Standing to the left of Chief Manager Seo was Yoon Hoseong, his face drained of color. He looked exactly as he had in the moments before his death — dark foam stains still vivid around his mouth. Yoon Hoseong’s lips moved soundlessly. Whatever he had to say, it was bound to be a lament about the injustice of it all. Gyohyun took another drag of his cigarette. Smoke spread thick and heavy through the air.
Spiritual beings weaken when they come into contact with cigarette smoke. Combined with the spiritual energy of someone as powerful as Gyohyun, it acted as an even stronger talisman.
“I get it, more or less. Your insufferable wife finally dies, and you’ve got nothing left but a sweet new life ahead with a fresh woman — then you up and croak. Can’t blame you for feeling wronged.”
The ember burned down between his long, thick-knuckled fingers. Gyohyun tapped the cigarette to flick off the ash.
“Even so — doing something like that to your own young son. Really.”
What Gyohyun had witnessed in the viewing room wasn’t only the mistress’s outburst. Yoon Hoseong had been pressed right up against his son — the boy in Lady Ko’s arms — attempting to lay an indari.* Once an indari was set, people would begin dying one after another.
(A shamanistic term referring to a phenomenon in which people within one family die in succession. The word originates from the belief that the deceased uses the lives of the living as a bridge to cross into the afterlife.)
“People really don’t change, do they?”
Yoon Hoseong’s lips moved again. His eyes fixed intently on the left pocket of Gyohyun’s suit.
As if only now understanding, Gyohyun reached into his pocket and pulled out the object.
“Ah. So this is what you followed me for?”
Clever enough to notice that, Gyohyun murmured under his breath.
“Here I was thinking you’d somehow figured out who killed you and came to give them a piece of your mind.”
Yoon Hoseong’s eyes went wide and he lunged forward. But the moment Gyohyun exhaled a stream of cigarette smoke, he was thrown back. His face twisted in fury at that — but Gyohyun laughed as if it were beneath him.
Yoon Hoseong’s mouth fell wide open. No sound came, yet the force of his scream was palpable.
Gyohyun waved the hand holding the cigarette from side to side. The vengeful spirit, engulfed head-on in the cigarette smoke, vanished without a trace. The light in Gyohyun’s right eye deepened slightly.
“Chief Manager Seo.”
“Yes, Director.”
Gyohyun exhaled the last of his cigarette smoke.
“That’s about as much courtesy as I owe as a mourner.”
Gyohyun glanced at his wristwatch and dropped the cigarette to the ground, crushing it under his foot.
“Push the rest of the schedule to another time.”
He tucked the keyring back into his pocket and looked at Chief Manager Seo.
“Starting now, I need to go see the face of the person who nearly made a fool of me.”
* * *
Meanwhile, Siyun laid the cut leather pieces out across the workbench and drew the stitch line five millimeters in from the edge. He marked dots at three-millimeter intervals with the divider, then placed the pricking iron against the leather and tapped it with a wooden mallet.
Tap tap tap.
Evenly spaced holes were punched through. He cut linen thread to fifty centimeters and threaded a needle at each end.
He pushed the right-hand needle through the first hole, then brought the left-hand needle through the same hole from the opposite side. Pulling the thread taut where it crossed in an X, he moved on to the next hole.
Swish swish. Swish swish.
The only sound in the workshop was the friction of needle against thread. A rhythm emerged, and his hands moved faster — the shape of a bag slowly taking form beneath Siyun’s fingertips.
At the curved corners, he adjusted the tension in the thread so the leather wouldn’t pull. Once he passed the needle through the final hole, he wound the ends and tied them off, then trimmed the excess. After checking everything through to the last detail and lifting his head, his neck ached and his eyes felt dry and gritty — like sand rolling around inside them. He groaned quietly and glanced up at the clock.
6:25.
He was surprised — less time had passed than he’d expected. The rain had kept everything dark and dim all day, and he seemed to have lost track of time because of it.
“Cough.”
His chest felt tight, and a cough kept slipping out. Was he really coming down with something? He’d been feeling chilled all over since earlier — it seemed like he should wrap things up here and head home.
Siyun placed the finished bag into a box.
Tap tap tap.
The heavy rain had been battering the window relentlessly for hours, showing no sign of letting up. He had just turned off all the lights in the workshop and turned around when —
Jingle.
The bell hanging on the door rang.
Who is it? There’s no one who’d come here at this hour.
Since Siyun didn’t display any work in the workshop and only took custom orders online, customers rarely came by in person. There were the occasional few who wanted to visit the workshop directly, but they were extremely rare.
The materials supplier? But that didn’t make sense. He hadn’t placed any delivery orders, and whenever he needed supplies, he went to the supplier himself. The workshop wasn’t far from the market, and he preferred to go in person so he could browse new products as well.
“Who’s there?”
He raised his voice carefully toward the door, and then grew puzzled. He was sure he’d heard the bell — yet there was no reply, no sign of anyone at all.
The wind, maybe?
The building was over thirty years old, and it rattled at even the slightest breeze. He assumed this was the same — and was just about to turn his head away, when —
BOOM! A thunderclap shook the heavens and the earth. Lightning struck, and everything flashed white.
“Ah!”
Before he knew it, Siyun had dropped the keys in his hand and let out a short, sharp breath. Today really is just one thing after another, he thought. From the nightmares that morning — the lights, the cup, the call with his father.
“Haa.”
He exhaled deeply and was bending down to pick up the keys when he heard it — a creak underfoot. The workshop had wooden floors, and every step someone took produced that distinctive squeak. This time, he couldn’t mistake it for the wind.
“Is someone there?”
Flash!
Lightning struck again. This time stronger, closer. The interior of the workshop lit up as bright as midday for a single instant. And in that light, Siyun could see it. A dark silhouette was standing in front of the door, lit by the lightning’s glare.
His breath stopped.
Creak. Creak.
The dark shadow moved closer. His mind went blank, and he couldn’t breathe. His body had locked in place — he hadn’t even thought to run.
The shadow gradually revealed its outline in the faint light.
Little by little. Little by little. And at last, its true form came into view.
It was a tall man. The man, dressed in a black coat, was holding an umbrella with water dripping steadily from its edges.
Beneath dark, defined brows, a pair of mismatched eyes — blue on the right, black on the left — regarded Siyun steadily. A sharp, prominent nose bridge stood out clearly even in the darkness.
The man spoke in a low, composed voice.
“Cha Siyun?”
Siyun’s eyes flew wide open. Even the fierce drumming of rain against his eardrums went silent.
Siyun was frozen, unable to make a sound.
“Is this Cha Siyun?”
At the repeated question, Siyun came back to himself and managed to open his mouth.
“W-who are you?”
“Excuse the intrusion.”
The low, calm voice resonated through the narrow workshop. Siyun still hadn’t closed his mouth as he stared at him. The man stood his umbrella beside the door and lightly shook the water from his damp coat.
His heart was pounding relentlessly. He had thought it was a ghost. Siyun barely managed to steady his startled nerves and asked:
“What brings you here?”
“I’d like to place a commission.”
It was an unexpected answer. A commission? At this hour? Siyun opened and closed his lips in bewilderment before finally managing to speak.
“…Commissions can be placed online.”
