Things had never gone so smoothly before. For once, everything was falling into place. In the first half of the year, he’d finally paid off the last of his exhausting debts, and the peanuts he’d planted for the fall harvest were growing beautifully, free from any serious damage.
Two years ago, everything had been ruined just a week before harvest—his crops completely wiped out by a family of raccoons. Since then, he’d practically lived out in the field, standing guard day and night. It had paid off. He could chase away raccoons as soon as they appeared now, thanks in part to the sturdy wire fencing he’d had installed.
Humming a light tune without thinking, Da Haram made his way home. His house—a weathered old hanok perched on a small hill—sat in a quiet countryside village. It, along with the peanut field, had been inherited from his grandmother who passed away two years prior.
Tail swaying lazily above the waistband of his pants, Haram went straight into the kitchen. He kicked off his rubber farming boots and headed inside, pulling a chilled bottle of barley tea from the fridge. He filled a cup to the brim and drank it all in one go, exhaling with deep satisfaction.
Just as he rinsed the dirt from his hands at the sink and was about to head to the bathroom for a shower, a loud pounding echoed through the yard, shaking the front gate.
“Hey, you little rat!”
The voice wasn’t welcome, but it was familiar.
It belonged to the debt collector who had shown up every single month for six years. But Haram had paid off his debts long ago. What the hell was he doing here now?
He pressed his lips together in silence, debating whether to ignore him or go out—until the man threatened to break down the door if he didn’t come out. With a sigh, Haram slipped on his house slippers and trudged out to the gate. Creeeak—the old wooden door groaned open.
Standing there was a man who looked wildly out of place in the peaceful countryside: overweight, dressed in a sharp business suit, and smiling like they were long-lost friends.
“Been a while.”
“…Why are you here?”
“Move aside. What, didn’t your folks teach you not to keep guests waiting outside?”
The debt collector gave Haram’s shoulder a light push to get by him. Haram stepped back cautiously, scowling as he rubbed the spot. The man opened his mouth to scold him again—but missed the raised threshold at the bottom of the gate and promptly tripped, crashing to the ground with a loud thud, kicking up a cloud of dust.
Haram dodged the tumbling body just in time and stared down at the man sprawled in the dirt with a look of pure exasperation. The man sprang up, muttering curses, and pointed a finger accusingly at Haram, who stood several paces away.
“What kind of person just stands there when someone falls?! You should’ve helped me up!”
Watching the man blame everyone but himself, Haram pouted and shifted his gaze. That’s when he noticed another man standing just behind the debt collector—someone with a sharp, intimidating look and glasses. His posture was rigid, his presence cold.
Who’s that guy in the glasses?
“Why don’t we go inside and have a little talk?”
The debt collector, noticing Haram’s anxious expression, lightly tapped his shoulder.
“I’ve already paid off my debt. There’s nothing left to discuss…”
But seeing Haram bite his lip, his unease showing, the debt collector flashed a greasy grin and cut straight to the point.
“Yeah, yeah, you paid it off. I know. But that’s not what today’s about. You know that peanut field of yours?”
The sudden mention of the peanut field only deepened Haram’s confusion. He couldn’t possibly be here to buy peanuts…
“Sell it to us.”
Haram’s wide eyes grew even larger, nearly bulging in disbelief. Why the peanut field? Sure, it was a sizable plot of land, but this was the countryside—land was cheap, and it wasn’t worth all that much.
“Are you… planning to start farming?”
At Haram’s uncertain look, the debt collector let out an awkward chuckle.
“No, not exactly…”
“Let’s talk inside,”
the bespectacled man, who had remained silent until now, said coldly, looking down at Haram. The moment Haram met the man’s frosty gaze, he quickly lowered his head.
“I’m not selling the peanut field…”
His voice was soft and trembling with fear, but his words were resolute.
He didn’t know what these men wanted with the field—and frankly, he didn’t care. The peanut field and the old hanok were what his late grandmother had left him—her legacy, her parting gift for the grandson who would be left behind alone. It was the only life he knew. He had grown up learning to farm peanuts, and it was the one thing he genuinely loved. He was good at it, too. The village elders always told him how rare it was for someone to love what they did and be good at it—and that he should be proud of himself.
Peanut farming was the only thing Haram could claim as his own, the one thing he wasn’t ashamed to show others. Sure, to outsiders, it was just fieldwork in a remote countryside—but to him, it meant everything.
In a village where he had no family and no peers, losing the field would leave him utterly alone. It was his anchor. His world. Selling it had never once crossed his mind.
The debt collector sighed deeply, as though the earth itself were caving in, then glanced toward the man behind him for guidance before speaking again.
“Don’t make this harder than it needs to be, yeah?”
But Haram didn’t budge. He shot the man a wary glance and muttered,
“J-just go home, Mister…”
His voice faltered, but his resolve didn’t waver. Hearing that, the debt collector clenched his fist. Haram had felt that fist more times than he could count—he knew exactly what came next. Before the blow could land, he instinctively squeezed his eyes shut and raised his arms to shield his head.
Seeing that reaction, the debt collector let out a slow breath. He unclenched his hand and forced that familiar, phony smile back onto his face.
“This gentleman here is willing to pay a good price for your land. You could take the money and move to the city, live a real life for once, kid.”
The punch never came. Instead, there was that mock-affectionate tone again. Slowly, Haram lowered his arms and looked up at the man.
The city?
It wasn’t as if he loved living in the sticks. It was just that the city… didn’t work for him.
Unlike most beastfolk, he couldn’t fully shift into a human form. Even when he managed to transform, he couldn’t hide his soft, silvery tail or the small ears perched atop his head.
Sure, society claimed to accept beastfolk and humans equally—but beastfolk were still rare, and the world was built for humans. That much was obvious. The ones who lived in cities always managed to present themselves as fully human. It was easier that way—no stares, no whispers, no trouble. But Haram couldn’t do that.
He still remembered the school trip to the city amusement park. His bushy tail was so tall it poked above his head when fully upright. He wasn’t allowed on most rides for safety reasons, and people were more interested in gawking at him than watching the parades. Movie theaters, subways—anywhere he went, he had to endure the stares, his tail swaying behind him, shedding fur with every step. There were no laws against it, but the judgment was constant.
Life in the city meant being under a spotlight—always.
Haram didn’t need long to think. His gaze was clear and unwavering as he looked the debt collector straight in the eye.
“I’m not selling the peanut field. I’m staying here. I’m going to keep farming.”
Just like he always had.
