Sinlim Station
"This station is Sinlim Station. Exit through the doors on the right."
"Fuck."
I wiped the drool from the corner of my mouth and sat up in my disheveled state. After sending my revolutionary comrades off into the bright light, a strange sense of emptiness washed over me—but whatever. As long as the masses (mint choco not included) exist, revolution can ignite anytime. When that moment comes, I'll march with them again, belting out the Red Flag anthem.
Stepping out of Sinlim Station, the familiar polluted air—Chinese fine dust mixed with car exhaust—greeted me like always.
"Ahh, the air of a free democracy."
The cool, heavy air filled my overheated lungs, and just like that, I snapped back into being a democratic citizen of this democratic nation. Coat flapping behind me, I headed to the cafe address the client had sent. In one corner sat a group of four—two guys, two girls—who looked straight out of a college occult club. For a weird club like that, it was an unusually balanced mix. Most end up male-heavy or all dudes, the rare ones scraping by.
Four people total—do they even qualify as a club?
"Han Daeri here, as requested. This the ghost stories club?"
"Ah! Come on in, we've been waiting!"
The young guy who jumped up first for a handshake was a clean-cut handsome type. Not quite S-man level, but he'd pass muster at a blind date. Next to him sat another guy, a bit chubby-faced, rocking thick horn-rimmed glasses, jeans, and a boxy tee. He was fiddling with some gadget like a machine, not even glancing my way.
"I'm Choi Yeon-jun, president of the ghost stories club. This guy next to me is our tech specialist, Lee Chan-young, and..."
"I'll introduce myself, oppa. I'm Lee Ji-ah, the medium for the ghost stories club. Haven't received a full divine descent yet, but I've got a bit of spiritual sensitivity."
I nodded lightly and eyed the other girl next to her, head bowed low.
"And her?"
"Oh, Seol-ha. Say hi."
"......"
"...Seol-ha? You okay?"
"......"
"Weird. She was chatting fine just now."
"Seol-ha's just shy around strangers, probably. Sorry. Our members don't interact much with outsiders... haha."
"No worries."
I waved off Choi Yeon-jun's chatter. First meetings are always a mix of novelty and nerves—some get excited, others tense. If you can't cut them slack and start prying, you'll never survive society. Constant tension's a career killer too, but that's fixable over time.
I didn't want to sit by the guys or look creepy next to the girls, so I grabbed a chair from another table and planted myself in the middle spot, like the head of the table.
"I had a rough trip here, so I'm a bit wiped. Not trying to pressure you—real shit went down. If it's cool, can we cut to the chase?"
"Of course. We were about to dive in once you arrived."
"Great. First off: when, where, and how long for this haunted expedition?"
"I brought the docs!"
I figured club prez Choi Yeon-jun would handle it, but Lee Ji-ah pulled a stack from her bag. The club's medium scouting spots herself?
"Let's see... XX Psychiatric Hospital in XX City, Gyeongsangbuk-do Province."
More precisely, an abandoned one. The photos in her handout showed nothing but crumbling, decayed vibes.
"Places like Gonjiam Asylum or the Yeongwol haunted house? Everyone's done 'em—too bland. Famous spots, sure, but the thrill's gone. So I dug up a real gem."
"Impressive. How'd you find this?"
"Hehe, I've got connections."
Connections at early twenties? Whatever. I'm the subcontractor here; play nice with the clients.
"Spot's solid. Now, travel date, duration, and what experiences you're planning—that's key."
I skimmed the docs on XX Psychiatric Hospital's history (rumors). Standard abandoned hospital lore: director goes mad like a midlife crisis, sacrifices patients in rituals; secret cult brainwashing den; alien-worshipping loonies. Entertaining bullshit.
"Travel tomorrow. Sooner the better. We've got the rental car and camping gear ready."
"I'll just tag along then. Oh, my gear and food's on me—no need to add to the contract."
"Including travel day, about three days stay. Could be 2 nights 3 days, or 3 nights 4. How about daily rate adjustments?"
"Simple: per night. Even 2 nights 3 days with travel means two workdays really. Easier for everyone?"
Two nights? Two days' pay. Broke college kids loved the straightforward deal. Rate TBD, though.
"Looks like you want a themed ghost hunt fitting the 'ghost stories club' vibe—uncovering local legends or living them out?"
"Spot on. Chan-young'll use pro gear to map and record hotspots and phenomena live. We experience it, verify if the stories are real, how they work, and document. We run a YouTube channel."
Ah. YouTube. That explained it. Ghost hunters or mystic illusionists are a dime a dozen. Catch a poltergeist? Hit. Blurry ghost? Jackpot. Modern folks crave that mysterious horror fix.
S-man's mad movie vid must've hooked this club. Not verified skills, just cheap guest star for the day rate.
Whatever. Got the gig—that's what counts.
Land a job, do it. No jobs? Hunt 'em. That's Supernatural Phenomena Resolution Office Han Daeri.
"Plans include Ouija, coin whispering, Hyakumonogatari— all strong summoning stuff. Cool with that?"
"We've done tons. Know the counters, stay in bounds."
If you say so. Nodded past it, skipping 'hospital explore' or 'guts tests.' Pros like them have high scare thresholds.
"Stick with us, handle any incidents, drop commentary."
"Commentary?"
"You'll be on camera."
"No comedian-level ad-libs, and I'm game. But bump the rate."
You're monetizing footage? I get a cut.
"Deal. Daily... 40 okay?"
"50."
"45."
"50."
"47. Can't go higher..."
"C'mon, short stay, your vids make bank—be generous. Other experts? Hundreds minimum. Shamans and exorcists ain't cheap."
Shamans can't help for free outside their path. Divine call to aid the poor? Minimal fee. Random 'gimme a gut and talismans'? Big bucks. No karma hit.
TV or YouTube shamans start at hundreds. Scandals bloated fake ones, but real prices hold.
Tomorrow's go-time? They wanted me from the start.
"Too late for swaps. 50 daily, clean. Two days nets me 100—gotta eat."
"Fine. 50 it is."
Three days: 150. Four: 200. Per-day scaling suited me. Time's on my side.
"I'll crash nearby. Pick me up early tomorrow."
Secured a 50-per-day gig. Sex.