The Deceptive Fragrance
Korea truly excels in some bizarre categories, and if I had to pick a few, the overwhelming garlic consumption tops the list. They eat so much garlic that it's at least double what they devour in Italy, the birthplace of aglio e olio. And that's even after a massive drop from the past—decades ago, it was easily four times more. Maybe that's why Koreans have such advanced cosmetics culture; the garlic stench never quite leaves their bodies. Walk down any street, and the air reeks more of makeup than urban pollution.
"Cosmetics smell."
The words barely registered when a thick cosmetic container clattered to the ground. It rolled right between us and the camera—an empty bottle, no brand logo, no contents. Yet the overpowering fragrance hit so hard it made even me, a Seoul native, pinch my nose. Medieval European nobles dousing themselves in perfume to mask their stench? Child's play compared to this.
"Don't touch that."
Ha Tae-jun, who'd instinctively reached for it, froze at the Mad Woman's warning. He jerked back, putting some distance between himself and the empty bottle.
"Grab ghosts can't do shit against people like us, but mid-tier evil ghosts use simple triggers to fuck with your senses. How many do you think just activated?"
"At least three."
"Right. Hearing, sight, smell. One little bottle, and you almost fell for it, Ha Tae-jun. Makes sense—you serve a child deity, so you're naturally drawn to shiny kid bait."
"...My apologies."
He'd been the one fiddling with the camera earlier too, and now this trance-like slip-up clearly embarrassed him. Shaking his bell gently, he closed his eyes and prayed to his god. Somewhere nearby, whatever rolled that child-luring cosmetic bottle at us was lurking. Borrow the kid god's power to sniff it out—smart play. But he just shook his head limply, like all the fight had drained out of him.
"The cosmetics smell is too strong. It reminds me of Mother's embrace."
"We're screwed. Plug your nose."
The Mad Woman waved him off like it was hopeless and took over shaking the bell. Even top shamans can't flex in every scenario. Sure, most grab ghosts and evil ghosts get crushed or ripped apart by the spirits they channel. But spirits have matchups too. A scholarly type that fusses over propriety? It'll despise anything "filthy." Some evil ghosts are so vile even the spirits refuse to touch them—bad juju, they say, and straight-up dodge.
Apply that logic here: Cosmetics are for mature women, and kids are weak to that distinct grown-woman scent. Aunties on the low end, moms higher up, grandmas at the top. The comforting, familiar aroma that calms children. And it's laced right into the makeup.
'Must be hell for a child spirit servant.'
Like dangling a virgin ghost in front of a bachelor haunt. No matter how much Ha Tae-jun begs his spirit, if it half-asses the power lend, he's fucked. With that spiritually charged cosmetic stench already saturating the air, the child god's focus crumbling was inevitable.
'Especially young spirits or ghosts—they're a pain to control.'
Even with cameras rolling nonstop, the Mad Woman steadily shook the bell and advanced slowly into the darkness where the bottle had rolled from. Sin Dae-ho followed, clutching his prayer beads and chanting sutras. Once the cameraman trailed them, I finally picked up the cosmetic bottle, free from prying eyes.
But it didn't last. The bottle cracked with a sharp snap, then crumbled to dust. From what I'd thought was empty poured a thick, chocolate-sweet, blood-red liquid. A slutty seduction luring the mind, a deceit masking true nature, a greedy embrace promising to swallow anything—it flooded the air in a dizzying haze.
"Nope."
I ripped open a small plastic bag from my pocket and scattered the contents. Dark red salt crystals, made by dissolving in chicken fat, rebaking, and grinding fine. Just before the goo overflowed my hand to the floor, the salt hit it first.
Tzzzzzzzzz!
The other cameraman filming me gawked in shock. Ha Tae-jun, who'd been pinching his nose nearby, grimaced.
"When you dispel, shake off the negativity from your hands first! Smearing it on yourself? If the poison seeps in, you're the one in deep shit."
"Cosmetics get consumed by the human body and spread through the air, right? So process it before it hits a body."
"...Isn't that a bit extreme?"
"At least I stopped an incident. Good enough."
I shook the salt residue off my hands and stomped the shattered bottle to powder. As I said, cosmetics consume via body and disperse into air. Abuse that right, and you birth a horrific, widespread curse: human body as host, cosmetics as virus, airborne spread as indiscriminate infection.
Ha Tae-jun called me extreme, but if he weren't here, I wouldn't have gone this route. If we'd ignored the bottle while he fixated under his spirit's sway? He'd have touched it, spreading the curse. Talented, experienced shaman or not—when spirits pull the strings, it's an unavoidable trap. Better I pay the "price" and handle it.
"And your psychometry? Don't even think about touching this. Won't end well."
I warned the blonde white woman watching from afar. Reading object memories via touch is badass, sure. But psychometrists' fatal flaw? Zero defenses. Like a skilled hacker bypassing age gates for porn but blind to the landmine hentai memes lurking. Free pass ain't the same as self-protection.
The cosmetics got trashed before consuming my hand—no curse spread. Lingering afterscent is unavoidable, though. Ventilate or relocate. But first, secure a safe path. I extended my hand to Seong Wolhyang, who stood demurely with hands clasped.
Shrine maiden serving the Human-Faced Earth Spirit—she weaves invisible spiritual threads to normal eyes.
'To viewers, we'll look like we're trading air.'
Kinda weird on camera, but what can you do about spirit sight? Can't give the whole nation spirit eyes. Luckily, no grudge from my earlier holy water counter—she handed over a bundle of her spiritual silk without hesitation.
"Oh, and Ha Tae-jun, Seong Wolhyang—get separate countermeasures from Kim Hyesun. You two are a bad matchup for this place."
"Entrusting my body to unknown spells is..."
"Or keep wobbling around and draw talismans? Shamans' spirits are as stuffy and ancient as any sorcerer's spells—the roots are the same. Older means more potent energy gathered, and that potency levels up the spirit."
"Who the hell interprets shaman spirits like that?"
"Perspective shift via interpretation. Easier that way."
This world's true agents are living humans. Non-human forces meddling? They need human conduits. How humans interpret, what lens they use—that shapes outcomes. Christianity and Islam worship the same God, yet split hairs on interpretation and boom, different religions.
"Seong Wolhyang, you get why I'm saying this? If it's fooling senses, it'll target your Earth Spirit's 'touch' reliance too."
"Understood."
"Hold the fort then."
I wrapped the spiritual silk around my waist and headed the opposite way from the Mad Woman and Sin Dae-ho's darkness. Naturally, another cameraman followed.
I pulled a small candy from my pocket and handed it over.
"What's this?"
"Salt candy. Feeling off? Pop one in your mouth."
Because the real darkness in this factory—the pre-scout team totally missed it—is where we're headed next.