Chapter 61: Mystic Gallery Mayhem
"A flood of handshake requests incoming."
I'd downloaded and logged into this proprietary app that the mystics stationed around Hongdae were supposed to use, and it popped up with a ton of different features. There was a request board where you could check out civilian commissions uploaded to the server in real-time and snag them, or post business-like pleas like "I failed this one, someone else take it." Then a casual chat board where mystics from all over the country logged in like some knockoff community site, sharing dumb posts, brags, and random info. And finally, a black market board buzzing with the kind of shady mystic deals you couldn't pull off in real life.
I'd made my grand debut on day one by carpet-bombing the chat board with tactical nukes. Sure, I got hit with a swift 30-day ban from the mods, but I just VPN'd right back in and threatened to unleash 24-hour tactical nukes unless they lifted it. Once I confirmed the ban was gone, I toweled off my wet hair and flopped onto the sofa, letting my body sink in. This leather wasn't your average shit—sitting or lying on it was straight-up addictive, drawing out involuntary moans before I knew it.
"If something this fucking fun existed, you assholes should've told me sooner. Typical lowlife punks, hearts black as coal."
I was killing time on what they called Mystic Gal, scrolling through the eye candy for my boring evening, when a fresh alert pinged from the request board I'd set to notify me in real-time. Requests there started at a baseline of 100 million won in compensation, which was basically gold bars to so-called mystics. Tragic incidents and sob stories from all over the country piled up as requests on the server, uploading at a crazy fast clip with massive volume. Even with a decent number of mystics, once they started flooding in, hands got short-staffed, or so they said.
Of course, jumping into requests blind without checking shit was a massive fuckup for any industry newbie. I had office drone experience; I wasn't that naive. So I decided to lean on the wisdom of the Gal vets.
"Fuck, these idiots are useless."
Should I just get S-man to whip up a macro and auto-nuke the place 24/7? I almost called S-man, who was probably chowing down on a delicious dinner with family or friends, but nah, fuck it. If shit really hits the fan, I can always craft a Tsar Bomba later and drop it then. My phone gallery's stocked with prime materials anyway.
In the end, like some nerd said, I calmly read the announcement. Mystic Gal's notice was pure bullshit, but first off, cathedral priests were universally called "Vatican pricks." Technically, they monitored supernatural shit and intervened directly or indirectly in demon-related cases, so they counted as mystics. But their holier-than-thou vibe, that goody-two-shoes speech pattern, and snagging requests for free pissed off a ton of Gal users. The Vatican's clout in Christianity made them shove their way in and freeload off others' gigs with that shameless moral high ground, hence lumping them as "Vatican pricks." I said it a few times and it stuck to my tongue—pretty satisfying.
Other than that, profanity, casual talk, baseless slander, and shit-talking were all fair game, but no hate-meme uploads, no brag flexing (scam vibes), no screwing people over with unverified spells, etc.
Request-snagging tips: To grab ones that fit you, first check category, payout amount, and location. Possession patient? Hits the "Possession Treatment" category for you to claim. Scrolling categories: "Possession Treatment," "Minor Curse (Yangbap)," "Spiritual Experience," "Exorcism," "Gut Ritual," "Mystery Phenomenon Investigation," and more—pretty diverse.
Majors were possession treatment, yangbap, and gut rituals; others were niche. But with endless requesters, work overflowed regardless. Vatican pricks swarmed possession, exorcism, and mysteries just in case demons were involved. Regular mystics eyed yangbap, spiritual experiences, and guts as prime cash cows—easy money without much hassle. Yangbap: Quick with the client's birth chart or body part. Spiritual: Pop open spirit sight or summon the dead. Guts varied by case but pros could rake in 10 mil base per gig, top-tier sweet spot.
But requests came nationwide, so deep mountains, backwoods, islands—watch for scam baiters luring lone mystics to rip off. Extra caution advised.
To pay back Kim Bokja's 130 million in a year, pounding pavement like a dumbass wouldn't cut it. Our "deal" meant no dipping into S-man's fat bank or crime cash. Knowing why she cut that deal with me, I had to square it purely from Supernatural Phenomena Resolution Office earnings as Han Daeri.
"Big-money gigs snatched by asshole pros, leftovers just scraps from their table."
With categories, you could sort by post date, claimed status, payout. Hunting unclaimed high-payers, bam—10 mil popped up. Posted 2 years ago, with over 10 failed claimants. Glorious track record.
Gal search: These were "malignant inventory"—high risk for the dough, left to rot. Requester dead in an "accident," family footing monthly fees to keep it live. Smells fishy, right? This 10-mil beauty (2 years old, 10+ vets failed, non-virgin) had me curious as hell.
But first, flex on the Gal. I hit "Claim" without reading details, screenshotted, and posted proof.
"This is the world we live in."
I alt-nicked through and memo'd every commenter as "Heaven Ticket Reservee."
The request I'd claimed was titled:
"The Whole Family's Been Hunted by Ghosts for 5 Years—Please Help"