsettled.
"Earlier this morning, a resident discovered her pet dog dead in the small alley behind her home. Authorities initially suspected a wild animal attack, possibly a stray or a large dog."
A pause.
A brief glance to her notes.
A shift of her throat.
"But veterinarians at the district clinic state that the bite pattern... does not match any known domestic dog."
The screen switched to blurred footage-
a tarp, officers blocking the alley, yellow tape dancing in the wind.
The reporter continued, choosing her words too carefully.
"The wounds appear... larger. Deeper. And, according to one anonymous staff member, the spacing between teeth suggests-"
The audio cut for half a second.
The feed lagged.
When it returned, the wording had changed.
"-suggests an unusually large animal. Authorities stress that there is no danger to the public and urge citizens to remain calm."
The camera zoomed slightly on the alley behind her.
Dark. Narrow. Quiet.
Too quiet.
A shadow twitched near the corner—
small, quick, wrong.
The reporter didn't see it.
But the cameraman did.
The footage shook—just once—before stabilizing.
"And now, back to the studio."
The news anchor smiled, but it was the kind of smile used to hide something sharp.
.
.
.
.
The office was too clean for the kind of news playing on the screen.
White lights. Steel desks. Coffee gone cold in untouched mugs.
The television hung on the far wall, volume low but sharp enough to cut through conversation. The anchor's smile lingered for half a second too long before the segment ended.
"No danger to civilians."
The words sat there.
Rotting.
Klyne didn't blink. He stood with his arms folded, weight resting on his heel like he was considering whether the floor might give way beneath him. His reflection flickered faintly on the darkened screen-crooked posture, awkward stillness, eyes far more awake than the rest of him looked.
Eiden exhaled through his nose. "That's optimistic."
Someone laughed. Not humor. Reflex.
Sumi sat cross-legged on a chair that was too big for her, chin resting on her palm. She stared at the paused frame of the alley, expression unreadable. "It's only October," she said lightly. "We still have a month."
"A month is a luxury," a man near the back replied. He was broad-shouldered, thick-necked, unmoving-built like a wall someone forgot to decorate. His name was Bastion, and he looked like one. "If those things understand where they sit in the hierarchy, then this isn't a leak."
"It's a signal," Eiden finished.
Liv leaned forward on the table, eyes bright even now. "Or a question."
Several people looked at her.
She smiled, soft and sincere. "Questions can be beautiful."
No one argued. No one agreed either.
Jason rubbed the back of his neck, gaze flicking between faces before settling on Bastion. "What did Dada say?" he asked. "And when's he coming back?"
The room shifted at the word.
A woman near the window uncrossed her legs. She moved like a coil loosening, voice smooth and slow, every syllable sliding over the next. Naga-no one knew if that was her name or a joke she'd leaned into too far.
"When the time is right," she said pleasantly. "You know how he hates arriving early."
Jason frowned. "That's not an answer."
"It's the only one," Naga replied, smiling without warmth.
A chair scraped.
A lanky man stood from the shadows, tall enough that the ceiling lights cast his face half in darkness. His limbs looked too long, like they'd grown before the rest of him caught up. Elior adjusted his glasses.
"Three days," he said.
Silence.
Klyne's head tilted. "Three?"
Elior nodded once. "Three days from now."
"And then?" someone asked.
Elior smiled thinly. "Then everyone gets their place in the thin world."
The lights went out.
Not suddenly.
Deliberately.
Emergency strips along the floor glowed faint red, painting the room in veins of color. In the dark, eyes opened-
Gold. Blue. Pale white. Red like embers. One pair didn't glow at all, but somehow felt heavier than the rest.
Klyne's voice broke the stillness, awkward as ever. "So... shoes or no shoes?"
A few snorts. A few exhalations. Tension bent, but didn't break.
Eiden straightened. "We move normal. No sirens. No patterns."
"Cafe shifts stay cafe shifts," Sumi added. "School stays school."
"And if something bites?" Bastion asked.
Klyne scratched his cheek. "Then we remind it," he said softly, "that biting up the ladder hurts."
Naga's eyes gleamed. "Careful, Mr. Fake Midas. That almost sounded like confidence."
He grimaced. "I'm practicing."
The screen flickered back to life on its own.
The alley.
Empty.
For now.
Outside, rain continued to fall—gentle, patient, unaware of the teeth waiting beneath the sweetness of October.