The glass shard glistened under the moonlight that seeped through the broken roof tiles, every edge whispering of danger. Gyeonwoo's hand tightened around it, but the grip wasn't his—it belonged to the spirit now inhabiting him.
Seong Ah's breath quickened. Her legs wanted to run, but her heart refused to abandon him. She steadied herself, though her voice cracked like a candle flickering in the storm.
"Y-you can't keep him. Do you hear me? He's not yours!"
The ghost tilted his head, eyes narrowing as though amused by a child's tantrum. He stepped closer, each footfall echoing against the hollow wooden floor, a deliberate pace meant to cage her with fear.
"Not mine?" His lips curved into a grin, cruel and twisted. He lifted the shard of glass to his cheek, pressing it lightly until a thin crimson line blossomed across Gyeonwoo's pale skin. "But he's mine now, Shaman. His body… his voice… even his heartbeats. Can you really take him back?"
Seong Ah's stomach lurched. She wanted to scream, to snatch the shard away, but her hands shook too much. Her mind screamed with guilt—If only I had stopped him from stepping on that cursed toy… If only I had taken the risk myself…
The spirit leaned forward, his voice dropping into a chilling whisper that crawled over her skin.
"You fear me, don't you? But more than that… you fear losing him."
Seong Ah bit her lip hard enough to draw blood. The metallic taste only fueled her determination. Her hands moved quickly, pulling an amulet from her sleeve, the one she had stitched with her own blood the night before. She held it tightly, her voice breaking as she shouted,
"Come back, Gyeonwoo! Don't let him—don't let him win!"
For a flicker of a moment, the glass in his hand trembled. His eyes, still dark and wild, seemed to flash with something human—confusion, hesitation.
Seong Ah's chest tightened. He's still there.
But the spirit snarled, snapping back with violent rage. With a sudden swing, he slashed the glass across his palm, blood dripping to the floor like drops of ink staining the ritual space.
"You think a weak shaman like you can save him?!" he roared, his voice distorting, layered with echoes, as if more than one being was speaking through him.
The temperature plummeted. Every shadow in the abandoned house stretched unnaturally long, curling toward her like reaching claws. The cursed toy fragments at the doorway rattled on their own, as though laughing at her helplessness.
Seong Ah stumbled back but forced her shaking legs to stand firm. Tears burned her eyes, but she refused to let them fall.
"If you think I'm weak, then you've never seen what I can do to protect the people I love."
Her words rang out, not just to the spirit but as a promise—to herself, to Gyeonwoo, to the Goddess who raised her.
The ghost only chuckled darkly, lifting the shard again, this time raising it toward his own throat.
"Then watch him die in front of you, little shaman."
Seong Ah's heart nearly stopped.
Seong Ah's feet scraped lightly against the dusty wooden floor as she stepped back, every muscle trembling, but her gaze stayed locked on him. His shadow stretched unnaturally long in the dim light, like something no longer human.
Then—suddenly—his hand shot out and grabbed her wrist, pulling her forward. She gasped as he leaned close, his other hand brushing aside her bangs, tucking them gently behind her ear. The touch was tender, almost heartbreakingly familiar, yet his expression was twisted with something else.
Her breath hitched. She froze.
But then—his eyes. For a fleeting second, they turned a deep, glowing blue, not the dark abyss of the spirit. And in a voice that wasn't mocking, wasn't cruel—but pained and urgent—he whispered against her ear:
"Seong Ah… leave from here."
Her heart jolted. It was him. Her Gyeonwoo breaking through.
But before she could speak, his head tilted back sharply, and that sinister grin returned, smothering the boy she knew. The voice that followed was no longer soft—it dripped with malice.
"Hey, shaman…"
He stepped closer, their bodies now inches apart. His hand lingered at her hair, fingers brushing against her neck as though testing her fear. "Did you like hearing his voice just now? Pathetic. He begged me to let you go… but why would I, when watching you break is far more entertaining?"
Seong Ah's pulse thundered in her ears. She wanted to slap him, to scream his name, but her legs felt like lead. Instead, she forced herself to hold his gaze, even as the spirit inside him smirked.
"I'm not leaving him," she whispered back, her voice trembling but firm.
The spirit laughed, low and mocking, his breath warm against her cheek. "Then stay, little shaman. Stay and watch your precious Gyeonwoo disappear piece by piece… until he's nothing but me."
As he leaned in closer, the air grew colder, and Seong Ah could see frost forming along the cracked window. Her hands gripped the amulet at her side, her knuckles white.
"Okay, let's play hide and seek, shall we?" the spirit inside Gyeonwoo sneered, his voice twisting into a cruel mockery.
Seong Ah's throat tightened as she swallowed hard, her palms clammy. She barely blinked before he darted away, vanishing into the shadows of the abandoned house, laughter echoing like a phantom's hymn.
"Gyeonwoo!" she called out, but her voice only met with the sound of his fading, manic chuckles.
Her body sagged with a deep, frustrated sigh. She bent down, pulling Kim Jun Ung up with effort, dragging him toward the cracked doorway. The night air outside slapped against her face, colder than before.
"Tss… how messed up this situation is," she muttered under her breath, brushing sweat off her brow.
Meanwhile—at the crossroads near the house—Mother Goddess, Do Ryeong, and Grandma spotted Gyeonwoo. He tore past them like a mad spirit himself, laughter ringing wild and hollow.
All three froze.
"What… happened to him?" Do Ryeong whispered, his eyes wide.
Grandma shook her head, her hands trembling. "That's not… that's not him anymore."
Before Seong Ah could explain, Mother Goddess's eyes sharpened like steel. Without a word, she sprinted after Gyeonwoo, her robes flowing, determination etched on her face.
She chased his fading silhouette into the narrow alleyways. But then—
"Yeomhwa…"
Mother Goddess halted. From the opposite path, Yeomhwa appeared, her steps calm, her expression unreadable. Gyeonwoo's possessed form slipped past them, vanishing into the dark.
"Wait! Where are you going?" Mother Goddess called out, but Yeomhwa turned as if to ignore her, walking away.
In an instant, steel flashed.
Mother Goddess unsheathed a massive, gleaming sword from her worn travel bag, the blade nearly humming in the moonlight. With a swift step, she placed its edge against Yeomhwa's path, stopping her in her tracks.
Yeomhwa exhaled, almost bored, her eyes lifting lazily. "What?" she asked.
Mother Goddess's voice shook—not with fear, but with rage. "Why? What did you do to him?"
Yeomhwa tilted her head, her lips curling in something between a smirk and disdain. "Why do you need to ask? Aren't you a shaman? You should already know."
Her words cut deeper than the sword.
"Why are you doing this?" Mother Goddess demanded, pressing the blade forward just enough to draw a line of red across Yeomhwa's skin. Her voice cracked with sorrow. "Are you that desperate… to end up in hell?"
Yeomhwa chuckled softly, eyes clouded with something heavy, something broken. "…Maybe yes."
And before Mother Goddess could react, Yeomhwa gripped the blade herself—her delicate palm pressing into its sharp edge. Blood streamed down instantly, dripping onto the dirt.
With a shaky breath, she whispered, "Maybe hell is exactly where I belong."
Her knees buckled. The world tilted.
"Yeomhwa!" Mother Goddess dropped the sword and lunged forward, catching her limp body before it hit the ground. Blood smeared across her hands as she cradled the unconscious shaman, her heart hammering.
The night around them seemed to hold its breath.
Seong-ah finally dragged Kim Jun Ung's limp body outside the abandoned house. She laid him gently on the ground, brushing the dust from her trembling hands. Her mind buzzed with the echo of that voice inside Gyeonwoo—
"You're a shaman, aren't you? Then shouldn't you already know about me?"
Her chest rose and fell sharply. She let out a heavy sigh, almost muttering to herself.
"…I'm so tired of all this."
Reaching into her pouch, she pulled out a handful of rice and, without thinking much, began scattering it across Kim Jun Ung's chest and arms, as though it might drive the spirit away.
Just then—
"Ya! Seong-ah!" Do Ryeong's voice cut through the night.
He ran closer, eyes wide in disbelief. "What are you doing?! Is he a fish? You're spilling rice on him like you're salting dried mackerel for storage!"
Seong-ah froze mid-motion, cheeks puffing in frustration. "It's not like that! I—I'm performing a cleansing rite—"
"A rite?! This looks more like dinner prep!" Do Ryeong yelled, throwing his hands up.
Seong-ah groaned, dragging her hand down her face. "Ugh… just shut up and help."
Before Do Ryeong could argue, she quickly pulled out fresh leaves—mugwort and wormwood—and started pressing them gently against Kim Jun Ung's body. Do Ryeong, still muttering complaints, knelt down to assist.
"Fine, fine. But if he wakes up smelling like herbs and rice, it's on you," he grumbled.
At that exact moment, Bok-i, the dog, barked sharply—his ears perking up as though sensing a shift.
Kim Jun Ung's body twitched. His fingers curled slightly, his chest rising with a faint, shaky breath. Slowly, his eyes fluttered open, his head lifting just a little.
Seong-ah and Do Ryeong both froze, staring at him.
Do Ryeong gulped, then whispered, "…Well, either your strange ritual worked, or he's about to sue us for treating him like a rice ball."
Jiho's shoes scraped against the ground as he stumbled forward, eyes wide and panicked. "Seong-ah—what happened?!" His voice cracked with desperation as his gaze flicked from Kim Jun Ung's frail body sprawled across the earth to Seong-ah, whose hands were still trembling from the ritual she had just attempted.
She didn't answer immediately. Her eyes were hollow, almost as if they had already seen a truth she wished she could unsee.
"Jiho…" Her voice was low, almost trembling, but it held a strange firmness that made him stop in his tracks. "Listen to me. Don't protect Gyeonwoo anymore with your human amulet."
The words slammed into Jiho like ice water. He blinked, trying to process them, shaking his head. "What? What are you saying? Why would you—why would you even suggest that?!"
"Just do as I say," Seong-ah replied sharply, though her tone wavered at the edges.
"No!" Jiho's fists tightened at his sides as he stepped closer, eyes burning with frustration. "You can't just throw something like that at me without an explanation. Why should I stop protecting him? He's in danger, Seong-ah. You saw it with your own eyes. If I don't—"
"Protecting him this far…" Her lips quivered before she forced the words out, steady but heavy. "…is enough for me."
For a moment, silence crashed between them, louder than any scream. The wind picked up, stirring dust and leaves around their feet. Jiho's heart clenched painfully in his chest as he stared at her.
"What…" His voice cracked as he whispered, "…what do you mean by that?" He stepped even closer, his shadow brushing hers. "That I'm not protective enough of him? That everything I've done… all of it was useless to you?"
Seong-ah's throat tightened. She finally lifted her gaze to meet his, and Jiho's chest ached at the exhaustion in her eyes. It wasn't anger. It wasn't dismissal. It was something heavier. Something breaking her from the inside out.
"Jiho…" she murmured, her voice catching, "sometimes protecting someone means knowing when to let go."
The words sliced through him like a blade. His lips parted, but no sound came out. He could only watch her, his mind spiraling with confusion, fear, and the sinking dread that she was hiding something from him—something terrible.
She turned from him then, her shoulders sagging as though carrying the weight of the world. Her footsteps were slow, dragging, each one pulling her farther away.
Jiho's pulse pounded in his ears. He clenched his fists so tightly that his nails dug into his palms. The sharp sting barely registered compared to the storm inside his chest.
"Seong-ah!" he shouted after her, his voice breaking.
But she didn't stop. Didn't look back.
The space between them grew larger, and with it, Jiho's heart filled with a mix of anger, fear, and unbearable hurt. The truth she carried was slipping farther from his grasp, leaving him with nothing but questions that clawed at his chest.
And for the first time, Jiho felt the terrifying weight of powerlessness.
Meanwhile, under the hum of neon lights, Gyeonwoo staggered down the street. The night stretched out endlessly, bathed in the glow of red and blue signs that flickered against his pale face. His steps were uneven, his breaths shallow.
A guitarist sat cross-legged on the corner, strumming a soft, mournful melody that seemed to seep into the cracks of the night. For a moment, Gyeonwoo's eyes softened—music always pulled something faint and human out of him. But then, the shift came. His body tensed, his hands twitched.
The spirit inside him stirred, whispering with venom.
"Pathetic noise. Silence it."
Before Gyeonwoo could resist, his body lunged. His hand yanked the guitarist's collar, dragging him forward. "Hey—shut up and go away," the spirit snarled through his lips. His foot lashed out, kicking the man down. The guitar clattered against the pavement, strings snapping with a shrill cry.
"Stop… stop it!" Gyeonwoo's voice broke inside, but his limbs were no longer his own.
As he turned, his gaze locked onto a group further down the street. A few rough-looking bullies circled someone—Mo Beom, a boy from his school, cornered against the wall, trembling. They jeered and laughed as they dug into his pockets.
The spirit chuckled darkly. "Huh… his uniform is the same as ours. What a coincidence."
Gyeonwoo's heart raced. Don't. Don't go near them. Please—
But his feet were already moving.
"Hey!" he barked, his voice carrying a coldness that wasn't his own.
The bullies looked up, smirks curling on their lips. "What? You wanna play hero, huh?" one of them sneered, shoving Mo Beom aside. "We're just taking what's ours. You gonna stop us?"
One bully reached for Gyeonwoo's shirt, but before his hand could even tighten, Gyeonwoo's fist cracked across his jaw. The boy fell with a strangled cry. Gasps erupted, the others stepping back in shock.
Gyeonwoo bent down, snatched the money from the stunned bully's hand, and pocketed it with a grin that didn't belong to him.
"Wh–what the hell…" Mo Beom stammered. He scrambled to his feet, snatched his wallet from the ground, and bolted down the street without looking back, leaving Gyeonwoo standing there, confused, his head spinning.
Why… why does this uniform look like mine? Who… is he? Gyeonwoo thought hazily, his identity fracturing with the spirit's laughter echoing inside his skull.
The bullies regrouped, fury in their eyes. Two of them grabbed him roughly by the arms. "You little punk, think you can mess with us?!"
"Tell me," Gyeonwoo's voice dropped low, eerily calm, "where's the school? Why are you running away from me?"
"What?" one bully spat. "You crazy or somethin'?"
They shoved him hard, but before they realized it, Gyeonwoo was moving with feral speed. His fists flew, his kicks landed with brutal force. Blood splattered across the pavement as the boys cried out, collapsing one after another.
From the shadows of a nearby alley, Jiho's stomach dropped. His hands clenched into fists as he watched.
"Gyeonwoo…" he whispered, fear lacing his voice. He had never seen him fight like this—wild, merciless, like an animal set free.
Finally, Jiho couldn't hold it anymore. He stepped out, his voice sharp. "Hey—would you kill them?"
Gyeonwoo froze mid-swing, his chest heaving. His head tilted slowly, eyes burning an unnatural blue as he glared at Jiho.
"What?" he hissed. "Are you on their side too?"
Jiho shook his head firmly, taking a cautious step closer. "No… I'm not. I'm your friend." His voice cracked, trembling but steady with conviction. "We're not enemies, Gyeonwoo. We're… crime friends, remember? Best friends. You don't know it now, but you'll remember."
For a moment, silence stretched. Gyeonwoo's breath came out ragged, his fists still stained red. The spirit inside him snarled, wanting blood, but something in Jiho's trembling words cracked through the darkness—like a flicker of recognition struggling to surface.
The night air had cooled, the neon buzz of the streets fading as Gyeonwoo and Jiho wandered side by side. The earlier chaos hung like a shadow between them, but Jiho forced a smile, trying to drag Gyeonwoo back into normalcy.
"Come on," Jiho said, tugging his arm. "Let's hit the arcade. You need to cool off before you actually kill someone."
Gyeonwoo tilted his head, his expression unreadable, but followed. Soon the two of them stood in front of the towering boxing machine, its lights flashing, daring them to test their strength.
Jiho cracked his knuckles dramatically. "Alright, watch and learn." He drew back his fist and slammed it into the punching pad. The machine whirred, numbers ticking up before stopping at 5522.
"Not bad, huh?" Jiho grinned, flexing his arm with mock pride. "Now let's see what you've got."
Gyeonwoo smirked faintly and stepped up. With barely a thought, he drove his fist forward—the impact was so sharp that the machine jolted. The numbers soared until they froze at 9922.
Jiho's jaw dropped. "H–hey, what?! That's almost double mine!" He rushed to the machine, smacking it with his palm. "No way, that thing must be broken."
They tried again. Jiho punched—5530. Gyeonwoo followed—9901. Again. Same result. Jiho gawked, wiping sweat off his forehead.
"Wait—wait, I'll bring more coins, I'll beat you this time—" Jiho started to rush toward the counter, but Gyeonwoo caught his sleeve, pulling him back.
"No need," he said simply, his voice calm but carrying that unsettling weight.
Jiho frowned, confused. "Huh? What's gotten into you?"
For a moment, Gyeonwoo stayed quiet, his eyes half-shadowed by the flickering arcade lights. Then, almost too casually, he asked,
"By the way… what's your relation with that shaman?"
Jiho blinked. "What? Seong-ah?"
"Yeah." Gyeonwoo leaned against the machine, his lips curling into a sly grin. "You like her, don't you? You're into her."
Jiho's face heated instantly. "W–what are you talking about?! No, it's not like that—"
"Ahh," Gyeonwoo dragged out the sound, smirking wider. "So you do like her. Figures. You've got a thing for short girls, huh?"
Jiho sputtered, his ears burning red. "No, seriously—it's not like that! I'm just—she's just—"
But Gyeonwoo's eyes glinted strangely, the blue flicker returning for just a heartbeat. "You love her, don't you?" he pressed, his voice soft but edged with something Jiho couldn't quite place.
Jiho froze. The teasing tone sounded like Gyeonwoo, but behind it, there was something darker—as if the spirit inside him was watching, amused, feeding off the confession it was trying to pry out.
The arcade was noisy, lights flashing in every corner, but Gyeonwoo's steps carried him away from Jiho, away from the machines, into a small empty hallway that led to the restroom. The hum of neon quieted, replaced by the buzzing of a single flickering bulb above.
He stopped in front of the mirror.
For a long moment, he just stared. His reflection stared back—but it wasn't quite the same. His reflection smirked faintly, even though his lips hadn't moved.
"When will you get out of my body?" Gyeonwoo whispered, his fists trembling against the sink.
The figure in the mirror tilted its head, eyes glowing faintly blue. Then, with a chuckle that rattled inside his skull, it answered,
"Get out? Why would I? This body…" The reflection leaned closer, pressing its palm against the other side of the glass. "It's so lively, so playful. Stronger than anything I've ever felt. And you…"
Gyeonwoo's chest tightened as he saw his reflection grin wider.
"…you're the perfect host. Why would I ever give this up?"
"Stop it." Gyeonwoo slammed his palm on the sink, trying to steady his breath. "This is my life, not yours. My friends, my school, my—"
"Friends?" the spirit laughed coldly, cutting him off. "You mean that boy who follows you around like a lost puppy? Or the shaman girl who looks at you like you're cursed?"
His reflection's grin warped into something twisted. "They don't care about you. They care about me—the power inside you. Without me, you're just an ordinary boy, weak and helpless."
"That's not true," Gyeonwoo shot back, his voice cracking. "They care about me, not you."
The spirit leaned so close its face almost pressed through the glass. Its whisper was chilling, crawling along Gyeonwoo's spine.
"Keep telling yourself that… but the longer I'm here, the harder it will be for you to return. Sooner or later, you won't even exist anymore."
For a heartbeat, the reflection's eyes glowed brighter, and Gyeonwoo felt his own pupils shift—blue bleeding into brown. He stumbled back, clutching his head, his breathing ragged.
"Get out…" he whispered. "Get out of me…"
But the mirror only laughed.
Gyeonwoo sat back at the video game section, trying to distract himself. The flashing screens, the buzzing tokens, the laughter of kids—it was normal, safe. He grabbed the joystick of a racing game, pressing start.
But then—
BANG! BANG! BANG!
The sound of gunshots rang out from the shooting arcade beside him where a group of kids were blasting away at a virtual screen. The crackling speakers echoed like real bullets firing in the night.
Gyeonwoo flinched—but it wasn't him.
It was the spirit.
Inside his chest, he felt a violent shiver, as though something clawed to escape. His hands clutched his head as he stumbled back, breath uneven.
"Stop… stop it!" the voice growled inside him. His body lurched, forcing his palms over his ears. "That sound… shut it off!"
The children looked confused, but kept laughing, firing more shots.
The spirit's voice turned harsh, trembling with panic, unlike the arrogant tone it always carried.
"Make them stop! Make them stop or I'll—!"
Gyeonwoo gasped, his eyes darting as realization struck. This sound… it's hurting him. He's afraid.
For the first time, Gyeonwoo felt a flicker of control.
He gripped the machine and whispered under his breath, "So you're not invincible after all…"
The reflection of his face on the game screen twitched—the spirit glaring at him through his own eyes, teeth clenched.
"You think this changes anything?" it hissed, voice shaking. "Even with weakness… I still own you."
But its hands were trembling, nails digging into his skin, as if the sound itself was tearing it apart from within.
The sound of the arcade gunshots grew louder, echoing like thunder in Gyeonwoo's ears. His vision blurred, the neon lights of the video game room shifting into something darker—battlefields. Soldiers screamed, guns fired endlessly, blood splattered. The spirit inside him twisted, roaring in agony.
"STOP! STOP IT!" he howled, clutching his head, his body jerking violently as if tearing itself apart.
Then—warmth.
Two hands, gentle yet firm, cupped his ears, shielding him from the world. The noise dulled instantly, muffled as though the chaos had been locked away. His trembling slowed, his breathing softened. Slowly, he lifted his eyes.
"Gyeonwoo—"
Seong-ah's voice was soft but urgent, trembling with worry. She was kneeling before him, her face so close, her eyes burning with both fear and determination.
The spirit inside hissed in protest, but Seong-ah spoke louder, her words cutting through the panic.
"See me, spirit. Please—leave my Gyeonwoo. Don't hurt him anymore!"
Her hands pressed against his ears tighter, as though she could block not only the sounds but the darkness inside him. Her voice cracked as she continued, "I've protected him all this time, even when everyone said he was cursed… even when they said he was bad luck. I never believed it. I only wanted to keep him safe."
Her chest rose and fell with desperation, and tears brimmed in her eyes. She shut them tightly before whispering the words she had buried deep inside her heart:
"Because… I love him. He's my first love."
The spirit froze inside Gyeonwoo's body, the battlefield memories flickering, shattering like broken glass.
Slowly, Gyeonwoo's gaze lifted, his eyes meeting hers. Something shifted—softened. His hand trembled as he reached up, gently covering hers.
"I… am not an evil spirit," he whispered, his voice low, thick with emotion. "I am Gyeonwoo, Seong-ah."
Her breath hitched, her heart stumbling at the sound of his words. For a moment, she could only stare, unable to move, unable to believe. His grip on her hands tightened, his eyes pleading.
Seong-ah's lips parted in shock, trembling as she whispered, "Gyeonwoo…?"
The arcade lights flickered around them, the world still buzzing with noise—but between them, there was only stillness, raw and fragile.