“You really — do you have any idea how many times I called you over two days?”
Siyun held up his phone and shook it. He hadn’t counted, but it had to be well over ten calls.
“You just posted one photo like that on your SNS and went silent — if you were mad at me, you could’ve at least posted something saying you made it back safe!”
Jinwoong scratched the back of his head with an apologetic look.
“My battery died….”
“What? When did you even get home? Don’t tell me you were in that abandoned house all day.”
“I came back up that same day, but… I was so exhausted I fell asleep right away. Were you worried?”
“You call that an answer? If I did the same — went quiet for days after replying like that — would you not be worried?”
“Sorry. I’m sorry.”
Jinwoong apologized again and again. Siyun had been ready to let everything out the moment Jinwoong said even one more word in his defense, but now all the wind had gone out of his sails.
“Honestly, you…. Hah.”
He’d also coldly turned down Jinwoong’s request to come along, so he couldn’t really keep being angry. Siyun took out his key and unlocked the door.
“Aren’t you coming in?”
“Am I allowed to come in?”
The fact that this guy — who would normally just barge right in — was actually asking for permission was almost absurd. Siyun let out a short, exasperated laugh and glanced back at him.
“Are you sick or something? That’s not like you at all.”
Siyun tilted his head toward the inside and called out.
“Just get in. I’m cold.”
Jinwoong broke into a wide grin.
“He said yes, I’m coming in!”
Jinwoong bounded into the workshop with a cheerful stomp of his feet. Siyun watched him and shook his head slowly. How is it that this kid just keeps getting less mature with age?
Following Jinwoong into the workshop, Siyun hung his coat on the rack and asked.
“Have you eaten?”
He’d originally planned to pack everything up and head home early, but he changed his mind. I just need to be back before eight, that should be fine.
“If you haven’t, should I order something?”
Now that he had someone to eat with, he figured this was a good chance to order all the things he’d been wanting but never got because the portions were too large.
“Let’s order tteokbokki.”
A hunger he hadn’t felt until just now hit him hard and fast. Come to think of it, he hadn’t eaten anything since yesterday evening except for water. He started adding things — shrimp, squid, asparagus, lotus root, and all the tempura he’d been eyeing — and before he knew it, the total had shot well past 20,000 won.
Ah, maybe I should’ve ordered a little less and added some sushi too. He wasn’t a picky eater, but Siyun preferred light fish over meat. Sushi especially — easy to pop in your mouth — was one of the things he ordered most often.
“But did you actually go inside?”
Siyun asked carefully. He had turned Jinwoong down coldly for his own reasons, but he had known about the plan.
“I’m really sorry for refusing like that, but I had my reasons, you know.”
Even to his close friend, Siyun had never revealed that he could see spirits. It wasn’t something to brag about, and from experience, not once had telling anyone done him any good.
“Kim Jinwoong.”
Siyun called his name and looked up. Jinwoong — who would normally already be touching everything and chattering away — was standing with his back turned in one corner of the workshop, completely still.
“Hey, what are you doing?”
He asked again, but there was no answer. Sensing something was off, Siyun walked over.
Jinwoong was in the far corner of the workshop. There was nothing particularly special there — just a glass jar he kept as a rudimentary ward, filled with salt and red beans. It had been there since the day the workshop opened, so there was nothing unusual about it. He couldn’t figure out why Jinwoong was suddenly fixated on it.
“Hey, what’s wrong with you?”
He reached out and placed a hand on Jinwoong’s back — and in that instant, a heavy, cold spiritual presence pressed hard against the back of his skull. It was the same thing he had felt outside the workshop earlier.
Without thinking, he flinched and stepped back. But Jinwoong still didn’t move. He was giggling to himself, muttering something incomprehensible.
“Kim Jinwoong?”
Siyun called his name in a trembling voice — and at the edge of his vision, the jar filled with salt and red beans came into view. He froze completely. The salt, which had been pure white just that morning, had turned black, as though soiled with grime. His heart slammed in his chest.
Then, from somewhere above, a thin, reedy voice rang out.
“You’re the one who told me to come in!”
It was nothing like Jinwoong’s naturally deep tone.
“……!”
Hehehe.
Jinwoong’s shoulders shook with laughter.
Siyun stared at Jinwoong in stunned shock — and above him, an unfamiliar face began to surface. A pale, washed-out man. The face was blurry, as though rising through water, but it was unmistakably there. Something had possessed him.
“K-Kim Jinwoong.”
His voice came out shaking and broken. A memory surfaced suddenly — something a shaman had told him long ago.
“Remember this, child. Like water, a doorway can also serve as a boundary. If a spirit ever asks your permission, never grant it. Don’t even answer. Do you understand?”
Come to think of it — Jinwoong had asked for permission at the door earlier. At the time, Siyun had just laughed it off. But….
The moment realization set in, his body began to shake uncontrollably. His legs lost their strength, and he felt like he might collapse.
Then a cold chill swept over Siyun. Every hair on his body stood on end.
* * *
A cold early winter air drifted through the wide gardens of Haejeong Won. The fading sun cast a desolate light through the bare, skeletal branches.
Deep within the grounds stood a hanok — grand and steeped in old elegance. The eave lines of the tiled roof swept upward toward the sky with quiet grace. The historic estate, which had endured more than a century, stood as a symbol of the Lee family’s authority in its own right.
Gyohyun reached the entrance of the study and announced himself with a respectful bow.
“Grandfather, it’s Gyohyun.”
“Come in.”
A low, dignified voice came from within. Gyohyun slid open the latticed door and stepped inside.
The study was suffused with a faint, gentle fragrance. Old texts and antiques lined an entire wall, testifying to the weight of years long past. A brush and inkstone sat neatly arranged on a low chest of drawers, with a tea set resting alongside them.
Grandfather Chairman Lee looked up at Gyohyun. His gaze was sharp and piercing — hard to believe he was a man past eighty.
Chairman Lee watched with satisfaction as his grandson bowed deeply and took his seat. Dressed in a fine suit that highlighted his long legs, with a coat draped over it, Gyohyun cut a striking figure. And it wasn’t just because he was his own grandson — objectively speaking, the young man was handsome.
He had turned a construction division that was deep in the red into a profitable one within two years, and had also managed to close the large-scale merger and acquisition with Myeongryul Holdings without significant difficulties. The grandson who had been remarkably sharp since childhood had never once disappointed him.
Yet Chairman Lee concealed his pride and grumbled in his characteristically blunt way.
“I called for you ages ago — what took you so long?”
Three days prior, Gyohyun had received word through Chief Manager Seo, but he had spent the entire weekend without stirring from his own townhouse.
Setting aside the fact that he’d received an unwelcome report and was in a foul mood, Gyohyun had managed to sleep deeply for the first time in a long while. It was only about three hours — but that was something. Normally, he couldn’t fall into a deep sleep for even thirty minutes. The moment he drifted off, tinnitus and headaches would inevitably set in. When it became truly unbearable, he would take sleeping pills to force himself under, but he never liked doing that. Every time he did, the aftertaste left him feeling unwell.
But this time was different. The auditory hallucinations that bothered him most were absent, and there was no headache either. Only one or two of his many torments had disappeared — and yet it was enough to let him breathe. It had only lasted a single day, and the insomnia returned the next — but even so, he felt like he might actually survive. The pallor that had always marked Gyohyun’s complexion had given way to a faint flush of color, more than it had shown in a long time.
“Yoon Hoseong handled the matter.”
Grandfather began to speak as he poured the first-brewed tea onto the tea tray.
“Seemed like it gave him a bit more trouble than usual, uncharacteristically so.”
