The Day Before Yesterday
The wind rattled the old signboard outside Seong-ah's small shrine, the painted letters faded but still proud. Inside, the air was thick with the smell of incense and candle wax. Wooden charms swayed gently from the ceiling, their soft clinking the only sound until the door creaked open.
Gyeonwoo stepped in, his grandmother just behind him. She bowed her head politely to Seong-ah, but Gyeonwoo's expression remained unreadable, his eyes scanning the room with quiet skepticism.
"Please, sit," Seong-ah said, gesturing to the low table. She folded her hands, watching them settle down across from her.
"We came to consult you," the grandmother began, her voice steady but with an undercurrent of worry.
Seong-ah listened carefully as the older woman explained the strange dreams and unsettling signs she had noticed lately.
When they finished, Seong-ah leaned back slightly, her mind already running through possibilities. "If you wish for a full reading, it can be done. Ten million won—" she began, then hesitated, seeing the lines of concern deepen on the grandmother's face. "Or… perhaps I could offer it for free."
Before she could say more, Gyeonwoo spoke up, his tone cool but not cruel. "I've met many shamans like you. They just want the money."
The words cut through the quiet room. Seong-ah didn't flinch, but a flicker of hurt crossed her eyes. Still, she said nothing, simply watching him with a calm, unreadable gaze.
---
The Next Morning
Sunlight spilled over the low rooftops, but inside the shrine, the warmth didn't reach Seong-ah's heart. She sat at her table, eyes closed, her hands lightly pressed against the surface as if feeling for something beyond sight.
When she opened them, the vision still lingered — cold water swallowing the world, the muffled silence of drowning, and Gyeonwoo's hand slipping away into the depths.
Her breath caught.
Jiho entered quietly, carrying two steaming cups of barley tea. "You look pale," he said, setting one in front of her. "What is it?"
She hesitated, her fingers curling tightly around the cup. "Gyeonwoo… he's in danger. Soon. I saw water — deep water."
Jiho frowned. "You mean a river? A lake?"
"I don't know exactly," she admitted, shaking her head. "But it will pull him in, like it's calling him. If we don't stop it, he won't come back."
The two of them sat in heavy silence, the sound of the wind outside seeming sharper, colder. Somewhere beyond the village, lakes and rivers shimmered under the sun — calm now, but hiding the danger she had seen.
Jiho leaned against the doorway, sipping his tea while Seong-ah paced back and forth. "We should think about all the places Gyeonwoo might go near water," he said. "The lake… the rivers nearby… maybe even the school grounds."
Seong-ah was only half-listening. Her mind drifted to something else — a memory from a few days ago.
She had been in the school courtyard when one of her classmates mentioned, almost in a whisper, "I saw it. The water ghost… in the men's washroom."
Her steps slowed now, her gaze unconsciously shifting to the hallway beyond the shrine door. The image of that classmate's pale face replayed in her mind.
Then Jiho's voice cut in again, pulling her deeper into the thought. "Remember that boy I told you about? He kept asking me to go with him to the men's washroom… maybe he saw something."
A chill ran down her spine. The ghost.
Without another word, Seong-ah found herself walking toward the school building, her feet carrying her faster with each step until she was standing in front of the door marked MEN'S.
For a moment, she hesitated. Her hands felt colder, her heartbeat picking up. She didn't like ghosts — not in the way people thought shamans did. Knowing them and liking them were different things entirely.
She stood there, gathering her courage, when the faint echo of the teacher's voice came from inside the classroom, calling roll. Somewhere in that room, the teacher frowned, scanning the seats.
"Where's Seong-ah?"
---
Inside the Men's Washroom
The tiles were cold beneath her shoes, the faint smell of dampness clinging to the air. The dim light flickered above as she walked slowly to the last stall — the one the boy had spoken of.
She slid the door open.
Water glistened faintly on the floor, though there was no leak. The air felt heavier here, thick, as if it clung to her skin. She crouched down, her eyes fixed on the quiet space before her.
Then… the water in the corner rippled.
Slowly, the pale outline of a face emerged, the ghost's wet hair dripping, its eyes dark pools with no reflection.
Seong-ah didn't flinch. She reached out and poked the ghost's forehead lightly, her finger meeting a cold resistance.
Her voice was slow, steady, and faintly teasing. "Don't come to the men's washroom again. If you want to talk to me… go to the girls' washroom instead."
The ghost blinked, the water dripping from its chin pattering softly onto the floor. It didn't speak, but the ripples stilled — as if it was considering her words.
Seong-ah straightened, dusting off her hands. "Good. I'll wait there next time."
And with that, she turned, leaving the stall door swaying gently behind her.
Seong-ah had just stepped away from the stall when the sound of footsteps and loud laughter echoed off the tiled walls.
Kim Jun-ung and his friends — the so-called "hunks" of her class — swaggered into the men's washroom like they owned the place. Their laughter carried the easy arrogance of boys who never felt fear.
Except for Na Bom. He trailed behind them, his eyes darting nervously to the corners, his shoulders tight.
Seong-ah tilted her head at him. "You're scared of the ghost, aren't you?"
Na Bom froze. "W-what ghost?"
"The one you've been avoiding," she said casually, then turned her gaze toward the last stall where the water still clung to the floor. She spoke clearly, her voice directed not to the boys but to the air itself.
"You shouldn't be ghosting others," she told the spirit, her tone a mix of gentle scolding and authority. "It's not polite."
Jun-ung and his friends exchanged puzzled looks, clearly wondering if she was talking to herself.
Before they could comment, the door opened again.
Gyeonwoo stepped in. His expression was as blank as ever, but Jun-ung's smirk widened.
"Hey, newbie," one of them drawled, the sarcasm dripping like oil.
Gyeonwoo didn't react — not a flinch, not a word.
That's when the air grew colder.
From the corner, water began to spread again, pooling at Gyeonwoo's feet. The ghost rose from it slowly, her wet hair clinging to her pale cheeks.
Her hollow gaze locked on Gyeonwoo, circling him like a predator sensing weakness. The temperature in the washroom seemed to drop another degree.
Seong-ah stepped forward sharply. "Not him."
She reached into her pocket, pulling out thin, folded amulets inked with talismanic symbols. With practiced precision, she pressed one against the water pipe, murmuring under her breath.
The paper flared faintly, its edges curling as she released it into the air. It floated toward the ghost, carried by a force unseen.
The ghost hissed silently, her form beginning to blur. The amulet touched her chest — and in an instant, she dissolved into a swirl of mist and vanishing droplets.
Only the faint scent of damp earth lingered.
The boys stood frozen, eyes wide, mouths half-open. Even Jun-ung's usual smirk was gone.
Seong-ah dusted her hands and glanced at them. "Men's washrooms are dangerous places," she said lightly.
The washroom was unnervingly quiet now — no dripping water, no echo of laughter. Only the faint hum of the flickering light overhead.
Gyeonwoo stood a few steps away, his gaze fixed on Seong-ah. His face was unreadable, but his voice carried a note of suspicion.
"What were you doing there?"
His eyes flicked to the corner she had just been standing in, the one where the ghost had loomed moments earlier. But to him, it was just an empty stall, damp tiles, and the faint scent of incense.
Seong-ah froze mid-step. She could still feel the chill of the ghost's presence clinging to her skin, but now all eyes — especially his — were on her.
Her fingers curled around the last amulet in her pocket. She wasn't sure if she should lie, laugh it off, or tell him the truth.
"I…" She hesitated, her voice catching. She didn't know how to explain ghosts to someone who couldn't see them — not without sounding like she had lost her mind.
Gyeonwoo tilted his head slightly, studying her with quiet intensity. "You were talking to someone."
Seong-ah looked away, pretending to inspect the pipes as if she'd been checking for leaks. "Just… making sure this place is safe," she muttered, choosing her words carefully.
"Safe?" he repeated, his brow furrowing.
She didn't answer this time, slipping past him toward the door. Her footsteps echoed in the empty corridor, her heart beating faster than she liked to admit.
Behind her, Gyeonwoo remained where he was, still staring at the empty corner, as if trying to figure out what exactly she had seen that he hadn't.
By the time Seong-ah left the washroom, her hair was slightly damp from the ghost's lingering presence, and the boys weren't in much better shape. Jun-ung and his friends had splashes of water down their shirts, and Na Bom's sleeves were dripping like he'd stuck his arms in a sink.
It didn't take long for the commotion to draw attention. A passing hall monitor caught sight of the mess — and the group was quickly herded, one by one, toward the teacher's cabin.
Inside, the air was thick with the faint smell of chalk dust and the creak of the old ceiling fan. The homeroom teacher, Mr. Choi, sat behind his desk with his arms folded, his expression somewhere between confusion and irritation.
"Explain," he demanded, looking from one soaked student to the next.
Jun-ung, ever the first to speak, jabbed a finger toward Seong-ah. "She saw a water ghost in the men's washroom!"
Seong-ah's eyes widened. "I— That's not—"
Na Bom nodded furiously. "She did! And then… and then…" He trailed off, realizing he had no idea how to describe what he had just witnessed.
Mr. Choi's gaze narrowed. "A water ghost," he repeated flatly. "In school property."
The boys all nodded in unison, as if that somehow made it more believable.
The teacher sighed deeply, rubbing his temples. "Enough. I don't care if you saw a ghost, a goblin, or a goldfish. You were in the men's washroom making a mess. All of you — wet, dripping, and disrupting class."
"But—" Seong-ah started.
"No buts," he said firmly. "Since you clearly have so much free time to… chase ghosts… you'll spend the next week cleaning the school. Together."
A groan rippled through the group. Jun-ung slumped in his chair dramatically. Na Bom looked like he wanted to melt into the floor. Even Gyeonwoo's normally blank expression twitched slightly, betraying mild annoyance.
Seong-ah just crossed her arms, muttering under her breath, "It's not my fault ghosts like this place."
The late afternoon sun cast long shadows across the quiet school grounds. The punishment had begun immediately — brooms, dustpans, and a pile of black garbage bags handed out without mercy.
Somehow, Seong-ah and Gyeonwoo had been paired together to sweep the road leading from the school gate to the main building. The asphalt was littered with fallen leaves and stray candy wrappers, the faint hum of cicadas in the background.
Seong-ah dragged her broom lazily, occasionally flicking a stubborn leaf off to the side instead of into the dustpan. Her eyes darted to Gyeonwoo, who was methodically sweeping in silence, his movements precise and efficient.
Finally, she broke the quiet. "It's not my mistake, you know."
He didn't look up. "Hm?"
"All of this," she gestured vaguely to the broom, the road, the punishment. "It's just… I wanted to remove something."
That got his attention. He straightened slightly, leaning on his broom. "Remove what?"
Seong-ah hesitated, biting the inside of her cheek. "Water ghos—"
She stopped herself mid-word, realizing she'd nearly said too much.
Gyeonwoo's brows knit together. "Water… what?"
"Nothing," she said quickly, sweeping harder than before, as if the leaves suddenly demanded her full attention.
He narrowed his eyes, studying her for a moment longer, but didn't press. Instead, he went back to his steady, silent work — though the faint crease in his brow showed he wasn't letting it go in his mind.
Seong-ah exhaled quietly, glad he hadn't caught the full word. The last thing she needed was Gyeonwoo thinking she was some ghost-chasing lunatic… even if it was true.
Gyeonwoo's broom scraped against the asphalt, the sound mixing with the faint rustle of leaves. He paused again, looking at her suspiciously.
"You never answered me properly," he said. "Remove what?"
Seong-ah forced a casual laugh. "Yeah, it was… a cockroach. I tried to remove it."
He stared at her for a moment, clearly unconvinced, then gave a small shrug and walked away, continuing to sweep on the other side of the road.
Seong-ah let out a long sigh, watching his back. At least he's not asking more… for now.
---
Later that day, the golden evening light painted the street outside the school in a warm glow. Near the corner beside the old storage room, a small group of boys — the self-proclaimed "hunks" of the school — lounged around, snacking on chips and gossiping.
"Hey, you know that corner?" one of them said, pointing toward the shadowy space between the wall and the storehouse. "They say a fire ghost lives there."
Another smirked. "Maybe that's why Seong-ah acts so weird. Always staring at places like that."
They laughed, tossing theories back and forth about her strange behaviour — though none of them truly believed their own ghost stories.
---
From the far side of the street, a sharp bark cut through their chatter.
Kim Jun-ung was standing there, his expression unreadable, but beside him was a small, fluffy white dog. Its fur seemed almost to glow faintly under the fading sunlight — though in truth, no one else on the street could see the little creature except Seong-ah.
The dog's ears flattened, its gaze locked on the corner by the store room. It let out another bark — louder, sharper — at something the others couldn't see.
Seong-ah, passing by, felt the hair on her arms prickle. She didn't need to look twice to know the dog was barking at a ghost. And not just any ghost…
The air around that corner shimmered faintly, as if the heat from an unseen fire was warping it.
The sharp bark echoed again, and Seong-ah's eyes narrowed. Without thinking, she gripped her broom like a weapon and strode straight toward the corner beside the store room.
The hunks watched, smirking at her sudden burst of confidence.
"What's she doing now?" one of them whispered.
Seong-ah planted herself in front of the shadowy spot, sweeping aggressively, the bristles scraping against the dusty concrete. Her glare was fixed not on the ground, but at the wavering heat-haze shape forming in the corner.
"I know you're there," she said in a low voice, each word sharp. "Do you think I'm unaware of you? Do you think I'm afraid?"
The hunks chuckled behind her, assuming she was just talking to herself.
But then, from behind her, Kim Jun-ung's voice slid into the moment like a blade.
"You're not afraid of me?"
Seong-ah froze. Her grip on the broom tightened. Slowly, she turned her head — Jun-ung stood only a few feet away, that faint smirk tugging at his lips. His eyes, however, weren't on her… they were on the very spot where the fire ghost hovered.
And for a split second, she couldn't tell if he was speaking as Kim Jun-ung… or as something else entirely.
---
"No, I'm not talking to you. Go away from here, I'm sweeping," Seong-ah said flatly, waving her broom in his direction without even looking at him.
The hunks burst into laughter at her brusque tone. "She's totally lost it," one of them snorted as they wandered off, still chuckling.
By the time their laughter faded down the hallway, the corner had fallen still. The heat-like shimmer of the fire ghost flickered… then vanished completely.
Seong-ah let out a small breath of relief.
A soft bark made her look up. The small white dog trotted forward, tail wagging once, before padding back toward Kim Jun-ung.
He didn't say a word as the dog fell into step beside him, but there was something in the way he glanced back — just for a second — that made Seong-ah feel like he knew far more than he let on.
Her eyes lingered on the dog's fluffy shape as it disappeared around the corner. "Cute…" she murmured to herself, a faint smile tugging at her lips before she went back to sweeping.
From the other end of the corridor, Gyeonwoo had been lazily pushing the mop along when he noticed Seong-ah standing there, broom in hand… staring in the direction Kim Jun-ung had just left.
His brows furrowed. Is she… admiring him?
The thought made him freeze for a moment, the mop hanging mid-air, eyes widening in disbelief.
---
Later that evening
Seong-ah sat cross-legged on her bedroom floor, papers, salt packets, and a few talismans scattered around her. The faint incense smoke curled in the dim light as she scribbled something on a yellow strip of paper.
Opposite her, the Mother Goddess spirit sat serenely, her voice calm but firm.
"So, you've decided to protect him," she said, as if reading Seong-ah's thoughts.
Seong-ah nodded. "Gyeonwoo can't see them… but they're circling him. The water ghost, the fire ghost—if they find a way to harm him, he won't even know until it's too late."
The Mother Goddess raised an eyebrow. "And your plan is?"
Seong-ah straightened, a determined glint in her eyes.
"I'll make a protection barrier around him. Something they can't cross."
The Mother Goddess gave a faint smile. "That's easier said than done. Protection is not just about talismans — it's about keeping your own heart steady."
Seong-ah hesitated for a moment before muttering under her breath, "My heart's steady… I'm just worried about him, that's all."
Seong-ah carefully tied a red thread around a folded talisman, her hands moving with practiced precision.
The Mother Goddess tilted her head, watching her work.
"You're rushing," she murmured. "A rushed charm loses its strength before the ink even dries."
Seong-ah sighed, putting down the brush. "I know… but the ghosts aren't waiting, are they? Today it was just a cockroach excuse—tomorrow it might be a real attack."
The Mother Goddess's gaze sharpened. "You think the water ghost and fire ghost are acting together?"
Seong-ah nodded slowly. "They linger near the school… near him. I don't know why yet, but they're testing me. And if I'm distracted, even for a moment—" she trailed off, fingers tightening around the charm.
The Mother Goddess leaned forward slightly. "Protecting him means more than fighting ghosts. Gyeonwoo's soul is… different. If they realize what he carries, you'll be facing more than two restless spirits."
Seong-ah frowned. "Different? You mean—?"
The Mother Goddess's lips curved into a knowing smile, but she didn't answer directly. "You'll see in time. For now, keep your eyes open. Not every danger will come with claws and fangs."
Seong-ah took a deep breath. "Then I'll double the barrier's strength. Around his desk, his locker, even the path he takes to school."
The Mother Goddess chuckled softly. "And what will you tell him when he asks why his desk smells like sandalwood and strange ink?"
Seong-ah gave a small smirk. "I'll just say it's for good luck in exams."
Meanwhile, in the dim back room of his amulet shop, Ggot Do Ryeong sat cross-legged before a tray of half-burned incense.
The smoke curled in thin, lazy spirals, but his eyes were sharp, fixed on a blackened talisman resting in his palm.
He traced the faint cracks in its surface with his thumb, the corner of his mouth curling into a humorless smile.
"Seong-ah…" he murmured under his breath, voice low and deliberate.
"You've meddled in things you shouldn't have… face the consequences after, Seong-ah."
A cold draft swept through the room, rattling the hanging bells by the door.
The talisman's ink shimmered faintly, as though pulsing with some unseen heartbeat.
Do Ryeong's smile deepened.
"It's only a matter of time before you learn what your protection costs."
At the school cafeteria, Na Beom sat with one of his friends, lazily scrolling through his phone while sipping on a carton of banana milk.
"Hey… look at this," his friend whispered, leaning closer.
Na Beom squinted at the screen — it was the new guy's Instagram account.
Gyeonwoo's feed was filled with sharp, focused images:
🎯 him in a sleek archery uniform,
🏹 mid-shot with the bow string drawn,
🥇 and medals glinting around his neck.
Na Beom's eyes widened.
"He's… an international archer?"
His friend smirked, "Guess our school's got a celebrity now."
But before Na Beom could say anything else, a commotion erupted near the main hallway.
A few teachers rushed past, pulling Gyeonwoo along by the arm.
"What the—?" Na Beom stood up, craning his neck.
From across the hall, a whisper spread like wildfire:
"They're saying… he's an arsonist."
"What?!"
Phones came out instantly, recording the scene as Gyeonwoo kept his head down, jaw tense, refusing to meet anyone's eyes.
The sharp, proud image of the archer they had just seen on Instagram… shattered instantly.
Next day
The morning sunlight streamed through the tall windows of the school corridor, but the warmth didn't reach Gyeonwoo.
Everywhere he walked, whispers followed — soft enough to seem secretive, yet loud enough for him to hear.
Some students stared openly, others pretended to look away the moment his eyes met theirs.
It was as if the entire school had quietly decided he was a stranger.
Gyeonwoo's expression didn't change.
His steps were steady, his hands shoved in his pockets.
He didn't care about their stares… or at least, that's what he told himself.
---
Later — School Canteen
The sound of trays clinking and chatter filled the air.
Gyeonwoo sat at one of the tables alone, casually picking at his food.
From across the room, Jiho and Seong-ah spotted him.
They walked over and sat down… but instead of greeting him, they immediately started chatting with each other.
Seong-ah leaned in to Jiho, "Did you see the notice for the archery club's tryouts?"
Jiho shrugged, "Not interested. You?"
She shook her head, sipping her drink.
Gyeonwoo's eyes shifted between the two, the silence from them directed toward him feeling heavier than the cafeteria noise.
Finally, he spoke, voice low but cutting through their conversation:
> "What?"
Both Seong-ah and Jiho looked at him blankly.
"Didn't you hear the rumors?" he asked.
They exchanged a quick glance.
"Yes," they replied almost in unison, their tone flat — no pity, no judgment, just fact.
The three of them sat in an odd bubble of tension, the air thick with words left unsaid.
The three of them stood up from the table.
Jiho slung his bag over his shoulder and walked ahead while Seong-ah slowed her pace to match Gyeonwoo's.
She glanced at him, her voice lowering so no one else could hear.
"Gyeonwoo… about those rumors," she began.
"They're not just random gossip. Someone's deliberately spreading them to isolate you."
His brows furrowed. "And you know who?"
"Not yet," she admitted, "but I have a feeling it's connected to what I told you yesterday.
That's why I'm working on a plan — one that will make sure you don't get caught off guard."
Her tone was steady, but there was a hint of urgency in her eyes.
Before Gyeonwoo could ask more, Jiho called out from ahead, "Hey, are you two coming or not?"
They quickened their steps, the conversation left hanging in the air.
The kitchen was alive with quiet, homely sounds — the faint hiss of noodles being tossed with sesame oil, the gentle clink of metal chopsticks against the pan.
Gyeonwoo had just come back from the yard when he caught sight of Grandma at the counter, her sleeves rolled up, hair tied neatly back, moving with the confidence of someone who had cooked this dish hundreds of times.
The smell of japchae — sweet soy, garlic, sesame — wrapped around him like a warm blanket.
But his curiosity broke through his comfort.
"Grandma…" he leaned on the edge of the counter, "what are you doing? And why… why so much?"
Without pausing her work, she gave a faint smile.
"It's for the neighborhood. You know how Mrs. Choi down the road always brings us kimchi? It's nice to return the favor."
Her tone was light, almost too light.
He watched her neatly portion the japchae into glossy black lunchboxes, stacking them inside a woven basket.
There was something about the way she was working — precise, but in a hurry — that didn't quite match her explanation.
When she slipped on her cardigan and carefully lifted the basket, Gyeonwoo followed her out the door.
At first, she walked down the familiar lane, greeting passersby, her voice warm and polite.
But instead of turning toward the Choi family's house or the market, she veered into a narrow side street — one that sloped down toward the quieter, older part of town.
Gyeonwoo slowed his pace, keeping a good distance, his hood pulled up.
The further they went, the dimmer the light became. The afternoon sun was blocked by tall, leaning buildings, their walls worn and stained.
At the very end of the alley, an old wooden door stood beneath faded red paper talismans. A faint smell of incense drifted out.
It was the shaman's place.
Grandma glanced around before stepping inside.
The bells above the door jingled faintly, then the sound was swallowed by the thick air within.
Gyeonwoo pressed his back against the wall just beside the doorway, close enough to hear the low murmur of voices from inside.
He could just make out the shaman's voice — deep, measured — and Grandma's softer reply.
The shaman spoke first.
"You've come again so soon."
Grandma's voice was strained now, not the light and cheerful one she'd used with him earlier.
"She's getting closer to him. And if the talismans lose their strength…" She hesitated. "…he'll be in danger."
The shaman's reply was muffled, but Gyeonwoo caught a few words — "consequences," "unseen threat," and "the girl."
Seong-ah froze for a second with her chopsticks mid-air, the sweet and savory japchae still dangling from them. Gyeon-woo's sudden entrance had startled her so much she almost dropped her bowl.
"What are you doing here!" his voice was sharper than usual, carrying both surprise and irritation. "Now you still want to fool my grandma? Are you a thief? You're a con artist!"
Seong-ah set her bowl down slowly and rose to her feet, her eyes meeting his with a flash of controlled anger. "I am not," she said, her tone firm, deliberate—each word weighed like stone.
For a moment, the room was thick with silence, only the faint clink of chopsticks against porcelain filling the space.
Gyeon-woo's jaw tightened, his gaze hard, but he didn't speak again. Instead, he turned abruptly, his footsteps echoing as he moved out of the shaman's room.
Grandma, who had been standing quietly by the corner, let out a small sigh. "Ah… young people…" she muttered under her breath, trying to smooth over the tension. She offered Seong-ah an apologetic smile before excusing herself and leaving the room.
Seong-ah sat back down slowly, her appetite dulled but her resolve firm. She clenched her chopsticks again, muttering under her breath, "You'll see… I'm not what you think."