Super Shaman-K (6): The Unfathomable Fixer
Apart from a minor hiccup, the pre-meeting wrapped up without a hitch. Eom PD announced they'd dive straight into filming as fast as possible, then jump into editing, airing roughly five episodes' worth of footage as soon as it was ready. In other words, they'd stockpile about half the episodes as a buffer, shoot, edit, and air the rest while the show was already running hot. That meant if they kicked off filming in early to mid-November, they could start broadcasting by early December at the latest.
Of course, pulling that off would require a massive crew and budget, but Eom PD assured us the network had greenlit the support, so no major issues there. In simple terms, it boiled down to our shooting schedule wrapping up right around when the first five episodes hit the airwaves. We'd be grinding through an insane slate, hell-bent on carving out the year-end and New Year's specials.
Honestly, editing's probably gonna be the real killer, not the shooting. No matter how much raw footage they had, turning it into something viewers would actually watch was the tough part. A vet like Eom PD knew that better than anyone. Hell, he was banking on it—hoping to hook everyone with a fresh horror special to smash through the dull holiday slump. He didn't strike me as a gambler, but the whole concept screamed high stakes.
"We're planning to crash at a nearby hotel the network's hooking us up with for about a month. How about we grab a team dinner to celebrate getting acquainted?"
"I've got my elderly mother and family waiting at home, so I'll have to pass on the dinner."
I politely turned down the old-timer's invite and led the office crew out of the station first. We'd already covered the first shoot location, call time, episode outline, and more during the meeting—no reason to linger. Screw the Mad Woman; S-man and Haksik were still green on the supernatural and occult side. Who knew what kind of bad vibes hanging with those shady types might rub off on them? Better to hit up some street food stalls for jjimjilbang bugs and gukbap.
"He's gone. What a refreshingly straightforward guy."
Sin Dae-ho the law master muttered as he watched the young man—known as Han Daeri, real name Han Siwoo, occupation president of the Supernatural Phenomena Resolution Office, special traits too numerous to list—disappear into Seoul's glittering night streets.
"Speaking of, you okay? Looked like he roughed you up pretty bad back there."
"Still stings a bit... but I'll manage."
"Even for a spirit medium who's taken in the beast-headed Earth Lord, that was too much contact. Weren't you just gonna probe lightly?"
"Once I touched him, I knew a quick scan wouldn't cut it. Had no choice."
The stunning woman who didn't look a day over late twenties oozed the sultry allure of a ripe thirty-something. She was the inmyeonjiju spirit medium. A spirit medium wasn't a bodhisattva or a shaman—she was a woman who directly hosted a god in her body. In the old days, that meant being offered up as a virgin sacrifice to the divine. In modern times, the idea had twisted: she became the vessel to receive the god. Not temporary possession or trance, but a lifelong coexistence with the deity from the moment of selection until death's door.
"Ten years playing spirit medium, and that's a first for me. Made me wonder if the guy's even human."
"I thought no man could escape once caught in your Earth Lord's web. You really got nothing?"
"Yeah. Like licking a painting of food on a rock—no taste, no substance, not even the texture."
"Fascinating. Truly bizarre. What about you two? While the Moonlit Fragrance medium was struggling, you didn't even flinch."
"Why's the geezer who got shut down from the jump talking so much? Think we didn't try? I sicced my crew on him—had 'em wail ghost screams right in his ear for ages, and it bounced off like nothing. You saw it."
The young shaman Ha Tae-jun clicked his tongue and snapped his feather fan shut. His specialty: ripping malevolent spirits off the innocent and good, jarring them up, burying them under his shrine, and using them like familiars. The vicious auras of those buried ghosts got constantly suppressed by his patron deity, who lightened their karma in exchange for their service as subcontractors. It was legendary in the trade.
"Your ghosts are no slouches, and even their wails didn't faze him? Damn."
"Yonghwa Seonnyeo knew and let it slide. Guess she figured it was pointless too. Wasted effort, damn it."
"I tried a curse too—bounced right back. Usually they'd break or absorb it, but a full rebound? Rare as hell."
"Some powerful guardian spirit?"
"Nah. Means there's already something so vicious and potent—a curse or equivalent—dug into his flesh and mind that mine didn't need to take root. Guessing right hand, eyes, and tongue."
"A walking talisman for real."
Should we praise him for surviving that? Nah—praise him for holding down a job in society. Letting a guy like that roam free was the real miracle; higher-ups chasing enlightenment should've squashed him ages ago. To Sin Dae-ho, it was like a gold bar strolling a slum on two legs.
"Tch, let's call it here and head out. Heard there's killer gogi spot nearby—light dinner there..."
Cough! Cough!
A harsh coughing fit drew all eyes. There stood the trio who'd come as one team: East Asian man, blonde white woman, young white girl. The blonde was hacking up a storm, dabbing blood from her mouth with a handkerchief.
"You alright? Seoul air's brutal on foreigners with all the China-sourced smog."
Everyone knew fine dust didn't cause hemoptysis in the healthy, but Sin Dae-ho squinted at the blonde white woman. She ran an overseas supernatural YouTube channel as a self-proclaimed psychic—not just any, but a psychometrist who read memories from objects, people, or environments she'd touched. No verified superpowers ever, of course. Pairing her scammer vibe with an Orientalist sorcerer steeped in ancient Chinese spells and a suspiciously perceptive girl screamed mismatch. Eom PD said they'd been a last-resort casting, a probe. Yet they'd flown from the UK without hesitation—weirdly seamless. And their Korean was freakishly good for foreigners.
"...Don't mind me. Just backlash from my power."
"Memory reading, right? Hard to buy."
"I got internally injured trying to peek at that guy's memories. Half-believe it now?"
"Just curiosity—what'd you see?"
"I'd be dead if I did. Zao Bin Long, how many talismans blew?"
"Five."
"Hear that? Five blockers shattered just from a quick peek. No wonder curses rebound."
Sin Dae-ho still didn't buy the memory-reading schtick, but she wasn't lying. He'd seen the five rings on Zao Bin Long's fingers charred to ash, their spiritual links snapping one by one. No reason to fabricate.
"All these pros assembled, and that stumps us? Embarrassing—might as well crawl into a hole."
"Cut the crap, old man, let's eat. We all knew and signed up anyway, right?"
"Fair enough."
Before heading out for late dinner, Sin Dae-ho glanced at the murky night sky. Just a month ago, Seoul's heavens had been on the brink of total collapse. Now, it hung in a precarious stitchwork balance, like someone had barely sewn it back.
Is the end times really nigh—heavens crumbling, earth upheaving, blue seas turning red?
He swallowed the rising blood lump in his throat and trudged on silently. His killing blow, launched in old age to claim oblivion's karma, had been pulverized. The backlash wrecked his frail body. Realizing mutual destruction was impossible, he'd stopped cold. Pushing further risked some horrific death swallowing him whole. What they'd faced today was a blood-soaked defeat.