Rise! Rise! Rise, Du Han-ah!
"You got the wrong descendant, fuck."
A dementia patient suddenly boomed from the fog in my dream, calling for Kim Du-han. I handed him off to someone else, and only then did I realize I'd dozed off. Well, duh—I was dreaming, so of course I was asleep. Rubbing my bleary eyes in a half-awake haze, the world finally came into focus. No wrecked ramen cups, no shattered windows—just a pristine office from some alternate timeline where nothing had gone to shit.
"Ughhhhhhh!"
I let out a full-throated scream and stretched like my life depended on it, my stiff body slowly waking up. Someone must've dragged my passed-out ass from that underground bar here and, in a stroke of kindness, even fixed the trashed ramen mess and broken glass.
'Was it that shady bartender with the mysterious vibe?'
The guy seemed chill enough, mixing cocktails like he was spectating a street brawl from his living room. Yeah, probably him.
Stepping into the bathroom, there I was in the mirror—same gloomy mug as always. Looked like the dude who'd dumped his life savings into Bitcoin at the peak, watched it crash to hell, downed three bottles of soju, and ended up staring down at Mapo Bridge.
"Eh, at this point... it's got some personality, right?"
Better than "you're ugly as sin." "You've got a unique look" sounds way nicer. Splashing cold water on my face and shaving, the dark circles under my eyes still hung there like permanent residents, but the cleaner vibe was an improvement.
Phone said 1:21 p.m. Sunlight clawed desperately through the office blinds—today was shaping up to be a killer day, weather-wise. Clears up after the rain, huh? Facing bright sunshine after getting drenched in a bullet hail felt pretty damn good.
New day starts? Time to gear up. Expecting a fresh start without prepping for it is the dumbest shit imaginable.
First things first: hopped onto MysticGal for a good morning post.
Title: Spilling the tale of going wild with 5 peeps at the underground bar straight through to round 3
Author: Han Daeri (HalbeombarMeme)
"Same old assholes."
How'd they round up nothing but dipshits dying to advertise how retarded they are? When Judgment Day hits, Jesus better check their browser history.
Wondering what juicy gigs were up on the request board today, I fiddled with my phone—right then, the office line rang its obnoxious trill. Always buzzes when I'm tryna enjoy my me-time, that clueless fucker.
No choice—picked it up and did some actual boss shit for once.
"Yeah, Supernatural Phenomena Resolution Office, boss Han Daeri speaking."
"Boss but you say 'Daeri'?"
"My call. I'm a free man."
"Funny. Called after seeing your office promo vid. That batshit crazy mad movie?"
"Ah, that one..."
"The CG was top-notch. First time seeing you in the biz, got curious from the quality, so I rang."
"...We've got one decent assistant who handles video edits."
"Haha! Most 'supernatural experts,' ghost trackers, or exorcists swear it's 100% real. You're different, Mr. Han. Means you're confident in your skills, right?"
Not really, but easier to roll with it.
"Upload a vid like that and claim it's all real? Gotta have some business ethics if you're selling."
"Damn! Rare breed these days. Love the straight talk, and running your own office means you've got chops... How 'bout taking one of our gigs?"
"Specified request?"
"Yeah. We're the XXU Ghost Story Club. Whole crew's hitting a haunted spot for some spiritual fun. Need a pro... but rates in this field are insane, y'know?"
True. Shamans, exorcists, mediums—basic hire costs a fortune. Say SSR-grade Han Daeri runs 1 mil a pop. Three days? Three mil, plus per-threat bonuses. Pros eat cash like candy.
"So, cool with 30 a day?"
30 a day? Means max three days, tops.
"Hmm, haggling depends on group size, spot, and what 'spiritual fun' entails. Can we meet to hash details?"
"Oh right! We're in Gwanak-gu, so..."
"On my way. Text the exact address to my personal line."
"Got it."
Hung up, grabbed my long coat off the wall. Staff still AWOL, so boss-man's gotta hoof it... whatever.
#MyMoneyMySan #SuccessfulDelusion #RequestFlex
"Day after tomorrow's October, but this goddamn sun's still peak summer."
No wonder foreigners brag about surviving "extreme environments" then bitch "fucking hot, fucking cold" in Korea. Republic of Korea: masochist paradise. Weaklings who can't hack the sadism shouldn't set foot here.
Rare subway ride—snagged a seat easy. Spread my legs wide, no manspreading complaints; train was ghost town. Hell, I was the only one from the jump.
"This the life of a total introvert NEET cruising the subway midday?"
No elders dodging heat for AC, no Jesus freaks, no sketchy vendors, no cosplay weirdos. Whole space mine for a bit—kinda thrilling.
Doors shut, clack-clack rumble. Eyes closed, I could guess speed, next stop. College days, dragging tired ass early or late, I'd zone like this. Had to blank out or reality'd crush me.
Sometimes wanted to wrench the doors open mid-run and scream. Window taps pissed me off—ruining my quiet ride, rage meter filling fast. Broke as hell back then, no AirPods like everyone else. Just endured the endless clack-tap-clack.
Clack-clack.
> Next stop... [Station Name].
> Doors opening on the right.
Sudden screeching halt—lights out.
"Fuck."
Yeah, empty subway? Bad omen. Seoul's lines always packed, early or late—huge foot traffic, cheap transit.
Phone light sweep: peered out open doors. Platform normal, no void drop.
Tap-tap.
Familiar knock behind—glanced back, no culprit tapping the glass.
'Chasing college kids' pocket change, and this is the bullshit I get.'
Should've flexed as a pro and demanded 500 upfront.
Headed for the gate anyway—there, a pitch-black thing in ratty uniform staff gear held out a hand. First meet? Shook it like a handshake.
Social niceties done, time to bounce—passed the gate smooth. Black thing kept its hand out, but I ignored. Meetings end. Gotta be cool adults who part ways clean.