Just as Leci had hoped, the old woman truly carried fragments of the truth. "So… what's the story, Grandma?" Leci asked, unable to hide her eagerness.
"..."
The old woman seemed to sift through heavy memories, her gaze locked on the murky pond with an unreadable depth. "Before that—would you like an orange?" she offered gently, extending the fruit toward Leci.
Kruuuk…
Leci winced in embarrassment. She hadn't eaten anything since school ended, and now she was starving. Lunch had been nothing more than a tiny burger — hardly enough to fill anyone.
Sensing her hesitation, the old woman reached out, placed the orange in Leci's hand, and said softly, "Don't be shy, child. Go on, eat."
Leci could refuse no longer. She thanked the old woman with a small smile, though strangely, despite her hunger, she didn't feel like eating the orange. Instead, she held it quietly and shifted her attention back toward the overgrown patch of land where the pond lay.
A small abandoned house loomed behind the lot. Leci assumed the ground must once have been its backyard… until tragedy struck. Judging by the neglect, no one had touched the land for years. Her gaze briefly caught on the orange tree beside the pond.
"This place used to belong to the family living in that house," the old woman finally began. "A husband and wife who often spent their afternoons admiring this pond together."
Not wanting to interrupt, Leci listened in silence. Her eyes wandered again — toward a small gazebo made of stone, toward wilted lotus petals rotting on the water's surface.
"But then," the woman continued, "the husband's business failed. From there… everything in their lives began to crumble. The husband grew stress, drank constantly, gambled away what little they had. Their finances collapsed under mounting debt."
Her voice trembled — but her expression remained unreadable.
Leci quietly jotted notes in her small notebook, occasionally glancing at the old woman from the corner of her eye. The sun had vanished entirely, and even the moon was swallowed by clouds. The only source of light was the lonely streetlamp above the old woman's head.
"One night," the woman said, lowering her voice, "the husband staggered home drunk… bringing his mistress with him. The wife was heartbroken. Betrayed. But instead of apologizing, the husband berated her—called her worthless."
The weight of the story pressed heavily on Leci. Affairs were already a nightmare — but she suspected violence soon followed.
The old woman's face darkened beneath the streetlamp's shadow. The cold air made her wrinkled skin look almost pallid. "They had no money left—not even to buy food. The wife hadn't eaten for two days. Yet the husband didn't care. He grew angrier… even told her to sell herself to earn money."
Leci's stomach churned. Monster, she thought. She silently prayed never to cross paths with a man like that.
"The wife, who had endured so much, eventually snapped. But she couldn't bring herself to strike her husband. Instead… she lashed out at the mistress."
Leci could picture it — the pain, the desperation, the fury. Nothing good ever followed when one's life veered so far off course.
The old woman's eyes blazed now, fueled by emotion. She stared toward the back of the abandoned house near the pond.
"But tragically, confronting the mistress was the wife's gravest mistake. The husband didn't tolerate anyone harming his lover. In his drunken rage, he poured the alcohol he carried all over his wife's face… and then lit a flame."
She paused.
"And burned her until her face was destroyed."
Shwaaa…
Goosebumps pricked Leci's arms. Hearing such a story — not in a book, not on a screen, but right at the scene of the tragedy — made everything unbearably real. More horrifying than any haunted house.
"After she was weakened," the woman continued coldly, "the husband and his mistress drowned the wife in this pond."
She pointed toward the dark, stagnant water.
"And that is how her story ends."
The old woman turned to Leci. The warm smile she once wore was gone, replaced by something colder, sharper. "You may not understand—it's because you're still young. But the wife has every right to seek vengeance."
The old woman watched her closely with an unsettling gaze. "If she ever saw a girl with smooth skin like yours… she would be horribly jealous." Her tone was gentle, almost kind — yet the fine hairs on Leci's arms stood on end.
A chill slid down Leci's spine. Her instincts were right — something about this woman was wrong.
"Grandma," Leci said carefully, "if vengeance must be taken… shouldn't it be aimed at your husband and his mistress? Not at every beautiful girl you come across."
As soon as she said it, Leci lifted the orange the woman had given her.
Summoning green flame — unnatural and ghostly — she burned the fruit right before the old woman's eyes.
A silent warning.
A declaration:
Leci was not someone easily deceived.
Because of Leci's bold move, the old woman finally revealed her true intentions. The crooked smile on her wrinkled face twisted into something unmistakably villainous.
"Foolish girl. Even if you burned it, the curse I placed inside that orange has already moved into your body."
Leci rolled her eyes, utterly unimpressed. Of all types of ghosts, she hated cursed-obsessed spirits the most. Playing with curses, huh.
"It won't affect me. I'm not a pretty girl," she shot back, completely fearless.
Her response ignited the old woman's fury. In an instant, the ghost shed her disguise — revealing her true form: a young woman with long hair… and a face mangled beyond recognition.
It was the most terrifying apparition Leci had ever seen. For a moment, she trembled at how grotesque the ghost looked. And remembering the tragic suffering she endured, Leci felt a flicker of sympathy.
Strect!
Taking advantage of Leci's brief distraction, the ghost lunged — her hair stretching like shadowy tendrils. The strands wrapped around Leci's right arm, forcing her to drop the burning orange.
"Not a pretty girl, you say?! Can't you see this?! Its mark has already begun to bloom on your skin!"
The ghost shrieked, manic, thrusting Leci's palm forward. It was marked with angry red bruises. There was a sharp, stinging sensation — something Leci realized far too late. Or perhaps… she had simply grown a little too accustomed to pain.
"This is proof my curse is already working! The beginning of your ruin. Hahahaha!"
How…? Leci stiffened. She hadn't expected the curse to affect her at all. For the first time that night, Leci felt her body was no longer entirely her own.
Even though she had activated the Ancient Guardian Spell's protection mode, the curse embedded in her hand refused to fade. Realizing the situation, she yanked the ghost's hair until the disfigured apparition fell forward, stumbling.
Leci seized her chance.
She pulled out the paper where she had written a spell beforehand. "Crown Thorn Spell!"
A crown of writhing thorns materialized from her free left arm. While the ghost was still reeling on the ground, Leci slammed the crown onto her head.
"AAAAARGH!" The ghost screamed as the thorns writhed like living worms, burrowing into her skull — bringing agonizing, unendurable pain.
Not wasting a single heartbeat, Leci scribbled another spell in her notebook.
"Soul Lock Spell."
"You wretched brat!" the ghost roared, her fury spiraling. Her hair ignited like blazing fire, then slashed at Leci — who was still writing—
Wham!
Leci's body was hurled against the small stone gazebo. Pain exploded across her back. Before she could rise, the ghost lunged again — fisting a handful of Leci's red hair and forcing her face toward the pond's surface.
"Look at this, you miserable girl! How blind must you be not to realize your own beauty?! Are you mocking me?!" The ghost's voice cracked with hysteria. Blood dripped from her ruined head, making her even more terrifying.
Leci gritted her teeth in rising frustration. Why was this ghost dumping all her insecurities on her? So what if Leci wasn't the optimistic type?
"That's because no one has ever called me pretty… not even in passing, you pitiful ghost!"
Why did she have to bear this ghost's fury? Why must she — who had never once felt beautiful — be attacked by a spirit obsessed with beauty? Heat surged in her chest, rising and rising, burning away every trace of fear.
Sploosh!
Overwhelmed with emotion, Leci lost her rationality. The only thing left in her mind was defeating this ghost — now. With a sharp motion, she dragged the ghost into the pond with her.
They plunged into water barely a meter deep.
Water seeped into her ears, sending the world spinning in hollow, muted echoes. The ghost's movements blurred into shadowy shapes, bending and twisting between the dark ripples.
The ghost's grip remained tight even underwater. Leci had no choice but to rely on her hairpin — she couldn't write spells beneath the surface. Even with water-resistant paper, the ink from her pen would wash away instantly. And without written incantations, there was no spell she could use now.
If she used her hairpin, all Leci needed now to pierce the ghost's soul's vital point. Fortunately, her hairpin, always reliable, sensed the ghost's vital point immediately.
As the spirit struggled to keep Leci submerged, the girl thrust the pin into the ghost's forehead — its soul's core.
Slowly, the ghost's body hardened… turning into a soulstone.
It's finally over, Leci thought, relieved, retrieving the stone along with her hairpin.
But her breath was failing. She had been underwater too long. Her strength was nearly gone after the fight.
Why is everything so dark? Even in shallow water, she could no longer see. What could someone who was out of breath — starving, exhausted — possibly do? Even moving her fingers felt impossibly heavy.
The water closed over her like a dark curtain, as if the pond itself were inviting her to share its silence with the spirits it had swallowed before.
Cold… Is this what the ghost felt when she was drowned?
She must have waited — waited for someone to save her. Waited with her hand outstretched, hoping desperately that someone, anyone, would take it.
But this place was silent. Far from the city. No footsteps. No voices.
No one was coming.
Leci's breaths came in fragile, trembling fragments, her vision dissolving into a wash of fading shapes. She couldn't tell how much longer she could cling to herself — how long before her consciousness finally slipped from her grasp.
Will I end up the same way…?
The final bubble slipped from her lips, drifting upward toward a surface that felt farther and farther away.