Come on In.
"Come on in."
Kim Bokja ushered a sturdy-built man into the pawnshop. Behind him, a horde of burly guys in suits stood menacingly, but rather than threatening, they encircled the building like guardians protecting the pawnshop.
Kim Bokja, tapping her hunched back with her wrinkled hands, led the way inside and guided the man to the reception room.
"So, what brings a busy man like you here in the middle of your dealings? It can't be that you're suddenly short on cash and came crawling to this old lady."
"I'm still grateful for the debt I owe you from my younger days. Without your help back then, I'd have stayed at the bottom forever."
"You think life is that simple? There are plenty of guys who look like rock bottom one day and shoot straight to heaven the next. You made it because you were meant to— that's all."
"You made me the man I am, ma'am. Smells damn good in here—the tea's fragrant."
"What fragrant? It's cheap crap. You really wanna turn this hot-tempered old woman's stomach inside out?"
At Kim Bokja's prodding to get to the point, the man gave a wry smile and set down his teacup.
"Up till now, I've left all the weird outsiders coming into Hongdae alone because you've tolerated them. But this one punk who showed up recently... he's sticking in my craw."
"...That guy's not someone for you to worry about."
"Not entirely unrelated. I checked his background—he worked at one of my clubs a few years back. Guy scrapes together a fortune, goes legit, then a few years later wipes his own records clean and crawls back here. Of course everyone's gonna keep tabs on him. You know how sensitive we are to outsiders in this line of work."
"I get your situation, but he's nothing like the folks who've been pawning 'items' here. He actually took some. Four of them, no less."
"Yeah, I confirmed that already. That's why I came as rep. Got something I really wanna ask about that. Why the hell did you hand over that many items to some punk—not to mention carve out territory for him?"
This time, even Kim Bokja had to set her teacup down.
"Jangchungdong Maseok, back when you were wandering back alleys like a pathetic tail-cut lizard used up by your gang, I backed you with no questions, no guarantees. Because I trusted my eye for people. That's still true today. So now let me ask you—do you really think you're in a position to question me like that?"
"You know as well as I do, ma'am—this business has rules. Me and a ton of others owe you, and we've paid the price fair and square. That's how we got to where we are. So everyone's on edge. Who the hell is this comet that shot in outta nowhere, and what makes him so special?"
Kim Bokja clicked her tongue at the question from the man known as Jang Maseok, short for Jangchungdong Maseok.
"Didn't I tell you? He's not someone you should worry about. More precisely, someone you mustn't."
"Got some big backer?"
"Aigoo, man. After forty-odd years, shouldn't you have some sense by now? That's why you're still a bachelor."
"Ouch, hitting me where it hurts like that... I'm embarrassed, ma'am."
"I'll say it once, clear enough for you and all the complainers under you to get it. That guy's a monster."
"A monster?"
"You had him tailed, threw some fortune tellers and shamans at him, right? Let me guess what those quacks told you. 'Nothing shows up.'"
"...How'd you know?"
Kim Bokja cackled, then her face hardened as she spoke.
"Reapers can't find his name in the ledgers, and his features are so twisted they can't even make out his face. Of course nothing shows. Fate-reading, physiognomy—useless on him. He's long since snapped his own thread of destiny, his palm lines shredded to hell. Even the King of Hell couldn't read his future. Lucky I bound his soul with a spell, but now my old man's coughing up blood because of it."
"The big elder who's always by your side...?"
"That stubborn old fool begged the reapers to let him stay with me till the end. But ever since I linked my soul to that guy's with the spell, he's been taking the hits for me. Arrows flying from who-knows-where."
"From that punk?"
"The guy's existence is the arrow. Any normal human near him would drown face-first in a saucer of water. That's why I told you not to mess with him. I'm an old bag with one foot in the grave, so I'm fine. But if you types start bleeding, who's gonna keep this street safe?"
"......"
Speechless, Jang Maseok stared silently at his teacup, already chilled by the thick frost.
"Actually, ma'am, there's something I should've mentioned earlier."
"I can guess, but you started, so spit it out."
"One gang's already gone after the punk without a care. They tweak ancient spells for modern times, spin 'em into urban legends or ghost stories to hurt their targets—the 'Metaphorical Poets' crew. Originally from Itaewon, they moved here two years back and set up shop."
"You mean those sleazy dive bar punks led by that hooked-nose Yankee?"
"Yes."
"I'm a backroom granny now. Can't and don't wanna meddle in street rules or hierarchies. You handle it. And that hooked-nose guy... leave him be. Don't touch."
"Mind if I ask why?"
"You know the law of equivalent exchange in this world, right? Gamble for success, and failure costs as much as the win would've gained."
Risk 1 to gain 2, lose 2 on a bust. Absurd as hell, but that's the iron rule here where mysteries and the supernatural collide.
"If you wanna kill him, scrape every evil ghost and curse from heaven and earth and hurl 'em. Can't? Leave him alone."
"Understood, ma'am."
"And if you can, tell everyone not to trespass his turf. Not my place to meddle in your biz, but without that territory I gave him, he'd have swallowed your ops whole."
"I'll pass on the warning."
"Now go. Next time you visit, make it my funeral."
"......"
The man bowed quietly and left the pawnshop. He pulled a talisman from his pocket—jet black and charred—tore it to shreds, and let the bits scatter in the air.
Shouldering that much karma, ready to go with it when her time comes. No surprise she'd have reapers and guardians. But malice was leaking from her like poison—thick, foul enough to mistake her for possessed by evil.
"Just a soul-binding contract spell, and the poison leaking along the link burned right through this talisman. Without it, my guts would've rotted from exposure."
"You done, boss?"
"Yeah, she gave the answer. Spread the word to every gang: hands off the Supernatural Phenomena Resolution Office."
"Even if we tell the whole org, some won't listen. Solo shamans and wizards are greedy bastards—take the cash, screw ethics, job's a job."
"Look the other way as long as they don't stir chaos. Not our job to save idiots digging their own graves. But if it sparks gang wars or turf grabs, say I'll wipe 'em myself."
"Got it!"
Jang Maseok tossed a task to one of his sharper underlings, opened his cigar case, and lit one up. A chill deeper than the autumn wind seeped into his bones, the lingering aura that punk had scattered since hitting the street.
"End times are coming..."
How much longer till glittering human civilization crumbles?
"Pray it's not the 'Beast.'"
The apocalypse had to stay someone's delusion.