No Chance in Hell
“Hello everyone! I'm Coronodon, bringing you comfy, fun streams every time!”
The chat exploded with greetings at streamer Coronodon's—real name Kang Seol-bin—cheerful intro.
“Haha, you all know the drill, but I had dinner with Mom today, so no mukbang this time.”
Kang Seol-bin grinned at the camera, then let out a short sigh.
“Man, what do I do about this tiny stomach of mine? It's not something effort can fix. I can eat plenty flavor-wise, but my gut just won't cooperate.”
She meant it—no exaggeration. She'd started mukbangs to hook viewers with diverse tastes, but her small stomach limited her portions, which bugged her. Sure, some loved her clean, tasty eating style, but plenty dug watching someone devour massive piles without breaking a sweat.
“I'm bummed about it myself. Mom's horse mackerel braise is so good. I'd kill for three bowls of rice with it, but nope.”
“Yep. That's why I'm heading out fishing tomorrow. Weather's finally nice—calm winds and all.”
“Heading to a nearby breakwater this time. Mom wants tons of horse mackerel for frying. They're not the tastiest fighters, but you catch heaps and they taste great. Oh, and yeah, sea roaches make killer bait for black sea bream. Tough shells, good size—small fry can't touch 'em.”
Kang Seol-bin mimed reeling in a big one, then chomped the air with smacky lips.
“Whoa, not a pro angler or anything—just stuff I've picked up. Can't catch sea roaches myself. Earthworms? Sure. But those... nah.”
Kang Seol-bin glanced at the clock and made an “oh shoot” face.
“Ah, wrapping up early today. Got somewhere to be.”
“Gotta hit the hospital.”
“It's fine.” Kang Seol-bin shrugged. “Been 11 years. Whatever.”
Long enough to call it “already,” short enough to call it “only.” Time flies like that.
Her face soured a bit as she continued. “They say ten years changes mountains... hearts too. Right after oppa's accident, thinking of him brought tears instantly. Now? Manageable.”
She gazed past the camera. Dad bailed after wrecking everything, leaving Mom, oppa, and her to scrape by. Tightly knit, fierce survival.
Just when life felt livable.
They'd finally earn real smiles as a trio. At first, nonstop tears. Then resentment at oppa for the crash, then sobs over no more bickering or chats.
Can't even recall his voice.
She'd read voices fade first—film family vids. But with oppa bedridden forever...
“Film lots with your fam, guys. Voices go first.”
Choking up, Kang Seol-bin blinked hard to hold tears. Mom'd call soon; puffy eyes would set her off too.
“N-nope, not crying.” She pressed her eyes with palms, forcing a smile.
TunaSirloin donated 100,000 won
“Thanks, TunaSirloin.”
AllGoodPenguin donated 50,000 won
“Thanks, AllGoodPenguin.”
She bowed repeatedly, cleared her throat, and perked up. “Alright, mood lift—got word on that thing from last time?”
Kang Seol-bin straightened, hands clasped, face serious. “Yep, that. No prosecution due to suspect's death.”
“Turns out he harassed other streamers too. Reports filed, sent to prosecutors, then... extreme choice.”
A sudden chill hit her mid-sentence; she shivered. Again?
Lately, random chills and shoulder stabs. Local ortho blamed fatigue/stress—PT or meds. If not, try university hospital.
“So that case—”
Knock knock.
“Yeah, probably.” She smiled, standing. “Off to see oppa. Catch you at the breakwater tomorrow!”
“Thanks! Love you all!” She waved both hands wildly, ended stream, and stepped out.
The table overflowed with food containers.
“Whoa, Mom, what's all this?”
“For the caregiver.”
“Feels like more each time.”
“She's a saint. Doesn't matter the pay—changing shit diapers ain't normal.” Park Young-sook double-knotted a bundle. “Gifts make 'em care extra. More eyes on our San.”
“She's special patient already—top care. Skip bundles; stuff the big bags.”
“True?”
Kang Seol-bin grabbed a bag, loading extras—then winced. Shoulder again.
Maybe a real hospital...
She rolled it secretly, then beamed. “Let's roll!”
Today. Second Friday monthly. Mom and sis visit day.
Wondered if this Friday, but Lee Pil-nyeo's morning words confirmed. Extra face wash for family—crisp as promised.
Two weeks for them; decades Earth-time for me.
Worked hard to shock and joy them. Fed Fire Spirit, Wind Spirit, Water Spirit heaps of qi; gathered rare herb beasts via tube. Toes wiggle, fingers twitch, eyelids lift.
Seeing family with my eyes—not Spiritual Eye.
Spotless single room. Crash perps' folks—rich, powerful—apologized via friend's hospital. They cover bills, no worries.
Relief at first; now 11 years later, uneasy. “Enough time passed; can't help more.” Mom/sis'd slave to keep me; why I stayed Dark Heavenly Realm...
Life's unpredictable. Back unchosen; this too.
Eyes open, Wind Spirit helps remote—torso up. First check: right palm.
Still warming my body. Dark Heavenly Realm grip. Revived via merit/karma points.
Heavenly Wood.
Tiny fragment purifying vast realm, boundless potential—in my palm. Rice-grain small, but Heavenly Wood. Quick Spiritual Eye, body twitches—all its aid. Unknown duration; max it out.
[Here. All.]
[Arrived.]
[Here. See.]
Fire, Wind, Water reported. Mom/sis near hospital!
Told 'em alert on family; faces never faded. 11 years sighs, resentment, stifled sobs—heard it all. Crave joy-laughs, bright faces.
[Stuck. Though.]
[Bad? See.]
[Us. See. Bad? No. Us.]
Huh? What?
[Bad on who?]
Fire/Wind eyed Water. You gab most—explain.
[Bad thing. Few-lines-face. Stuck.]
Sis—few wrinkles. Bad = spirit? Uneasy.
Wanna bolt out, but can't. Breathe deep, wait.
Bad news mid-joy... Handle it. Me.
Slide. Door opens.
Eyes shut, Spiritual Eye scans. Spirits say bad = Resentful/Evil Spirit. Right.
Sis's bad thing: Evil Spirit. Sewer-sludge vibe, formed body. Rolling eyes, brutish maw, spindly claws gripping tight—no release.
That on my sis? No way she earned grudge. Early veggie days, she stressed Mom some—moody teen—but no self-harm or hurting others for kicks.
Why Evil Spirit?
“Ow ow.”
“Aigoo, shoulder again?”
Thud. Bags down heavy; Mom worries.
“Maybe big hospital.”
“Wait more. Might heal.”
No. That shoulder—no hospital fix. Rip and erase.
“Fishing tomorrow?”
“Yep, breakwater horse mackerel.”
“Skip; hospital with Mom. Fry later.”
“Not that bad.”
Fishing word—Evil Spirit grins ear-to-ear. Sea plot brewing. Damn thing.
Glared; it flinched, fled. Back soon—clear handprint lingers.
Glared off now; returns for sea scheme. Hurt sis, break Mom. No chance in hell.
Conquered all to return; won't watch precious family suffer. Pay heaps qi, but Fire/Wind/Water can't take formed Evil. Commanded.
[Light Spirit. Come to me.]